Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Wooyoung wondered when he would get too tired to keep doing this. 

He stepped off the bus as it groaned to a stop, wet pavement greeting him in the form of a quiet, secluded downtown. Stretching his limbs, he cracked his stiff back from the hours he just spent on the bumpy road, on the grossest bus of all time, glad to be off.

The heavy smell of rain and foliage surrounded him, mingling with the industrial scents of exhaust and brick. He had absolutely no idea where this place was—he simply hopped on that bus and refused to get off until the tingling in the back of his neck stopped. 

It would probably come back to him again sooner or later, but he just hoped it was the latter.

Only a few cars passed by as rainwater rhythmically dripped from the roofs. He took a deep breath, letting the crisp pine air fill his lungs, and glanced around. There wasn’t the overwhelming feeling of watchful eyes and silent threats lurking around this place. He liked it so far, he was excited. 

He shouldn’t be excited, he reminded himself. It was making for a gross mix of emotions with his nerves and guilt that never left him alone. He couldn't be excited, not after everything that happened, for his reasoning for being here in the first place. 

He nervously fiddled with his bracelet as he looked around, small beads of fire agate clinking together, charmed to give him stability and bravery according to his grandma—one of the few things from home he still had with him after he ran away years ago. The familiar weight of it grounded him in this unfamiliar place. 

The stability charm must be shot though, he thought sourly. It clearly hasn’t worked in years.

He just hoped that the bravery part was still working though. He really needed it.

It’s been four years of this, why was he still scared to start somewhere new? 

With no destination in mind, he sighed and picked a random direction and started to walk.

Exploring the area and meeting new people was almost a little ritual of his when he had to restart his life; a way to walk off his nerves and get a sense of familiarity. The downtown of this city was quaint—old, brick buildings huddled together, hosting multitudes of weird, different shops—and there wasn’t much to see after that.

Not many people were milling about right now either, just a few scurrying from shop awning to shop awning to avoid the incoming weather. He didn’t need his Magic to feel that the air was thick with the promise of rain. 

This town was on the much smaller side, probably the smallest town he’s ever been to. He thought he liked big cities, he loved all of the energy and people. Up until last night, he probably would’ve denied ever wanting to be somewhere so rural.

But now, he realized that cities had too many spaces for evil to lurk. Here, he could be tucked away with the tall trees peeking behind the buildings and the rawness to the air that lightened his breath.

I’m probably just comfortable because of all the fucking trees, he sighed as he passed by what seemed to be a run-down community center. Fucking trees.

His older brother seemed to know that Wooyoung would turn out to be a Vitrium, a witch that connects with all living things, before he did himself. Kwangseon was always teasing him about how he was practically feral with how much time Wooyoung spent outside as a kid. His mother also suspected what his Gifts were when he would run around the park trying to introduce himself to every single kid there, or begged every single year for his birthday for another pet.

Wooyoung just always felt the most comfortable when surrounded by life—people, animals, plants. It’s where his Magic was the most connected to the world around him and he felt stable. He felt good even.

So the comfort he felt here was probably just from all of the foliage around him, with the trees trying to whisper to him as he walked by. He purposefully didn't listen to them. He didn't want to relive what he did four years ago. 

And it didn’t really matter why he stopped here, trees or not. 

Wooyoung was somewhere new, where no one knew him or what he had done, or hadn’t done. He was a blank slate and could be whatever and whoever he wanted and his past was only a distant nightmare that no one had to figure out. Maybe he would even tell people that he was a former idol trainee who dropped out, just for the hell of it. Whoever Jung Wooyoung used to be, didn't have to exist here.

His sneakers scuffed on the sidewalk as he continued his trek forward. A few places caught his attention: a local library, a spa that could not be up to code, a gym he could snag a shower at if he was desperate, a dated-looking bar, several family-owned restaurants, a few overpriced boutiques between them. Cute, he supposed.

The area almost reminded him of his hometown—secluded and cozy, just smaller. He didn’t know if he liked the resemblance or not.

He shook his head slightly. No, he didn’t want this new place to start reminding him of everything that happened, before he even decided if he should  stay here yet. He wanted to see everything this town could be hiding before he made a decision.

Not that he really was in a position to make any decisions, he was practically stuck here. He had left the decent life he built in the city without a second thought the second they caught his trail. And he didn’t know if he had enough money or will power to go elsewhere if this place failed.

Unfortunately, it didn’t take very long to see just about everything. 

There were only so many local businesses that could exist in a town this size, so when he came to the end of the main street after just a few minutes, he sighed. The cool breeze was starting to seep past his windbreaker. He pulled the jacket tighter around him, wishing he had something warmer to bring. This was the furthest north he’s traveled yet, and his clothes were quickly reminding him of that.

He did a silent spell on his clothes, warming them up slightly. He shivered at the temperature change. He would probably need to get a new wardrobe if he really wanted to stay here longer. There was only so much he could do against the elements with as little Magic as possible and clothes suited for a much warmer and drier climate.

Wooyoung turned a corner, heading towards a more empty part of the downtown. The buildings were getting sparse as more trees appeared between them, and a luscious park appeared across the intersection. He was just about to admire the cute ducks by the pond when he felt the first drop hit his forehead.

“Ah, shit…” he mumbled.

He glanced up at the unforgiving clouds above him, wiping away the wet spot on his skin. Of course the weather would choose to strike down now that he was walking around an unfamiliar area outside without an umbrella or a place to go. Just perfect. 

He looked around for somewhere that he could camp out until the weather passed. Maybe the pavilion in the park? Yeah it would be cold, but more dry than standing out on the street. 

Right when he was about to book it across the street, a man suddenly emerged from a shop next door, opening up his umbrella. He noticed Wooyoung standing there, looking up at the sky, and grinned sympathetically. 

"You should probably take some cover," he said, his voice warm but reprimanding. “It’s about to pour, if you were wondering.”

Wooyoung stopped glaring angrily at the sky to turn towards the voice. The man was slightly shorter than him, with a caramel mullet and lots of piercings in his ears. Dark eyeliner, dark clothes. He looked like the opposite of all the crunchy, granola people he expected to see here. 

"Yeah, that would be smart of me. Do you know a good place to wait out the rain? I don’t think I’ll make it… back, before it picks up." He stumbled over his words, trying to sound casual, and not like he was without a place to stay. Like he was just out and about shopping, not homeless. 

The man pointed down the street. "There's a cozy little café just a block away. Best hot chocolate in town. It stays open pretty late."

"Thanks," Wooyoung smiled, feeling genuinely grateful. The man's kindness was a small thing, and he wasn't even being that nice about it, but it felt like a lot to Wooyoung. He was starting to realize just how lonely he might be if a few seconds with a stranger was warming his heart. 

The shorter one just nodded and took off in the other direction. 

Wooyoung glanced at the walk ahead of him. The soft drumming of the rain slowly picked up and the tree branches sang along in the wind. He let himself feel hopeful, for just a second. This town would be different from the last few.

And maybe, if he decided to stay here, he could steal some of that hope for a little bit longer. Everything would be okay for a while. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

While walking the short distance, the rain decided to pour down in buckets, like it was trying to personally drown Wooyoung and cleanse him from this untouched town. He cursed at the clouds above him, but they didn’t reply back. Whatever. 

Within seconds, he was drenched, hair plastered to his forehead and his jacket would’ve been soaked through if it wasn’t kind of water-resistant. At least he had that going for him.

He spotted the café across the street and sprinted towards it, grimacing as his sneakers splashed through already-forming puddles on the road. He stood under the awning, catching his breath and shaking off water like a drenched dog. He glanced at the establishment he now stood at. The sign was painted in a warm, inviting gold, with letters curling whimsically, as if to promise warmth and comfort inside.

Golden Hour Café & Bookshop.

Wooyoung snorted. The shop’s aesthetic looked like a hippie, holistic haven. Nice.

There was a poster on the window that advertised pastries made from fresh, locally grown ingredients (all gluten and dairy free, of course). He noticed all of the different plants lining the windows—succulents in quirky pots, trailing vines, blooming flowers. A few random symbols were etched around the doorframe, symbols that he guessed were supposed to look witchy and archaic, but in a superficial way that made him cringe.

Dried flowers hung upside down with several suncatchers in the windows, their glass facets dull under the overcast sky. The place probably looked really cool to those who haven’t grown up around Magic, but to him, the decor just looked like his mom’s house—except more commercialized and less genuine. Cringey. 

If only that stranger knew exactly who he just pointed to this wannabe-witchy cafe. Wooyoung almost laughed at the irony.

Wooyoung had studied his whole childhood to learn the perfect pronunciations for enchantments and spells, memorizing what certain herbs and crystals were good for, or not good for. He spent long hours in his mother’s dimly lit office, poring over ancient scrolls until his eyes hurt before he was allowed to go play on his Playstation. Coming home after school to do his times tables and then recite the history of the Lycanthropus. All of that hard work, all of the worshipping he did for the Magic, only for people to rip off a bunch of sacred, cultural practices that didn’t even have anything to do with witches, and sell amethyst at an insane up-charge and call it ‘magic-core’. 

All of that hard work, only to leave it all behind too, his brain chided him. Like you're any better.

He ignored his extremely unhelpful brain. 

The large open sign blinked at him. The letters flickered slightly, their glow reflecting off the rain-slicked pavement. He hesitated for a moment, considering his options. It was still pouring outside, the rain showing no signs of letting up. He glanced down at his soaked clothes, feeling the cold seeping into his bones, like it was urging him to just step inside.

It looks drier than the weather outside, he supposed. Maybe he would even get a ‘gluten-free, vegan, low fat, non GMO, no added sugars’ cookie or something.

With a final sigh, he pushed open the door and stepped inside. The bakery-bookstore-thing was indeed warm inside and smelled heavenly. The air was rich with the scent of freshly baked bread, sweet pastries, and the faint, earthy aroma of herbs. His stomach rumbled. 

It definitely wasn’t the worst place to be caught in a storm.

The small bell above the door chimed softly. There was only one other patron inside, head down and invested in several thick books by the window. A surprising amount of greenery covered almost every inch of the cafe, minus the back wall that must’ve been the ‘bookshop’ part. Floor-to-ceiling shelves spanned the whole space, filled with novels of every kind. A few other smaller shelves were tucked between booths and tables, and soft, acoustic music floated from the speakers.

All of the windows had a variety of crystals lining the sills with plenty of plants. He felt them calling towards him, spotting mugwort, rosemary, lavender, and other herbs as he walked by. Nestled around them were chunks of citrine, obsidian, labradorite and quartz. The typical crystals he found everywhere like this.

Wooyoung had to admit, it was pretty cozy, cringey aesthetics aside. He tried to imagine it from a non-Magic viewpoint, so he could enjoy it instead of being such a hater. It was hard, he liked being a hater.

The overwhelming amount of plants were starting to cloud his senses immediately, but it almost felt protective, like they wanted to hide him. Even though he would have a hard time sensing other Magic with them around, no one would be able to easily sense him here either. So many different energies acted like a natural shield for his aura.

And if Wooyoung could snag a few crystals to put protective spells on when no one was looking... He might have to come back to this place, not for any nefarious reasons like stealing or anything.

No, not at all.

Wooyoung stepped towards the counter, staring at the menu in a heavily decorative script font. He almost drooled at the sight of all the baked goods in front of him—pastries, cakes, and cookies lined the display, each one looking better than the last. Suddenly, he didn’t really care what kind of gluten they had or didn’t have.

“What can I get for you?” 

The barista across from him smiled politely. His blond hair was tied half-up and matched his tan apron. His features were soft and gentle, but distinctly masculine. Wooyoung couldn’t help but want to look at him longer, trying to decide how he stumbled across the prettiest man he’s ever seen at some small town coffee shop in who-the-fuck-knows-where. His day felt like a cheesy romcom or some y/n fan fiction in the making. 

“A large hot chocolate.. with a shot of espresso,” he smiled back as brightly as he could, willing the romcom deities to hear him out, just this once. Maybe the barista would ignore the fact that he currently looked like a drowned rat, shivering and leaving a puddle on his café floor.

“And… uh…,” he glanced at the pastry shelf next to him, wanting all of it, “a strawberry puff, please.”

The barista nodded, jotting down his order and relaying the price. His voice was deep and smooth, and Wooyoung almost forgot to listen to the words he said because he was so focused on it. “Cash or card?”

“Cash, please.”

Wooyoung didn’t typically pay for necessities like food and drinks. Not because he didn’t want to, he wasn’t that much of a kleptomaniac, but money was surprisingly scarce when living on the run. In a pinch, he could enchant something to appear like cash for just long enough for him to pay, grab his food, and run, before the cashier wondered how so many napkins got in the register.

But if he had to crash here for a bit, at least until the rain let up, he couldn’t do that to this (cute) barista. It would be awkward to try and explain why he paid with scraps of newspaper. So he forked over his hard-earned cash, and enough for a decent tip. The barista quietly thanked him and let him know he was going to start on his drink. 

He watched as the barista turned around, the apron clinging sinfully to his thin waist, his back stronger and muscular despite it. And Wooyoung, well, he was a weak man. 

He figured if he was going to maybe stick around this town like he was hoping, a cute blond to talk to every now and then would be something to look forward to. He didn’t like letting himself get close to people, but a few no-strings-attached acquaintanceships (or friends with benefits) were fine. He needed to be a little social to survive anyway. 

And Wooyoung would honestly take whatever kind of human interaction he could get at this point. 

“Does it rain here often?” he tried conversing as the other fiddled with the espresso machine. It was too late in the afternoon for someone to be drinking coffee, but that had never stopped him before. He was perpetually tired anyway, the caffeine would make no difference except he liked the bitter flavor.

He knew the bags under his eyes were harsh and his frame was just a little too gangly now, and he looked like he had just traveled for hours and then been swept away in the rain (because he had). There wasn’t much his Magic could do in bus stop bathrooms between cities besides untangle his hair and dewrinkle his clothes, so he knew his appearance wasn't on his side right now.

The blond glanced at him warily, like he was confused that someone was actually talking to him. “Um, yeah, pretty frequently.”

Wooyoung gave him a second to continue on, but apparently the other was done speaking.

“I’m new to the area,” he clarified, leaning against the counter, only grimacing slightly at his the squelch of his drenched clothes. The barista just hummed in acknowledgment and continued working, eyes quickly flitting away.

So he was the shy type, or just very apathetic. Neither have ever deterred Wooyoung before.

“Got any advice for living here?”

The blond looked at him for a second, seemingly a little shocked that someone was making so much conversation with him. Or shocked that a drowned rat had the ability to speak and order a hot chocolate. He was silent for a moment, thinking.

“You should get an umbrella.” The barista finally replied as he slid a hot mug over the bar to him, pulling a now-warm pastry out of the toaster for him too. He gave him a brief smile as he glanced at Wooyoung's soaking wet frame. “Enjoy.”

The blond quickly fled to the back of the bar to clean something, too far away for Wooyoung to keep bothering.

“Thanks,” he sighed to no one, and took a seat at a table by the window. Maybe his confidence couldn’t outshine his dull appearance right now, but he could always come back and try again. He picked up a random book near him—one about the wonders of bird-watching—and cracked it open.

He took a sip of his hot chocolate, the sweet cocoa with just a hint of bitter espresso melted on his tongue. The drink warmed him up so quickly, he must have been colder and hungrier than he thought. The rain battered the window outside as he downed the delicious pastry in almost one bite. Wooyoung glanced outside at the storm.

Sitting in one spot for too long tended to make him anxious, but there wasn’t anything he could really do about it now. At least he was warm and enjoying good food. The plants around him kept his energy grounded and hidden amongst them, and he liked listening to them sing. But he knew that if he listened for too long, they would start to whisper things in his ears he shouldn’t know. 

It was why he was in this stupid situation to begin with. 

He checked the weather on his phone, stifling a groan when it told him the rain wasn’t going to run out any time soon. 

There’s always time to kill when you’re hiding, he supposed, opening up the book. How long could this rain last anyways?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The rain completely thwarted his plans for the rest of the day.

Wooyoung stared out the window, the rain pounding against the glass. It seemed insistent on lasting for as long as it could, and Wooyoung was getting more annoyed as it kept on. The streets outside had turned into small rivers, water gushing down the gutters and pooling at the intersections. He started to feel a little like a caged animal, eager to run again. 

He was debating just saying fuck it, and heading back into the storm anyway. He couldn’t camp out here all day, regardless of how much he wanted to chat with the pretty barista again (who hadn’t come out from the back yet, probably avoiding Wooyoung). He didn’t have any real plans for the day, sure, but he had to find a bed to crash in tonight at some point. Unless he wanted to sleep on the streets, which he’s done plenty of times before in the city before he got his cozy apartment, but he didn’t think it would be as inconspicuous in a town this small.

So instead of running back into the storm and probably contracting pneumonia, he used the time to snoop around the shop some more. 

The walls were adorned with eclectic artwork, everything from vintage botanical prints, to diagrams of the moon cycle, to tour posters for bands half a century old. Each table had a small vase of fresh flowers, adding a burst of color to the otherwise muted tones of the interior. Wooyoung walked around to the back portion of the café where the bookstore was.

After a little more inspection, he decided it probably was worth returning to, even if the barista wasn’t there to bother.

Despite initially laughing about its attempt to appeal to a certain audience, the shop did sell some things Wooyoung could find himself needing. Expensive and powerful crystals like moldavite and astrophyllite, candles of every color, dried petals from all types of flowers, and most incredulously, an assortment of wild animal bones (weird). He very much did not pick those up to inspect, he didn’t like the energy animal remains radiated. He didn’t dabble in fortunes or summonings anyways, but those would be helpful if he ever did for some reason. 

Perhaps he was the ‘certain audience’ the store appealed to after all. He snorted.

Once the rain lightened up to a slight drizzle, he stood up again, cracking his back. The bird-watching book proved to be entertaining enough, but being here so long was making him jittery again. He yawned as he grabbed his backpack and left the bakery-bookshop-wannabe-apothecary without catching another glimpse of the blond, or his name tag. Sigh.

He pulled his hood up and tightened his jacket around him, bracing himself against the wet chill again. The streets glistened with rainwater, reflecting the dim light of the late evening. Everything around him shined orange from the setting sun behind the rain clouds, still pretty despite the weather. He navigated through puddles, his wet shoes splashing slightly with each step. 

It didn’t take too long to find somewhere to stay. A motel down the main road looked horribly rundown and cheap, with its neon sign flickering sporadically. The paint on the building was chipped and faded, the windows clouded with grime, and weeds grew through the cracks in the sidewalk leading up to the entrance.

Perfect. 

He handed the clerk, an smelly man with straggly hair and a permanent scowl, enough money to cover a week’s stay, who barely glanced up at Wooyoung as he tossed him the room key. He trudged down the dimly lit hallway that smelled faintly of mildew.

The door creaked as he pushed it open, revealing a small, dingy space that looked like it hadn't been updated in decades. Paint was peeling from the bathroom walls, the furniture was scratched beyond repair, and the whole place reeked of mothballs and nicotine.

It was one of the nicer places he’s stayed.

Quickly, he set protective crystals in each corner of the room and lined the painted-shut window and front door with salt, creating a simple but effective barrier against any unwanted magical intrusions. He might have felt a little bad when he snatched the crystals from the café, but the relief he felt when he charmed them and felt the energy around him stabilize was well worth it. The generous tip he left probably paid for them anyway. 

With a piece of chalk, he marked several symbols onto the door and walls for extra protection and cast a quick muffling spell to keep his Magic and voice from being sensed. Finally, he flipped the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on his door handle so housekeeping wouldn’t come in and stumble upon what looked like satanic rituals.

He didn’t want to deal with that again.

Taking a much needed shower, he scrubbed away the grime of travel and rainwater from his hair and body. It felt so good to be clean again. He let the hot water rinse the cold rain from his body. Stepping out into the steamy bathroom, he swiftly redrew a veiling sigil on his chest with waterproof eyeliner. While blood or even scarring would have been the most effective, he wasn’t the type for gross body modifications, and he was sensitive to blood, with his whole life-connection-magic shit. All he needed was something to ensure he remained undetected by Magic throughout the day. Eyeliner was cheap (easy to steal) and effective enough.

He smiled as he finally flopped onto the bed. The mattress was lumpy and the sheets were thin, but it was a bed nonetheless. He stared at the ceiling, listening to the rain's muffled sound against the roof.

Was it wrong of him to be excited to be here, despite the circumstances? Despite having run away from home, and continuing to not really face his problems? Was he allowed to feel excited about this?

He left everything behind in the city, everything he had spent a whole year working for. An apartment, a job, people he could maybe call friends. It was the best set up he had in the past four years, and it was ripped from him overnight.

Maybe a little excitement was the least he could afford himself here.

Against his better judgment, and slightly to punish himself, he pulled his backpack towards him and dug through it. There wasn't much he could grab besides this emergency backpack he had stocked, before getting on the furthest bus from the city. A few crystals, a healing elixir, a first aid kit, his spare cash.

He finally pulled out a small photo album, a cheap gift from his older brother when he was still a little kid with no money, but he never could part with it. In the few minutes it took for him to decide to leave his home and family forever, he still spared a few seconds to grab it before sneaking away.  

The first picture was his favorite. It was only him and his parents, sitting on the couch and bundled up during the cold winter. His cheeks were still chunky with baby fat and his mother looked younger than he remembered. As selfish as it was, he loved this photo because it was one of the few he had without his brothers in it. Middle child problems. 

The second photo was of his grandparents and newborn younger brother, Kyungmin. His grandma was a harsh woman, but she was the reason Wooyoung knew as much as he did about Magic. She taught him to listen to the Magic and his Coven, and how to connect with the hearts of other people, though she always claimed that he had never needed instruction on how to steal others’ hearts.

The third photo was where things got painful. He could never get past the third photo, because he knew what was after them. He still saw Jongho’s gummy smile as he shut the album, deciding to turn in for the night. Looking at those photos was definitely enough to bring back his spiraling thoughts, crushing his hope once more.

Good. 

Wooyoung didn't deserve peace, not after everything. What was waiting for him back home was honestly what he deserved, but he was simply too much of a coward to face it. This new town could be a fun change of pace, but he knew it was always going to be temporary. Soon, he would be found, forced to over again, never able to really live his life without one eye open.

How could he look at those photos and remember the people he left behind, and still feel excited to be here?

He didn’t want to answer that, and maybe he shouldn’t.

His mother always told him that the Magic would answer everything for him, and he just needed to let it run its course. He allowed himself to relax, his thoughts drifting away. The Magic hadn't led him astray so far, only his own action did. It would be fine.

The rain outside continued its steady rhythm, a soothing lullaby that lulled him into sleep. He would take things one day at a time, and this place finally had him clinging to something he hasn’t felt in a long, long time, and he decided that he wasn’t ready to part with it just yet.

Chapter Text

A sickening crunch shot through his ears. 

He shot up, trying to get in a breath of air, clutching his neck as he looked around. The room was pitch black as he looked around, and he felt like he was suffocating. 

He couldn’t breathe, his lungs weren’t working. He was drowning, he was drowning in this darkness, and he couldn’t breathe—

“Wooyoung?”

He looked around, nails still scratching at his throat uselessly, willing it to work or tear open some way to get air into his body. Jongho just stared at him from across the dark room as he struggled. 

Why was Jongho here? How did he get here?

“J-Jongho?” he wheezed out. How was his voice working? His chest started hurting. Nothing was making sense.

“Wooyoung, where did you go?” the younger asked. The innocence in his big, brown eyes was painful to look at. He looked so alone and afraid. Just like the last time Wooyoung saw him. 

So young, and so, so hurt.

“I’m sorry, I had to leave.” Wooyoung felt something wet running down his face. He lifted his hand to his cheek, finding tears. He tried to get up to reach his friend, but the blankets on his shitty motel bed seemed to be made of lead, keeping him where he was. 

“I’m so sorry, it was to protect you,” he tried to explain as he fumbled with the sheets aggressively, but every time he tried to throw the heavy sheets off, more appeared.

“Wooyoung? Where did you go?” Jongho asked again. His eyes darted around, apparently not seeing Wooyoung who was only a few feet in front of him. 

Wooyoung couldn’t move no matter how hard he tried. “Jongho! I’m here, I’m right here!”

“Wooyoung?” he whispered again. “Did you leave me? How could you do this to me…?”

“Jongho, please! I’m so sorry, I had to, I—”

He heard the snapping sound again, loud and like a gunshot, and he turned his head around only to stare into glassy, empty eyes. 

His heart stopped. 

The eyes of Choi Dongsun. The eyes of Jongho’s father, now void of any life. Not a flicker of any soul rested in them. His neck was horribly disfigured, jutting at a grotesque angle just how it looked that night everything went wrong. His body crumpled to the ground unnaturally, his upper half horribly twisted. The corpse started shaking and twitching violently. 

Wooyoung screamed. 

He screamed and kept screaming despite his lungs that weren’t working earlier, even as his eyes opened and the walls of his motel came into view. And still screamed as he realized he was grateful he put up the veiling sigils last night, because this wasn’t the first time he’s woken up in a panic and crying his lungs out. 

His screams only faltered when he was positive he was no longer in the nightmare version of his motel room, now wide awake and unfortunately conscious as he looked around. Aware of his exhausting existence. 

His breathing returned to him at some point, but he couldn’t stop shaking or escape the cold feeling surrounding him as he got ready that morning. Even as he turned the shower as hot as it could get, he still felt chills run down his spine.

Those eyes, unseeing and dead. The neck twisted at a sick angle. That man he knew his whole life, gone in an instant because of Wooyoung. 

Years ago, that’s how long it had happened, but Wooyoung felt crushed by it like it was yesterday. It would probably haunt him forever, and he honestly deserved the guilt he felt every time he closed his eyes. He got to live, when Jongho's father didn't.

He wondered just how far he would have to run to escape it all. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wooyoung had been doing a good job of keeping to himself, but somehow he found himself back at the café at the end of the week. A decision he totally didn’t make entirely on purpose.

The few days he spent resting had done wonders, aside from his constant nightmares, leaving his body well-rested enough to make the most of his day by heading out early and doing absolutely nothing. Especially because his mind was severely lagging behind, so he didn't have much motivation to do anything else.

It had been a week since he stopped here, he realized. And the most he’s done has been buying overpriced coffee the first day and moping around in the gross motel room since. Besides his occasional walks to the park, to say hello to the ducks (and sometimes a few aggressive geese he wasn’t too fond of), he hadn’t done jack shit.

Not that there was much for him to do. Small towns were boring, he quickly decided. 

At least in the city he could go to a different bar each night and drink until his mind stopped beating him up. Here if he did that, he would be pegged as an alcoholic for showing up to the one bar they had every single day. 

So drinking himself into oblivious wasn’t going to be an option, which was probably for the best. But Wooyoung decided he needed to do something with his time. 

Sure, sitting in his shielded, safe motel room might mean he would never be found by his old Coven again, but he was getting so bored that he was honestly debating smashing his head into the wall for fun. He burned through every TV channel, read all the dated magazines on the desk, and played any game he possibly could on his phone, yet it wasn’t enough. 

Was this kind of life really worth it? 

No, definitely not. He was alive, but it didn’t feel like it sometimes. At least when he was actively running away, he was still doing something. Wooyoung was a lot of things, but restless was at the very top of the list. 

He kicked a rock as he walked around the pond while the sun lazily rose over the horizon. He realized he should probably try and start rebuilding his life here, because even if it was very temporary, he needed to try staying afloat. The cash he brought with him was not a lot, and he really hated scamming people out of their money. Wooyoung couldn’t really afford to stay, but he definitely couldn’t afford to leave.

And something inside him warned him that if he didn’t get his shit together soon, this place might be the last of his luck. 

Wooyoung spent the morning hunting down a thrift store nearby, pleasantly surprised when his phone lead him to one downtown. The walk there was beautiful, bright sunshine and the perfect temperature with none of the clouds or rain from earlier in the week. A few mountains broke apart the sky around the town, and Wooyoung couldn’t help but be in awe. It was a nice change from the skyscrapers and constant car noise that used to bother him.

He really did hope everything here would work out. Maybe if he played his cards right, this would finally be the place he wouldn’t have to run from.

Doubtful. 

After stocking up on plenty of warm ‘free’ clothes (sorry, he's on a tight budget right now) for the slowly approaching fall, hauling it to a laundromat and dropping the freshly cleaned items off at his motel room, he found that he didn’t have much else to do. He took another shower just for the hell of it, enjoying the feeling of being clean . 

Life was surprisingly lame when you were unemployed, hiding, and on the run for being accused of a murder.

Wooyoung sat on the bed in his towel, staring at the wall ahead of him blankly. He had too much time ahead of him. He would’ve rested more, honestly, if he could've. Every single thought that crossed his mind was a mixture of guilt and fear.

His mind was eating at itself, desperate for a sense of purpose or something to do to distract it.

Getting a real job probably wouldn't be easy, he figured, because that usually required legal documents and a permanent address, both of which were back at home with his parents four years ago. Usually when he needed cash, he would pick up random side quests on sketchy websites, or by word of mouth via acquaintances. 

Anything that involved cash and no signatures was good with him. So where better to find that than at the café?

(Truly, a café was probably not the best place for that but… He had been digging for a reason to go back besides seeing the barista again, and this was the best he could come up with, okay?)

The soft bell chimed again as he entered the shop that afternoon. Wooyoung thought he got lucky when he saw the same guy behind the counter as before, but maybe that wasn’t so, because he would be the absolute death of him. 

His blond hair was down today with soft, curved bangs framing his temples. Wooyoung noticed the slight shimmer of makeup that made his light brown eyes pop, and a small patch of pink skin by his eye in the shape of a heart.

Okay then, Wooyoung thought. So he didn’t imagine it, the barista really was that pretty. 

“Hey again,” Wooyoung greeted confidently, not even sure if the other would recognize him from earlier in the week, especially since Wooyoung no longer looked like a wet rat. It wasn’t like they exchanged that many words, after all. 

Like he could even consider that trainwreck of a conversation “talking”. 

“Hi, what can I get for you?” the barista asked politely. The green sweater he wore matched the plants around the store perfectly, and Wooyoung really liked that. His smile was measured and distant.

Wooyoung studied the menu. The prices here weren’t bad , but he would definitely need more money quickly if he wanted to keep coming back, and to keep that nice motel room. And he did want both. For many reasons.

Don’t get attached, he reminded himself. He got attached to his life in the city and that cost him everything, and almost took his heart in the process. Less was more here.

“What’s your favorite drink?” Wooyoung asked him after nothing specific caught his eye, hoping to spark a conversation.

The blond blinked at him for a second, clearly caught off guard. “Oh, um. I normally just make myself an Americano… but I recommend the butterfly pea matcha.”

He raised an eyebrow. “... What is butterfly pee?”

“It’s a flower we make tea out of…” he explained slowly. “And mix it with our matcha latte. It’s sweet and fruity.”

“A medium then, please.” Wooyoung opened his wallet before his eyes inevitably traveled to the display case full of delicious sweets. He still had no idea what the hell butterfly piss was, and he was sure the other was just upselling him, but he would try anything once. 

“And something sweet to snack on. Surprise me.”

The barista nodded before accepting his payment, more real cash. His name tag finally caught Wooyoung's eye, reading ‘Yeosang’ in a handwritten font, accompanied by a cute cat pin and a rainbow flag pin. He stored those details away for later, especially the second one. 

Yeosang quickly made his drink, whisking the matcha part by hand and freshly brewing the butterfly pea tea. Wooyoung was impressed with how detail-oriented this cafe was, he felt like most places would’ve opted for some matcha concentrate and syrup. Though it was a little startling to see that the tea was bright blue.

His mother tried teaching him about tea brewing when he was younger, mostly for medicinal purposes and leaf readings, but Wooyoung couldn’t care less about it. Dead plants? Not his thing. Maybe he would’ve enjoyed it more if a pretty blond boy was the one teaching him instead. 

Once finished, the barista placed the freshly made drink, weirdly blue and green, and a warm, strawberry muffin on the counter for Wooyoung. “Here you go. Enjoy.”

“Thanks so much, Yeosang,” Wooyoung said with a wink. 

He swore he saw the barista blush slightly, or maybe it was just the birthmark, before running back to the end of the bar to clean something again. Far away from him.

Wooyoung would take what he could get. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

He decided to check out the bookshelves in-depth today. 

Somehow, he magically ditched his original idea to job search at the café, since it was a horrible idea to begin with, and was instead sipping on his drink as his eyes scanned each spine.

There was an overwhelming amount of books for such a small establishment, everything from cook books to astrophysics for dummies. A whole chunk of the back wall was dedicated entirely to faerie smut and similar monster-fucking-esque stuff (he would definitely be grabbing some of those to read later), and the rest were local history books and autobiographies. Books on crystals, herbs, astrology and whatnot were scattered everywhere. All the stuff that Wooyoung had memorized before the age of ten.

As far as knock off witchy stuff goes, at least this place was pretty accurate in what it was trying to sell. 

He took a sip of the matcha, and could have cried at the taste. It was so good. He swore he could feel his persistent anxiety relaxing the more he drank. What ever the hell butterfly piss had in it was heavenly. The muffin was just as delicious, buttery and sweet. It’s been so long since he had good food that even this ‘free of everything’ pastry was hitting the spot. 

And he tried to tell himself it was just a coincidence that Yeosang remembered he likes strawberries. (It wasn’t working, his heart was beating painfully in his chest at the thought.)

Wooyoung cozied up on one of the plush, green couches and glanced around. There were more patrons here than yesterday, but it wasn’t crowded. It was nice, he just liked being near other people, even if he wasn’t interacting with them.

And it was so much better than his motel room, even if his leg shook nervously at the thought of being so exposed and in public. 

Wooyoung ignored his perpetual fear, and figured that he had a little bit of time before he would have to get online and sell himself out to mow lawns and move furniture for some money. Or whatever other weird request he could fulfill. If he kept a strict eye on his spending, and cut as many corners as possible, he had about a month before he would seriously need to find a job.

He picked up some book next to him, and cracked it open. Sure, he came here with the goal of finding work, but reading was important to keep his mind stimulated. Or whatever. And he totally wasn't using this book as a way to look casual, because he was not here for the barista. 

Wooyoung didn’t even get a page in before the chime of the door introduced a new customer. Wooyoung glanced up, intrigued to see who else this town was hiding.

The stranger wore a long, black peacoat over a gray turtleneck, and sparkly earrings dangling from his ears. His dark hair was fluffy and long, with bold eyebrows framing a sharp and feminine face. Wooyoung thought he looked way too expensive to be here. 

“Good morning, Sangie!” 

The blond shuffled over quickly, smiling brightly. It was way better than the polite, reserved one he gave Wooyoung. He frowned. He wanted a smile like that directed at him. 

He continued to watch as sneakily as he could, hiding behind his book. Thankfully, his particular Gift from the Magic gave him heightened hearing with all the plants around, so even though most would assume he was at too far of a distance to be eavesdropping, he definitely was . 

Plus, if he missed anything, he could always just ask the plants for a recap later when no one was watching him. However, they could be horrible gossips, so he learned to not trust exactly everything they say.

“Hey! The usuals?” Yeosang asked. 

The stranger nodded. “Yes, please. I also wanted to know if you had any angelite in stock? I got a few orders in last night.” 

“I should,” Yeosang replied as he poured a cold brew over ice. “Grab some on the way out, I’ll put it on your tab. If there’s not any, I can get some from home and bring it by after work.”

The other sighed. “This is an extreme rush order unfortunately, so I have to have it done by this evening. And then get back to all of my regular orders… And I still need to restock the store inventory after those…” He rubbed a hand down his face. “And the farmers market is this weekend, shit. I wish I could clone myself.”

“That’s called hiring help,” Yeosang side-eyed him while pouring the other drink. “You don’t have to do everything yourself, Seonghwa.”

“I have Joongie to help me—“

“Who's too busy with his own job most of the time?” 

Wooyoung was surprised that the blond could talk so much, or so forwardly. Not that he knew anything about the barista at all, he reminded himself.

The Seonghwa guy groaned, running a hand through his dark waves in frustration. “Listen, it’s a nice idea, but it would be too time-consuming to post the job opening, go through rounds and rounds of interviews, and I don’t even have the space in my budget for another full-time employee right now. Time is money, and money is money. And I have neither right now.” He accepted the drink Yeosang handed him. “I just need more hours in the day, and less rush orders from cranky, old ladies.”

“What you need is someone who can run these kinds of errands for you,” he gestured to the drinks, “so you can focus on your craft.”

Seonghwa tapped his fingers against the to-go cup, lips pursed as if weighing Yeosang’s words. 

“You’re not wrong,” he finally admitted, his voice softer now. “But finding someone trustworthy who actually knows what they’re doing isn’t easy. Especially around here.”

Yeosang’s response was a noncommittal hum as he sleeved the other cup.  

“I guess I could teach them,” Seonghwa continued, almost to himself. “But even that takes a while, and I’d still need to make sure they know about everything first. I don’t have that time right now.”

“You’re a perfectionist, Hwa,” Yeosang replied with a small smile. “Nobody’s ever going to be you. But they don’t need to be. They just need to be able to buy some crystals and pick up coffees. Worry about teaching them the other stuff later.”

Seonghwa sighed, dragging a hand through his dark waves. “I’ll think about it. For now, I’ll just have to push through this week. Maybe I’ll revisit the idea once things calm down.”  

Yeosang frowned. “You’ve been saying that for months.”  

“Yeah, well…” Seonghwa trailed off, glancing at the clock on the wall. He picked up the second coffee and pastry bag. “I need to get going. Thanks for the drinks, Sangie, as always.”  

“Take care,” Yeosang said, his tone warmer now.  

Wooyoung watched over the top of his book as Seonghwa snatched a few stones from the shelf of crystals, and finally made his way to the door. For a moment, Seonghwa’s sharp gaze met his, and Wooyoung’s heart stalled before he quickly ducked back down, pretending to be deeply invested in his book.  

The chime of the door signaled his departure, and Wooyoung exhaled slowly.

Something was off about that guy.

Not in a bad way, necessarily. But he wasn’t like the other people Wooyoung had seen around this town so far. He was too polished, too intense, too… familiar, somehow. Like his eyes saw right through Wooyoung, seeing everything he had been dragging around for as long as he could remember. Exposed.

He hated that the stranger piqued his curiosity. He didn’t want to be curious. Curious got you noticed. Curious got you in trouble—  

Wooyoung frowned at himself. It was all in his head, he knew that. But paranoia from everything that happened to him clouded his judgement all the time, keeping him suspicious of everyone. Seonghwa was probably just a normal guy, this was exhausting. 

“So, uh,” someone said suddenly right beside him, startling him. Wooyoung hadn’t even noticed that Yeosang had approached the nearby coffee table to collect his empty mug and muffin wrapper. “Enjoying the book?”  

Wooyoung blinked up at him, caught off guard. “Oh, yeah,” he said, holding it up for emphasis. “It’s, uh… really… helpful.”  

Helpful.

He glanced down at whatever he had been pretending to read, almost choking when he noticed that the cover was of two very much shirtless, and very much gay men. He had picked up an erotica without looking, of course.

What the fuck, Wooyoung? His face burned with embarrassment as he lowered the book. Helpful.

Yeosang quirked an eyebrow, amusement flickering across his awkward expression. “Good to know.” 

The barista returned to the counter, and Wooyoung groaned inwardly, slumping deeper into the couch. Of all the words he could have chosen, helpful was the one that had come out of his mouth when he was holding gay porn. Brilliant. Genius, even.  

He should’ve stayed in that fucking motel room.

He risked another glance toward the counter. Yeosang was already back to his task of organizing syrups and wiping down surfaces, completely unbothered—or at least, doing a good job of pretending to be. But Wooyoung still felt the burn of embarrassment prickling at his neck.  

He sighed, lifting the book back in front of his face, because it didn’t matter who saw him reading it at this point. The words on the page blurred as his thoughts spiraled. Wooyoung wasn’t sure why it mattered so much, impressing this stranger. It wasn’t like Yeosang cared. 

The plants near the corner table rustled faintly in awareness, their voices a low hum in his mind. Most of them were rambling about nothing important—complaints about uneven sunlight or too much water in their soil. One particularly chatty fern was really annoying him, trying to talk to him about the book when he was clearly trying to read it. 

It was hard to focus on the smut when he was both melting with embarrassment, and also starting to get restless again from being away from his safe space for so long. 

But something here at this café was calling to him so he didn’t leave just yet, a feeling tugging at the frayed edges of his nerves, and he wasn’t sure yet if that was a good thing.  

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wooyoung groaned as he tossed the TV remote down on the bed. He already recharged his crystals, already redrew the veiling sigils on his walls twice, and already tried to shake out free snacks from the vending machine in the hallway.

Wooyoung quickly needed something to do with his time, badly.  

Staring at the walls all day, watching shitty television, and spending all of his money at the café was quickly adding up to the most boring life ever.   At least in the places he lived in before, he always had something to be doing. Finding clothes, finding a place to sleep, finding a job, finding a bar. Blah, blah, blah, here he was doing nothing.

And he hated it. So he walked around until he found something to do that caught his eye.

“Can I help you?”

The bell above the animal shelter’s door gave a soft chime after Wooyoung pushed it open, stepping inside. He hadn’t even meant to come here—he was just wandering down the familiar street, avoiding the café the best he could, when a painted, wooden sign caught his eye. 

Utopia: Local Animal Rescue

The building was small, almost totally hidden between an insurance place and a hair salon, with peeling yellow paint and a window filled with faded paw print stickers. It honestly couldn’t be much bigger than the café, and he heard a few excited barks when he entered. 

Inside, the air smelled faintly of sawdust and hay, mixed with the distinct scent of animal. The space was cozy but cluttered, lined with stacks of blankets, bins of food, and a few handmade cat toys around on the floor.

Wooyoung looked down as a tubby, orange cat rubbed up against his jeans, purring loudly. He smiled down at it. 

His Magic always reacted around living things, but animals had a way of amplifying it. Every time he was reminded of his specific Gifts, he was suddenly a teenager again, eagerly preparing to choose a study in Magic that would determine the rest of his life. Or so he thought, at the time.

For Wooyoung, the decision wasn’t hard, like it had been for his older brother. He vividly remembers the day his mother found him playing with a rattlesnake in their yard at the age of five, causing her to almost faint as he explained that his 'new friend' was perfectly harmless. Or at eight years old, when he had a meltdown at the pet store, overwhelmed by the hamsters’ stories of their brief, tragic lives in captivity.  

So as a Vitrium, his path was unmistakably clear. On the morning of his eighteenth birthday, he eagerly declared his area of study as Fauna, the study of animals. Easy. 

Animals loved him, and he loved them back. Their emotions were just so pure and unfiltered—excitement, curiosity, contentment. All of it flowed toward him when he stepped into the shelter, and he let out a relieved sigh.

He shouldn’t be doing this, he knew this was going to get him attached to this place. But still, here he was.

A young man appeared from around a hallway in the back, a gray tabby in his arms wiggling away and plopping onto the ground dramatically. He was vaguely familiar, probably someone he’s seen around the town in passing, with an edgy style and a shaved mullet, who gave Wooyoung a tired smile.

“Adoption or drop-off?”

Wooyoung cleared his throat, suddenly nervous. “Uh, actually. I saw your sign outside. Do you, um… still need volunteers?”

The man raised a pierced eyebrow. “You wanna volunteer?”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung said, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. “I mean, I love animals, and I’ve got some free time on my hands.” Too much of it on his hands. “Thought maybe I could help out, or something?”

The man’s gaze sharpened as he studied him, and Wooyoung felt a flicker of panic. He probably looked weird—he wasn’t exactly radiating “trustworthy local.” Because he honestly wasn’t either of those things.

Well, this guy behind the counter didn’t look the part either, but still. 

“Do you have any experience working with animals?” he asked, digging through some papers in a desk drawer. 

“Yeah!” he said quickly, leaning on half-truths. “I mean, not professionally or anything, but I had several dogs growing up. And I’m really good with cats.”

The guy’s skepticism softened, though not entirely. “We are accepting volunteers, but you have to meet a minimum hours per month and it's unpaid, just so you know. If you’re logging the hours for work or whatever, I’ll have to be the one to sign off on them, and I don’t cut people slack.”

“That’s fine,” Wooyoung said, shaking his head. “I don’t need the hours for anything, I’m just looking for something to do…” He glanced at the cluttered shelves and half-finished piles of paperwork on the counter. A cute calico cat was curled up on top of one of the higher shelves, in between overflowing boxes. 

“Hm. Here,” the man said, handing Wooyoung a piece of paper for him to fill out. “It’s mostly me running this place, with a few other volunteers that come and go regularly. My name’s Kim Hongjoong, by the way.”

“Wooyoung,” he said, offering a hand. The other shook it quickly, before moving that same, friendly ginger cat off the desk when it jumped up curiously.

“So, Wooyoung, we usually have new volunteers start with the basics: cleaning kennels, bathing the dogs, and helping with paperwork for drop offs and adoptions if you’re good with people. Fun stuff like dog walking and feeding the kittens doesn’t come until you’ve been around for a while, and get used to how everything works. Sound doable?”

“Totally,” Wooyoung said, his confidence growing. He continued to scribble down his basic information. “I’ll help out however you need.”

Hongjoong smirked. “Careful what you offer. Puppies and kitties shit, and someone has to clean it.”

“I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty,” he shrugged, filling the form out, scribbling down some random address and emergency contact information. He slid the paper back over to Hongjoong, hoping the other wouldn’t look too closely at it.

“Alright.” He scanned the information, checking over it. “Let’s see… Lot’s of availability, huh?”

Wooyoung nodded. “Plenty of free time to fill. So please, fill it.”

“Why’s that?” Hongjoong questioned, highlighting a few spots on the application. 

“Uh. Just doing an online degree right now, you know,” he lied on the spot. “So not much else to do until classes are over.”

“Mhm,” Hongjoong replied, glancing at Wooyoung again. His gaze lingered. “Right.”

The orange cat was back at his feet and rubbed against his leg again, purring so loudly it was almost comical. Wooyoung crouched down, letting his hand hover just above its head before gently scratching between its ears. 

His Magic stirred, reaching out instinctively. The cat responded happily, arching into his touch as if they’d known each other for years. He could sense how excited he was about a new person, and also how pathetically he was asking for treats. 

“Cat person?” Hongjoong remarked, watching the interaction with an arched brow.  

Wooyoung glanced up, grinning despite himself. “Yeah, they usually like me. Animal person in general, actually. Guess I’ve just got that… energy or whatever.”  

It was more than that, of course, but he wasn’t about to explain the intricacies of his Gift and all the workings of Magic to a stranger. How could he even begin to describe the way he could feel the little sparks of life in every animal here, like tiny glowing embers? 

Hongjoong snorted, handing him a packet of information. “Yeah, okay. Show up tomorrow morning when the shelter opens, and I’ll show you the ropes. If you stick around, we’ll talk about setting a consistent schedule then. Don’t be late, or I’ll make you clean the rabbit hutch first thing.”  

“I’ll be here,” Wooyoung promised, slipping the papers with general shelter information under his arm.  

As he left, the orange cat trailing him to the door with a lazy purr, he felt a little bit better. For the first time since arriving in this town, he wasn’t just killing time and waiting to be found. He wasn’t just existing, he wasn’t even running or hiding.  

It was strategic, he would argue. Just like being in the café was. Lots of living energy from all the animals would cover up his Magic, and a little giving back to the community was the least he could do for this world after the problems he caused. It had nothing to do with any desperate attempts at clinging to a normal life, or wanting to be around other people.

That’s what he told himself. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wooyoung found that he actually really liked the work he was given at the shelter.

Okay, maybe he didn’t like cleaning litter boxes and hosing down dog kennels, but it was better than bashing his head through a motel wall. 

He felt like he was doing something good for once, helping take care of these animals. Though his guilt was still constantly drowning him, this helped a little. Like a rock to cling to as the waves slammed over him. 

Because no amount of volunteer work could right his wrongs, but this was a start.

It was the best routine he could come up with in his current situation. Wake up early, head to the shelter for a few hours. Leave in the afternoon and stop by the café. He hadn’t made much progress with the barista, but at least Yeosang started to look at him like he might be a familiar face now. Possibly. 

Then he would grab shitty fast food on the way back to the motel, lounge around, find some dumb movie to watch while dozing off, and wake up the next morning in a cold sweat from nightmares and guilt, ready to go at it again. 

It was better than it sounded. If only he was making any money while doing this, it would be perfect. 

But honestly, he at least felt like he had a sense of direction now, even if it was a little bit of a reach to consider volunteering at a shelter a purpose in life—and had a place where his Magic didn’t feel like a burden.

Maybe his Gifts made him enjoy it more than he should have, but he wasn’t that scared of using them while helping at the shelter for some reason. He knew he should be more careful, but something told him he would be just fine, that no one would find him there. The animals seemed to react to his Magic anyway, and it was helpful when they had the occasional unruly cat or shy dog. He just let his senses wander a tiny bit , and suddenly he knew exactly why he had been hissed at or why the dog was so nervous to leave its kennel. 

Plus, his boss Hongjoong was nice enough, if Wooyoung could call being told he’s a dumbass every day and being forced to clip the nails of the aggressive cats ‘nice’. 

Hongjoong never made Wooyoung do any more work than agreed upon, always helped out and never left him to do anything tedious alone, and sometimes even let Wooyoung do the fun stuff while he did the boring chores.

And once Hongjoong realized that Wooyoung wasn’t going anywhere or backing out, and consistently showed up to volunteer for two weeks, something in him started to soften. And Wooyoung was desperate for any social interactions, and was determined to get his boss to admit to enjoying his presence.

He would befriend Hongjoong somehow, no matter how cold the other pretended he was.

Wooyoung crouched over the kennel floor, staring down a gross, stubborn stain that seemed to mock him. In one hand, he held a wad of paper towels, in the other, a spray bottle that had been his weapon of choice for the past five minutes. He sighed dramatically, tilting his head like the stain might suddenly give up if he looked at it the right way.  

“This one’s too stubborn,” he grumbled, pointing at the offending spot as Hongjoong walked by, a bundle of mismatched blankets in his arms.  

Hongjoong didn’t even pause. “Use the scrub brush. Paper towels won’t do shit.”  

“Scrub brush?” Wooyoung picked up the frayed tool from the cleaning bucket and held it aloft like it was some ancient relic. Its bristles were bent at odd angles, and the plastic handle had teeth marks from a dog that had clearly tried to end its suffering. “You mean this thing? How does this even work? This thing’s been through war.”   

“It works,” Hongjoong replied without looking back. He crouched by the shelves, meticulously sorting the blankets into bins for the different kennels. 

Wooyoung squinted at the brush. “This thing’s been chewed on, stepped on, and run over by at least one car. Twice.” He held it out to the orange cat, Fred, who constantly shadowed him while he was here (because he knew Wooyoung would sneak him extra treats). The cat just sniffed it curiously. 

“It works,” Hongjoong repeated flatly.  

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” Wooyoung muttered. With a sigh, he dropped to his knees and began scrubbing with all the enthusiasm of someone who was deeply questioning his entire life. The stain, predictably, remained defiant. 

Stupid brush did not work.

After a few seconds, he glanced up at Hongjoong, who had moved on to inventory their bags of dog food. “You know, you could at least pretend to find me funny. I’m giving it my all, and I’ve never even heard you laugh once.”

“Because you’re not funny.”

“Hey!”

Hongjoong finally looked over, his expression as blank as ever, but there was the faintest flicker of amusement in his impish eyes. “I’m impressed by results, not humor.”  

“Wow.” Wooyoung stopped scrubbing to stare at him with mockingly wide eyes. “Deep.”  

“Shut up.”

“You know,” Wooyoung called after him, attacking the stain with renewed vigor. Bothering his boss was honestly one of the best perks about the job. “At least I make these boring chores fun!”   

Hongjoong, halfway through the doorway, glanced back with an arched brow. “No one asked for fun.” He paused, deadpan. “I asked for shit scoopers. And stain scrubbers.” He pointed at where the stain was finally starting to lift from all of Wooyoung’s effort.

Wooyoung glanced down and burst out a laugh, dropping the scrub brush for a moment and scaring Fred slightly. Hongjoong didn’t say anything else, already disappearing into the front room, but Wooyoung could hear the faintest snicker of laughter trailing behind him as well.  

A small smirk spread across his face. He liked it here, seriously. Even when picking up poop and cleaning the gunk out of dog wrinkles. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The motel room was dimly lit, the only light coming from a single candle burning on the nightstand. Wooyoung sat cross-legged on the scratchy carpet, his hoodie sleeves pushed up as he carefully arranged the items in front of him. A worn tarot deck he’s kept on him for years, and a few crystals for good luck rested in a neat semicircle. It wasn’t a lot, he wouldn’t get a super accurate reading, but it would do. 

He took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders back to shake off the lingering nerves. This wasn’t the first time he’d done this. Not by a long shot. 

But it was always harder when it was for Jongho.

Every so often, he got the urge to check in on his friend. He couldn’t risk a call, and texting was out of the question. If anyone found out where he was…

If they found out where he was…

No. He couldn’t think about that.

He grabbed the tarot deck, shuffling it slowly, his hands steady out of muscle memory. He closed his eyes, focusing on Jongho. Nothing would ever make Wooyoung forget him, how his voice sounded or any of his facial expressions, calm but firm. The way he always looked out for Wooyoung, even when it wasn’t his job to.

“Show me how he’s doing,” Wooyoung murmured to nobody under his breath, spreading a few of the cards out in a line before him. He hovered his hand over them, letting the faint hum of his Magic guide him to the right one.

The first card he touched was the Strength card.

A soft smile tugged at Wooyoung’s lips. That was so Jongho. Quietly strong, always enduring, always holding everything together even when no one else could.

It was a good sign.

The next card was The Ten of Wands. Wooyoung’s smile faltered. Burdens. Stress. Carrying too much on his shoulders.

“Of course,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. Hopefully it was because of something like college homework, and nothing to do with what happened four years ago. Wooyoung wished he knew more than just what he assumed Jongho was up to in life right now. 

He sighed and reached for the sodalite in front of him instead of listening to those stupid, vague pieces of paper. As far as powerful crystals go, this one was pretty close to rock bottom (pun intended). But it used to be Jongho’s, until Wooyoung borrowed it in middle school once and never gave it back. He meant to, really, but now it was the only thing bridging them. 

The weight of the crystal in his palm grounded him as he closed his eyes, focusing. Yeah, this technique took a lot of concentration and Magic, but the itch to check on his friend was stronger than his fear of staying well hidden. All of the symbols covering his walls would probably hide him anyway. Hopefully.

The hardest part was thinking about his friend. It hurt him so much to do so, and almost made Wooyoung quit and pack up, going back to pretending he was living a normal life so he wouldn’t have to face his problems. Assuming that Jongho was fine and calling it a night.

For a while, he felt nothing but the stupid rock in his hand. And his brain spun memory after memory up of his friend, feeding into his loneliness and homesickness. 

But then, after crossing the barrier of pain and thinking about the happy memories he once shared with his friend, he felt it. 

A tug on the crystal, like it was connecting to something. Someone. 

Wooyoung’s eyes opened as he let out a shaky breath. He honed his focus on his palm, using his Gifts to trace the feeling to the source. 

Life. He felt it. It was overall a positive feeling, but bordering on neutral. But nothing upsetting tugged at him. 

A long sigh escaped his mouth. Jongho was fine, in the living sense. And seemingly okay.

Reaching out a little further, he whispered a few more words, sending a quiet pulse of Magic through the rock. A simple charm, meant to nudge a little luck and protection Jongho’s way. It wasn’t much because he was shit at charms and the distance between them was pretty far, but it was all Wooyoung could do from here without giving away his hiding spot.

A message to his friend that he was also alive and doing well. As well as he could, at least. 

He set the rock down and sat back, letting his worry settle back over him. He wanted to do more, to be there for Jongho like Jongho had always been there for him. But going back wasn’t an option. Not ever.

They would kill him if he went back, no questions asked. 

Wooyoung pretended to not notice the tear running down his face as he blew out the candle. The room plunged into darkness, but the faint tingling of his Magic lingered, that he hadn’t let go completely.

And he knew it would cost him one day. But he kept running.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Sometimes the volunteer work wasn’t very fun. 

Occasionally, it was really, really sad, when he had to part with animals he grew fond of over the past month, or he realized just how many of these poor pets didn’t have the homes they deserved. And he could feel how happy the animals were regardless of that, so loving towards him and Hongjoong. 

Because these guys considered them their family. 

They both had a really rough day when one of the oldest dogs in the shelter passed, without a proper owner as she left. Hongjoong let him go home early that day, because Wooyoung was so distraught he couldn’t do much of anything. It hurt him physically, so badly that he started to curse his Gifts when all he could feel was her absence. 

He cursed the Magic loudly that night in his motel room, for everything wrong it had done in his life. For Jongho’s dad, for the old dog, for existing when he wished it didn’t.

But overall, it was really nice being there. 

Much more of his time went to the shelter than it probably should’ve. He needed a job, an income or something. But leaving all this work to Hongjoong felt horrible. 

Because he realized his boss had totally lied about the other ‘occasional’ volunteers. Wooyoung found the files for current volunteers hiding in some filing cabinets when he was organizing the office one day, and almost screamed at his boss when there were only forms for two people. 

Besides him and the one teenage girl on the occasional weekend shift, it really was just Hongjoong doing everything. The books, the inventory, the cleaning, the paperwork. All of it.

Hongjoong cared so deeply about these animals, working every single shift, and Wooyoung couldn’t just stand by and let him run himself into the ground alone.  So, he started staying a little later on occasion. Sure, it cut into his café time, but the animals needed him. The coffee didn’t. 

After hours of reorganizing the back, sorting food rations out early so Hongjoong wouldn’t have to, and helping with actual adoptions for once, the shelter finally grew quiet as he turned around the open sign. Wooyoung slumped onto a chair in the break room, wiping metaphorical sweat from his brow. He should’ve left a long while ago, but just couldn’t. 

There was so much to do every day, he felt bad leaving it all to one person. One person he begrudgingly cared about.

“You know you’re only supposed to help in the mornings, right?” Hongjoong asked as he entered, carrying two cups of instant coffee. “It’s the evening, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Where else would I go?” Wooyoung said, accepting the coffee gratefully.  

Hongjoong sat down beside him, uncharacteristically quiet for once. 

“Listen, you’re a huge help, but I don’t want you overworking yourself. You’re not even getting paid for this,” his boss said, without a trace of malice or annoyance for once. “Don’t feel like you have to stick around once your hours are met.”

“I don’t mind it,” Wooyoung defended quickly. The coffee was not even close to as good as Golden Hour’s, but it was waking him up so he was grateful. “I have the time and energy to spare. And you shouldn’t have to do all of this yourself.”

Hongjoong sighed, looking away. Most of the animals had settled down now that the sun was setting and their bellies were full. It was peaceful, with only the few stray noises of a bell jingling as a critter moved, or the occasional chirp from one of the parakeets they took in earlier that week. 

“I appreciate your help a lot,” Hongjoong admitted finally. “I’m glad someone else really cares about these animals as much as I do.”

“Me too.” Wooyoung smiled. “You’re not as scary as you pretend to be,” he said after a moment. 

Hongjoong glanced at him. “And you’re not as carefree as you like to act.”  

Wooyoung blinked, startled by the observation.  

“I get it,” Hongjoong continued, swirling his coffee. “Life’s a lot sometimes. You deal with it how you can. I guess you deal with it by spending all your free time cleaning up dog kennels. I’m not sure what you’re trying to escape, but I am glad that you’re here.”

Wooyoung tilted his head, studying him. For the first time, there was no sarcasm in his reply. And he was dead on with his assessment. 

“Yeah, I suppose so. I guess we’re not so different, huh?”

Hongjoong’s lips twitched. “Don’t push it.”  

Wooyoung laughed, the sound filling the small space. He really liked Hongjoong, even at his worst. It almost helped him forget why he was even here in the first place. 

What is he going to do when he inevitably lets himself get attached? What will happen when he lets these people and these animals and this place into his life, and refuses to let them leave? 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Unfortunately, volunteering didn’t pay his motel stay, or fund his café (blond barista) addictions. One had to go, the coffee or the bed.

He only started to feel that same guilt creep back in when he opened his slowly shrinking wallet, finding it looking a little too sparse, and decided to solve his issues by wiping the poor motel clerk’s memory, so he wouldn’t question why Wooyoung’s been staying for a month now without any more payments. 

He just needed a little more time to find some cash, that was all. He would pay them back for the room. This was fine for the meantime.

Wooyoung carried a heavy bag of dog food he just stepped out to buy toward the storage area, the weight making him stagger slightly. Hongjoong passed him, carrying a stack of full food bowls like they weighed nothing.

“Show-off,” Wooyoung muttered, earning a side-eye from Hongjoong.  

“Just more efficient than you,” Hongjoong replied, setting the bowls on the counter. A few cats came running over, meowing at his feet for feeding time. “Careful, you’re going to drop it.”

“What? No, I’m no—” Wooyoung shot back before he bumped right into the corner of the shelf, causing the bag to slip out of his grasp with a solid thud on the concrete floor. Thankfully, those kibble bags were woven out of titanium or something, so it didn’t bust open everywhere. 

He dusted off his hands dramatically and leaned against the wall casually, like he meant to do that. Hongjoong just rolled his eyes and gently pushed Fred off the counter where he was trying to already eat the food.

“So, Hongjoong, do you have a favorite animal here?” he asked curiously, trying to get to know the other better. And try to annoy him.

“No,” Hongjoong said flatly, setting the bowls around the lobby in different spots for the cats. 

“Oh, come on,” Wooyoung said, dragging out the words. “Not even one? You’re Fred’s favorite. He told me himself.”  

Hongjoong didn’t look up. “They’re all great. Even Fred.”  

Wooyoung snorted. “You are the human equivalent of a rock sometimes.”  

Hongjoong froze for a second, then shook his head, hiding what might have been a tiny smirk. “You exhaust me. I’m not sure why I even let you stick around.”  

“And yet, here I am, making your life easier.”  

Hongjoong didn’t reply, but he disappeared into the back once all of the cats were crunching on kibble, starting on the rations for the dogs. 

The bell suddenly chimed, and Wooyoung glanced over eagerly. 

As expected of a small town, not many people came by. There was this one middle-aged guy who kept visiting the cats to possibly adopt one (he seemed really anxious about bringing the wrong cat home during his midlife crisis), but other than that, the shelter was kind of slow. 

But what they did learn was that Wooyoung was much more comfortable dealing with clients than Hongjoong. His boss happily let him deal with any who came in, running to the back instead to hide from any social interaction.

“Welcome in!” he cheered, as a taller man stepped inside. 

He blinked when he noticed that it was the rich looking guy, Seonghwa or whatever his name was. Wooyoung saw him a few other times at the café while he was there trying to flirt with a barista, but made sure to keep a far distance from him. 

Far from his intense eyes. And yet here he was, up close and personal. 

“Ah, you must be the new volunteer I’ve heard all about,” Seonghwa smiled at him. 

Just like before, he was in fitted pants and a sweater that felt too nice to be in the grimy shelter. A little too put together, in Wooyoung’s opinion. He held two hot drinks and a paper bag in his hands. 

“Yeah, I’m Wooyoung,” he introduced himself, curious about how Seonghwa heard about him. Isn’t there some saying about everyone knowing everyone’s business in a small town? “Hopefully good things, right?”

His large eyes twinkled, and he smiled softly, but didn’t answer. Great. 

“Is Joongie here?” he asked instead. “Or is he out right now?”

“Joongie…?” Wooyoung raised an eyebrow, smirking at the cutesy nickname for his cold, soulless boss. 

“Back here!” Hongjoong called from the hallway, poking his head out. 

Seonghwa’s face lit up at the sight of the other, and stepped over to greet him quickly. Maybe Wooyoung shouldn’t let a kind of stranger just walk about the shelter so casually, but it felt like Seonghwa was much more familiar in this place than he was. 

He wondered how this guy knew his cranky boss. Maybe he was a debt collector and Hongjoong owed him a ton of mon—

“Hey babe,” Hongjoong smiled, actually smiled, and his eyes sparkled as he pressed a soft kiss to Seonghwa’s cheek. 

Wooyoung choked, shocked at the sudden change in demeanor and the fact that Hongjoong could be anything besides a bitch. 

Hongjoong glared at him when he noticed his gawking. “What?”

“Sorry,” Wooyoung cleared his throat, moving to sit down at the front desk. “But you two… you’re dating him?” he asked Seonghwa, confused. 

To say they seemed like they existed in extremely different worlds was an understatement. Polished, preppy Seonghwa and alternative dirtbag (and chronic asshole) Hongjoong. Right. 

“This is Seonghwa,” Hongjoong glared at his employee as he introduced them. “My fiancé.” 

“Oh,” Wooyoung’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh. Nice to meet you. I can’t believe that Joongie never mentioned you before.”

“Is that so?” Seonghwa teased his partner. “Hiding me from your coworkers now?”

Hongjoong’s glare turned even icier. Wooyoung preened internally at getting under his skin so easily.  

“No, I just don’t like talking to him.” Hongjoong lied, because he was constantly gossiping with Wooyoung, as he turned back to his boyfriend, who handed him a to-go coffee cup from Golden Hour and the paper bag. Clearly, he was done dealing with Wooyoung. 

Wooyoung snickered but gave them some privacy (as best as he could in the small building) and went through updating the animal’s bio sheets at the front desk.

But yeah, he was still totally eavesdropping. 

“How’s work?” Hongjoong asked his fiancé softly, much softer than Wooyoung had ever heard him before. It was really hurting his tough guy persona. 

Seonghwa frowned. “Busy as always. I’ll probably have to stay late again tonight, but that should hopefully leave me free through the weekend.”

Hongjoong crossed his arms. “You know you don’t have to bring me coffee all the time if you are busy with other things. I’d rather you come home at a decent time instead.”

“But I like seeing you during the day, and bringing you breakfast,” Seonghwa pouted. He rubbed Hongjoong’s arm soothingly. “And I haven’t been able to for weeks because of those old hags and their excessive orders.”

Hongjoong snorted. “Careful talking about them like that.”

Seonghwa rolled his eyes. “They deserve it after what they’re putting me through.”

“True,” Hongjoong smiled again, sadly this time. “I’ll have dinner ready for you when you get home tonight then. Don’t work too late.”

“You’re the best,” Seonghwa smiled and left a quick peck on his lips. He smoothed out a few caramel colored hairs on Hongjoong’s head gently. The taller started walking to the front of the shelter again, passing by the front desk slowly. 

“It was nice meeting you, Wooyoung,” Seonghwa called out, nodding slightly at him. 

“Yeah, you too,” he replied, but he wasn’t really sure if that was the truth. He seemed nicer than his fiancé at least. 

But his eyes were still making him uncomfortable. He still felt like an open book around him, which was impossible, because Wooyoung hadn’t said anything but his name.

“Bye babe,” Seonghwa called to the other with a wink and the bell above the door chimed as he stepped back outside. 

Wooyoung quickly glanced back down at the paper in front of him for a new tabby they had taken in yesterday, already expecting what was coming, when a hand softly smacked the back of his head. 

“Hey!” he whined dramatically, rubbing the spot even though it didn’t hurt at all. “What was that for?”

“Trying to get me in trouble with him,” Hongjoong stared down at him. His face was back to its mean, schooled expression. “And for eavesdropping.”

“I was not!”

“Liar.”

Wooyoung huffed and pushed away from the desk to spin around in the chair. 

“Fine, I was kind of eavesdropping,” Wooyoung admitted, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “But can you blame me? This place is tiny, and I’m traumatized now. From seeing you act like that.”

“Like what?”

“Nice! And loving and shit!”

Hongjoong rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “Don’t you have something productive to be doing?”

“I am being productive, you interrupted me. The cats don’t update their bios themselves, you know. Someone has to make them sound adoptable,” Wooyoung retorted, gesturing dramatically at his stack of papers, which wasn’t very big at all. “I’m doing a lot over here, Joongie. While you sit and flirt with your fiancé.”

“Don’t call me Joongie,” Hongjoong said sharply, but there was a faint pink tinge to his ears. “And don’t worry about how I act around Hwa. That’s none of your business.”

Wooyoung smirked. “Aw, someone’s blushing. Did I hit a nerve?”

“No,” Hongjoong deadpanned. “But you’re getting close to hitting termination.”

“Noted,” Wooyoung said with a grin, spinning his chair again. “But honestly, Joongie—sorry, Hongjoong—he seems way too nice for you. A little intense, though. Is he, like, purposely staring into my soul, or is that just how he always looks?”

Hongjoong snorted. “Watch what you say about my partner, Youngie. But yeah, that’s just Seonghwa. He doesn’t mean anything by it.”

“Right,” Wooyoung said, nodding sagely. It did nothing to soothe his nerves though. “Got it, Joongie.”

Hongjoong pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why do I let you stay here?”

“Because you’d miss me,” Wooyoung said with a grin. “And because I make your life easier, remember?”

“Debatable,” Hongjoong muttered, walking off toward the back again. “I’m gonna go walk the big dogs. Try not to scare off any potential adopters while I’m gone.”

Wooyoung stared after him, spinning his chair one last time before settling in to work on the bios again. He glanced over the stack of papers for the cats, and just like that, he buried himself in his work, all the while waiting to do this all over again tomorrow.

He wondered when in his life he actually started looking forward to the next day. 

Chapter Text

Wooyoung’s life was starting to get boring, almost suspiciously so. 

But boring in the best way. The occasional nerves still hit him randomly and his nightmares didn’t stop, but overall, he felt peaceful and safe… It was a really weird feeling. 

Even when he thought he was living the best life he possibly could in the city, it didn’t feel this calm.

The bell above the shelter door chimed, and Wooyoung didn’t even have to look up because he knew exactly who was strolling in at the exact same time as they did yesterday, and the day before. And the day before that.

“Seonghwa!” Wooyoung grinned. He peered eagerly at the bag in the other’s hands. “What’d you bring me today?”

“Nothing for you,” Seonghwa said pointedly, though the amused glint in his eyes gave him away. “This is for my fiancé. I already spoiled you enough with the homemade cookies I brought last week.”

“Yeah, but I ate them all immediately,” Wooyoung said, pouting and resting his chin on the desk. “So I’m just gonna have to assume you hate me if you don’t bring me more.”

“Good,” Hongjoong’s voice cut in from the back as he appeared, wiping his hands on a towel. “Don’t feed him or he’ll keep coming back. He’s been insufferable all morning.”

Seonghwa grinned, holding out a plastic sack for his partner. “Morning, babe. You forgot your lunch.”

Hongjoong took it with a soft smile, the warmth in his expression and hand around Seonghwa’s waist so out of character, but at least familiar now that Wooyoung had been working here long enough, so much so that he couldn’t help but feel the need to comment.

“You know, I like it better when you pretend to hate everyone, Joongie.”

“Don’t call me Joongie,” Hongjoong sighed, though the bite in his tone was half-hearted at best. Seonghwa giggled at them. “And I don’t hate everyone. Mostly just you.”

“See?” Wooyoung smirked, leaning back in the chair. Fred jumped on his lap immediately, purring away. “You’re a really bad liar. I can tell you secretly like me.”

“He’s right,” Seonghwa teased, bumping his fiance with his hip. “Are you warming up to him?”

Hongjoong rolled his eyes, turning to Seonghwa with a suspicious glare.

“I don’t know how I feel about you two getting along now,” Hongjoong muttered, trying to escape but Seonghwa just pulled him back into his embrace. Hongjoong went easily. 

Wooyoung grinned, opening his mouth to smart off again, but his boss beat him to it. 

“Get back to work. I need the books done before you leave,” Hongjoong demanded, turning to his husband without another word for him. Wooyoung huffed and picked up his pen to pretend to write some boring numbers down.

They all knew he was listening to their conversation anyway.

“Any new orders today?” Hongjoong asked softly. He opened his lunch sack curiously and groaned, tossing over a bag of homemade brownies labeled ‘WY’ reluctantly. 

Wooyoung grinned evilly as it landed on the papers in front of him, because he just knew Seonghwa couldn’t help but bring him something. He pushed Fred away when he got a little too curious about the chocolate snack.

“Just one,” Seonghwa confirmed, but not as exasperated as usual. Maybe his business was finally getting a well needed break. “But I need to mail out some packages today though, and run by Yeosang’s to restock a few crystals before getting back to work.”

“Babe,” he started cautiously. “I really love when you visit me at work, it’s the highlight of my day, but—”

“Joongie.”

“—It’s really okay if you need to work instead—”

“A twenty minute break to bring you your lunch or a coffee doesn’t stop me from having too many orders,” Seonghwa defended himself immediately. “It’s like the only break I get, so let me enjoy it.”

“I know we’ve talked about this before,” Hongjoong started, voice dropping low. “But maybe it’s time you consider pulling on some help—”

“You’re right, we have talked about this before,” Seonghwa whispered, snapping. His thick brows furrowed. “Let’s keep it that way.”

“Seonghwa, I’m just saying—”  

Wooyoung tilted his head thoughtfully, tapping his pen against the desk. 

Honestly, he was tired of this fucking argument they had at least twice a week. Why couldn’t they save it for home?

No, they just had to do it in front of him and all the animals. Fred ducked away into the back where the cat kennels were, and Wooyoung didn’t blame him.

They bickered like an old married couple, and they weren’t even married yet. 

Personally, he was ready to do anything to get them to shut up.

“I could drop off your mail and grab the crystals for you, Hwa,” Wooyoung cut in, flicking his pen in annoyance against the papers. “I was gonna swing by the café after I finished up my work here anyway.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Seonghwa said through gritted teeth, though his smile was genuinely a little touched. “Hongjoong’s just being difficult.”

“I am not. You’re the one being—”

“No, really, I don’t mind,” Wooyoung spoke over them, shrugging. It would give him something to do after leaving the shelter for once. It was better than hiding in his motel room, and if it got them to shut up, he would do anything. “Might as well not have both of us make a trip there. Especially if you have a lot of work to do.”

Seonghwa chewed on his lip in thought. 

“Really, you would?” His intense eyes sparkled as Wooyoung nodded. “That would actually be a huge help… I bet I could knock out at least one more order…”

“Or not have to stay late.” Hongjoong frowned. 

“Sure,” Seonghwa waved him off. “I would really appreciate that Wooyoung, thank you.”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung said. “I can go by the post office on the way to the café, and drop them off… whenever you are. Or here with Joongie, I guess.”

“That would be perfect!” Seonghwa smiled, grabbing a sticky note and pen off the desk. “I can write down all of the crystals I need, and don’t worry if you don’t know what they look like, most are labeled or Sangie can help you, if he’s not busy…”

“Sounds easy enough,” Wooyoung nodded, watching him write down everything. He was positive he could get them all in like half a minute and without any help.

“Perfect,” he handed him the note, and pulled a few small packages out of his tote bag to give Wooyoung. “I just need some really basic ones, and Yeosang’s are the best. You can bring them to the address I also wrote down to drop them off with me. Tell him to put it on my tab. Thank you so much, Youngie.”

Wooyoung smiled at him. So not only was he able to get these two to stop fighting for once, but he also got to see Yeosang again? Score. 

“Consider it done.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Lapis, garnet, bloodstone, opal…” he read off the list. At least this was probably the most basic list of crystals he’s ever seen.

Dropping the packages off at the post office only took a few minutes and didn’t take any spare brain power, which was good, because this is what he was looking forward to the most. 

Wooyoung pushed open the door to Golden Hour Café, the familiar aroma of coffee and baked goods filling his nose. But this time, instead of heading for his usual caffeine fix or faerie smut, he glanced toward the corner of the café where a small shelf displayed an assortment of crystals, each one neatly labeled for the corresponding bowl.

He never thought he would be here to actually buy a crystal (because he still considers the ones he took ‘borrowing’) but life worked in mysterious ways or whatever. Actually, Seonghwa worked in mysterious ways.

He strolled over, holding the list up. It looked like Yeosang had organized the crystals on the shelves by color, rather than alphabetically, which was kind of fun. Half of the space was filled with plants, and Wooyoung wondered if this place would one day drown in leafy vines. It felt like there were more and more every time he came in. 

“Need help finding something?”

The soft voice startled him, and Wooyoung looked behind him to see Yeosang standing behind the counter, his apron dusted with flour and his blond hair falling slightly into his eyes. A tiny speck of batter sat on his cheek, unnoticed.

How did he always look so good? Even covered in baking guts?

“Oh! Uh, yeah,” Wooyoung said, clearing his throat as he held up the note. “I mean no, not really. Wait,” he thought about it for a second, and even though he already spotted exactly what he needed… 

“I could use some help, actually, hah. I’m supposed to pick up these crystals for Seonghwa…”

Yeosang’s eyebrow raised. “He sent someone to grab them? For him?”

Wooyoung nodded. “I offered, since I was on my way here anyway. This is what he needs,” he held out the sticky note. “I don’t really know what any of these names mean, hah. It’s confusing uh. Yeah.”

Yeosang stepped out from around the counter, his lips twitching into a shy smile as his eyes darted to the list. He delicately plucked the list out of Wooyoung’s hand.

“Hmm. I have everything he needs in stock, I always have these around. I can grab them for you. He’s really particular.”

“Oh, I mean, I can try to help,” Wooyoung said with an awkward laugh, stuffing his hands in his hoodie pocket. “Or like, learn. If you want to teach me, I mean you don’t have to, I just… There’s so many you have, and I’m not sure I’d pick the right ones. You probably know better than I do. Hah.”

Gods, someone take him out of his misery. Wooyoung swears he isn’t this much of a loser talking to anyone else. 

Yeosang gave him a curious look, tilting his head slightly. “You’re not into crystals?”

“Me? Nah,” Wooyoung lied easily, even as he thought about the collection he had at the motel and the bracelet on his wrist. He casually twisted his arm to rest behind him, hiding it. 

It was kind of true, at least, he didn’t care about them, they were just a necessity in his life thanks to his overly superstitious mom. They were just rocks, why would he care about them when his whole thing was living creatures? (Don’t tell his mother he said that.)

“I mean, they’re nice to look at, but that’s about all I know.”

Yeosang nodded, though the corners of his lips twitched in an almost-smile again. What would Wooyoung do when he finally got the full thing?

“Seonghwa usually picks them out himself because he’s very specific. Did he… tell you what he uses them for?”

Wooyoung shook his head. “I just know he makes something with them, or whatever.”

“Ah, yeah. He hand makes jewelry,” Yeosang’s eyes skimmed over the shelf. “So anything with a gemstone, he usually gets from me.”

“Oh,” Wooyoung thought. “He doesn’t like… order them wholesale or something?”

The barista shook his head. “Like I said, he’s really particular.”

“Oh,” was all Wooyoung could reply. Maybe that’s why Seonghwa couldn’t afford another employee. Or didn’t want to hire one. “Sounds like him.”

Yeosang’s snorted, his fingers brushing over the display shelf. “Yeah, he’s really talented though, so it makes up for it. He likes to match the stones to people’s personalities or what he thinks they need most.”

Wooyoung couldn’t help but smile a little at that. It was kind of cute of Seonghwa, he had to admit. If only Seonghwa knew what someone could actually do with a crystal if it was enchanted properly before wearing it. 

Wooyoung would offer to do that to his jewelry, except he’s shit at charms and kind of not supposed to tell anyone he’s a witch, so.

Yeosang pulled out a deep blue stone from the shelf. “This is lapis lazuli. It’s good for self-expression and creativity.”

He held the stone up, and Wooyoung leaned in slightly, pretending to inspect it even though he could identify it with a single glance a hundred yards away. Blue and rocky. Exciting.

“Hmm. Pretty.”

Yeosang placed the lapis into a small velvet pouch before moving on. “Garnet for energy and passion. Bloodstone for courage. And opal…” He picked up the iridescent stone and held it up to the light, where it shimmered faintly. “Opal’s for balance and inspiration. Seonghwa’s favorite pieces are always opals.”

Wooyoung nodded. “Maybe I should start carrying one of those around… Do they really work?”

He already knew the answer, logically. No crystal would do shit without direct intention or enchantment, but he was curious what the blond’s answer would be, and curiosity always got the best of him. 

Did he really take all of this ‘hippie’ stuff he sold seriously? Or was it just for the profits?

“Depends on what you want to believe in.” Yeosang glanced at him, his lips twitching into a shy smile again. Wooyoung’s heart beat faster at the sight of it. 

“I like to think they do,” he continued. “But it doesn’t hurt to trust them, if it helps guide you. I could even… help you pick out one if you wanted. For yourself. If you want. On the house.”

The offer caught Wooyoung off guard, and for a moment, he forgot how to respond. “Oh, yeah. That’d be cool. I mean, whenever you’re not too busy with… café stuff or whatever.”

Yeosang shook his head, gently tying the pouch shut and handing it to Wooyoung. “I don’t mind. Crystals are more of a fun, side project here anyway. Seonghwa makes me look like I’m running a shop for just him half the time.”

Wooyoung laughed, their fingers brushing briefly as he took the pouch. He struggled to not let his brain go into overdrive at how long of a conversation they were having. 

Maybe he could offer to do favors for Seonghwa more often. 

“Well, thank you for helping me. I would’ve been so lost. Seonghwa wasn’t kidding about you being really good at this stuff.”

Yeosang’s cheeks tinted pink, and he tucked his hands into his apron. “Let me know if you need anything else—or, you know, if you’re curious about any for yourself.”

Wooyoung nodded, trying to not look too eager. “I might take you up on that.” He definitely would be. 

Yeosang smiled to himself as he guided them to the counter.

“I’m guessing he told you to put it on his tab?” he asked. Wooyoung nodded, and watched as he wrote down what he had picked up onto an already very long list. 

The blond quickly moved behind the pastry display, grabbing a strawberry cake pop and popping it in a paper bag before handing it to Wooyoung. He hesitated, looking down at the gift. 

“For you… Um, I don’t think I ever caught your name…?”

“Oh. It's Wooyoung,” he smiled. 

“Ah. I’m Yeosang,” he glanced down at his nametag. “Uh. Obviously. See you around, Wooyoung,” Yeosang said, tucking a strand of blond hair behind his ear. Wooyoung wished he could do it for him.

“Yeah, see you around,” Wooyoung replied instead, trying to keep his voice steady even though his mind was short-circuiting, stepping out of the café even though his whole being wanted to stay there. 

He caught himself smiling down at the pastry bag in his hand a little too giddily. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Youngie!” Seonghwa chirped excitedly, like he did every time that Wooyoung stepped into Silver Light Jewelers. 

Wooyoung had found out that Seonghwa worked in a lovely, little shop downtown (where apparently everything in the town existed, he started to realize), and handmade each order from his workshop there, while it also operated as a store front. 

His workshop area was the most organized mess he’d ever seen. His desk was littered with jars of different jewelry making parts, with a whole shelf of different gems and rocks and whatever else above it. Some already had small chunks missing from where he used them to make different pieces of jewelry. Boxes stacked up next to the chair he sat in to work, each one an order waiting to be filled. 

Honestly, it was a little confusing to Wooyoung. Seonghwa always seemed so overly busy, but when he started stopping by the jewelry store every day… It didn’t seem like he had that much to do. 

Sure, hand making jewelry was probably incredibly tedious, but it didn’t seem like he had an insane amount of orders at one time, and the front of the store was always perfectly stocked. Apparently, a lot of his work was making engagement rings and heirloom pieces for people in the town. 

But whatever, Wooyoung really didn’t know the ins and outs of running a business. All that mattered was that this was a new part of his routine, and was perfect. 

Because he was essentially Seonghwa’s errand boy now. 

Whenever Seonghwa needed anything from Golden Hour (or just wanted a coffee), he would call up Hongjoong and see if Wooyoung wouldn’t mind picking it up for him after volunteering. 

And every single time, he agreed. 

His work at the shelter was short and early, so he always had the rest of the day to himself after it. It didn’t hurt to help out, and he found out he really liked hanging out with the older. Even more than his cranky boss. 

Oftentimes he would stick around the jewelry shop and keep Seonghwa company since he had nothing better to do, unless the weather was nice and then he would sit at the park and watch the ducks instead, so he didn’t seem too clingy. 

Or like he essentially didn’t have a life. 

Because Seonghwa was the best person to gossip with, so he never wanted to leave. Like, why did Wooyoung suddenly care so much about the old lady running the antique shop who was sleeping with the mechanic down the road? He wasn’t sure, but the older always had something to tell him, and he ate it up.

“Here you go,” Wooyoung smiled as he set down Seonghwa’s drink on the counter. Jewelry making supplies were scattered everywhere, and Seonghwa was wearing those dorky glasses that were apparently magnifying glasses, so he could see his projects real up close. 

“Mmm, perfect,” Seonghwa smiled as he took them off his face and inhaled the smell of pumpkin-spiced coffee. Now that fall was in full swing, he learned that the older was obsessed with festive flavors. Every day, Wooyoung was bringing him some pumpkin-spiced something. “You’re the best.”

“I know,” Wooyoung joked as he plopped down on the small couch next to him. He basically claimed it as his personal spot now, sitting there to talk while Seonghwa polished rocks or whatever he did all day. He took a sip of his own drink, thanks to the older, who insisted on buying his drink as well for helping out with his errands.

Seonghwa hummed as he tasted the coffee, and sighed as he slipped his glasses back on. Wooyoung knew that meant he was still in the zone, and focusing on his art instead of chatting today. 

He pulled out a book, one that Yeosang had lent him the last time he was in the café, something that was both steamy and gay. It seemed like they had similar taste in novels, and he almost died when Yeosang, face also bright red, stuttered through recommended a gay, poly, erotica to him. Wooyoung was never going to escape that one slip up it seemed, but it was worth it. 

Reading while relaxing in the presence of his friend was more fun than he originally thought it would be. The soft noises of Seonghwa working became ambient as he lost himself in the words on the pages. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he had so much… free time. 

It felt like forever passed before a groan startled him. When he glanced up, Seonghwa was cracking his back and rubbing a hand over where his glasses sat on his nose.

”Gods, I love what I do, I swear,” he started, “but engagement rings take years off my life.”

Wooyoung giggled. “Yeah, well, they are kind of important pieces of jewelry.”

The older rolled his eyes. “I know that. Still. My back is killing me.”

”C’mere. I’ll give you a massage,” he grinned obnoxiously. 

”Absolutely not.” 

Seonghwa shuffled around for a bit, putting everything away. The ring he had been working on was the most stunning thing he had seen in his life. Gold leaves wrapped around a shiny diamond in the center, holding it in places. Wooyoung really was in awe of the jewelry he was just able to make like that.

“So” Seonghwa eventually asked as he leaned against the sleek, black chair he was sitting in. He set down his polishing tool and slipped off his glasses. “You know, we always hang out, but I feel like I don’t really know much about you.”

Wooyoung froze. He wasn’t really expecting that. He pushed the book away from his face, raising an eyebrow at the other.

What a sudden question. His heart stuttered a little.

“Do you want to?”

“Of course I do!” the other scoffed. “I feel like I see you more than most people in my life, but I don’t even know your last name. All I know is that you like coffee and smut.” He pointed at the book and Wooyoung quickly slipped it behind him. 

He chewed on his lip nervously. “It’s Jung… What do you want to know about me?”

“Hmm, anything you want me to know about you. I like listening.”

“Ah well, there’s nothing really that interesting to talk about. I’m from a small town way far from here,” he started spinning his web of lies, trying to still hold as much truth in his conversation as he could. It was the same backstory he gave everyone else in his past. Seonghwa listened with wide eyes, sipping his drink. “I ended up here recently, and I’m taking some time here to… regather, before moving on.”

“Oh,” Seonghwa studied him. “So you’re not staying here for long?”

“Uh,” his heart rate picked up. Gods, he wanted to so badly. But no, he couldn’t let anyone get their hopes up about him. “Probably not.”

“I don’t blame you,” the other sighed. “This place isn’t all that exciting. What brought you here anyway?” 

Wooyoung paused. Oh nothing, just the Coven on my back hunting me down for my inevitable execution and the fact that this was the furthest stop I could afford on the bus. 

“I needed to be far from home…” he replied honestly. “Very far.”

“Family troubles?”

“Yeah,” he snorted. “You could say that.”

Seonghwa nodded. “I won’t press. I’m from here, and so is the rest of my family. And my family’s family. Super boring. My father taught me his trade, and here I am. What do you do for work?”

Wooyoung paused. “Oh uh. I’m… in college right now. Online.”

“Ahhh, gotcha.”

“That’s kind of why I’m here. To ‘discover myself’ or whatever. And take a break from everything else.”

“Well, this is the place to do it,” Seonghwa shrugged, standing up to pop his back. He walked over to his tote bag, and dug around for a minute before turning back to him. 

He held an envelope out to Wooyoung. 

“What’s this?” he frowned, taking it. He sat up and slowly opened it, nearly dropping it when inside was money. Paper money, real cash.  And plenty of it.

“Huh?” he gasped. 

“It's for helping me out all the time,” Seonghwa smiled. 

“I don’t—huh?” he glanced up at him. There was probably enough in here to fund his café addiction for over a month. Or pay his motel stay, he belatedly thought. Or buy new shoes. “You don’t have to pay me, they’re just favors.”

He tried handing back the envelope with money he desperately needed, but Seonghwa didn’t move. 

“Youngie, you’ve helped me out almost every single day for a whole month. And because of that, I’ve been able to even get ahead of my orders, and get home every night at a reasonable time,” he sat down next to him on the couch, pushing the envelope back into his hands. “Please, let me thank you and give you the payment you deserve.”

Wooyoung blinked at him. “Are… are you sure?” 

“Take the money,” he sighed, patting Wooyoung’s leg. “I won’t take it back, and neither will Hongjoong.”

Slowly, and a little guiltily, his face spread into a smile. This solved all of his problems for at least another two weeks. He swore he didn’t do this to get paid, but it did feel nice to have a little more financial stability. He could stay a little longer. 

“Thank you,” he whispered because he was afraid his voice would crack. It would be mortifying if he cried over this. “So much.”

“Gah,” Seonghwa rolled his eyes. “You’re so cute sometimes, I see why Joongie has a soft spot for you.” He stood up and ruffled Wooyoung’s hair like a little kid. 

“Soft spot? He calls me a dumbass all the time!”

“Lovingly,” Seonghwa grinned, sitting back down at his desk. He slipped his silly glasses back on, making his already big eyes even more massive. “I’m almost done with these earrings. Wanna go bother Joongie after this?”

Wooyoung smiled. “Absolutely.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Seonghwa kept trying to pay him for helping. 

Well, not trying. Because he always did, and Wooyoung reluctantly accepted it. 

Every time, he would try and give the money back, but the older wouldn’t hear it. And the one time he tried to give it to Hongjoong instead, he almost got his head torn off and was forced to scrub down all of the litter boxes that day. So begrudgingly, he let the older pay him for doing super mundane tasks like grabbing coffees and dropping packages off at the post office. All of it went into his emergency savings, and each time he was unfortunately reminded that the money Seonghwa was giving him would one day be the money he used to leave Seonghwa.

But it was work, and a decent pay. Great hours, a more than reasonable boss. It wasn’t the worst job he’s ever had.

But the biggest perk of the ‘job’ was finally getting to know Yeosang.

He now had an excuse to talk to the barista every day, and was actually starting to become friendly with him. Without it being weird that he showed up to the café all the time. 

“Good morning, Yeosangie!”

The blond jumped as he barged into the store, door chiming aggressively behind him. Wooyoung snickered at his flustered face. 

“Oh my gods,” he shook his head. He set down the bowl he was mixing something in. “Wooyoung, hi,” he said politely. “His usual?”

“Yes, please!” he called as he made his way to the shelves of crystals towards the back. “And a large Americano for me! Oh, and two strawberry tarts! Seonghwa’s treating me today.” 

“He treats you every day,” the blond snorted, but got to work. The espresso machine buzzed through the soft music and ambience of the café.

He searched through the alphabetized displays of shimmering stones. The requests today were simple ones. There were little signs above each type, describing their uses and energies.

Amethyst, which his mom always gave him when he had nightmares as a child, and Wooyoung would argue it didn’t do shit. Citrine, great for boosting confidence, apparently. Moonstone, which his dad kept on the windowsill for clarity during late-night work, Wooyoung actually liked that one. And smoky quartz, perfect for grounding and letting go of negative energy. 

Each little sign next to the crystal had a mini description, essentially narrating what Wooyoung already knew. If only non-magic wielders knew how close they were to the truth about these things. 

These rocks wouldn’t do much if they weren’t charmed, but he did admit they did make for gorgeous jewelry. And now Seonghwa was the one decking him out instead of his mother. Tourmaline studs in his ears, eudialyte on a necklace over his heart. He even had a piece of hematite on a ring that Seonghwa made him. All because the older wanted to ‘experiment’ with some techniques or some had flaws, and he had no one else to push the finished projects onto. 

Hongjoong rolled his eyes every time Wooyoung walked into the shelter with something new and shiny on him.

Wooyoung approached the counter, placing the stones down for Yeosang to ring up. Well, write it down on Seonghwa’s extensive tab. 

"So what’s that?" he asked, pointing at the discarded bowl with a charming smile, his eyes twinkling with curiosity. Wooyoung learned that the blond would almost never strike up a conversation first, but that was okay. Wooyoung had no problem taking that first step for them.

Yeosang met his gaze with a soft and surprised look. Sometimes Wooyoung wondered if he ever wasn’t surprised by life, and people talking to him.

"Oh," he began, his voice carrying a hint of excitement for once, "I've been experimenting with some seasonal flavors, but for the pastries. Thinking of making some pumpkin-caramel muffins or something, since I had a good harvest this season.”

"Caramel, hmm?" Wooyoung leaned in a little closer, playfully teasing. "You know, I've always had a weakness for anything caramel-flavored. Need a taste tester?"

A faint blush dusted Yeosang's cheeks as he fumbled with the register. "Um, sure, if you're up for it," he replied, his tone a mixture of bashfulness and eagerness. “You could come by when they’re ready… in like an hour.”

Wooyoung chuckled, accepting their drinks and pastries. "Great, consider it a date then," he said, his words laced with subtle flirtation, before flashing Yeosang a wink. He was getting way better at this flirting thing (not that he was ever bad at it) now that he felt settled down here. And it was so fun seeing Yeosang turn bright red.

"Oh, and," Wooyoung continued, his gaze lingering on the flustered barista, "Seonghwa said he wants to get his hands on some vivianite soon, for something personal I guess. Would you happen to have some?"

Yeosang nodded, clearly relieved to be distracted from the flirting, his unique, tiny smile playing on his lips. "I have plenty at home, I can get it to him."

"Thanks, Yeosangie. You're the best," Wooyoung said with genuine gratitude, grabbing the drinks, pastries, and the wrapped crystals before hastily heading to the exit, even though he really didn’t want to leave. He was on the clock after all. “See you in a bit!”

As he hurried out the door, Wooyoung's chest pounded with excitement. He rushed back to Silver Light, planning how we could convince Seonghwa to make him honorary employee of the month, just to piss off his other boss a little more.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wooyoung sat cross-legged on the creaky motel bed, the faint light of the neon sign outside his window casting a pale red glow across the room. His lips curved into a small smile, because for the first time when he thought about his life, it felt good.

At the shelter, his steady schedule of feeding the animals and cleaning up after them, and the way Hongjoong pretended to tolerate him but always looked a little less stressed when he was around, made him feel needed. Important, even…

And now, the familiar smiles Yeosang started to give him, the way Seonghwa trusted him enough to run his errands and even pay him for it…

Could he call them friends? Maybe? Bosses sure. But was friends too far?

It wasn’t a word Wooyoung thought would feel so heavy. Or so new. Or hard to use. 

The smile faded as his gaze shifted to the stained ceiling. The motel room smelled faintly of stale air and cleaning products that couldn’t mask the years of wear. He’d been in worse places, sure, but it didn’t feel great coming home to a temporary living situation that only worked out because he constantly kept wiping the motel staff’s memories. Which he did feel really bad about. 

The small-town wasn’t like the city, where everything had sharp edges and fast-moving shadows. Where no one looked at you unless they wanted something from you. This was different. He already started to have a place in the community here. 

He liked it.

The guilt crawled up his spine, like it always did when he started to feel settled, or good about his life. He felt bad for liking this place. And the people here. 

He hated it.

He didn’t deserve to enjoy his life after what he did to other’s.

Wooyoung sighed, tugging the bracelet on his wrist as his thoughts began to spiral. 

What happens when he leaves, like always?

He never meant to. It was just easier to run than to face what came next. Starting over was supposed to be freeing, but all it did was leave pieces of himself scattered across every place he’d ever been. 

And this place was going to take the biggest chunk of him, maybe even bigger than his hometown. 

Would he survive losing that much of him? Did he have anything left to give?

Wooyoung leaned back against the headboard, closing his eyes. Yeah, he could try to hold onto this place, this feeling. But he knew what was next.

He just hoped that when the inevitable pull to leave came, he wouldn’t destroy everything on the way out.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Autumn fully swept over the town, painting the streets with hues of amber and gold. Having no car or bike was starting to make him grumble every morning when he desperately wanted to stay in the warm bed of his motel room instead of heading to the shelter in the cold air. Warm clothes could only do so much against the biting wind. 

Each day unfolded predictably: wake up, work at the shelter, argue with Hongjoong, pet the cats, gossip with Seonghwa for hours, run errands, stop by the cafe to bother Yeosang, and then let the rest of the day unfold at its own pace. Usually, in his motel room bored out of his mind. 

He found solace in the repetitive tasks from Hongjoong, and what Seonghwa assigned him—delivering crystals, picking up and dropping off his mail, and occasionally assisting with filing paperwork for custom orders when he stuck around the jewelry shop late enough. It was fulfilling work at least.

So when Seonghwa and Hongjoong extended an invitation to dinner with their friends at the local bar one night, Wooyoung’s heart almost burst with excitement.

“Really?” He perked up, his hands already reaching for his jacket. 

They had ended up staying late at Silver Light, so late that even Hongjoong locked up the shelter and came to join them, because someone important placed a big order that Seonghwa needed to have ready by the next morning.

Wooyoung wasn't really helping, he honestly couldn’t if he wanted to, but he was keeping Seonghwa company at least. Mostly because he really didn’t want to walk back to his motel in the cold just yet. He wondered where all these people buying custom jewelry were coming from sometimes. 

The older smiled at him. “Of course. You know Yeosang from the café, he’ll be there. Our other two friends will be joining too, they’re very nice. Don’t feel obligated to join if you’d rather not, or if you have better plans already.”

“Are you kidding?” Wooyoung smiled, shoving on his jacket quickly. Well if Yeosang was going to be there too… “I would love to! Let’s go!” 

Seonghwa laughed at his haste as they locked up the shop together, Hongjoong grumbling quietly, but smiling nonetheless, as he tagged along. 

Just like everything else in the town, the bar wasn’t a far walk. It was a little further than they wanted in the chilly evening air, but it felt good to stretch his legs after sitting all evening. Seonghwa held tight to Hongjoong's arm, stealing heat from him. The frosty night kept them wide awake until they stumbled into a surprisingly lively bar. 

The place was bustling with people, shouting and chatter filling the air on a Thursday night. He guessed that if it was the only place to get a drink, it probably would be busy. He shivered at the change of temperature, ripping off his heavy jacket. 

“Seonghwa!” 

Wooyoung’s eyes were immediately drawn to the tall man with white hair and a cheesy smile who had called out to his friend from a booth to their right.

“Hey guys,” Seonghwa waved back, letting Wooyoung and Hongjoong follow him towards their friends. There were two others besides this person, one of which was Yeosang. “This is Wooyoung. He’s been helping me out, and he volunteers for Hongjoong. I invited him to hang tonight, so don't scare him off too fast.”

Yeosang, who was seated across from him and already had a drink in hand, looked up and gave Wooyoung a shy wave, looking miserable to be somewhere so loud and crowded. 

“Hey Wooyoung,” Yeosang said softly, his light brown eyes reflecting the warm lights of the bar. He looked stunning outside of work too, it seemed. 

His hair was slowly growing longer from when Wooyoung first saw him, the golden layers framing his face beautifully. He was wrapped up in several layers of warm sweaters, using his little sweater paws to hold the cold drink. Adorable. 

“Hey,” Wooyoung breathed out, feeling a small flutter in his chest at the sight of him.

The loud man with white hair grinned as he extended a hand to Wooyoung while the three of them shuffled into the opposite side of the booth. They all squeezed into the booth, Wooyoung finding himself sitting in the corner between Hongjoong and the wall. The table was already laden with an assortment of appetizers—nachos, wings, and a platter of sliders that smelled heavenly.

“Nice to finally meet you, Wooyoung! I’m Mingi,” he smiled a toothy grin. “Hwa mentioned getting someone to help like we’ve been begging him to for months.”

”Years,” Hongjoong rolled his eyes. 

“Ah, I’m not doing that much work. He does most of the hard stuff.” Wooyoung shook his hand, ignoring Seonghwa’s protests, feeling the genuine warmth in the gesture. “Nice to meet you too, Mingi.”

"Wait," he lit up for a second, turning to Yeosang suddenly. The blond shrunk back. "Who was the guy you were talking ab—?"

"Shut up, Mingi," Yeosang hissed, moving faster than Wooyoung had ever seen before, just to cover the taller's mouth. The other just laughed behind his palm and Yeosang flustered. He turned to Wooyoung with a smile that looked more like a grimace. That was a new one.

"Sorry. Mingi sometimes says things he really shouldn’t. Yunho! Why don't you introduce yourself, please."

Wooyoung blinked at whatever that was about, watching as Mingi wrestled Yeosang off of him. The other tall man beside them sat up to say hi. He had a lean build and an easygoing smile, but there was a sudden shift in his eyes when he landed on Wooyoung that he couldn’t quite place.

“I’m Yunho,” he introduced himself, shaking Wooyoung’s hand firmly. “Mingi’s boyfriend. Glad you could join us tonight. They talk about you a lot. Especially Joongie.”

“Do not,” Hongjoong hissed, but his cheeks turned red. Wooyoung smirked. Right, believable.

“It’s nice to meet you guys,” he replied honestly. It was. This was probably the best thing to ever happen to him in a long time. Friends of friends! “Thanks for letting me tag along.”

“What are you drinking, Wooyoung?” Seonghwa asked, flagging down the waitress.

Wooyoung glanced at the limited menu, and opted for something simple and cheap, even though he had money now. Maybe he could even have two. “I’ll have a beer, please. Something light.”

Drinks and friends, on a weekday night. Gods, wasn’t this was being in your twenties was actually supposed to be like or something? 

She nodded, jotting down their orders before heading off. As they waited for their drinks, the conversation flowed easily, everyone clearly comfortable with each other, a sort of familiarity that probably took years to build. 

Mingi was incredibly welcoming, and slightly tipsy already, and Yeosang seemed to relax more as they all talked. Predictably, Hongjoong kept to himself and was grumpy towards everyone (which Wooyoung found funny to watch Mingi get ragged on by the shorty), besides his lovely partner of course. Seonghwa was busy filling them in on all of the local gossip he’s collected, naming people they apparently went to high school with or something, and gasping when one of the girls was pregnant or a guy turned out to be gay or something (which Wooyoung had already heard before just by hanging around Seonghwa at the jewelry store). One guy that apparently had a thing with Mingi at one point was in jail, which was hilarious to hear him defend himself from previously hooking up with a future felon. 

Wooyoung just smiled and listened. He didn’t care that he had no idea who any of these people were, he was elated to just be out doing something fun with people he could actually call friends for once. Not even acquaintances, but friends. He nibbled on the appetizers like it was dinner and a show. 

“So, Wooyoung,” Yunho began after taking a sip of his beer when the conversation settled down once everyone caught up. Wooyoung was warm and cozy, and even relaxed thanks to his own drink. “You just moved here, right? How are you liking it so far?”

“Yeah, it’s been about three months I think. It’s actually really nice,” Wooyoung replied honestly with a smile, choosing his words carefully. “Peaceful, and everyone I’ve met has been great. It’s a big change from where I was before.”

“I can’t imagine what drew you to this shithole of a place, or how you put up with both Hwa and Joongie every day,” Mingi laughed. He reached for another wing, practically clearing the whole plate by himself. ”Where were you before?” he asked curiously. 

Wooyoung hesitated for a moment, not wanting to delve too deeply into his past. It wasn’t like he could actually say why he was here. 

“Just moved around a lot, you know. Never really stayed in one place for very long. It would be a long list of places, so.”

Yunho raised a brow. “Moved around a lot? Were your parents in the military or something?”

Wooyoung's smile faltered slightly. His mind raced for a moment, searching for a suitable response that wouldn't reveal too much.

"Not military," Wooyoung replied casually, hoping to deflect further inquiry. "Just... personal reasons. You know how life and family can be sometimes."

Yunho nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful but not entirely convinced. "I see. It's good to have a fresh perspective, I guess. Keeps things interesting."

Wooyoung sensed an undercurrent of suspicion in Yunho's tone, as if he were testing the waters for something. It made him uneasy, the way Yunho's eyes seemed to dissect him with every word spoken. 

Wooyoung reassured himself that Yunho's questions were perfectly normal for someone curious about a newcomer's life. If Wooyoung's life hadn't been so tumultuous, these questions wouldn't have unsettled him in the slightest. The guy was just curious about Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s new friend. 

(Hopefully they considered him a friend, he thought.)

"So, then what made you choose this town to settle down in of all places?"

Wooyoung hesitated, trying to keep his answer vague yet plausible. "It seemed like a good place to take a breather, you know? Quiet, away from loud and crowded cities. I like all the nature too."

Yunho leaned forward slightly, his curiosity unabated. "Hm, makes sense. Do you have any family around here, is that how you found the place?"

"Uh... No, I um..." What on earth could he say to that? He knew nothing about this place and had no reason prepared for why he picked here. 

Before Wooyoung could answer, Seonghwa excitedly cut in after seeing something pop up on his phone. "Oh my gods, guys, did you hear about that new art gallery opening up on Second Street? I hear they might do classes, doesn’t that sound fun? We could do that!”

Mingi perked up after downing another shot of vodka, grimacing at the taste. Yeosang chuckled as Seonghwa scoffed at him. 

"I just saw the posts online about it. It's supposed to be a big deal," he explained. 

Yeosang, who had been quietly enjoying his drink, chimed in with a smile. "I heard they're planning the grand opening event next weekend. It might be worth checking out."

“How the hell is an art gallery going to stay in business here?” Hongjoong frowned. 

“It’s not,” Mingi said around nachos in his mouth. “It’s going in that one building that can never keep anything for long.”

"Wasn't it a barber shop for a bit?" Yeosang titled his head.

"Yeah," Mingi munched on his food loudly. "Then an insurance office. Then a place that sold drones, for whatever reason."

The conversation flowed away from Wooyoung's past, Yunho’s question lost in the conversation, and settling comfortably on safer topics like local sports teams and how Mingi really should slow down or he’s going to get too drunk too fast (apparently, this was a common occurrence). 

The waitress stopped by again and Mingi ordered another round for everyone, adding some chips and queso to their mix. Wooyoung picked at the food a little ravenously, his taste buds going crazy over what was just a step up from the greasy fast food he’s been relying on for weeks. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this relaxed and happy. He was so grateful to Seonghwa, who had given him his first taste of a social life here. For the first time in years. 

He was pretty sure the other three were staring to like him too, well Mingi definitely did, and Yeosang probably recognized him, but it was hard to tell with him sometimes. Yunho was hard to read, and a little cold, but got more relaxed as the night went on, even though his eyes always gave Wooyoung suspicious looks when he thought the other wasn’t looking.

The alcohol warming his system brought a content smile to his face anyway. 

At one point, Mingi stood up, stretching his long arms above his head. “How about a game of pool, now that it's clearing out? Anyone interested?”

Seonghwa eagerly accepted, also a little too tipsy, but just as competitive as always. Which meant Hongjoong left too, while Yeosang opted to stay where he was.

“I’m in,” Yunho said, standing up as well. “What about you, Wooyoung?”

He could almost feel the challenge in his voice, but Wooyoung didn’t want to give him anything to work with tonight. Not when he was having such a good time. Plus, he sucks at pool.

“You guys go ahead. I’ll stay here and keep Sangie some company.”

The four of them headed towards the pool tables in the back, leaving them alone at the booth. 

Okay, maybe not his best idea. 

It sounded good in theory, being left alone with his crush. But now… literally what was he supposed to talk about?

Wooyoung settled back into the booth. Yeosang shifted slightly, adjusting his position as if searching for something to say. Awkward was an understatement.

Because the honest part of him just wanted to sit and stare at the gorgeous man in front of him. But the other part of him with a little more brain knew that would definitely be weird.

(He kept sneaking glances anyway.)

"So, uh, Wooyoung," Yeosang began tentatively, his fingers playing with the condensation on his glass. "How do you like working at the shelter?”

Wooyoung smiled warmly, appreciating Yeosang's effort to break the ice for once, even if it was so stiff. And, apparently he did remember stuff about Wooyoung. He smiled at the thought. 

"It's been really good, actually. Hongjoong is great to work with, even if he’s really pissy all the time. And I really like working with all of the animals, there’s this one cat who can’t stand Joongie named Bellatrix but she’s my fav. Because she hates him. Oh, and meeting Seonghwa makes all of Joongie's bitching worth it."

Yeosang's face brightened, a hint of relief in his eyes. "Yeah, Seonghwa is like that. He tries so hard on everything, especially with the people he cares about. I’m glad he has someone to help him out at the shop now."

“I hope I haven’t been annoying him too much,” Wooyoung replied with a chuckle, taking a sip of his beer. "I feel like I’m always talking his ear off. I've never worked in a jewelry shop before, so it's been interesting. Not that I’m really working there, just running things around for him. But sometimes he lets me wire wrap some crystals for fun.”

Yeosang shook his head, his blond hair falling slightly into his eyes. "No way, he says it’s been nice having someone who's so energetic around. Makes the workload feel less overwhelming and lonely.”

He could understand that. Wooyoung hated feeling alone. And maybe he wasn’t truly alone anymore, but a big chunk of him was still craving a certain kind of connection. Witches were more powerful together - that was the whole point of a coven. They felt Magic the rest of the world couldn’t, and used their combined energies to manipulate it. And Wooyoung didn't have anyone to relate to right now, and share the burden with. 

The blood of the coven is thicker than the water of the womb.

He cleared his head, this was definitely not the time to get sucked back into his past.

"I'm glad I can be of help," Wooyoung said sincerely, his gaze lingering on Yeosang's soft features. He found himself drawn to the way Yeosang's eyes sparkled in the dim light, the lift in his smile.

They fell into a comfortable silence, content to simply enjoy each other's presence amidst the lively bar atmosphere. After a moment, Yeosang leaned closer, lowering his voice slightly. 

"You know, it’s really… nice that you always stop by the café every day. I get what Seonghwa means."

Wooyoung felt a flush rise to his cheeks. Yeosang noticed him. And kind of gave him a compliment, even if he did stutter through it and couldn’t look him in the eyes. 

"Oh, yeah, I like the place a lot… but it's more about the company than the place,” he said subtly. Except it wasn’t subtle at all and the alcohol was making him braver than he would’ve liked. “Though your drinks are pretty amazing. And the strawberry cream puffs, oh my gods, how do you make those so good?"

Yeosang's cheeks tinted pink, a shy smile tugging at his lips. "I'm glad you like them.”

"Yeah, definitely," Wooyoung replied warmly, his gaze lingering on Yeosang's soft lips. 

Yeosang smiled at the compliment, eyes following his gaze. His eyes shot back up to Wooyoung’s but he didn’t look scared at all.

Oh, how he forgot how fun it was to be interested in someone else. 

Their eyes locked for a moment, the air between them filled with a tension of something unspoken. He took in the light brown of his irises, the pink birthmark by his eye. 

Would it be crazy if he asked for his number right now? Or on a date? His brain said yes, but the alcohol was definitely saying no, go for it.

One date would be fine, right? It didn’t mean he was getting attached to this place or these people. Just some fun.

Yeosang eyes caught on Wooyoung’s lips and he was ready to risk it all.

Just as the moment stretched between them, and before he could decide, Mingi and Yunho, slightly tipsy but happy, toppled into the booth unexpectedly, followed closely by Seonghwa and Hongjoong.

Mingi groaned dramatically. “I swear I play more pool than anyone else here, but I always lose.” Yunho grinned deviously, giving his pouty boyfriend a kiss on the cheek before settling in next to him.

“Maybe you just need more practice.” Seonghwa chuckled, shaking his head at their antics. "They're always like this after a few drinks,” he explained to Wooyoung, like he wasn’t very tipsy himself.  

He couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment as the moment between him and Yeosang was interrupted. He pushed the feeling aside, joining in on the conversation with a smile. Mingi groaned about playing more pool than he ever thought he would, and with an amused sigh from Seonghwa, they finished their drinks and gathered their coats. 

Yunho, perhaps as a peace offering, or maybe some weird assertion of dominance, even handed Wooyoung his jacket on the way out. He smiled at the taller genuinely regardless. Friends, possibly.

They strolled together through the quiet streets, lit by street lamps and the passing of a few cars, while the cool night air helped sober them up from the warmth of the bar. Mingi and Yunho were in high spirits, their banter carrying them down the sidewalk. 

Seonghwa walked beside Wooyoung, occasionally chiming in with a laugh or a comment, while Yeosang lingered close to Wooyoung's other side, the air between them still charged. He could practically feel the heat of the other, and kept stealing glancing over at the way the dim lights made him seem to glow. 

When they reached the intersection where they had to part ways, Wooyoung felt a pang of reluctance. “Thanks for inviting me out tonight, guys. I had a really great time.”

“Anytime, Wooyoung,” Seonghwa said warmly, clapping him on the shoulder. “We’ll have to do this again soon. We used to do this weekly, but you know how life gets when you get older. Everyone gets busy.”

“We could try for next Thursday again,” Yunho suggested. “Anyone busy?”

Nobody objected, and Seonghwa even nudged Wooyoung to let him know he was invited again. He nodded eagerly. The good thing about not having a life was never needing to check his calendar, at least.

They exchanged goodbyes, Mingi and Yunho hopping in their old truck while Seonghwa and Hongjoong headed towards their own place, and then it was just the two of them. 

Wooyoung watched his breath fog in the chilly air. It was so quiet here, he always noticed it for some reason.

Yeosang’s eyes were bright in the glow of the streetlights. “Guess I’ll probably see you at the café?”

“Definitely,” Wooyoung replied with a smile, his heart feeling light. 

“Bye, Wooyoung,” he whispered, squeezing his arm quickly before nerves took over and he almost sprinted away. Wooyoung just smiled at his nervousness, at least it matched his own, his arm tingling where they met. 

Wooyoung walked back to his motel under the starlit sky, not really noticing the temperature dropping, and he couldn't help but reflect on the evening. It had been a wonderful night, one where he finally felt a sense of belonging. He would do anything to relieve it immediately. 

Next Thursday seemed too far, and he was a little scared to be so eager about the future.

As he reached his room, Wooyoung smiled. He closed the door behind him, and for one night, he was allowed to rest.

No nightmares plagued him at all.

Chapter Text

Things with Yeosang definitely felt different after that night. 

Actually everything felt different after that night. 

But of course, his mind tunnel-visioned on the pretty barista. 

He was still the same, shy blond every afternoon when Wooyoung stopped by to pick up coffee. Refusing to make eye contact for too long and still not incredibly talkative, but listened to Wooyoung’s rambling with so much attention, and blushing every time their eyes met. 

Both of them knew something was there, and neither wanted to do anything about it. It was the smallest things like subtle hand brushes when passing coffee cups, or glances at each other from across the café that lingered slightly too long.

Wooyoung was obsessed with it. How had he forgotten how fun life could be? Especially crushes. 

More often than not, Wooyoung spent his time with his new friends. He started hanging out with the group more, every Thursday night like clockwork, and he felt like he was actually a part of something for once. Seonghwa even started asking him if he wanted to tag along to anything, like the fall festival farmers market, or doing a community trash pick up. Turns out that he's much easier to drag around than Hongjoong, and the older took full advantage of that.

Hongjoong frequently found ways to avoid going out with them. It felt like pulling a tooth to get him to hang sometimes, but Wooyoung quickly figured out that the older man had a soft spot for him and often used it to his advantage. A few pleads while working and promising to walk to leash-pullers for the rest of the week normally did it. So maybe he didn’t have a soft spot, but was very susceptible to bribery. Both work. 

Wooyoung, however, always said yes. It wasn’t like he had other plans anyway. Mingi and Yunho showed up a lot of the time, and Yunho had slowly started to warm up to him a little. 

Wooyoung always wondered why it took Yunho so much longer to warm up to him than anyone else. At first he figured it was just a clash in personalities, but when he discovered that Yunho was just a human-sized golden retriever, he quickly deduced that it probably wasn’t that. No, Yunho was friendly and energetic, so Wooyoung figured he was probably just a really possessive boyfriend. 

Wooyoung figured that was the reason for his initial weird energy towards him, because Mingi happened to be super comfortable with Wooyoung right away. But Yunho must have finally realized that Wooyoung was very obviously interested in a certain blond barista and not his boyfriend. Sometimes the underlying tension was still there, but he felt comfortable around Yunho most of the time now. But he made sure to not give in to Mingi’s physical affection too often, just in case. It was fine, and that was that.

Aside from living in a motel, things were great, by Wooyoung’s really low standards. He had a sort of job , definitely friends, and kind of a life. It was so mundane, yet it felt amazing . 

Sure, he refreshed his chalk sigils every other day and charged his crystals in the sun once a week, and even collected moon water when it rained because why not, but other than that, he hardly felt like a witch. 

He kind of felt like a regular person. He almost liked it. 

He even started working on his own pieces at Silver Light too. Which was crazy, having a hobby besides trying to survive or read smut.

Wooyoung really never thought he would enjoy making jewelry, and he wasn’t sure he loved it, not in the way that Seonghwa did, but in a sickeningly sweet way, it made him feel connected to his mother. She didn’t make jewelry, but being around all the rocks and crystals almost made him feel like he was back home. 

Like he was just a kid again, who got home from school and was begging his mom to let him go across the street to the Jongho’s house instead of doing his homework first. With her always reluctantly agreeing, but passing off some stone for protection onto him first, because she was nothing if not overly cautious, trying to keep him safe from the world. 

If only she realized nothing probably could’ve protected Wooyoung from himself. 

Seonghwa taught him the basics of making jewelry, starting with putting charms on necklaces, and jewels on earrings. Wire wrapping and macrame. Wooyoung could do it just fine, but he wouldn't consider himself good at it. 

But the older insisted that one of his turquoise necklaces, wrapped in silver wire and was nothing special at all, was good enough to sell in the front of the store, and even gave him all of the profits from it (that he promptly spent on duck feed and a nice dinner for Seonghwa). The oldest was so genuine and kind; Wooyoung could only hope to one day repay all of his gratitude. 

He loved life here, and wanted to do anything to protect his peace. He might do anything for it. 

Just like every Thursday evening, the bar was comfortably warm and dim, the hum of conversation and soft clinking of glasses filling the space as Wooyoung leaned against the worn wooden table, nursing his drink with a lazy smile. The night was slow, in the best way—just him and his friends taking up a booth in the corner like they belonged there. At this point, they basically did. 

“Yunho’s still buried in books?” Seonghwa asked, swirling his glass as he glanced at Mingi, unaccompanied by his equally tall boyfriend for once. Wooyoung would be lying if he said he was upset that the other couldn't make it.

Mingi sighed, running a hand through his light hair. “Yeah, some huge exam coming up. He’s been neglecting me because of it. I swear he hasn’t looked away from his laptop in, like, three days. I tried to bribe him with food, but he just mumbled something about tort law and waved me away.”

Wooyoung had learned that Yunho was currently in law school, which made sense with his personality, in his opinion. There were several times when he stayed home to study or take an exam or do whatever else future lawyers do instead of getting drunk with them at a run down bar (which was fair). And Hongjoong had apparently hit his quota for social interactions this month, just leaving the four of them tonight. 

Yeosang hummed. “At least he waved at you. That’s an acknowledgment.”

“Not a very good one,” Mingi muttered, tipping back his drink.

“Aren’t you the one normally neglecting him,” Seonghwa challenged. “With your late shifts at the hospital?” 

Mingi threw his hands up in exasperation. “It’s different when I do it because I’m not home! I have to have a job, to pay the bills while he goes and becomes a lawyer!”

Wooyoung smirked but didn’t add anything, letting the conversation drift around him. He liked this—just being here, surrounded by the comfort of familiar voices, the easiness of it. He never knew himself to be so quiet before either, not until them. In a good way, of course. Like he didn’t have to insert himself into the conversion for them to remember he existed. 

His fingers traced patterns on the condensation of his glass absentmindedly. Across from him, Yeosang did the same, his movements slow.

Wooyoung flicked his gaze up, catching the way Yeosang’s eyes skimmed over him before shifting away. It was quick, almost imperceptible, but Wooyoung caught it. He always did.

The table shook slightly as Mingi stretched his legs out, nearly kicking Wooyoung’s shin. “Speaking of work, San almost quit his job on the spot today.”

Yeosang rolled his eyes with a small laugh. “Again? He always says that.”

“Yeah, but this time I actually thought he was serious,” Mingi laughed, shaking his head. “He was on the ER rotation, which you already know how he feels about that, and some guy threw up on him, and then the dude’s wife had the audacity to tell San he should’ve dodged it. While he was sitting there covered in barf.”

Seonghwa winced. “Rough.”

“San swore he was going to walk out and never come back,” Mingi continued. “Said he’d rather work anywhere else, even at the café, with Sangie.”

Yeosang shook his head. “He wouldn’t last a day.”

This San guy came up a lot in their conversations, who seemed to be Mingi’s favorite coworker and maybe friends with the rest of the friend group, Wooyoung wasn't sure because he was still figuring it out. Wooyoung had never met the guy, apparently because he was busy getting thrown up on at the hospital on Thursday nights. 

No one ever really talked about San beyond Mingi’s stories and the occasional mention here and there. Not in an impersonal way, because they all seemed like they knew him so well. And maybe that was the strangest part of all.

Sometimes, and it was probably just his imagination, it felt like Yeosang smiled just slightly more at the mention of his name. Like his eyes lit up. It wasn’t like it mattered. It wasn’t like Wooyoung cared.  But still, every time San’s name came up, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something he didn’t know about the guy. He was missing something, but he didn’t know what. 

He felt disgusted with himself whenever his stomach stirred with that kind of jealousy, but he had to remember that he was the new addition to their friend group. These people had all been together since high school, and Wooyoung was simply an on-looker. 

Of course there would be things he didn’t know about them. That was just how it was.

But there was always that little voice in the back of his head reminding him that he wasn’t part of their history. He hadn’t been there for the late-night drives they always reminisced about, the old inside jokes he only half understood, the years of memories and parties and hang outs that bonded them together so tightly. Even Yunho had only met them all in college when he started dating Mingi, but he still had years with them that Wooyoung didn’t. 

And sure, Wooyoung was here now, and it was more than he could’ve ever wished for, but he hadn’t always been. And that stung.

He’d spent so long feeling like he was on the outside looking in, drifting between people and places that never felt quite right. Like he was standing in a crowded room but never really part of the crowd.

But they had made space for him anyway, he was part of their crowd now, and that had to count for something.  

Before Wooyoung could dwell on it for too long, Mingi kept talking, and the conversation moved on. Wooyoung had better things to think about anyway.

Like the way Yeosang’s fingers lingered just a little too long when passing Wooyoung a napkin. The subtle tilt of his head when Wooyoung spoke, as if catching something unspoken between the words.

It was nothing.

But it also wasn’t.

He liked listening, letting their laughter and half-finished stories settle around him. He liked feeling like he belonged, even if there were still gaps he couldn’t quite fill. He liked butting in where he could, and they liked including him.

That was the thing about finding a new home—he had to accept that some things existed before him, and he was simply the one moving in.

By the time they all decided to call it a night, Wooyoung walked back to his motel with a strange feeling in the back of his neck. Things felt too familiar, but something was still off. 

Wooyoung wondered if he would always feel that way, and if this was as good as it would ever get. Maybe this was what home was supposed to feel like.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The one place that never felt off was the shelter. Wooyoung had always felt more at ease around animals than people anyway. 

People expected things from you—conversation, explanations, a version of yourself that fit into whatever box they had already put you in in their minds. 

But animals? They didn’t care about any of that. They just existed with you, no judgment, no expectations. They didn’t ask why you were here or what you left behind. They didn’t dig into the parts of yourself you wanted to forget.

As long as you fed and pet them, they were happy.

He walked down the row of kennels, offering soft greetings to the dogs peering up at him, their tails wagging in hopeful anticipation. Some had been here for months, waiting for someone to take them home. Others were new, still wary, still adjusting. He understood that feeling—the unease of being in a place that wasn’t quite familiar yet.

Some of them would leave. Some of them wouldn’t. 

Some of the animals had been here for weeks, even months, patiently waiting for their forever home. Others came and went quickly, lucky enough to find homes within days. Wooyoung always tried not to get too attached, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t have favorites. He acted like he wasn’t sour when the cute, misbehaved little puppy was picked over the gentle, sweet older dog who had been there for so long.

Maybe that’s why Wooyoung liked the shelter so much. Because for once, he got to be the one staying.

“Shit!” he heard Hongjoong cuss from the other room, where all of the more friendly cats got to stay together. 

“Damn cat,” he grumbled, rubbing at the raised part of skin on his arm where the cat had swiped him. “This is why you don’t get adopted, Trix.”

“Don’t be mean to her!” Wooyoung gasped as he stepped into the room, scooping up the angry kitty, ignoring her mews of protest as he held her. “She’s a sweetie.” She was most definitely not, but he loved arguing with his boss. He subtly used his Magic to reach out to her, just to keep her calm enough to hold without getting is face ripped off. 

“I didn’t even do anything and she scratched me,” he rolled his eyes as he picked up all the toys astray on the ground. Several of the cats around watched with curious eyes. “I don’t know why she lets you pick her up.”

“Because I’m a cat person, and she knows it,” he explained, rocking her back and forth. She definitely wasn’t enjoying being held, he could feel that much. But she wasn’t fighting him yet either, and he was honestly just trying to make a point to his boss. 

Hongjoong huffed. “This is why I’m a dog person.”

Wooyoung paused. “… You’re a dog person?”

His boss set the last toy down in the basket and looked up at him with a confused expression. “Yeah?”

“The biggest introvert I know is a dog person… Why the hell do you work at a shelter if you don’t even like cats?”

“I do like cats,” he explained. “I just prefer dogs. Cats get to be assholes for no good reason and people just let them. If a dog did that it would be put down. It’s unfair.”

Wooyoung smirked as he finally released Bellatrix, watching the black cat run off to hide from his grabby hands. “So… you don’t like it when something, or someone maybe , is an asshole for no good reason…?”

Hongjoong turned to glare at him. “Finish that thought. I dare you.”

Wooyoung just laughed and went to go ration the dog food, already knowing where he was about to be sent as a punishment for antagonizing his boss. Worth it. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wooyoung sat lounging in his motel room in just a towel while watching trashy TV and using a pendulum he got from the café to play ‘he loves me, he loves me not,’ which he ignored every time it landed on loves me not.

It was the first Thursday in a while that he wasn’t going to the bar. At this point, he had gone so often that it felt weird not to go, which was saying something. Wooyoung didn’t realize how long he had been living here, much longer than he planned. Half of a year had already passed since he jumped off that gross bus and wandered into this shitty motel. 

Unfortunately, this was the day of the week he looked forward to the most. Hongjoong didn’t want to go out, Seonghwa was working late. Yunho said he had something going on, and Mingi had picked up a shift at the hospital for a coworker who was sick. And there was no way in heaven or hell, or whatever was after death, that Wooyoung and Yeosang would go there by themselves. As in just the two of them. 

So sadly, these were his plans tonight instead. 

He watched the pendulum swing back and forth over his palm lamely. His older brother was much better at this seeing the future shit. 

A phone ringing shocked him out of his thoughts, making him jump. It was Seonghwa. 

“Hey Hwa. What’s up?” he answered around a mouth full of potato chips. He set down the pendulum next to him, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. It was well into the evening, later than the older should’ve been working. He could practically hear Hongjoong complaining about it in the distance. 

“Are you busy right now?” Seonghwa sounded frazzled, but what was new? He was always worried about something or the other. 

Wooyoung sat up, discarding his chips and trashy reality show. “No, not really. What do you need?”

“I’m so sorry, I know I can’t just call you for errands at any time of the day, and I should’ve planned this better so—”

“Hwa,” he said a little sternly. “I’m not doing anything right now, don’t worry about it. Now, what do you need?”

The older sighed. “I got a very last minute, very important order. It needs to be done by tomorrow, and the client requested sugilite. I swore I had some, but I think Hongjoong might have moved it and forgot to tell me, or maybe I ran out and didn’t put it on my list for some reason, or I don’t know where it went, and I would go get it myself but I’m waiting for the—”

“Say no more,” he hastily slipped on his clothes and sneakers, cutting off the other while he tried to spiral. “I can head to Yeosang’s right now.”

“Thank you so much, Youngie,” he sighed. “He’s there after hours sometimes, and should have some, so just bang on the door and he'll let you in. If he’s not there, call me back and I’ll give you his address to get the sugilite. Again, I’m so sorry, and thank you so much.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll get it to you as soon as I can.”

“Please don’t rush! I owe you so much for this. You’re the best, Wooyoungie!”

He hung up the call, ripping his jacket off of the floor where he threw it down lazily earlier, cursing as the contents of his pockets spilled all over the ground. He picked up just his motel key and wallet, leaving the spilled crystals, chalks and a few crumpled receipts strew on the floor. That could be dealt with later, because he would rush, despite Seonghwa saying not to. 

At this point, he owed most of his current life to Seonghwa. So if the other needed a rock quickly, he would get the damn rock quickly. 

He jogged through the evening cold, staying warm only from the exercize. Getting to the café was like second nature at this point, he could probably navigate there with his eyes closed and legs tied. The outdoor light and open sign were off when he came upon it, but he saw a warm glow from inside. He knocked on the door loudly, in case Yeosang was in the back baking. 

It didn’t take long for the door to unlock, a confused Yeosang standing in the doorway. He had a smudge of dirt on his cheek, and a bandana tying his hair back. 

“Wooyoung? You know the shop is closed, right? I can’t feed your caffeine addiction this late,” he joked. 

“Hey—Yeosangie—Funny—,” he wheezed out, catching his breath. Maybe he should jog more often. “I can live without coffee, you know.”

Yeosang raised a brow. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Okay, well, maybe I don’t want to.” Wooyoung grinned. “But that’s not why I’m here. Seonghwa sent me. He needs a crystal—apparently, it’s super important and needs to be done by tomorrow. He said sugilite. Do you have any?”

For a second, Yeosang’s expression shifted—just slightly, like he was weighing something in his head. Then he nodded. “Oh, yeah. I should have some.” His gaze flickered over Wooyoung briefly before he added, “Come on in.”

Yeosang swiftly sidestepped to welcome Wooyoung into the cozy café, the after-hours ambiance casting a soft glow over the establishment. With only half the lights on and the music gently pulsating in the background, the atmosphere was even more gentle and welcoming. The pastry display now empty, and the scattered books meticulously returned to their places created an intimacy in seeing the shop so barren. 

“It’s weird seeing the place this quiet. Kinda nice, though,” he said softly, almost afraid to disturb the atmosphere.

Yeosang nodded. “Yeah, it’s my favorite time of the day. I like the quiet. And no one spilling lattes everywhere.”

Wooyoung snorted. “Okay, that was one time.”

Yeosang rolled his eyes. “It was three. That I saw. ”

“Okay, fine," he pouted. He leaned back on the counter, totally not purposely drawing out the angles of his body. "How can I make it up to you?”

Yeosang hummed and inspected him for a second. His gaze lingered, tracing his figure for a second. He almost shivered, like he could feel Yeosang touching him. Gods, Wooyoung wished he would. 

Remembering the reason he was here, Yeosang blushed and quickly turned back to the counter. “I’ll find some way for you to repay me later. Now, let me see if I can find my sugilite.”

Yeosang started heading towards the back room, leaving Wooyoung to ponder whether to follow. He made a move before Yeosang held up a hand.

“Wait there,” he commanded. Wooyoung nodded. 

He rocked back on his heels, eyes drifting around the quiet café as he waited. The scent of brewed coffee still lingered in the air, mixing with the earthiness of all the plants threatening to overtake the space. 

He glanced toward the door Yeosang had disappeared through. It wasn’t unusual for Seonghwa to send him on errands like this, but something about tonight felt different. He didn’t know what. The silence stretched on, and Wooyoung found himself tracing idle patterns on the counter with his fingertip, the quiet giving him too much room to think. He found himself mindlessly tracing sigils he learned when he began learning how to write the alphabet. Luck, change, spirit. 

Moments later, Yeosang returned, hands cradling a large cloth. He could feel it even before Yeosang returned, the energy thickening the air just slightly, like an unseen force filling the space between them.

As he handed it to Wooyoung, the energy of the rock pulsed through the fabric to his palms. Seonghwa had no idea how powerful this rock was, and he was probably just turning it into a pair of pretty earrings. Wooyoung held it gently, his Magic thrumming in his palms, begging to reach out and latch onto the sugilite. He had no idea how expensive this crystal was, but he guessed a lot, since his mother kept it on the top shelf, far away from destructive little children.

He wondered if this is how his mom felt all the time with all of her crystals. 

"This is all I have, so I hope it’s enough," Yeosang murmured, his gentle voice almost a whisper. He gently unwrapped the cloth to show the other. A vibrant purple stone with dark veins peaked through. For protection, if Wooyoung remembered correctly. Like a shield. "Tell him not to worry about the cost right now, we can sort it out later. He can use however much he needs."

Caught in Yeosang's gaze, Wooyoung felt something stir within him. Specks of dirt adorned Yeosang's hands and face, the earthy scent on him meaning he must have been gardening or repotting plants before Wooyoung stopped by. 

He was utterly captivated. And he had been for a while.

“Thanks,” he said as he slid the rock into his coat pocket. It was just small enough to fit, but still too big and jutted out weird. “I’ll tell him that.”

Wooyoung totally wasn’t thinking about how this was the first time he’d been completely alone with Yeosang. Not at all.

He wasn’t hyper-aware of the way the low lighting softened Yeosang’s already unfairly pretty features. He definitely wasn’t noticing how close they were standing—just a few steps apart, but with no one else around, it felt… different. More intimate. They had no reason to stand so close but they still did. 

And he absolutely wasn’t thinking about how Yeosang’s gaze lingered just a second too long when their eyes met, or how his eyes kept drifting to his lips. No, none of that was occupying his thoughts.

“And, uh…” the barista bit his lip nervously as he started again. He grabbed something else from behind him. “This is for you. Not Seonghwa.”

Wooyoung glanced down as something was set gently in his hands. It was a small pot with a plant sitting in it. The glaze was a deep blue, with speckles of white across it. 

“Oh… Did you make this?” he gasped, tracing the bands on the handmade pot. It was so natural and beautiful looking. 

Yeosang nodded, shyly looking away. “Pottery is just something I do in my free time. I thought that maybe it would brighten up your new place, and you mentioned that you like cooking, so I thought basil would be a good choice…” 

The other was right. Wooyoung did love cooking, when he used to have his own kitchen to do so. Wooyoung must’ve mentioned it offhand at some point. How Yeosang remembered that, he had no idea. The gift was so thoughtful Wooyoung wanted to cry. 

"Thank you, Yeosang," he breathed, his voice barely above a husky murmur. They stood so close, it felt wrong to speak any louder. 

Yeosang’s eyes were warm like melted honey and Wooyoung always thought they were pretty—too pretty, really, unfair in a way that made his chest feel tight, but right now they were downright captivating . It made Wooyoung feel lightheaded when he considered looking away. 

Why was he so good to Wooyoung? So kind and patient? 

“For this,” Wooyoung continued, voice wavering slightly. “For everything.”

Yeosang didn’t say anything right away, just held his gaze, and for a second, Wooyoung wondered if he was going to pull away. If he had imagined the way Yeosang always looked at him, the way his touch lingered just a second too long when their fingers brushed. If this was all in his head. 

But then Yeosang’s lips parted, as if he had something to say, and Wooyoung didn’t know what possessed him—whether it was the pull of Magic in the air, or the tension between them finally snapping—but before he could think, before he could stop himself, he selfishly leaned in.

The world slowed as Yeosang immediately met him halfway, closing the small distance between them.

Soft. That was the first thought that registered in his mind. 

Yeosang’s lips were soft, warm, hesitant for the briefest moment before pressing just a little more firmly, just like Wooyoung somehow knew he would be. He inhaled sharply through his nose, his hands twitching at his sides before instinct took over, and he reached up, fingers brushing Wooyoung’s jaw.

Yeosang exhaled a desperate sigh as he gently asked for more. He could definitely get addicted to this. 

Wooyoung pulled back, realizing he had just acted so brash. “Sorry, I just—I shouldn’t have—”

And like an addict, Yeosang silenced him by pulling him back in.

The press of their lips together lost its timidness quickly. A surge of desire coursed through Wooyoung's veins as their lips met again, urging him to deepen it. Now that he could have it, he wanted all of it. To take more, to feel more. Sensing his passion, Yeosang's hand slid to Wooyoung's nape, fingers tangling in his hair as he pulled him closer. The desperation ignited a fire within Wooyoung, his heart racing as he leaned into the other, eager to explore as much as he was allowed. 

He quickly set down the plant on the counter behind them, trapping Yeosang’s body between himself and it, holding onto the counter for support. The way the blond’s body arched as he leaned against the counter was devastatingly attractive. Wooyoung’s hands wanted to trace his waist, holding back like he didn’t know if he was allowed to touch, but decided fuck it, and grabbed onto the other possessively. 

With a soft moan, Yeosang’s lips moved in a desperate dance to keep up, each movement further fueling the burn between them. Wooyoung stepped closer, Yeosang tugged him forward, one hand in his hair still, the other on his jacket collar. Wooyoung pressed him against the counter, and Yeosang went willingly, slotting his hips closer to Wooyoung’s. He surrendered himself to the moment, their kiss promising more and more with each passing second until they were both consumed by the raw intensity of it. 

Yeosang whined and tugged Wooyoung’s long hair to tilt his head more, to get him exactly where he wanted. The noise went straight to Wooyoung’s core, heating him up pathetically. Yeosang’s hand on his jacket traveled lower, over the planes of his stomach. Everything rushed south too quickly. 

Gods, Yeosang would be the death of him.

Despite craving more, needing more, Wooyoung reluctantly pulled away, the feeling of the rock in his pocket and seeing the plant behind them reminding him of his initial mission. Their chests heaving with exertion, a sense of euphoria washing over them, leaving them both breathless and exhilarated. 

"I—Sorry, the crystal," he stammered, struggling to find his words amidst the lingering heat of their kiss. His eyes kept automatically drifting back down to Yeosang’s plush lips, wet and red now. “If we don’t stop now…”

"Right. Yeah. You should get going," Yeosang replied, his voice still husky with desire. His hands soothed out Wooyoung’s jacket carefully. It took everything in him to not jump the barista right there and then. 

As Wooyoung grabbed the plant and turned to leave, Yeosang closed the distance between them, the heat of his body tantalizingly close. Gods, Wooyoung wanted to feel it beneath his own hands and map out every inch of his gorgeous skin.

Yeosang led him to the door with a hand on the small of his back. Wooyoung's heart raced as he savored the warmth of Yeosang's touch, the promise of more lingering in the air.

“Thank you,” Wooyoung started. “Not for the kiss. Of course. For the rock. And the gift. But I mean, I liked the kiss too—“

Yeosang giggled as he unlocked the front door. Smiling like an idiot, Wooyoung let his rambling drop off, just to appreciate the sound. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Wooyoung confirmed as he stepped out back into the frigid air, but his body was too warm to notice the chill.

“Of course,” Yeosang smiled, pure and genuine. “See you, Wooyoung.”

The younger nodded, turning away before he did something stupid like shove the blond back into the cafe and show him what he really wanted to do. Letting his hands touch his soft skin, and learning what other noises he could pull from the shy blond—He stopped that train of thought quickly. He could not show up to Seonghwa’s with a hard on. The rock in his pocket was already bad enough. 

He would never admit out loud that he definitely smiled dopily the whole way to Silver Light.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Before he even stepped foot back into his motel room after running the rock to Seonghwa, he knew something was wrong.

Very wrong. 

The energy was off. Something was missing, and he didn’t know what, but it felt different. 

Everything felt exposed. Vulnerable.

The rational part of him should have just turned around and ran, fleeing to the next town before morning, far from this place. But the curious part of him—the thing he hated most about himself, the thing that had gotten him into trouble so many times before—pushed him forward.

He unlocked the door slowly, a sinking feeling creeping into his chest. His body was tense, every muscle coiled, ready to bolt if needed. He stepped inside and his blood ran cold. 

The room was destroyed . 

The symbols on his walls, the ones that were supposed to keep him hidden, were slashed out in a dark, sticky liquid, running down the wall. Blood. The salt lines were scattered across the floor, little grains spread everywhere. The crystals around did nothing to protect the space. 

Nothing could protect him from them, it seemed. 

His eyes scanned everything frantically, but there was no time to focus. His clothes, his very few things—everything was thrown around like some sort of sick joke. His backpack lay open, its contents spilled out, discarded like trash. The sense of violation cut deeper than the sight of the wreckage.

They had found him. His mind filled with a panic so raw and painful he could’ve thrown up. His heart raced, a cold sweat dripping down his neck. The terror flooded his chest, like claws scraping against his ribs. 

They’ve never gotten so close before. And this time, he had no idea how they did it.

He wondered what his life would be like right now if he didn’t take Seonghwa’s last minute call for help. If he would even still be alive.  

He tripped over clutter as he dashed into the room, almost screaming in frustration. Actually, he might have. He kicked the crystals he tripped over and rushed to his backpack. 

“ Fuck ,” his voice cracked on the word, a sob ripping its way out. His hands fumbled as he set down his plant and threw things into the bag. He didn’t even know what he was grabbing anymore. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting out. Getting away.

Not even looking at what he was doing, just moving as fast as he could. Like he always has. 

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!”

Tears were threatening to overtake his vision. He was doing so good for once. He liked it here. He was so careful to not use almost any Magic, and they still found him. 

They always found him, and they always ruined everything. 

He made his way to his personal items thrown across the room. Pictures of his family, pictures with Jongho at graduation, his golden ring with the symbol of Fauna casted into it he received the day he turned eighteen, an old birthday card from his brothers. Strings broke within him each time he picked up another tarnished memory.

He thought he had more time. He was stupid and had hoped for it. Expected it, even. Why was it that the place he loved the most, he had to leave the soonest? 

With shaking hands, he grabbed the last of his things—the scattered crystals he had kicked in anger. He dumped them all in his bag, even the dumb little chunk of amethyst he had gotten with Yeosang’s help, the one meant to protect him from his nightmares that no longer plagued him. He shoved them into his bag without thinking, not caring how they tumbled and rattled inside. 

Pausing, he noticed the last one on the ground, something unfamiliar to him.

It was a dark, round rock with speckles in it. It could look like any regular stone someone could find outside, except he felt the intense energy the second he picked it up: Impactite. It hit him like a wave, cold and sharp, almost electric in its intensity. 

How had he not noticed this in his collection before? … Did he even have impactite in his collection?

The side facing him had a sigil of veiling carved into it, which he swore he didn’t ever do himself. He turned it over curiously.

His breathing stopped. 

A tracking sigil was etched into the stone. Someone had been fucking tracking him. 

They had known. They had been watching him the entire time, right under his nose, just waiting for the perfect moment.

It took him less than a minute to shove the rest of his belongings in his bag, bite his middle finger and draw a veiling sigil on his chest in blood, and run out of the motel as fast as he could. Check out process be damned, they would figure it out later. 

Wooyoung ran. He ran as fast as his legs could take him. 

He ran like his life depended on it—because it did. His feet pounded against the concrete, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He didn’t look back, didn’t slow down. There was no time to waste, no time to think. The motel, the room, the life he had built here… all of it was gone now. His old Coven had destroyed it.

He really didn’t want to know what would’ve happened if they found him. 

It also meant that someone got close enough to him to plant it on him without him noticing. He just wished he knew who, because it seemed that they knew exactly what kind of monster Wooyoung was. Someone knew. Someone here knew who Wooyoung was. 

His breathing came in sharp, jagged gasps as he staggered to the edge of the park, his lungs threatening to give out. His fingers, trembling with adrenaline, clutched the impactite in his hand. Without thinking, he threw it. As hard as he could. The stone sailed through the air before it splashed into the duck pond, sinking into the murky depths, disappearing without a trace.

Just like Wooyoung should. 

He stood there for a moment, watching the ripples fade away, and then— anger . Rage bubbled up from the pit of his stomach, a fire so hot and fierce it almost burned his insides. 

This was the first time in years that his life had started to feel right. He had a place, people, a reason to stay. He had belonged .

And now, it was all ruined.

He let out a scream—raw and guttural—that tore through the night air. His voice cracked under the weight of it, but he didn’t care. He cursed his old Coven. He cursed every patron god he could think of, every celestial force that had ever turned its back on him. He cursed them for letting him believe, for letting him think he could finally have something good. He cursed them for destroying everything he had worked for, everything he had built his fragile little life around. 

It didn’t help.

His vision blurred as his tears started to fall, the anger morphing into a deep, aching grief. He couldn’t stay here. He had to keep going, they could be watching him right now for all he knew. But he didn’t want to leave. Not when he had finally felt like he mattered.

Not when he had found something worth staying for.

His friends. Yeosang. The shelter. Seonghwa. His heart ached with every step he took away from the pond, the tracker still lurking, always lurking, at the bottom of the pond now. His mind screamed at him to get further, to get safer, but he couldn’t force his body to obey. He couldn’t leave. Not yet.

He didn’t want to leave.

Why had he let himself get attached? Why had he allowed himself to care when he knew better? This was always going to happen, wasn’t it? Always the same cycle—get close, get comfortable, and then run. He tried to make this temporary place permanent. His chest ached, the tightness pulling at his ribs, suffocating him as he realized the truth. 

He had let himself hope, and it had all been for nothing.

His heart hurt so badly, it felt like it was being ripped out of his chest. Maybe that would’ve been less painful. Wooyoung glanced down at the small basil plant in his hands. 

He didn’t want to leave.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

He was stupid, and he was tired. He knew this. But he would find a way to stay this time. He had to. 

He couldn’t keep running anymore. 

Wooyoung found himself back at the café, staring at it again in the middle of the night. 

He had never felt more alone. Standing outside the dark café, it seemed like the owner had already returned home, the warm memory of his brief moment with Yeosang, their kiss still lingering on his lips, felt like a cruel joke now. The universe gave him a taste, and then starved him. 

Not even an hour ago, he was here, wishing he could freeze time forever. He was convinced nothing could go wrong, and that his life was as good as it could get. 

He would never get that again. And he would never be stupid enough to let himself believe that again either.

Wooyoung only had one idea left, one way left to stay in this shitty, little town. To clutch onto the remains of his life here with everything in his selfish hands. 

The bloody veil on his chest would keep him well hidden, but the crystals and herbs in the café would make it even safer. He couldn’t stick around as himself, that was for certain. Hiding Magic was one thing, which clearly didn’t work anyway, but there was only so much he could do against someone who might recognize his face. 

But he could disguise himself for the time being. 

It was his last resort he’s only used a few times. It wasn’t foolproof, but it was his best shot at going unnoticed until whoever was looking for him moved on. Hopefully, they would assume Wooyoung skipped town like usual, and would go off to find him somewhere else. 

As long as he could stash his stuff somewhere and avoid animal control, it would work… probably. 

He felt a pang of guilt, realizing that this option meant he was still leaving, even if he stayed. Without a word, just disappearing. There would be no more flirting with Yeosang, and he felt sick thinking about ditching Hongjoong and all the animals. Or Seonghwa, who needed a helping hand so badly. And the worst part was that instead of being somewhere new, far away from everyone else's pain, he would have to sit here and watch it all. 

His body ached with sorrow. Sorrow for the friends he was abandoning, for the life he was once again forced to leave behind—they all depended on him, trusted him. These people counted on him, because he made them count on him. 

And now, just like before, he had to leave.

He hoped everyone would forgive him. He felt like he did four years ago, but this hurt more somehow . More tears poured from his eyes as he silently apologized to them all. 

He quickly snuck down the alley and around the fence around the back of the café.

He certainly wasn’t expecting a full garden behind the shop, but it made sense. Yeosang always talked about fresh ingredients, and seeing how the inside of the cafe was already drowning in plants. Several plant boxes covered by tarp to keep them warm, filled with herbs and everything else, lined the fence. There was even a metal storage unit tucked away in the far corner. He snuck towards that first, saying a quick ‘thank you ’ and to the shitty ass universe he was stuck in. This place was truly a stroke of luck, time and time again. 

He did a quick enchantment for protection on a chunk of tourmaline he had and set it by the gate. Yeah, that wouldn’t do shit, clearly. But it made him feel a little better. 

There was a slab of metal from an old sign sitting behind the storage shelf and looked like it hadn’t been moved in decades. Wooyoung set down the plant Yeosang gave him next to the sign, tucked away in the weeds but hopefully still getting a little bit of sunlight. The poor thing would probably freeze soon. 

Wooyoung carefully took off his jewelry and clothes to tuck into his backpack, shivering bare in the cold wind. He hid his backpack behind the sign, trying to not get tetanus.

Scanning once more for anything out of the ordinary, and sensing nothing, he closed his eyes and shifted. The shifting was painful, but familiar. He preferred the pain of familiarity at least. 

Wooyoung had always liked animals, his Gift made it easy to get along with them and understand them. What was hard was figuring out how to become one. 

Formae Mutabilis, better known as animal shifting, has been a practice since the dawn of witchkind, but now it’s mostly a lost practice, only still taught amongst families of wolf and bat shifter descent—hence why werewolves and vampires exist in modern literature. 

But teenage Wooyoung had been curious and stubborn. He read every book he could find on the subject and practiced relentlessly, nearly tearing his hair out in frustration. His older brother told him he was wasting his time every day, but he ignored him. So many spells required his blood and weeks of his life dedicated to intense meditation and spiritual work… He was on the brink of giving up and calling it quits when he felt the first excruciating painful change—a whisker sprouting from his cheek.

After that initial breakthrough, the process became more manageable. He eventually mastered fully shapeshifting into his spirit animal's form: a black housecat. 

It wasn’t painless nor easy, but he counted himself lucky; he could have been stuck with a whale or something. His cat form was pretty cute and a really common animal, but he found that staying in that form too long started giving him weird animal urges, like peeing on couches and chasing red laser dots, even when back in human form. 

He knew that shifting still radiated an aura like casting any spell would, but once he was in cat form, his Magic was undetectable. He just couldn’t stay in the form too long, or he could risk forgetting how to turn back into a human. 

But it would make the perfect disguise to hide around a cafe full of powerful crystals and plants. No Magic, no Wooyoung, no need for the people hunting him down to stay here.

When he opened his eyes again, he was much closer to the ground, and much warmer. His cat form had several perks, from the black fur keeping him toasty to the claws and teeth for self defense. The downside to his cat form was how strong the herbs smelled now, and how he could hear everything . It wasn’t exactly louder, just harder to ignore. 

But he would be much harder to find like this. If anyone found him in his cat form, with a blood sigil veiling him while hidden in all these plants and crystals, they could have him at that point. He was too tired to run anyway.

With absolutely nothing better to do, he snuck under a large bush that wasn’t wrapped in tarp yet. 

He curled into himself, tail wrapping tightly around his small frame as he pressed against the cold earth. His ears flicked at every distant sound—the rustling of leaves, the faint hum of passing cars, the occasional chirp of a bird that clearly hadn’t realized it was too damn late to be awake. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to breathe slowly, to settle. To not panic. 

He was safe here. As safe as he could be. But safe didn’t mean comfortable.

With a soft sigh, he tucked his nose beneath his tail to keep it warm, and tried to ignore the gnawing emptiness inside him.

He just needed to lay low. Just for a little while. And then when the danger passed, there would still be something left for him to come back to.

Sleep had a hard time finding him that night. 

Chapter Text

“I knew it.”

Wooyoung shot up out of his unrestful sleep, fur bristling as pure instinct kicked in. His claws were out before his eyes were even fully open, ready to fight for his life.

Amber eyes met his, and he almost hissed before his tired brain reminded him where he was and who they were attached to. Blond hair, a gentle face, a heart-shaped birthmark. Yeosang. 

Unfortunately, this wasn’t the universe where Wooyoung was waking up next to the gorgeous man because that kiss last night had led to… more. Where they were now basking in the glow of a peaceful morning-after, tangled up together, limbs warm beneath the covers.

No, of course not. Instead, Wooyoung was a cat now. Sleeping in his friend’s (friend… he kissed once? Is there a better term for this?) garden, behind Golden Hour Café.

So really, the worst possible version of waking up next to Yeosang.

The barista crouched down in front of the planter that Wooyoung had turned into his bed for the night. It wasn’t the most uncomfortable place he’s slept, honestly. And he got to sleep— more like toss and turn —all night without interruption, so that was a win for him. His voice was soft, more thoughtful than alarmed, with a phone pressed against his ear as he watched the cat. His movements were careful, as if trying not to startle him.

Wooyoung chirped in what he hoped was an adorable, friendly way, desperately trying to look like nothing more than a harmless little kitty who had wandered in and made himself at home. The fur on his neck slowly flattened, and he forced his claws to retract, but his tail was still flicking wildly, all puffed up. He had way too much nervous energy left from last night to settle.

Yeosang sighed. He held out a delicate hand, presumably for him to sniff. Wooyoung obviously didn’t care about smelling him, he already knew what Yeosang smelled like. Sugar, coffee, dirt. But he couldn’t blow his cover, so he gave his nose a few twitches he meowed really convincingly. 

He even went so far as to rub his cheek on Yeosang’s hand, which he had to admit, didn’t feel awful. It was purely for the sake of maintaining the illusion, though, while he meowed at him again too. Not because it felt nice or anything.

But Yeosang pulled his hand back.

“I was right, something got in the garden. But it’s just a stray cat,” he said into the phone, still watching him. Wooyoung twitched an ear, straining to hear whoever was on the other end.

Stray.  

That’s what he was, wasn’t it? It wasn’t a lie, he had been one for years, but the word cut a little deeper than he expected it to. 

Yeosang listened to the muffled response before nodding slightly and rolling his eyes. “No, you were right. Nothing to worry about.”

Wooyoung stuck his nose forward again, very clearly encouraging the human to resume petting him. A head scratch or two wouldn’t hurt. If he was going to be stuck in this ridiculous situation, it was the least he deserved. 

Yeosang stood up, completely ignoring him. “It probably just snuck in here to get out of the cold. As long as it isn’t a raccoon or something that would eat my plants, I don’t care. Or turn my planters into litter boxes.” Yeosang paused again, glancing back at the cat. “Yeah true, it could keep the mice away.” 

Well, that sounded an awful lot like permission to stay.

Not that Wooyoung would be caught dead hunting for mice, or use a planter as a litter box, but he could play the part of a stray cat.

Yeosang went back into the café, still on the phone. The door shut behind him, leaving Wooyoung alone in the garden again. He felt a pang of sadness when he realized he couldn’t follow him in, and beg for a warm cup of coffee. 

He was a stray cat. He had to sit here, outside in the cold and alone. Perfect. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wooyoung never strayed too far from the café, unwilling to risk leaving Yeosang’s little sanctuary. 

The tingling sensation at the back of his neck came back in full force and never really faded. It felt like a constant reminder of why he was here in the first place, even in this town in the first place, of why he couldn’t risk being seen. Sleep barely came, restless and fleeting when it did, leaving him stretched thin beneath his fur. 

He only shifted back into human form when absolutely necessary—quick moments in the dead of night to duck into the nearest 24-hour fast food restaurant to grab a cheap meal and relieve himself. He refused to turn one of Yeosang’s planters into a litter box yet. He had some dignity left.

During those stolen moments, he used the bathroom to freshen up as much as possible, splashing water on his face and running fingers through his hair before he inevitably had to shift back. Not that it mattered. The moment he became a cat again, all of it reset. 

The veiling sigil on his skin had to be redrawn every time he shifted. Over and over, he reopened the small wound on his finger, pressing the blood into the shape of the rune along his chest. At this point, he knew his hand would probably scar, but he was hidden. Hopefully.

He thought he was well hidden last time, and they had been watching him for so long. How would he know if he wasn’t being watched right now?

He guessed it didn't matter if they were. Wooyoung was the easiest target in the world right now, they could take their shot. 

The pain of shifting hardly stung anymore, as he slowly lost the little bit of humanity he had left every night, and crawled back to the café.

Most of his time was spent curled up in the garden, lost in thought.

Yeosang. Seonghwa. Hongjoong. Even Yunho and Mingi. They must’ve noticed it by now. It had been half a week, and no one had seen him, or heard from him. His phone was probably blowing up somewhere in his backpack, still tucked away behind that rusty old sign, but he was too scared to check it. 

Gods, he was such an idiot. What if they thought something happened to him? What if they were worried?

His chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with the whole “being stuck as a cat” thing. He hated the idea of them panicking, of them thinking the worst. He was reckless, sure, but he would always come back somehow. Always.

But… What if they weren’t worried?

Because what if his phone wasn’t blowing up? What if none of them cared where he was, or how he was doing? What if they just assumed he left town like he kept saying he was going to, and that was it? Wooyoung moved on, and they just let him.

And the worst part? He couldn’t even do anything about it. He was stuck. Trapping himself in this stupid fur-covered body, watching his own life go on without him while his friends—his family —thought he was gone.

He hated it. He hated it so much. 

He should just leave the town. He knew that. Prove them all right. 

The rational part of him screamed that staying was a mistake, that he was only making things harder for himself. This place had never been permanent, no matter how much he wanted it to be. He was supposed to keep moving, start over somewhere new, find fresh faces, new stories, another sense of home.

But deep down, he knew no place would ever feel quite like this one.

So instead of making a choice, he waited.

And despite everything—the cold, the uncertainty, the humiliation of being a stray —the highlight of his day was always Yeosang.

He told himself it wasn’t creepy to sit in the window, watching the barista work, making sure he was okay. It wasn’t weird to linger in the shadows of the garden, just to catch glimpses of him in the early morning light, sleeves rolled up, flour dusting his apron as he kneaded dough for the day’s pastries.

Most of the time, Yeosang ignored him. Or, at least, he pretended to. A small smile here, a glance there, but nothing more. It was just a cat, after all. 

Did Yeosang think about their kiss? Did he wonder why Wooyoung ran off after it? 

Did he hate Wooyoung for it? He should.

Maybe Yeosang thought if he ignored the stray for long enough, it would eventually leave.

Wooyoung should’ve been relieved by that. The less attention Yeosang paid to him, the better. The safer it was.

Too bad he had already given the cat attention, he just didn’t know it.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Can you pick up some rice flour for me, please?” Yeosang’s voice carried across the garden.

Wooyoung lifted his head, ears twitching as the barista stepped outside, phone pressed to his ear again. The sun was warm today, a rare moment in the colder months, and Wooyoung had been sprawled on the concrete path, soaking in the heat. He had to admit, cats were onto something with this whole sunbathing thing.

He barely had time to react before Yeosang nearly tripped over him.

“Like four bags, or more… I don’t know? …Okay, fine, that works— oh —sorry, Kitty, didn’t see you there.”

Kitty.

Not ‘it.’ Not ‘stray.’ Just Kitty.

Wooyoung tried not to preen at that, but his tail flicked anyway.

The person on the phone said something, and Yeosang rolled his eyes. “No, I am not keeping it,” he huffed. “I don’t need a pet right now. It’s a stray, anyway—it probably wouldn’t even let me pick it up. And who knows what kind of diseases it could have.”

Wooyoung bristled. He is perfectly clean and disease free!

And another thing— it?

His tail lashed, ears flattening in protest. He would let Yeosang pick him up, actually. 

He watched as the barista pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly exasperated with whoever was on the other end of the call. “Fine, whatever. If it sticks around, I’ll think about it. But I’m sure it’ll run off soon.”

With that, he scooped up a few delicate saplings from the garden and carried them inside, disappearing from view.

Wooyoung sat there, unmoving, as the words settled in. 

If it sticks around, I’ll think about it.

The gears in his head started turning. He… could work with this. 

It wouldn’t hurt to try a different strategy than normal. He hadn’t considered being a pet before.

Usually, when things went sideways, he traveled. Hopped trains, stowed away on buses, found shitty motels or hostels to stay at. It was easier that way—less attachment, less risk.

But Yeosang had just given him a new opportunity. A warm home. Free food. A cute owner.

The idea was… humiliating, sure. But it wasn’t the worst trade-off in the world. He could tolerate a collar and a litter box if it meant staying close, at least for a little while longer. 

And who would suspect that the suspected murderer on the run Jung Wooyoung was a house cat? Yeosang wouldn’t mind having a witch-shapeshifter-missing-friend-but-they-kissed-once-roommate-cat, right?

He just needed a way to make Yeosang want to keep him.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The next day when Yeosang stepped out into the garden, Wooyoung didn’t waste a second. He meowed as loud as he could.

“Oh,” the human blinked at him in surprise. “Hello again.”

Wooyoung meowed again, louder this time. He wasn’t going to let the barista get away with dismissing him this time. No more subtlety—he was going full-on cute cat mode.

“What the…?” The blond paused in his tracks, his brows furrowing as he glanced down at Wooyoung, who was weaving between his legs in the most persistent way possible. “You’re feeling friendly today,” Yeosang remarked, chuckling nervously as he tried to grab his watering can.

Wooyoung purred in response, rubbing his body against Yeosang’s jeans with determination. He didn’t stop, even as the barista took a few cautious steps, still trying to water his plants. This was his newest tactic—getting as close as possible, making it impossible for Yeosang to ignore him. (And trying to not get stepped on either.)

But Yeosang just smiled awkwardly, shifting his weight and stepping over the cat to check on his plants. 

“Sorry, Kitty,” he said, glancing back down at Wooyoung. “I don’t have any food for you.”

Wooyoung meowed again, as loud as he could, his tail swishing with growing frustration. This wasn’t going how he planned. He hadn’t even bothered to pet him.

Yeosang stepped back into the café. And with that, Wooyoung was back outside all alone again.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wooyoung tried everything.  

His frustration built with each passing day. He tried it all—flopping onto his back for belly rubs, purring loudly, rubbing up against Yeosang’s legs every time he came outside, he even tried to climb his pant leg at one point, except he had accidentally scratched Yeosang and he felt so bad about it that he ran away to sulk behind the trash can. 

None of it was working.

The cold was becoming unbearable, and as the days wore on, the weather grew chillier. The garden wasn’t enough to keep him warm anymore, and his fur coat was starting to lose its luster. He knew it would probably snow soon, and the thought of freezing was enough to make him anxious.

For the first time since he’d left home, Wooyoung questioned if he could even survive .

His stubbornness had gotten him this far, but it was reaching its breaking point. But as much as he didn’t want to leave, he knew it was stupid to let his stubbornness take his life. 

This plan had to work soon, or he would be forced to leave the town. He still had enough cash saved up for a bus ride and motel room somewhere much warmer. He could start again. 

His next plan of action was a lot bolder, and could definitely go wrong, but he had to try. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

He snatched a chrysanthemum from the garden, gnawing on the stem carefully with his sharp teeth until it broke off in his mouth. Picking it up, he dropped it in front of the café’s door. Wooyoung inhaled deeply, then lifted his head and let out a loud, desperate howl.

Okay, so it wasn’t his finest moment, but it was the only way he could think of to catch Yeosang’s attention. The flowers were a good gesture, right? Chrysanthemums were used in teas and syrups, both things Yeosang liked. This had to work.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. Wooyoung stood there, tail flicking impatiently, and scratched at the door with his claws to make sure the barista could hear him. Should he howl again?

Finally, a head poked out, looking around in confusion before eyes settled on Wooyoung.

“Why are you…?” Yeosang started, his voice trailing off as he spotted the flower. His head cocked. “What’s this?”

Wooyoung chirped excitedly, his tail flicking in a mix of pride and anticipation as he pushed the flower towards the human with his little paw. Yeosang bent down to pick up the chrysanthemum, inspecting it carefully before his face softened with realization.

“Are these… chrysanthemums? Did you bring this for me?” Yeosang asked, his voice gentler now.

Wooyoung meowed loudly, rubbing against the blond’s shins in gratitude and pure longing. 

“Thank you…” Yeosang said quietly, then surprised Wooyoung by reaching down to scratch his head. The warmth of the gesture sent a spark of hope through him, but it stopped suddenly, and Yeosang’s expression soured. “Wait. Did you chew up my garden?”

Wooyoung paused, halfway against his leg. Uh… oops?

Just as quickly as the warmth had come, it began to leave. Yeosang stepped back, turning to head back inside. Wooyoung couldn’t let this chance slip away. Using his momentum from rubbing up against the barista’s legs, he darted toward the door, slipping through the gap just as Yeosang started to close it.

“Hey! Wait!” Yeosang shouted, clearly startled.

Wooyoung didn’t waste any time. He bolted through the kitchen, feeling the heat of the indoors and all the ovens settle over him, warming him to the core. It was welcome after days of the cold garden, and he wasted no time trotting out to the empty seating area finding a comfy spot on the green couch.

Wooyoung leapt onto the couch, kneading the cushion with his tiny paws before curling up into a tight ball. He glanced up at Yeosang innocently, his eyes wide and pleading. The couch felt amazing. If Yeosang wanted him out, he was going to have to drag him off it.

“No, you can’t be in here!” Yeosang protested, frantically chasing him down.

Wooyoung flicked his tail with exaggerated nonchalance as he stayed on the couch. He was doing this. He was staying in here, and there was nothing Yeosang could do about it. Weren’t there café cats or library cats everywhere? He could be one, he would behave. 

Yeosang stopped in front of him, glaring down at him. In one swift move, he was scooped up, ignoring Wooyoung’s protest-filled meows as he dropped him back outside, gently but firmly.

“Sorry, sorry,” Yeosang muttered, still holding the door. He put his foot between the door and the frame, so Wooyoung couldn’t run back in. “Thank you for the flowers. Bye, Kitty.”

Wooyoung’s tail lashed angrily as the door shut in his face. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

That night was colder than usual, the air crisp with the promise of early winter, even though it was still autumn. Wooyoung huddled beneath the wooden bench outside the café, his tail curled tightly around himself. The ground beneath him was hard and unforgiving, the chill seeping through his fur no matter how much he tried to tuck himself in.

He knew the garden would be warmer, but he just needed a change of scenery. And it had nothing to do with it being a Thursday night, and this specific spot having a perfect view of front of the bar. 

He exhaled a small, tired sigh, watching as his breath curled into a faint cloud in the night air. The café had closed hours ago, and though he had long accepted that Yeosang wouldn’t be stepping back outside until morning, he still found himself staring at the door sometimes, ears twitching at every little creak of the old building.

The hunger wasn’t unbearable tonight. He had managed to run to McDonald's early, to grab a big dinner. Hardly gourmet, but enough to keep him going and warmish. Still, the gnawing feeling in his stomach was nothing compared to the loneliness that settled in his chest.

He missed them. His friends. The sound of Hongjoong’s voice scolding them for some mess he made, Seonghwa telling him about someone’s grandma he had never met. Yeosang, just all of him. His pain even went as far back as to Jongho’s unimpressed glances when Wooyoung got too carried away with his antics.

But here he was. Alone.

It had been a full week since he ‘disappeared.’ He knew that, because tonight he was waiting, just out of curiosity, for his friends to walk by. To see them, as selfish as it was. Just so he could know with his own eyes that they were all fine, and enjoying life without him. They deserved it. 

But for some reason, after waiting in that chilly spot for hours, he never saw them. 

Retreating back to the planter, he let out a small sigh, paws kneading at the earth beneath him. His tail flicked idly, eyes half-lidded as he glanced up at the dark sky. He wished he could see the stars tonight, but the clouds drowned them out, leaving only an empty black expanse.

He hated how much that felt like him.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

He brought Yeosang a new gift every day, announcing its delivery by yowling and scratching at the door. And every time, Yeosang would poke his head out, thank him, and leave before Wooyoung could dart in.

The clouds overhead looked heavy and Wooyoung was honestly a little scared. He had been trying to eat more to stay warm for the winter, but his stomach could only handle so much fast food before revolting. He didn’t want to die of high cholesterol yet . He figured in the worst case scenario, he could camp out at the McDonalds until the snow was manageable, but he had a feeling that once it started, it wouldn’t leave all winter. 

Or he could run over to Hongjoong’s shelter and pray that he wouldn’t be forever kept as a cat. 

Today’s gift for Yeosang was a wild mushroom he found. Non-poisonous, of course. Just as he was about to start up his usual screams, the café door swung open so suddenly that he nearly jumped out of his fur.

“The cat does this every day?” 

Two figures stepped out this time. Wooyoung froze, eyes widening at the familiar voice.

Wooyoung couldn’t believe his luck. Seonghwa stood in front of him, inspecting his mushroom. If he had known there would be guests today, he would’ve brought two.

He let his animal instincts take over, which was concerningly getting easier. He meowed excitedly and purred as he rubbed up on Seonghwa, smearing black fur all over the older man’s impeccably pressed slacks.

It wasn’t enough. Wooyoung wanted to say so much. Wanted to tell Seonghwa how much he missed him, how ridiculous this whole situation was, how he wasn’t actually missing. That he was so, so sorry, and owed him so much. That he would do anything to be back in Seonghwa’s studio right now, watching him polish rings for the hundredth time. 

Instead, he just pushed himself against him harder, willing the warmth and comfort he so desperately craved to seep through. His purrs sounded an awful lot like sniffles to his ears. 

Seonghwa, thankfully, had a soft spot for needy creatures. With a small chuckle, he bent down, scratching behind Wooyoung’s ears. The sensation was embarrassingly nice, and Wooyoung found himself purring so loudly it rattled his ribs.

Yeosang crossed his arms, watching the interaction with mild curiosity. “Yeah, he always brings me something. Same time, every day. Plants, rocks… One time, a random lottery ticket.”

“Did you win?”

“… Obviously not.”

Wooyoung chirped loudly. What a bummer.  

“Do you think…?” Yeosang exchanged a glance with the older. Wooyoung flopped over in front of him, and Yeosang met his gaze, something unreadable flashing in his eyes.

Maybe it was just Wooyoung’s imagination but… he looked almost tired. Like there was a hollowness to his eyes that wasn’t there before. 

“It’s very possible,” Seonghwa shrugged, inspecting the mushroom. “I mean, most cats bring dead rodents to their owners, not this.” He placed it in Yeosang’s hands. “I think it senses a connection to you.”

Yes, Wooyoung absolutely did. 

“Think about it. You know what they say, they’re the ones who choose.” Seonghwa put his hand Yeosang’s shoulder lightly. “I think this one chose you.”

“I don’t even know how to take care of a cat,” he whispered. Wooyoung sat against his leg and purred to comfort him. 

Seonghwa smiled gently. “Doesn’t San know plenty about cats? If you decide you want him, Hongjoong can even help with the process. And if you think you aren’t ready, don’t worry about… Him? Her?”

“Definitely a him.”

Seonghwa cocked his head. “How do you know?”

Yeosang just pointed to him. “Not neutered.” 

Wooyoung almost hissed in embarrassment.

Seonghwa continued to pet him, giving plenty of chin scratches, not noticing how mortified Wooyoung was. “Hm, I think you should really consider it. It would be good for you. Especially after… you know.”

Yeosang nodded, expression unreadable, and Wooyoung’s heart leaped into his throat. They turned to go back inside, and for once, Wooyoung didn’t even try to sneak in. 

Maybe he was about to have a place to call home again.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It took Yeosang another week to make up his mind. A week full of screaming at the door, bringing little gifts, being subjected to belly rubs. 

It was a Sunday, which meant the café was closed. Wooyoung hated Sundays, even before being a cat. They were long and uneventful, leaving him with nothing to do except nap and plot. But today, for once, his luck seemed to be looking up.

He perked up immediately when he heard the soft creak of the garden gate swinging open. Sure enough, Yeosang stepped in, dressed in one of his usual chunky, cozy sweaters, with a bag slung over his arm.

“Hey Kitty,” the blond greeted as he knelt down, voice gentle but still carrying that cool, even tone he always spoke with. 

Wooyoung tilted his head, eyes locked onto the bag. His tail flicked curiously behind him. What was in there? Food? A blanket ? He was dying for a real blanket—sleeping on dirt wasn’t exactly luxurious. Or warm.

Yeosang reached out, giving him a few tentative head pats. He was still a little awkward with his affection, like he wasn’t sure how much contact Wooyoung actually wanted. It was cute, really. But Wooyoung would break him out of that soon enough. No one could resist him.

“I brought you something…” Yeosang reached into the bag and pulled something out, offering it to him with an expectant look. Wooyoung took a cautious sniff.

Then immediately recoiled, ears flattening at the overwhelming stench of fish .

What the—

A treat. It was a treat, and it smelled like fucking tuna.

Absolutely not.

He backed away, shaking his head and flicking his tail in disgust. Yeah, maybe McDoubles weren’t great for his digestive track, but neither was that.

“Oh.” Yeosang’s disappointment was subtle, but Wooyoung still caught it. Guilt immediately clawed at him, but seriously —was this what humans thought all cats wanted? Just because he was in this body didn’t mean he had any sudden cravings for fish guts.

“Okay,” Yeosang mused, slipping the rejected treat back into the bag, “so maybe you don’t like tuna?”

Good deduction.

Still, he kept petting him, fingers running softly behind Wooyoung’s ears, and that was something he would never reject. His eyes fluttered shut, head tilting up slightly to encourage more scratches. He swore, if Yeosang kept this up, he’d have Wooyoung in his lap by the end of the week. Hell, he would have him in his lap now if Yeosang would just let him.

After a few moments of quiet, Yeosang spoke again, his voice softer this time.

“So… you’ve been hanging around here for a while,” he said, tone contemplative. “Do you maybe… wanna come home with me?”

Wooyoung’s eyes snapped open.

Yes. This was only the one thing he had been working towards recently.

He let out an excited, chirping meow, his purr starting up on instinct. Yes. Yes, very much so. I accept. Take me home. Now. 

Yeosang snorted. “If only you could understand me. You sound so excited.”

He had no idea .

“But…” Yeosang continued, reaching back into the bag, “I don’t know if you’ll like this part.”

He pulled out a collapsible cloth carrier, unzipping the front. Wooyoung immediately tensed.

Ah. Right.

A carrier .

He knew it was a necessary evil. Obviously Yeosang wasn’t just going to let him roam free in the car (even though Wooyoung would totally buckle up and sit still). But there was something deeply humiliating about climbing into a tiny box like some common housecat.

Which, he reminded himself, he currently was. 

Yeosang glanced at him warily. “Please let me put you in here without mauling me.”

As if Wooyoung would ever maul him. He wasn’t some feral alley cat. And besides, if getting into that thing meant warmth, food, and a permanent place in Yeosang’s home, he’d walk in it himself.

To Yeosang’s obvious surprise, Wooyoung remained completely calm as he scooped him up, only letting out a small merp of acknowledgement at the contact. It was… nice, actually. He wasn’t used to being held like this, with firm but careful hands supporting him. Yeosang’s scent surrounded him, warm and sweet, like sugar and coffee beans, and Wooyoung had to fight the urge to nuzzle into his chest.

He’d already acted too eager. He had to play it cool now. 

Gently, Yeosang set him inside the carrier, zipping it up securely before picking it up again. The slight swinging motion threw Wooyoung off balance for a second, but he adjusted quickly, curling his tail around himself as he peered through the mesh opening.

“Alright,” Yeosang murmured, “let’s get you home.”

Wooyoung’s heart practically exploded . They stepped through the gate, and for the first time in a long time, Wooyoung was happy to leave the little café behind.

The silver SUV parked outside was as clean and well-kept as he expected—Yeosang seemed like the type to keep everything in perfect condition. The man opened the passenger side door, setting the carrier down carefully on the seat before, to Wooyoung’s absolute shock, pulling the seat belt around it to buckle it in.

Oh my gods.

This was too much .

He wasn’t just being taken home—he was being chauffeured . Sure, the car kind of smelled like mulch and espresso, but this was nice. It even had heat!

Yeosang was quiet as he got into the driver’s seat, adjusting his mirrors before starting the engine. The soft hum of the car vibrated through the carrier, and Wooyoung settled down, tucking his paws beneath him as he stared up at Yeosang through the mesh.

They were really doing this.

He was going home.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Yeosang’s home was serene, tucked into a quiet neighborhood that bordered on being rural, where towering trees overshadowed the houses scattered among the woods but the houses were just close enough to have a sense of community. The brick exterior was wrapped in creeping ivy, and plants flourished even in the middle of winter, giving the place a sense of life and warmth despite the cold. 

After parking the car on the gravel driveway, Yeosang gently carried Wooyoung’s carrier into the garage. He opened the door, lifting Wooyoung out with careful hands.

“Let’s get you all ready before I let you explore inside,” Yeosang murmured.

Wooyoung meowed softly, trying to keep his composure as Yeosang’s hands worked through his fur. The inspection for fleas and ticks was annoying, followed by a quick trim of his claws. Which, by the way, felt awful. But the gentle touch, the quiet concentration on Yeosang’s face—it was enough for Wooyoung to handle.

“There we go,” Yeosang said softly. “You’re all good. Let’s head inside.”

The door into the house opened, and Wooyoung immediately felt the difference. The air was warmer, heavier with the scent of herbs, coffee, and something really homey. Nothing like the mildew and tobacco of the motel room.

“Go ahead,” Yeosang said, setting the carrier on the kitchen table. “Explore. This is your new home, Kitty.”

It was cozy. The kitchen was about what he expected, cluttered with baking stuff and permanently covered in flour. Jars filled with crushed crystals, dried herbs, and tiny vials of glowing liquid he couldn’t figure out lined the tops of the cabinets. 

Wooyoung stepped cautiously into the living room, his sharp senses overwhelmed. The space was cozy, glowing with soft golden light. Crystals gleamed on the windowsills, tapestries hung on the walls, and plants filled every corner, their leaves draped over shelves and hanging from macramé planters. It was even more crowded with plants than the cafe, which was saying something. Wooyoung sniffed around, even though all the herbs clouded his senses, but it smelled distinctly like Yeosang in here too. It was comforting. 

It was enchanting, just like him.

Wooyoung’s paws carried him toward a small altar tucked discreetly against one wall. Candles, dried flowers, and polished stones were arranged with care, and the air around it seemed to hum with energy. He lifted onto his hind legs to inspect it, but still couldn’t reach it with how short being a cat made him.

“You’re already curious, huh?” Yeosang chuckled as he walked into the kitchen, pulling open a cabinet to retrieve a small jar of tea leaves.

Wooyoung wanted to respond, to say something witty or whatever, but all he could do was let out a soft chirp as he continued moving around. The house was perfect—He could definitely get used to this. 

Wooyoung spotted the thing he was looking forward to the most: the couch. Springing up on it, he immediately sunk into the dark brown cushions, purring at how soft it was compared to the dirt he had been sleeping in. An overwhelming amount of throw blankets were draped over the arm of it, and he cozied up against them, and oh gods, it was even better than the few seconds he had on the couch at the café.

There’s a small pang of guilt in the back of his head, for getting comfortable when his friends didn’t even know where he was. But they would forgive him, right?

The sudden sound of tires crunching on gravel outside made his ears twitch.

Yeosang perked up, setting the tea jar on the counter. A car door slammed, the garage opened, and a moment later, the door opened.

“Hey,” someone called out, casual but confident. Wooyoung cocked his head, not recognizing the voice. “I’m home.”

Yeosang’s face lit up, and Wooyoung froze, half-hidden behind the couch. He peered over the back, watching as the stranger entered.

“I wasn’t expecting you back yet,” Yeosang said, his tone softer than usual, his genuine smile reaching his eyes.

“Surprise,” the stranger replied as he stepped inside. He was slightly taller, definitely more broad, in royal blue scrubs with a dimpled smile and a presence that immediately filled the space. “They accidentally had someone extra on rotation tonight.”

Wooyoung tracked him with narrow eyes. Who the fuck was this guy? A roommate? A friend? Yeosang never mentioned living with someone. 

“Lucky you,” Yeosang smirked as he leaned back against the counter. The stranger, Wooyoung was betting on roommate, stepped into the blond’s space, smiling down at him. 

Then, before Wooyoung could even process it, the man leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to Yeosang’s lips.

Oh.

Yeosang smiled up at the man, clearly not concerned by the fact that they just kissed.

Not a roommate.

Wooyoung’s stomach twisted painfully.

“How was your day, babe?” The man asked, grabbing Yeosang’s discarded tea cup to warm it up in the microwave again. 

Yeosang hummed, watching the cup spin lazily behind the microwave door. “It was fine,” he said, though his fingers fidgeted against the counter. “I got a lot of stuff done that I needed to.”

Wooyoung was too busy trying to process the scene in front of him to care about the little back and forth. He just sat there, frozen, ears flicking as he took it all in.

Yeosang had a… boyfriend?

Not just a boyfriend, but one who seemed to live at home with him. Someone who knew his habits, his routines. Someone who belonged here.

“Right,” he said, as he removed the now steaming cup of tea from the microwave and carefully handing it to the blond. “And you relaxed? Like you’re supposed to on your day off?”

Yeosang scoffed, wrapping his hands around the warm mug. “I relaxed as much as I could.”

The man gave him a pointed look. “That’s not an answer.”

Wooyoung, still half-hidden behind the couch, barely registered the conversation. His tail flicked in agitation as he stared daggers at the man, standing so comfortably in Yeosang’s space, moving around his kitchen like he belonged there.

He barely noticed when Yeosang glanced in his direction, as if finally remembering he had another presence in the house.

“Oh,” Yeosang murmured, setting his cup down before turning to the man. “I, uh, actually have something to tell you.”

The other smirked. “You’re pregnant?”

“Shut up.” Yeosang rolled his eyes. “No, I… might have brought home a surprise.”

The man quirked a brow. “Oh? For dinner?”

“No, gods no,” Yeosang snorted.

The stranger sighed, pulling leftover food out of the fridge. “Then don’t tell me it’s another plant. We’re seriously running out of space. Like, I mean it this time.”

Yeosang rolled his eyes but grinned. “It’s not a plant.” Then, before Wooyoung could even think about darting away, Yeosang stepped over and scooped him up, holding him securely against his chest.

The man blinked in surprise. “A… cat?” His sharp eyes widened as he took in Wooyoung, in all his dark fur and fury. 

Yeosang nodded, stroking Wooyoung’s back as he explained, “He’s the one that’s been hanging around my café, the one you kept begging me to bring home.”

His brows lifted in recognition. “Oh! The stray?”  

Yeosang nodded, adjusting his hold as Wooyoung went stiff in his arms. “Yeah, Seonghwa finally convinced me to bring him home. And Hongjoong threatened me, so.”  

The man huffed out a small laugh, closing the fridge and walking closer. He squatted down to Wooyoung’s level. “So you’re the little guy Sangie’s been obsessing over.” He reached out a hand, fingers hovering just within Wooyoung’s line of sight. “Hey there—”  

Wooyoung didn’t even hesitate. With a sharp hiss, he swiped at his fingers, his claws just barely grazing the skin.  

“San!” Yeosang jerked back, pulling Wooyoung away before he could do more damage. 

San yanked his hand back with a startled laugh. “Shit—okay, not friendly.”   

Yeosang gasped, rubbing small circles between Wooyoung’s ears in an attempt to soothe him. “No, he is… he’s a little particular, I guess?” 

San studied him with an amused smirk. “I see how it is. You just got here, and you already hate me.”  

Wooyoung flicked his tail and narrowed his eyes. Yeah. He absolutely did.

So this was the San he always heard about. It made sense why he didn’t know anything about the guy, or ever meet him.

Yeosang talked about San, sure, but never in a way that painted the full picture, and he got why now. They had all mentioned him in passing—little details about his job, occasional complaints about him, or fond stories about college parties he got too drunk at. But never once did Yeosang say, Oh, by the way, he’s my boyfriend. 

That would’ve been a great thing to know before Wooyoung kissed him. 

Wooyoung flattened his ears, eyes still locked onto San as Yeosang sighed. “Just give him some time, he’s probably stressed. Maybe he’s not fond of strangers…”  

San smiled, flexing his fingers as if to check for damage. “Ahh, then he’ll like me eventually.” 

Wooyoung highly doubted that. He didn’t care how confident San was—he wasn’t interested in getting along. Ever.

Yeosang sighed, scratching gently behind Wooyoung’s ears. “Don’t push it. I’m sure he’s been through a lot.”

San raised his hands in mock surrender, leaning back against the counter. “I’ll give him space… for now.”

Yeosang turned, heading for the couch with Wooyoung still held securely in his arms. “I’m gonna get his stuff set up. And keep him away from you.”   

Wooyoung buried his face in Yeosang’s hoodie, breathing in his scent, warm and herbal, like tea and almost like Magic. This was fine. He could still work with this.

San could be ignored. Yeosang was the only one who really mattered. And when Wooyoung was able to be a human again, he was kicking both of their asses.

Chapter Text

Being a cat was harder than he thought it should be. 

He figured that made sense—he wasn’t born a cat, after all—but he still hadn’t expected it to be this miserable. 

There were the obvious things, everything was either too big or too small. He wasn’t used to having to jump just to get onto a couch, or squeezing by legs to get around people. Being so close to the floor was miserable, gross, and his poor, stupid, human brain couldn’t stop instinctively craning his neck upward like he still had five feet and eight inches of height to work with, only to be met with the constant, humiliating reminder that no, he was stuck down here now. At ground-level with the crumbs and dirt.

And the fucking tail—it was a nuisance that never seemed to do what he wanted. Why couldn’t he control it, was it something about being a shifter? Was that a thing real cats could do? He had never thought to ask.

Then there were the stupid urges, but more like humiliating instincts he suddenly adopted, to chase anything that moved, the way his ears flicked at every tiny noise, the overwhelming need to knead blankets with his paws and make little biscuits. And okay, maybe it felt kind of nice. Maybe it soothed something in his chest he didn’t realize was there. But it didn’t make it any less embarrassing, because he wasn’t supposed to like this. He wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Acting like a cat was one thing… Feeling like one was another. He had never been in his cat form for this long, and he had a sinking feeling it was getting to be… too long. 

The longer he kept this up, the more he felt himself unraveling—not physically, but somewhere deeper. The part of him that knew how to be a human being was starting to wear thin. And with that came the worst realization of all:

He was lonely.

Pathetically, devastatingly lonely. And he hated that it took being trapped in a cat’s body to really feel it. And the feeling always snuck up on him, which was shocking, because shouldn’t he be used to being alone by now? Could all of those years of solitude and suffering really amount to nothing because he had a good few months? A few months of being spoken to genuinely, looked at like he was something worth caring for? 

Because he’d been alone before—years of it, actually. He was really good at it. But apparently a few months of warmth, of real friendship and real touch and real laughter, was all it took to destroy his carefully-built tolerance. It was like something inside him had thawed just enough to remember what it meant to be cared for, and now the absence of it felt louder than ever.

Now he found himself aching for it when the house got too quiet, or when he could hear San and Yeosang laughing together in the next room over. He would stare out the window or hide behind the curtains like some brooding widow, hoping Yeosang would notice and coax him back out. 

And he usually did.

All of that was actually the worst part of being stuck like this. The fact that Yeosang still treated him like they belonged together, with open arms and soft words. Even like this—a silent, cat-shaped, literal shadow of himself—he didn’t cast him out. Yeosang still patted his head, called him silly nicknames, let him sleep in the laundry basket and told him about his day like Wooyoung was able to understand. He let him in, just like before, every time, and without question. 

And then there was the overwhelming urge to curl up in the warmest, coziest, safest spot possible as small as he could—which, unfortunately, ended up being Yeosang’s lap.

He tried not to. He really did. He told himself over and over that he hated Yeosang (he didn’t), that he was mad at him (he was), that this was a betrayal (kind of). That he should keep his distance out of pride, out of self-respect actually, out of some shred of dignity. But every time he curled up on the opposite end of the couch, or on a windowsill, or on the cold hardwood floor like he deserved , he always wound up inching closer anyway. 

First to the blanket. Then to the cushion. Then, suddenly, he’d blink and he’d be curled up in Yeosang’s lap, purring like a fool, getting soft belly rubs and gentle scratches behind the ears.

And disgustingly, it made him feel safe. Safe in a way he hadn’t since before —before the motel, before the murder, before the magic slipped through his fingers and he started making irreversible mistakes. And when he did manage to ignore the fact that his friend-who-he-kissed-once-and-then-abandoned was rubbing his stomach while Wooyoung was literally sitting in his lap, it only made that knife of guilt twist more. 

And that was the bitter core of it all: San. The boyfriend. The reason everything had changed.

Because he was hiding here, and fucking San existed. Yeosang’s boyfriend . The guy he had never met before, but the second he stepped through that door, everything Wooyoung was sticking around for had crumbled. 

Wooyoung hadn’t even met him before all of this, but the second San walked through that door, it had all unraveled. Because the worst part of being stuck like this wasn’t the tail, or the instincts, or the fact that he was a literal pet. It was watching Yeosang laugh with someone else. Watching Yeosang choose someone else, and realizing he was never an option at all.

He should’ve known. 

Yeosang—kind, gentle, and far too beautiful—wasn’t someone who would stay single. He probably had people flocking to him all the time, trying to win his attention, just like Wooyoung had done. Really, as much as he hated San with everything in him, he couldn’t blame him. He was always San’s.

But even if it shouldn’t have been a surprise that he was taken, how did Wooyoung literally never hear about them dating? That was weird, right?

In all of the conversations that San’s name floated around in, not once did his friends infer or even hint that he was in a relationship with Yeosang. Which felt like really easy knowledge to just casually reference conversation. And Wooyoung was pretty damn sure he wasn’t exactly subtle about his crush around them, and none of them ever stopped him?

And Yeosang had never stopped Wooyoung either. 

That thought dug the deepest. Yeosang had never pushed him away, had never told him he was out of line. Had never said, “I have a boyfriend,” or “You’re misreading this,” or even just a firm, clear “No” . And now Wooyoung didn’t know what it meant. The guilt was a quiet monster in his chest, chewing away at everything he thought he understood. 

Was he the villain here? Had he wrecked something that didn’t belong to him? Had he crossed a line he didn’t even realize was there?

The guilt clawed inside of him, howling. Had Wooyoung been responsible for all of this mess? A mess that seemed to only exist in his mind, but a mess when he looked at the fact that Wooyoung was flirting with, and had kissed, a taken man. 

Wooyoung didn’t know which possibility hurt more: that he had misread everything and forced something Yeosang didn’t want, or that Yeosang had wanted it, but only in a moment when no one else was looking. Either way, it left a sick taste in his mouth and something sharp lodged under his skin. Had he been so caught up in his feelings that he’d made Yeosang uncomfortable, or was he so caught up in them he didn’t realize who Yeosang was? 

Had everyone just been too polite to call him out? Maybe he wasn’t as close to them as he thought. Maybe they didn’t trust him enough to be honest. Maybe they didn’t care enough to stop him. Maybe he wasn’t worth stopping.

Every option hurt in a way he didn’t want to admit. Like his insides were twisting around, or his heart was trying to squeeze itself to death. He lived with a lot of shame already, he didn’t know if he could add that to it. 

Wooyoung wouldn’t ever get an answer, but he had to look his guilt in the eyes every day, living in his house. Just the echo of a kiss, a warm house and a boy who wasn’t his.

He gently flexed his claws into the lap below him, biting back the bitterness that wanted to rise. He could be happy here for now. He could, he could ignore it all. But, damn , it hurt so much sometimes, watching them together. 

San would throw his head back when he laughed, all dimples and sunshine, and Yeosang would smile at him like he was the only thing worth looking at. Their hands would fall in place together, or they’d whisper something just loud enough for the other to hear, and Wooyoung would be curled at the corner of the couch, pretending he couldn’t feel the way his heart cracked just a little more each time.

This was his own fault anyway, and he didn’t get to be angry or sad or anything else that implied he deserved more than he got. He was a cat right now—a stray with nowhere else to go and no one to blame but himself. And they were kind enough to take him in, let him sleep in their sunspots and eat their food and curl up in their warmth like he belonged. He should be grateful. He was grateful.

But was it really possible to be grateful for all of this when he was lying to them?

He shouldn’t have stayed. And now he couldn’t leave.

Wooyoung had no way to get back to the café, even if he wanted to. He had no idea how to, and it wasn’t really logical to. His phone was still there, meaning his GPS was in his backpack, along with all of his clothes. And frankly, with all the snow piling up every day, he wasn’t in the mood to trek naked across the town and get frostbite. 

For the first time, he actually felt trapped. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the feeling in his chest. It wasn’t jealousy, he knew that. He didn’t feel jealous at all, not even of San, and it wasn’t a burning sickness that writhed around inside of him. It wasn’t jealousy when he watched San wrap an arm around Yeosang’s shoulder on the couch, or when he tugged him by the waist to leave a kiss on his birthmark. Not exactly. It was more like… disappointment . 

Wooyoung thought he should be used to that feeling by now. And yet, here he was, stuck in the form of a cat, unable to say anything. Unable to do anything. Unable to go anywhere.

He just had to wait it out. He could do that, he’s been doing that.

But what would he even do when he was human again? When would that even be, what would Wooyoung even be by then? Could he confront Yeosang, and demand why Wooyoung never heard about San? Or apologize for… literally everything? 

Perhaps, he would just run away from this problem too.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wooyoung had gotten used to Yeosang’s routine pretty quickly, it was about the same every single day. He’d walk in, set his stuff down by the door with a dramatic sigh of relief, and immediately start looking for Kitty . Not San, not dinner, not the TV remote— him . Kitty.

Yeosang always greeted him first, dropping to his knees or crouching low wherever Wooyoung had chosen to lounge that day. He’d scratch behind his ears or run a gentle hand down his back, always murmuring something soft like, “Missed you,” or “You doing okay today?” as if Wooyoung could answer. He never seemed to expect one. He just... talked . About his day, about work. 

And every single time, no matter how badly Wooyoung wanted to stay cold or aloof, he’d melt. His body would betray him—lean into the touch, stretch out to meet the warmth of that palm, tail flicking in a slow, lazy arc that Yeosang always smiled at. He opened up so much, about how he felt, how the customers were, anything new he baked, how his favorite pothos was doing. It was so precious. 

Then Yeosang would stand, move into the kitchen, and start on dinner. He cooked like it was second nature, sleeves pushed up, hips sometimes swaying gently to the low music he turned on if he thought no one was watching. Wooyoung always watched. 

Then if he was home, San would join in, wrapping his arms around Yeosang’s waist from behind, pressing a kiss to his cheek or nuzzling into his neck. And Yeosang would smile—gods, that fucking smile—and lean back into him, soft and golden and completely unreachable.

Wooyoung would quietly pad out of the room then, tail low, stomach hollow.

But San’s schedule was a little harder to predict.

It seemed like he was always in and out, whenever he wanted. Gym clothes on one morning before daybreak, but the next day he was going after the sun had set. One day he’d be gone for hours, the next he’d be back before Wooyoung could even relocate from the window to the couch. It probably had something to do with his rotations at the hospital, but Wooyoung didn’t care. He hated the inconsistency. He hated that he couldn’t track him. Couldn’t predict his movements. Couldn’t plan his own quiet little routines around him like he did with Yeosang.

San moved through the house like he belonged in every room, like he knew it better than Wooyoung did. And he did .

Wooyoung couldn’t stand how easily San fit into the space he wanted for himself. How San could drop his keys on the table, kick off his shoes, and toss an arm around Yeosang like it was the most natural thing in the world. How Yeosang leaned into it, how he smiled brighter when San walked in the room.

It made Wooyoung's fur itch.

Sometimes San would try to call him over, using that stupid baby voice that humans used on animals, and Wooyoung would turn his head and flick his tail, the universal sign for fuck off in cat language.

And still, San would laugh. Like it was cute. Like Wooyoung didn’t mean it.

Wooyoung meant it.

He hated how he realized that San smelled like Yeosang now. Or rather, how Yeosang had always smelled like him, too. The scents overlapped and tangled and made his skin crawl in ways he couldn’t shake.

Because San had everything Wooyoung wanted—and worse, he didn’t even know it.

At least when they were both home, he could keep an eye on them and actively ignore them, while they lived together all domestically, and got to be all cuddly and in love, while he glared from the other side of the room. San would help chop vegetables while Yeosang stirred something at the stove. They’d bump shoulders and smile, speak in quiet tones, laugh over inside jokes. It was sickening. It was aggravating . It was—well. It was better than being alone.

And in a particularly evil, petty little way, Wooyoung kind of liked when San was around.

Because it turned out to be a really fun game: seeing how close he could swipe at San’s ankles before actually making contact. Or how long he could hold eye contact while flattening his ears in pure, feline hatred—only to look wide-eyed and innocent the second Yeosang turned around.

But much to his annoyance, he took all of Wooyoung’s anger in stride. Every time he lashed out with teeth or claws, San would just laugh, like getting bullied by a ten-pound menace was the highlight of his day. Like he thought it was cute. Like it was some game he was winning (he wasn’t, Wooyoung definitely was). And okay, maybe Wooyoung was bullying him just a little—but wasn’t he allowed that one tiny outlet? One little victory?

Sure, Wooyoung probably could do some serious damage with these weapons, but he didn’t want to end up in the animal shelter or on the streets again for being too aggressive. Or being put down, as morbid as that was.

And it wasn’t like he exactly wanted to hurt San either. Not like, deeply. He wasn’t a monster. (Just an inconveniently trapped shapeshifter in a jealous downward spiral, but semantics.)

So he messed with San as much as he could while laying low. By shallowly sinking his teeth into his arm whenever he was picked up, and swiping at his hand whenever he tried to pet him, which was all the time. Literally, was the guy stupid? Who keeps trying to pet and pick up a cat that is trying to maul him?

Hongjoong was right, cats do get away with being assholes much easier than humans.

“You’re gonna have to try harder than that,” San would tease at him, dodging just in time, every time . Or worse, he’d play along, acting dramatically wounded whenever Wooyoung’s claws barely grazed his skin. He growled lowly when he did that, tail flicking and stalking off to hold back actually mauling him. One day he just might. If he kept smiling at Wooyoung with his stupidly perfect face in his stupidly perfect house with his stupidly perfect boyfriend.

Yeosang, of course, was no help to his boyfriend. “Kitty,” he’d sigh, exasperated and confused as to why he ever only attacked San, but the blond never actually did anything about it. He wouldn’t even clap or shoo him away when he latched onto San’s ankle, gnawing at the skin with his little fangs and kicking with his back feet, simply saying “he’s still settling in.”

Because, as he began to learn, Yeosang was not very good at having a pet. So the one-sided war against San raged on.

Yet, it wasn’t all bad. For every time Wooyoung left tiny tooth marks on San’s skin, there was a quiet evening sprawled across his warm lap or the stolen bites of grilled chicken slipped under the table. He hated how easily he was falling into the rhythm of domesticity, even if it was from the sidelines, as their pet. Even if it did include San.

So yeah, Wooyoung would reluctantly admit that he didn’t totally hate having both of them home. He’d glare at them from a distance and do his best to radiate pure disdain every time they got a little too cozy on the couch, but even that was better than the eerie silence of the empty house during the day. When they were both gone, every creak in the floorboards made his fur stand on end, and no matter where he curled up, he always had this crawling feeling down his spine like he was being watched.

It was anxiety inducing and boring. But the bird feeders out back gave him something to stare at. He spent a decent amount of time perched in the windowsill, eyes tracking sparrows and finches like some sort of judgmental gargoyle. It wasn’t exactly fulfilling, but it was something to do.

They even bought plenty of toys for him to play with, which was really nice of them, but he wasn’t really interested in chasing around a stuffed chili pepper (he even tried once, just to be polite.)

It squeaked. He immediately stopped and walked away with his dignity in shreds. That had been the end of that.

Plus, the catnip in them smelled really weird, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to be drugged up in this form, in case he accidentally shifted back and they came back home to their naked, missing friend rubbing himself all over their cat toys in the living room, high as shit. 

He was already humiliated enough. No need to add “perverted drugged up catboy” to the list.

So, he created his own routine for the day after they left for work to chase away the boredom and loneliness. 

First, it started with shifting back into his human form. Shifting wasn’t painless, but it felt so good to stretch out into his full height, and he actually did need showers occasionally, with soap and water, not just his tongue. And when the hot water cascaded down his skin, it felt amazing in a way he couldn’t even describe, washing off the familiar blood coating his chest for just a few minutes before he eventually had to redraw it. 

Plus, he finally got to use the toilet, instead of the litter box in the corner that he still ignored. San did point out once that they have yet to clean it in the few days they’ve had a cat, but Yeosang just shrugged and that was it.

Like he said, really bad at having a pet. 

Wooyoung loved his designated human time. He would just walk around on two legs and enjoy having a thumb and picking things up and then putting them right back down. Open and close cabinets. Sit and tie the shoelaces next to the front door. Simple things. All while naked.

It truly was the little things in life.

Then he would turn on the news for as long as he could stomach it, making sure nothing weird popped up on the local news, before flipping to find a movie to watch mindlessly. He already had enough shit going on in his life, he didn’t really want to hear about the state of the rest of the world just yet, unless it included a ransacked motel room covered in blood.

Finally, he would reluctantly shift back into his cat form and nap. That was the best part of being confined to a tiny beast with four legs, because everything was so much cozier this way. His favorite spot was on the hallway rug that faced the window, since the sun would sit there for hours and warm up the spot nicely, making his dark fur toasty despite the fall air slowly creeping in the cracks of the older house. 

Eventually, his solitude would be ruined when Yeosang came home, shortly followed by San. Or sometimes the other way around. They both always greeted him with warm pets and kind words, but it just made Wooyoung feel shitty every time, even if he was glad they were home. 

They wouldn’t talk to him like this if they knew who he was. 

If they knew that the soft, little creature they were doting on was actually a man they once knew—one with lots of flaws, with petty, messy feelings, with so much guilt they probably wouldn’t understand. They wouldn't let him curl into their laps or scratch at their hands. They wouldn't call him cute or kiss the top of his head. Yeosang wouldn’t laugh when he knocked over his tea mug, and San wouldn’t sneak him extra bits of deli meat when Yeosang wasn’t home.

If they knew he was Wooyoung, and not really their cat, they wouldn’t want him here at all.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wooyoung had been so caught up in freaking out about his new cat instincts, that he’d somehow completely forgotten he was supposed to act like a cat.

Which is why, one quiet afternoon, he found himself on the couch, fully engrossed in The Chamber of Secrets , flipping pages delicately, practically purring while in human form because he wasn’t bored for once.

And that was exactly how Yeosang almost found him.

The moment Wooyoung heard the garage door opening, panic shot through him like lightning. He thanked every god he could think of that at least he had the sense to shift back as he barely had the time to drop the book, shift hastily into his cat form, just as the front door opened.

He didn’t even have time to hide the book.

Yeosang stood there in the doorway, keys in hand, staring at the very obvious sight of his cat sitting next to an open, halfway-read paperback, tail poofy and twitching. Wooyoung braced for it, the moment he got thrown out for being a freeloading witch in disguise. He had to know now.

But Yeosang only blinked, looked at the book, looked at him, and then shrugged.

He walked over, grabbed the wallet he must’ve forgotten, gave Wooyoung a passing scratch behind the ears like nothing had happened , and left again without a word. The garage door hummed softly as it closed, leaving Wooyoung alone in stunned silence on the couch, still frozen in place.

He sat there for a solid minute, tail twitching in disbelief.

He started being more careful about his routine after that, especially when shifting back into his human form during the day. But it seemed like no matter what he did, San and Yeosang let it slide as ‘typical cat behavior.’

It wasn’t uncommon anymore for them to come home to Wooyoung watching baseball or romcoms in the living room. San seemed more thrown off by it at first, but along with Yeosang, he just eventually shrugged and went about his business. He even started joining him now, sitting down on the couch (far enough away that Wooyoung wouldn’t try and attack him) to watch too.

Wooyoung genuinely wondered if they were both stupid. 

They also finally got the hint that Wooyoung was not interested in regular cat food. The kibble in his dish went untouched for days before it finally disappeared completely. Yeosang even tried the fancy wet food, but Wooyoung would have no part of it. He wasn’t going to eat cat food, for the gods’ sake. Thankfully, he was able to raid their kitchen during the day so he wasn’t totally starved, but it sucked watching them eat real meals around him while he had to pout at a bowl of stinky slop every time.

And then Yeosang brought home store-bought rotisserie chicken for dinner one night. 

Wooyoung felt like he completely lost it in that moment, two seconds away from just outright asking for it. The smell was intoxicating , better than it ever smelled as a human. The second it was set on the counter and he caught a whiff of it, Wooyoung blacked out and found himself jumping up in search of the smell, hardly having time to process his own actions before trying to desperately bite at the plastic bag around the chicken.

“Oh, no you don’t,” San said, scooping him up to stop his little sharp teeth from ripping it open. Wooyoung just hissed pathetically, wiggling his way out of his arms and plopping back onto the tile floor. He paced near where the chicken was sitting on the counter above him, crying out for just a little taste. Just a little one! He even stretched up toward the counter, wishing his little arms were just slightly longer, paw swishing helplessly for it.

Fuck. It was so pathetic of him but he needed some. So bad. Why? He didn’t know, but it smelled so fucking good. 

“Rotisserie chicken?” Yeosang asked with a frown, pausing where he was opening it up. “This is basically what’s in your cat food, but you won't touch that.” 

It was the fact that it was in delicious, warm chicken form, he tried to meow. Not icky, crunchy kibble. Wooyoung gave him his best kitty eyes, rubbing on his leg for extra effect. He could hear his meows turning into yowls, but he just couldn’t stop. Gods help him, he needed that fucking chicken.

The blond just sighed and ripped off a little piece to toss to the ground that the cat gobbled up quickly. San laughed at Yeosang for rescuing such a picky cat, and the latter grumbled about having to spend all of his money on rotisserie chicken now. 

Wooyoung just ate it up happily. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wooyoung got bored too easily, which is why he had so many new hobbies. 

Yeah, he found a new hobby in hissing at the neighbor’s dog through the windows when it snooped around the house every morning, a German Shepherd that seemed to just be free range for whatever reason. He also liked dragging socks around and leaving them in weird places for fun. And unfortunately, he even used a litter box a few times. (It wasn’t that bad, honestly). He wasn’t sure if that was a hobby yet, though. 

But his new, favorite hobby was seeing how far he could push the two humans with his typical cat behavior. 

After dinner, San walked into the living room, rubbing a towel through his damp hair, and stopped dead in his tracks. Wooyoung glanced up at him, pretending to not trace the droplets of water down his abs with his eyes. 

Yeosang was sitting cross-legged on the floor, scrolling through his phone like nothing was wrong. Next to him, Wooyoung was perched on the coffee table, a deck of playing cards splayed out in front of him.

San blinked. “…Are you two playing Go Fish?”

Yeosang didn’t even look up. “Not really. He’s terrible at it, I can see all of his cards.” 

Well, excuse him for not having opposable thumbs!

San took a slow step closer. Wooyoung, perfectly unbothered, pushed a card around with his paws, slid it in front of Yeosang, and flicked his tail expectantly. 

Yeosang sighed, picked up his own card, and added it on top of Wooyoung’s who took it back happily. Another pair, another win, another day. 

San pointed, almost dropping the towel. “That’s insane. This is actually insane. Yeosang,” he whined.

“He brought me the deck,” Yeosang said, finally glancing up. “What was I supposed to do? Say no?”

San opened his mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again. He watched, helpless, as Wooyoung nudged another card forward with all the smugness of someone who definitely knew how ridiculous this was. 

“Sangie, I love you,” San said at last, voice full of deep concern. “I really, really do. But what the fuck?”

Wooyoung glared at him. Yeosang barely spared San a glance as he gave Wooyoung another card that had matched what he pushed forward. “You know they’re supposed to be smart, right?”

San pointed at the cat, looking genuinely alarmed. “Smart? I could look past the TV thing, but he’s playing a card game with you.”

“So?” Yeosang blinked. “It’s just Go Fish. It’s not like we’re playing poker.”

San dragged a hand down his face. “Right. Of course.”

Wooyoung, tired of the interruptions, let out an exaggerated mew, and for good measure, he took a paw and smacked the pile of discarded cards off the table.

Yeosang barely reacted. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. You’re winning.”

San’s eye twitched. Yeosang gave him a shrug, gathering the scattered cards like this was a normal, everyday occurrence.

Then it accidentally became one.

Card games, late-night romcoms, lazy mornings all curled up together—it all started off as a weird coping mechanism, a way to kill time and distract from the surreal reality of living as a cat who used to be their friend. But somewhere between Yeosang teaching Wooyoung to high-five for bits of chicken like a dog, and San insisting on talking to him like a human, it started to feel like a routine. A strange, domestic rhythm none of them had planned on falling into—but one they didn’t seem in a rush to break, either.

And maybe it was some sick, twisted way he was trying to force them into catching him, to make him feel guilty or something, but doing the stupidest stuff and just watching them shrug was the funniest thing ever. 

He would turn up the volume on the TV with his little paws while they watched it. San eventually just started leaving the remote in front of him to mess with. Sometimes he would drag blankets around for them. Once he even helped clean up their take out containers by hauling them to the trash can (which isn’t easy with just a tiny mouth and no thumbs).

And yet they always just let him. Neither raised a single eyebrow at it, like they honestly thought Wooyoung was just a third roommate who happened to be in cat form. 

Well, he was.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wooyoung eventually started to realize he didn’t hate San as much as he needed to. Which meant he needed to try harder.

In his defense, though, San was just objectively a better cat owner than Yeosang. The favoritism wasn’t his fault.

Sure, Wooyoung still hated him. Obviously. But San was a lot more generous with giving Wooyoung ‘human’ food, unlike Yeosang, who liked to lecture his boyfriend about stomach sensitivity and vet bills. San just kept sneaking him little bites under the table with a conspiratorial smile, which meant Wooyoung got to bite his fingers just hard enough to be annoying when he snatched the food, but soft enough to be thankful.

He gave heavy-handed pets (when Wooyoung let him), knew how to pick him up comfortably (when Wooyoung let him), and even snuck him food under the table almost every meal (when Wooyoung let him). Yeosang, on the other hand, still hadn’t adjusted to sharing space with anything more sentient than a potted plant (sans San). He was really bad about not watching where he was walking in the mornings, or really ever. San at least always shuffled around Wooyoung, or slowly stepped over him when he was busy laying in his beam of hallway sunlight, whereas Yeosang would kick right into him, usually half-asleep and holding a mug of tea.

So yeah. Objectively speaking, San was better at this.

Which only made Wooyoung hate him more.

But at night, it was always Yeosang he would cuddle up next to in bed. It never stopped feeling weird sleeping there, technically in his friend’s bedroom, with his friend, but he had to remember he was a cat. It was normal cat behavior. And it was much more comfortable than the couch, even with San’s stupid snoring. Much warmer too.

Still, lying against Yeosang’s side, pressed close to the steady rhythm of his breathing and the soft scratch of fingers through his fur till the human eventually drifted off, made something in him ache. It was far too intimate to be called comfort, but he never had the strength to pull away, and to Wooyoung, it couldn’t be anything else. He needed it.

And if he woke up some mornings nestled under San’s arm instead, tucked against that annoyingly firm chest and wrapped in a hold so natural it made his heart twist, well… he would deny it until the grave. No one had to know. 

Especially not San, who he bit until he was forced to wake up way before his alarm. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

What he hated the most about being a cat, even more than San, was the ears. They twitched at everything. Every creak of the house. Every whisper of the wind. Every little sound he absolutely did not want to hear.

Because there were some nights he didn’t sleep in the bed with Yeosang and San. Those were the nights that Yeosang and San weren’t exactly sleeping either. 

He pressed paws into his ears, digging under the cushions on the couch. 

Why were they so fucking loud? Why were they fucking so loud?

Wooyoung was going to lose his gods damn mind if he had to keep hearing Yeosang’s soft, breathy whines as San absolutely railed him into the mattress. The occasional giggle. The muffled moans. The sweet, tender little “baby” s between each thrust. It was disgusting .

And San, gods above, was the loudest top Wooyoung had ever heard in his life. Breaking the stereotypes one full-bodied moan at a time, like he was starring in a production meant to shake the drywall loose.

It never ended. San had stamina like a demon, making Yeosang cry and tremble beneath him for hours before they finally stumbled into the bathroom to shower, still all over each other, like the world’s most sickeningly in-love couple ever.

It was his fault for living with a couple, but he was sick of it. And no, it wasn’t out of jealousy. (It was.)

One particularly long night, when they would just not stop, he planted himself at the living room window and started yowling his long, tragic, banshee cries into the night. San emerged a few moments later in just his boxers, hair a mess, looking mildly alarmed. With soft pink dusting his cheeks and down his chest in a way Wooyoung felt made his sharp appearance look soft for once. 

After glancing outside and checking on Kitty, he mumbled something about raccoons and padded back to the bedroom. Thankfully, they did not pick up where they left off.

Wooyoung was not jealous of either of them. He was just tired of hearing them be gross together. That’s it. 

And thankfully, they weren’t always fucking. Like one night when he woke up to the sound of rustling in the kitchen instead.

Curious, and a little annoyed, Wooyoung wriggled free from Yeosang’s sleepy grip, jumping off the bed with a soft thud. He padded quietly down the hallway, the house dim and still, save for the faint hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of old floorboards. He padded down the hallway, ears perked, tail flicking.

In the kitchen, the fridge door was wide open, casting a pale yellow glow across the space. San stood in front of it, half-asleep, shirtless, hair tousled and wild, his silhouette haloed by moonlight spilling through the windows. 

Wooyoung sat just beyond the threshold of tile and hardwood, watching him with narrowed eyes, tail twitching.

San glanced down and grinned. “Ah, you caught me. Midnight snack.”

He reached in, pulled out a half-eaten slice of strawberry shortcake, and without a second thought, sat straight down on the kitchen floor. Right there. Not at the table. Not even in a chair. Like some kind of animal . He grabbed a fork from the drawer above him and dug in.

“You want some?” San asked, holding out a forkful, a smudge of cream already on his lip.

Wooyoung huffed and turned his nose up at it. He wasn’t going to eat whatever he had to offer, even if he did love cake, unless it was in the form of a forbidden treat during meal times under a table. Accepting this would ruin his image.

“Peace offering?” San tried again, moving it around. Wooyoung just crouched down instead. San shrugged. “More for me.” He took a bite, leaning back against the cabinets. 

After a moment of quiet, he sighed, rocking his feet back and forth mindlessly. “I think Yeosang’s been happier since bringing you home, you know.”

Wooyoung’s ears twitched. He just stared, trying to play the part of an aloof cat. 

“He’s been worried about something that happened recently… and I know he always worries a lot more than he says he does,” San continued, talking between bites. “But I think you being here helps him take his mind off of it. Maybe it gives him a sense of purpose or focus, I dunno.”

Wooyoung glanced toward the bedroom, his stomach twisting. There was no way San knew he could understand him… right?

San sighed again, softer this time, like he was letting something go. “It’s kinda cute. He calls you his little buddy. And he tells you about his day, too. Like… really tells you. I think he needs that, an outlet.” San scraped up another forkful of cake, chewing absently. “You make him feel less alone, I think. Even if you’re kind of an asshole.”

Wooyoung narrowed his eyes. Kind of an asshole?

“Ah, well, I guess I talk to you too, so,” he smiled around a mouthful of frosting. He set down the mostly empty plate on the ground, still little bits of sweet icing everywhere, and slid it towards the cat. 

“I wonder what you would say if you could talk back,” he joked, standing and rinsing off his fork. “Probably would cuss me out.” San added after a moment, more carefully, “But I like having you around, too.”

Wooyoung blinked slowly, unsure how to respond. The tension in his shoulders didn't ease, but his tail had stopped flicking. San looked down at the plate and leaned back against the counter.

“Yeah, I think we’re good for each other.”

Wooyoung turned his head away, annoyed by how his throat felt tight. He hadn’t asked to hear any of this. He didn’t want to be reminded of how easily he’d slipped into their lives.

He stood and stretched with a yawn he didn’t quite feel, tail curling up. And maybe after San had returned to the bedroom, he licked the plate clean of whipped cream, putting the plate in the trash to hide the evidence, and went back to bed himself.

He hated San. He had to. But San had said we .

San didn’t stir for the rest of the night after falling back asleep. Wooyoung woke with the first bird call at dawn, and he briefly wondered if that was a cat thing. Still, he didn’t mind. He’d always liked being up early—not because he was naturally an early riser, but because it gave him time to watch.

It was weird, maybe. But he’d blame it on the whole acting like a cat thing.

Cats observed. He was a cat. So he watched.

Yeosang always started to curl into San’s chest as the sun fought through their closed blinds, their legs tangled beneath the blankets. San always slept with one arm draped protectively around Yeosang’s waist, his face buried in blond hair. It was disgustingly intimate. He hated them. 

Wooyoung stretched, then carefully made his way up the bed, stepping over limbs until he reached his rightful spot: Yeosang’s now empty pillow. He plopped down, curling up near his head, letting his tail flick against Yeosang’s cheek teasingly. 

Yeosang hummed sleepily, nuzzling into the pillow that was actually just his boyfriend’s chest. His fingers twitched before reaching out above him, still half-asleep, to pet Wooyoung’s head.

San shifted beside him, voice raspy with sleep. “Hmph. He stole your pillow again.”

Yeosang exhaled a soft, sleepy laugh. “S’okay.”

“Little thief,” San mumbled, eyes still closed. He reached out blindly and ran his fingers through Wooyoung’s fur too, ruffling it up.

Wooyoung grumbled internally but leaned into the touch anyway. He hated them, he reminded himself, as he purred loudly. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wooyoung sat against the cool windowsill, tail twitching as he watched the snow gently cascade down from the sky. 

He really wished he could run around outside and get some fresh air for once, but a thick blanket of snow that never seemed to leave covered the world. He cringed imagining his paw pads stomping around out there, freezing immediately. They didn’t seem to be actively forcing the ‘indoor cat lifestyle’ upon him, only really ever keeping him from going down to the basement or in the garage, which was fine by him. But when he got curious about stepping outside when the doors opened, they paid him no mind. 

Maybe when it started warming up in the spring, he could start exploring around the patio and yard. 

He paused, paw frozen mid-air as he cleaned it, tongue still half out.

The spring? Would he even still be here by the spring?

The realization hit painfully. He felt the fur on the back of his neck prickle as the words echoed in his head. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. He didn’t want to think that far ahead.

Would he really still be like this come springtime? A housecat? Someone’s pet? Sleeping in a sun patch and batting around toy mice like it was enough of a trade for opposable thumbs? For his life?

The thought made his skin crawl under his fur. He suddenly felt trapped in his own body, a stranger wearing himself. He couldn’t stretch right, couldn’t speak, couldn’t be . Every day that passed, it felt a little easier to slip into the routine—eat, nap, hiss at San, cuddle Yeosang, repeat—but every now and then, this bone-deep panic reminded him: this wasn’t permanent. 

Or worse, and actually, it was becoming permanent.

What if one day he just… forgot how to change back? What if his human thoughts softened, got swallowed up in the rhythm of purring and kneading and curling up in sunbeams until they didn’t matter anymore?

Would that be worse than his old life—running, hiding, lying, never staying in one place long enough to leave a dent? Would this be worse than being a half-memory to the people he left behind?

He didn’t want to know. He put his paw down slowly and stared at it. He knew he wanted to be human again, even if it hurt. Even if it meant facing things he didn’t want to face. But when would that be?

He didn’t want to know. 

That afternoon when San was off from work and Yeosang was away, the human was tasked with taking care of the plants in the large greenhouse out back. Wooyoung trailed behind him and decided to bolt out the back door, excited to be in the backyard for the first time. 

The snow under his paws was indeed unpleasant, but not as much as he thought, as he sort of hopped alongside San, the depth of the snow almost too tall for him to stand in. He was just tagging along to make sure the human didn’t mess anything up. He knew the brute had whatever the opposite of a green thumb was, and Yeosang would have a fit if anything happened to any of his plants. 

Inside the greenhouse was warm, like a toasty oasis. It was pretty big, which made sense with Yeosang’s hobbies. So many plants that weren’t even in season managed to grow, and a pretty big section was dedicated to ripening crops. Wooyoung poked around and explored all of the foliage eagerly, taking in all the scents. 

He still kept an eye on San though. His job was to explicitly water the plants, collect the crops, and not kill anything. So far, he hadn’t done anything wrong and he even avoided watering the succulents, which Wooyoung was ready to pounce on him for if he tried. He helped grab some of the smaller crops San couldn’t see between stems to drop in their basket, and soon enough they had a plentiful bounty. 

After about half an hour, they left the toasty warmth of the greenhouse and stepped back into the winter chill. 

The contrast was awful, one moment wrapped up in warmth, the next biting cold nipping at his fur. Wooyoung’s paws sunk into the snow as they walked toward the house, and he barely acknowledged how oddly comfortable it felt to be in San’s company. The guy just kept talking, as if it were the most normal thing in the world to converse with a cat.

“So, work was a mess today,” San said with a sigh, clearly thinking Wooyoung was hanging on every word, as if the cat could actually understand the intricacies of human conversation. “You know, the usual—barely had time for lunch, the older patients talking down on me even though I’m the one with the degree, so much paperwork. One patient was really smelly. I swear, sometimes I think I’m the only one who works around there.”

What kind of loser talks to their pet like this? Wooyoung flicked an ear, looking at San in disbelief before focusing on the path ahead, choosing to ignore the bizarre monologue. It wasn’t like he needed to hear all of it, but San was persistent, and Wooyoung had learned to tune out his voice when needed. Still, there was something oddly comforting in the way San kept talking to him. He missed having conversations.

Right before they stepped inside, the fur on the back of his neck stood on end, his instincts flaring. Something wasn’t right. 

Wooyoung’s eyes darted around the yard, the sudden unease coiling in his stomach.

San noticed his shift in posture and paused, brow furrowing. “What is it?”

Wooyoung narrowed his eyes as he scanned the surroundings. Nothing looked out of place, though. The wind had calmed, and the only noise was the occasional chirp from the bird feeder and the neighbor’s German Shepherd, sniffing around the quiet street as usual. Still, that nagging feeling didn’t leave him. He couldn’t shake the sense that someone—or something—was watching him.

“C’mon, it’s too cold for you out here,” San eventually murmured, nudging Wooyoung gently behind his hind legs, guiding him into the warmth of the house. “Just a bird.”

The moment they were inside, the heat of the fireplace hit Wooyoung, and he let out a contented sigh. His frozen paws ached from the cold, and as San began preparing dinner, Wooyoung found himself drawn to the crackling fire.

San was generous that afternoon, offering Wooyoung scraps of rotisserie chicken and even a whole muffin, despite knowing Yeosang would definitely freak out if he knew about the latter. Wooyoung greedily accepted, purring loudly as he devoured the food. His tail flicked in contentment, and he found himself curling up in front of the fire, basking in the warmth.

Before he realized it, he wasn’t really sure when he moved, but he was sprawled across San’s lap, his head resting against his thigh as he felt the warmth of the fire combine with the warmth of San’s body. 

He would deny it if anyone asked, but he purred softly, and before long, sleep overtook him.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It took about a month of living as a cat, but he finally got to see another one of his old friends again. The first time Mingi came by, it felt like his heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

Mingi had walked in and looked like nothing had changed, his usual easy grin spreading across his face as soon as he saw Yeosang and San. For a brief moment, Wooyoung’s breath caught in his throat, and he was almost tempted to hide under the bed until he left. He had forgotten how much he missed seeing him—he missed the presence of his friend and his laughter and his voice. 

“Hmm, he really likes you Mings,” San pouted as they sat with beers on the couch, watching some random action movie. Apparently, Mingi was into shitty action movies with unrealistic plot lines with lots of guns and explosions. Unsurprisingly. “He hasn’t totally warmed up to me yet.”

“What can I say, animals love me,” Mingi shrugged, continuing to give Wooyoung lazy belly rubs while he was sprawled across his lap. Yunho was busy today, and no one brought up the two eldest, so it was just the three of them (and Wooyoung). He loved lazy weekends like this where the house was slow (even if stupid San was here too) and he got to hang around. It was almost like before . “What’s his name?”

“Um,” Yeosang looked embarrassed, shrugging behind his beer. “Kitty?”

Mingi cackled. “Kitty? You two couldn’t come up with a real name for him?”

“It fits him!”

“Yeah, him and every other cat on the planet!”

Wooyoung personally thought ‘Kitty’ wasn’t that bad. He would hate to be called Fluffy or Mr. Whiskers. He nibbled on Mingi’s finger to get him to stop ragging on his new name. 

“So San, how did you end up with a cat, anyway? I don’t think you ever mentioned it,” Mingi asked, as he leaned back on the couch, clearly getting comfortable for a long movie ahead. “Hongjoong finally pawn one off on you?”

“Don’t look at me,” San held up his hands defensively. “He’s Yeosang’s. Not mine.”

“Yeosang’s?” Mingi’s eyebrows raised. “You’re kidding.”

Yeosang paused, his beer halfway to his lips as he glanced down at Wooyoung, and shrugged, looking almost sheepish.

“Well, uh…” he scratched the back of his head, clearly unsure how to explain. “I was at the cafe one day, and he was just there. I mean, I don’t know why, I ignored him for a while. But he never ran off, so I thought he probably needed a home. And here he is.”

Mingi raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced by the simplicity of the story. “You adopted a cat? On a whim? Just like that?”

Yeosang’s face softened, eyes going a little distant as he looked down at Wooyoung, who was ‘blissfully unaware’ of the conversation, purring contentedly. “Yeah. I don’t know why, but something just clicked. I could tell it was the right decision.”

Wooyoung warmed up at Yeosang’s words. He thought he told himself he hated them both, but moments like these reminded him that it was harder to pretend than he wanted to admit. The feeling of having a place here—even as a cat—was something he wasn’t sure he could deny.

Mingi was still talking, but Wooyoung had drifted out of the conversation again, his mind swirling with the unspoken thoughts. He’d gotten so used to the feeling of being hidden, to being invisible behind this form. But here, surrounded by his friends, it felt just a little less lonely.

They watched TV for the entire afternoon, conversation flowing and ebbing with anything and everything. Mingi spoke up again right as Wooyoung was about to drift off on his lap, the topic immediately catching his attention. 

“Have you guys heard about the motel down by the highway?” 

Wooyoung’s ears twitched, a spike of unease sharpening his senses. His eyes cracked open just enough to watch the room.

San shook his head, glancing over at Yeosang, who was almost asleep against his shoulder, not even bothering to respond. Wooyoung’s heart clenched, a little pang of longing creeping through him. 

“What about it?” San asked. 

Mingi leaned forward, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. “Apparently, one of the rooms was found torn apart, like completely wrecked. There was even... satanic stuff written all over the walls. In blood.”

Wooyoung’s tail lashed, suddenly alert. It was part of the reason why he watched the news every morning, but he hadn’t seen anything about the motel yet. How did Mingi know? 

“Huh?” San raised an eyebrow. “Where’d you hear that?”

Mingi took a long sip of his beer before answering, eyes flicking between the two of them. “From work. The guy who was on shift at the motel that night—he checked himself into the hospital a few days later, I was working under his primary. Said he was having memory problems, like huge gaps of time just missing. He was in for a follow-up on his meds.”

Yeosang stirred at that, sitting up a little straighter, his brow furrowed. “Wait, seriously? When was this?”

“Dead serious,” Mingi nodded. “It happened almost exactly a month ago. He said one second he was doing paperwork, the next he the cleaning lady was screaming at him about the room she found, and couldn’t remember how he got there. Swears he never saw anyone check into that room either. But there was blood everywhere . No fingerprints, no records, nothing. It’s like the room was cursed or something.”

Wooyoung swallowed hard, ears flattening as panic crept up his spine. That was him. Now someone else was paying for it. Again.

San gave a low whistle. “That’s insane. Why isn’t that all over the internet or news?”

“I think the motel’s trying to bury it,” Mingi said, frowning. “Bad press, you know? Plus, the guy’s story sounds nuts—satanic symbols, memory loss, no evidence anyone even stayed there. Probably wouldn’t pass the headline test. They actually probably think it’s him.”

Yeosang rubbed his jaw thoughtfully as San yelled at Mingi for HIPAA violations, but Wooyoung didn’t catch what he said next. His ears were ringing and he suddenly felt really sick.  

He had done that. He hadn’t meant for anyone to get hurt. It was just supposed to be a place to crash, a desperate stop when funds ran dry and options ran out.

He had caused another person to admit themselves to the hospital because of his irresponsible use of Magic. 

The weight of it slammed into him all at once. His heart thundered in his chest, loud enough to drown out everything else.

Guilt clawed at him, sharp and unrelenting.

He didn’t even register himself slipping off Mingi’s lap. No one stopped him as he padded silently down the hall and disappeared beneath the bed in Yeosang’s room for hours, too ashamed to come out.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

One night, the house was too quiet.

Wooyoung had grown used to the gentle music of their lives—the soft shuffle of San’s footsteps, the clinking of dishes being put away, the faint hum of the television in the background, and Yeosang’s quiet hums as he watered the countless plants scattered around the rooms. Usually, these sounds were like the steady heartbeat of their home. But that night, all of it was gone. The silence stretched wide, too heavy and pressing down on him.

Curiosity prickled at him, and he padded softly down the dim hallway, ears swiveling toward a faint murmur leaking from the living room. He slowed, slipping deeper into the shadows, careful to be unseen and unheard.

On the worn couch, Yeosang was curled up tight, his face buried in trembling hands. San sat close, his arm wrapped around Yeosang’s shoulders, fingers tracing slow, soothing circles against the tense muscles beneath.

“I just…” Yeosang’s voice cracked, barely more than a broken whisper. “I can’t stop thinking about it. How? How was this even there?”

Wooyoung froze, his tail twitching nervously.

“I don’t know, babe,” San comforted him, but when his eyes glanced at something on the coffee table warrily, Wooyoung’s followed. A potted plant, but not one that was usually there. The look was unmistakable, and stuck out like a sore thumb. Handcrafted, rustic. Yet, the plant was dead. The soil was dry and cracked. 

It was the basil plant Yeosang had given him, the one he had left hidden at the café. Just sitting there. He had found it.

San sighed deeply, pressing his cheek gently against Yeosang’s head. “I know this is weird, Sangie. But you don’t even know for sure—”

“It happened the same night, San.” Yeosang’s head lifted, revealing eyes red-rimmed and raw. “And then he just vanished. No calls. No messages. No explanation. And then I find this,” he gestured to the plant, “in the cafe garden?”

Wooyoung’s fur bristled, every instinct screaming in his chest. He had a sinking feeling he knew who they were talking about.

San hesitated, voice low and careful. “Yeah, but the hotel room probably isn’t—”

“It was trashed.” Yeosang exhaled shakily. “Like, completely destroyed. You saw the pictures on the news. Broken furniture, shattered windows, even the walls were torn up. And covered in blood . And they never found out who did it.”

San frowned. “And you think he…?”

Yeosang swallowed hard. “I don’t know. But if he was there that night, and now he’s just gone…” His voice wavered. “What if something happened to him, San? What if someone…?”

Wooyoung stared, unable to move.

Yeosang missed him. He was worried about him.

All this time, Wooyoung thought Yeosang had just… moved on. That he was too busy with his perfect little life, too wrapped up in San to even notice he was gone.

But he had noticed. And he cared. Enough to break down over it. 

Yeosang shook his head, voice breaking. “I want to believe that, but everything about this feels wrong. It’s like… like he didn’t just leave. Like something else happened. Something we don’t know.”

San squeezed Yeosang in for a tight hug. “You’ll see him again, I can feel it,” he said, voice quiet but certain. “He’s okay. That room had nothing to do with him. And when you do see him again, you can kick his ass for making you worry this much.”

Yeosang let out a small, wet laugh, wiping at his eyes. “Yeah. Sure.”

Wooyoung felt something ache deep in his chest. He wanted to reach out, to tell Yeosang he was right here. But he wasn’t even Wooyoung anymore. At least, not in a way that mattered.

So he just stayed where he was, hidden in the shadows, watching as San pulled Yeosang into a warm embrace, whispering reassurances that Wooyoung wished he could give instead.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Seeing Seonghwa and Hongjoong again felt like a breath of fresh air. 

They came over that Thursday night. It hadn’t escaped Wooyoung that Thursdays used to mean crowded bars, shared drinks, and laughter echoing across sticky tabletops. Back when he still had a seat at the table.

He still did, he told himself, trying to believe it. Just differently now.

Seonghwa set a pan of warm, golden bread on the counter, the smell wafting through the kitchen like a spell. Wooyoung didn’t even realize he had leapt onto the counter to sniff at it until arms wrapped around him and pulled him close.

He seemed to be doing that more lately—giving in to instinct before thought. He could blame it on the cat body. Probably.

“Not for you,” Hongjoong said softly, and— what the hell?

Wooyoung went stiff in his arms, startled. Not by the movement, but by the tone. Soft. Gentle. Nice.

Hongjoong was being nice to him.

That had never happened before. Not when he was a human. Especially not when he was human. Hongjoong liked to sigh when Wooyoung entered the room. He liked to scold him for being too loud, too clingy, too something. He gave him looks like he was a badly behaved younger cousin at a family reunion. Barely tolerated. Barely endured.

But now, with a single scratch behind the ears and a warm touch at his back, Wooyoung was deposited on the floor. He stared up at Hongjoong, wide-eyed. A little disoriented. How weird.

Didn’t Hongjoong hate cats? Wooyoung's tail flicked with irritation.

He didn’t like this version of him. He preferred mean Hongjoong. At least that version made sense. He huffed, or tried to—it came out more like a wheeze, since he found out cats can’t sigh very well. He hated how low to the ground he was now. Being shorter than Hongjoong was a new low, pun intended.

He settled for meowing petulantly and flounced away instead of swiping at the older’s ankles, which was definitely what he would’ve done to San.

In the dining room, Yeosang was setting the table with and arranging napkins and silverware in the four side spots. Not five. Never five.

But Wooyoung had claimed the head seat for himself every night, perching there like a tiny little king. He’d once dragged his entire food dish from the kitchen into the dining room in protest, scraping it across the floor loudly, but Yeosang had scolded him and put it back instead. He claimed it would teach him bad habits, so Wooyoung was forced to sit there and enjoy the company foodlessly.

Still, he sat in his spot, tail curled primly around his feet, a little smug, a little lonely.

Seonghwa carried in the last of the dishes from the oven, warm steam wafting through the air and making Wooyoung’s stomach growl. He wasn’t hungry, not really, but the smell of real food was lovely. Soon, the table was filled with steamed vegetables, warm stew, something rich and spiced in a heavy casserole dish.

“So why are you home on a Thursday night?” Seonghwa asked, sliding into his seat across from Yeosang and unfolding his napkin with the kind of grace only he possessed.

“Oh,” San said, still chewing a mouthful of bread that he snatched immediately after sitting down. He paused to swallow. “I asked to be placed on more morning shifts, and they actually listened for once. Now most of my evenings are free.”

“A miracle,” Hongjoong muttered into his water glass.

“Right?” San grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “I think they got tired of me asking for a raise, so this was the compromise. Wear me out enough that I forget to keep asking.”

“Hm,” Seonghwa hummed, buttering his roll with slow precision. “Not that I didn’t love the invitation,” he looked pointedly at Yeosang, “you know I always enjoy seeing you, Sangie.”

Yeosang blinked, caught mid-sip, and nodded a little too quickly.

“But just us two?” Seonghwa continued, voice light but curious. “What about Mingi and Yunho?”

“Well…” Yeosang paused, conveniently busying himself with scooping stew into San’s bowl. “Mingi mentioned something weird last time he was here,” he said, a little too casually.

“What’s new?” Hongjoong rolled his eyes. “He always says weird shit.”

“Okay, fair,” San cut in, already leaning back with his bowl, steam curling around his face. He groaned after his first bite. “Mmm, babe, it tastes so good. I can already feel your magic curing me, my aches are practically gone.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes in tandem with Yeosang. San was always like this, dramatic, sappy, and totally whipped. Especially when food was involved. Disgusting.

“Well, this was a bit… concerning,” Yeosang continued. Wooyoung’s tail lazily flicked against San’s leg. He didn’t want to sit beside San, but he had a habit of sneaking him scraps under the table, and Wooyoung was pragmatic. Besides, he looked very dignified perched at the head of the table. It was a calculated power move. Obviously.

Wooyoung’s ears twitched. He glanced up from under the table just in time to catch the change in Yeosang’s face—subtle, but serious.

“He came over last week and told us there was someone staying at that sketchy motel by the highway,” Yeosang went on. “Apparently, they left behind satanic symbols all over the walls in blood and trashed the place. But the weirdest part was that the front desk guy checked himself into the hospital afterward—said he couldn’t remember anything from the past few weeks. That’s how Mingi found out, the guy is under his primary.”

“It leaked to the local news somehow,” San added, mouth still half-full. “There are pictures now. Like, actual photos.”

“Oh yeah,” Seonghwa said slowly, brows drawing together. “I saw those, but I kind of assumed it was just bored high schoolers. Creepy stuff.” He paused, then glanced at Hongjoong. “Does Mingi know yet?”

Hongjoong shook his head. “Last I heard, Yunho’s still figuring out how to do it. Mingi’s completely in the dark.”

Wooyoung perked up at that, tilting his head as he peeked over the edge of the table. What didn’t Mingi know yet? His interest was immediately rewarded though, San must’ve assumed he was asking for food, because he secretly left a tiny piece of beef from his stew on the chair for him. Wooyoung ducked down and crunched it noisily. He heard Yeosang sigh above the table.

“Do you think it’s connected to…” Hongjoong trailed off, frowning. “No, I mean, it’s probably just someone coked out of their mind, and went feral in a motel room. Not unheard of.”

“That was my first thought too,” Yeosang admitted. “But the memory loss part worries me. And… the timing. It was the exact night when—” He stopped himself, jaw tightening. “Anyway. I think Yunho should hold off.”

A beat of silence passed. Seonghwa reached for the water pitcher, quietly refilling his glass. San seemed to have forgotten his soup entirely, focused on Yeosang now, expression caught between concern and curiosity.

Wooyoung narrowed his eyes. What exactly did they think happened that night? What did Yunho know that Mingi didn’t?

Then it hit him.

Oh gods. He sat up straighter. Was Yunho going to propose?

“He’s been waiting,” Seonghwa said softly, setting his utensils down. His hand reached across the table and settled gently over Yeosang’s, thumb brushing over his knuckles. “And I worry about him too, Yeosang. I know what it’s like, feeling stuck in the dark. It’s not easy just... hoping someone is okay.”

Yeosang’s shoulders curled inward, like the words physically hit him. He didn’t say anything, just nodded slowly. His hand shifted under Seonghwa’s like he wasn’t sure if he should hold on or pull away.

“It’s weird,” Seonghwa continued, “that he just disappeared like that. No warning. No sign. I know what you’re trying to say, Yeosang—”

“Or he left,” Hongjoong muttered, his tone sharper and more bitter than usual. “Let’s not romanticize it. He was always secretive. Maybe he had his reasons. Maybe he was dealing with something none of us were meant to see, and maybe he just… had to walk away. Without saying goodbye.” He took a long sip from his glass, eyes narrowed. “Some people do that, you know.”

Wooyoung’s stomach twisted painfully, like someone had reached into his little feline body and squeezed tight. He had a sinking feeling he knew exactly who they were talking about now.

Yeosang picked at the bread basket, slowly tearing a piece from the crust. “But the motel incident… the timing. It was the same night. It feels connected. I don’t know. Maybe I’m reaching, but I just really hope he’s okay.”

Seonghwa glanced up from his bowl, spoon halfway to his mouth. “You think it’s him? The person from the motel?”

Yeosang didn’t answer right away. His lips pressed into a thin line before he finally said, “I don’t think so. But… part of me wonders. It’s not like a lot of people visit this town…”

If only he knew how right he was. How close to the truth.

“I can look into it,” Hongjoong offered with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “If there’s any tie between him and that motel room, I’ll find it. But honestly? I doubt it. The whole thing stinks of some messed-up drug trip.”

“Don’t waste your time spiraling,” Seonghwa said firmly but kindly. He gave Yeosang’s hand one last squeeze before letting go. “If you’re this worried, try something practical. Tarot. Bones. Tea leaves. Whatever calls to you. But don’t sit in that space of helplessness—it’s not good for you.”

Wooyoung resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Sometimes he honestly forgot his closest friends were self-proclaimed, crystal-carrying, tarot-reading, moon-phase-tracking ‘witches’. And not just the quirky kind—the seriously committed kind, the ones who thought their kombucha starter had a soul and argued about which incense worked best for banishing bad energy.

Yeosang nodded slowly, rubbing his thumb over a line in his palm. “I’ll do it soon,” he murmured. “You’re right. I keep thinking about it, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Wooyoung let out a tiny sigh. Finally , someone had said it. There was nothing anyone could do about this.

Yeosang was already helping, already trying, already doing everything—he just didn’t know it. He didn’t know that the person he was so worried about was sitting right there, in a body far too small, and far too quiet, unable to say anything. But taken care of, because Yeosang had saved him.

San slipped a piece of bread under the table again, and Wooyoung barely had the heart to nibble on it. He took a half-hearted bite, chewing slowly as the conversation carried on above him like distant thunder.

The weight of their concern pressed down on him. Guilt sat heavy in his gut. They were worried. They missed him. He’d never expected that, and he certainly didn’t deserve any of it.

And still, they were sitting around a dinner table, mourning him without even knowing he was still there. Still caring. Still loving. Even now.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wooyoung hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. 

Okay, maybe that was a lie. He really needed to break the habit, but with all the whispered secrets swirling around Yunho and Mingi, the strange motel, and them concerned about his sudden disappearance, his curiosity got the better of him. And this time, he was glad it did.

He’d been curled up under the kitchen table, tucked in a shadowed corner, pretending to nap but really just listening. The faint clinking of dishes and murmured voices floated down from the sink area.

“…and we should probably take him in soon,” San said, voice casual as he rinsed a plate, the water splashing quietly.

Wooyoung’s ears pricked up sharply.

Yeosang’s thoughtful hum came next, drying a cup. “Yeah, I was thinking about making an appointment. Hongjoong mentioned it helps calm them down too.”

San nodded, a hint of amusement in his tone. “Oh good, it’ll stop him from being so aggressive. You saw him try to fight my shoes yesterday.”

“I think he was trying to fight you , Sannie,” Yeosang teased gently, bumping him gently.

San huffed, indignant but laughing. “Okay, unlikely. We’re best friends, after all.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes inwardly. Best friends. Sure, if you ignored the occasional foot mauling and hisses of annoyance.

“I’ll call the vet tomorrow then,” Yeosang continued, voice dipping into concern, “and see how much neutering him will cost, and getting all his shots done. Can they do all of that at once?”

San shrugged. “I dunno. Probably?”

Wooyoung’s heart stopped.

Neutering? Permanently robbed of his balls?  

No. No way. They wouldn’t—would they? They would.

He slid farther into the shadows, heart hammering so loud he was sure it echoed in the silent kitchen. His tail fluffed up, an instinctual shield against the rising panic.

“I’m worried he’ll get mad at us…” Yeosang’s voice softened, almost vulnerable. 

“It’s not like he’s gonna know we’re taking him to the vet,” San snorted, brushing off the worry. “What’s he gonna do? Run away?”

Wooyoung spent the next two days refusing to come out from under the bed, tucked tightly against the wall. Like he said before, he hates San and Yeosang.

Chapter Text

“Hongjoong! Thank you so much for being willing to help.”

Yeosang opened the front door with his usual, mellow cheer, stepping aside to let the shorter man in. Hongjoong was dressed in a dark hoodie and a leather satchel slung across his shoulder, like always. His presence was always so loud even if he wasn’t, and all sharp-edges. So at odds with this small, quiet town. 

Wooyoung, unfortunately, perked up as the guest entered, and finally came out of hiding. Curiosity was a curse he still hadn’t shaken, even in this body. Actually, being a cat might have made it worse. But whichever way it went, he heard his friend at the door, and it was helpless to pretend he didn’t want to see him. 

It had been about a week since he first overheard them threatening his balls, but after hiding for two days and keeping a wide berth from both of them, he figured it was pretty safe. He had even slept in the bed with them again last night, only because the house was cold, no other reason. 

He scrambled to his feet and trotted over, tail swishing as he hid under the kitchen table—close enough to listen, far enough to bolt if anyone so much as looked at him sideways. 

“No worries,” Hongjoong shrugged. “I helped Yunho with Cerberus, so this should be a piece of cake. That dog had way too much energy and kept getting distracted, and I swear, Yunho was on the verge of tears the entire time.”

Yeosang winced sympathetically. “Well… I don’t know that Kitty here has less energy, but I really appreciate it either way.”

“You’ve got to give him a new name, Yeosang,” Hongjoong said as he slipped off his shoes and stepped further inside. “That’s demeaning.”

Yeosang pouted, tucking a strand of blond hair behind his ear. “It’s not demeaning, it suits him. He acts like a ‘Kitty.’ 

“Maybe a new name will come to you after we finish the binding.”

Wooyoung paused from scratching his ear. 

“But I’m used to calling him Kitty,” Yeosang protested, following Hongjoong further into his own house. 

Wooyoung blinked. Slowly. Then again, harder this time. Surely, he’d misheard. Binding him? To what?

Was he so far removed from being a human that sentences weren’t making sense anymore?

“Whatever,” the older muttered as he headed toward the basement door. “I’ll meet you downstairs and start setting up the circle. Make sure you’re comfy—it could take a while, depending on the animal. Cats are easier though, typically.”

Finish the binding? To what ? Setting up the circle? What the hell did that mean?

Yeosang nodded. “I’ll grab him and be right down. I got the table set up, and everything else. I think. Did you bring the blade?”

Blade. Binding. Table. Hongjoong was here…

Wooyoung’s pupils dilated. His fur puffed instinctively. This wasn’t…

Oh gods, he thought. His balls.

They were going to take his balls themselves. No one had said the word “vet” again. No one had tried to grab him and throw him in a carrier. He thought maybe he was safe. Maybe he’d overreacted the first time.

Stupid. Stupid fucking mistake.

Hongjoong had brought a bag of knives . And now they were going to do it themselves. These freaks were going to DIY his neutering, weren’t they? Bind him to the table to remove his balls. He started to press himself under the chairs, hiding between the legs. 

“Of course I did,” Hongjoong peered into his satchel and dug around. “Grab him quick and head down here, Hwa will have my head if I’m late for dinner. He’s not working late for once.”

Yeosang nodded and hastily turned to peer around the room, looking for him. He had never been so grateful before for the black fur that kept him hidden in the shadow of the table. 

“Kitty?” Yeosang called, looking for him. “C'meeeeere. Pss, pss.”  

Shit. He had to go. San. Where was San? He wouldn't let them take his balls, right? Was he in on it too? He probably was, that fucker. 

There was no way they were actually going to neuter him at home, right? That would be insane. Like actually. Hongjoong might work at a shelter but there’s no way he was qualified to do that.

Yeosang spotted him and smiled, crouching by him. “There you are. Hi buddy. C’mere, I need you real quick.”

“He can sense your intentions, Yeosang! Stop being so anxious!” Hongjoong called as he went downstairs. Wooyoung didn’t want to know what was waiting down there. 

“I’m not anxious,” Yeosang called back. “I just… I don’t want to scare him.” He turned to Wooyoung again, smiling. “I promise everything will be okay, it won’t hurt at all,” Yeosang said. “I think.”

A low sound escaped him, something like a mew but full of fear. There was no way that wouldn’t hurt, and he wasn’t eager to see what he would look like as a human again, but without balls. Gods, if it weren’t him under threat, he might laugh at the thought. 

Yeosang scooted closer towards him, his hand outstretched innocently. “It’s just a quick spell, and then you’re free to be unbothered again. Come here, please. Pss-pss.”

A quick spell? 

Yeosang extended his hand again, trying to get it beneath Wooyoung’s belly, but Wooyoung let out a loud, pitiful yowl. It vibrated through the wood floor and filled the living room with unfiltered dread.

Yeosang flinched. “I promise you’ll be okay,” he said quietly. “I wouldn’t hurt you. Not ever.”

Wooyoung couldn’t believe him right now. He crouched lower, ears flattened, breath coming in short, terrified puffs.

Yeosang stared at him for a long second, his brows knit together with something like guilt. Then, reluctantly, he raised a finger. His voice dipped low. 

Wooyoung braced himself to take off, muscles tensing. He was scared. He didn’t know what was going on. He hissed, and he felt bad about it.

“Sorry, baby,” the blond whispered. “But I have to.”

The tip of his finger glowed softly, gold curling through his skin like ink in water. The sigil lit up before Wooyoung could move, and the world snapped into darkness like a dropped curtain.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When Wooyoung woke again, he was somewhere comfortable and warm. 

The lights were dim, only a few candles surrounding him lighting up the area. Even with his cat eyesight, he wasn’t able to see much, or tell where he was, but he felt a soft blanket beneath him, and it smelled like his favorite one they kept on the arm of the couch just for him, the one he always rubbed up on when he walked by. He let the familiar smell comfort him, wondering why the living room was so dark.  

What a weird dream he had, where Yeosang and Hongjoong were going to take his balls. He also wondered why San had lit so many candles, when Yeosang always claimed that they hurt his head. Where even were they? 

He tried to stretch out, wishing to roll over and maybe find a pillow or one of his owners— friends. He couldn’t smell Yeosang nor San nearby, beside what was left on the blanket. But something kept him firmly in place, unable to stretch, when Wooyoung noticed that he couldn’t move his paws at all , all four of them not restrained by anything physical, but unable to reach out. Stuck to the…

Slowly, he began to realize he was so confused because he couldn’t sense anything either —only what his eyes could see and his ears could hear. No matter how far he reached out, it was like a void. No Magic responded back out to him, he was all by himself. No plants, no humans, no nothing. 

As he realized he felt so alone and disconnected, a wave of nausea crept up inside of him. Like bad car sickness, vertigo from being so unstable, so removed. With the dim lighting, he could barely make out some runes that were carved into the cement of whatever he was on around the blanket, along with a few lines of chalk connecting several symbols.  

Panicking, his brain caught up as he put together the pieces, but he wasn’t sure his own thoughts were making sense either. Why did those runes look so familiar? Was he still dreaming? Was this some new, fucked up nightmare his subconscious cooked up for him?

“Is restraining him really necessary, Hongjoong?”

Yeosang appeared right by his side, causing Wooyoung’s tail to poof in surprise. His face mirrored Wooyoung’s emotions, covered in panic with his hands hovering anxiously, like he was one second away from grabbing Wooyoung or puking. Based on Yeosang in proportion to his line of sight, Wooyoung was clearly on some table or something. One covered in runes, and surrounded by candles and…

Oh. Oh gods. He was on an altar.

And that meant they were probably going to fucking sacrifice him. 

Apparently his friends weren’t hippie, new age, wannabe-witches like he thought. This wasn’t just some aesthetic to them. They were the sick, twisted humans who believed that they actually could do magic, and were about to sacrifice him, and probably didn’t even know how to do it correctly! Wooyoung would get sacrificed (as a fucking cat, too) to no deity because these people were probably getting their information off of fucking Reddit. Yeosang nor San seemed like the type to be a cat murderer, but Wooyoung guesses you don’t really ever know someone fully, even after living as their pet for weeks. 

He growled low in his throat as he thrashed around helplessly. His body was moving before he could even process if he wanted to fight, flight or freeze.

“We had to do it for Cerberus, I promise you he’s fine. It’s just his animal instincts responding to being restrained, but this is the safest way.” Hongjoong stepped forward, a pointy, silver object in his hand reflecting in the candlelight. “We don’t need him accidentally hurting himself. They’ll lift as soon as it’s completed.”

Hongjoong had a knife. A fucking knife. He started yowling. As loud as he could. 

He had to get out of here—His brain was completely overtaken by adrenaline and some feral instincts as he thrashed around. Why couldn’t he move?

“Oh gods,” Yeosang freaked out again, turning to his accomplice. “Oh gods, oh gods. He’s not happy, what do I do, Hongjoong what do I do?”

Hongjoong huffed and rolled his eyes. “It’s a cat, calm down. You’ve heard the phrase ‘scaredy cat’ before, right?” He snapped his fingers and Wooyoung’s screeching stopped. 

Well, Wooyoung was still trying to scream. His mouth was moving, but no noise was being let out. 

“It’s my cat, don’t talk about him like—Did. Did you just… put a mutifying spell on my cat?” Yeosang gasped. His hands covered his mouth as he watched Wooyoung thrash around silently. 

“Yeah? He was being loud. It doesn’t hurt him. Now let’s get this over with so you stop freaking out. You’re acting worse than Yunho, and I thought he was bad.”

Wooyoung froze. His head was reeling, but absolutely nothing was making sense anymore. 

“I’m not trying to freak out, but my cat is miserable! How is this worth it? Oh my gods, what if he doesn’t want to—?”

A mutifying spell? He was pretty sure there was no incense or crystal for sale at Golden Hour Cafe that could do that. Only someone gifted with the Magic and had years of training could do something like that…

No, not possible.

Maybe he was just in shock from the situation, and his voice coincidentally stopped working at the same time Hongjoong snapped his fingers. Just crazy luck or something. Yet, he tried to meow again to check, but no noise could be heard. 

His head officially stopped working. 

Those runes… Looked awfully familiar, didn’t they?

Hongjoong came closer again and Wooyoung’s tail flung around wildly as he bared his teeth and claws. The animal instincts were winning, and his consciousness was ready to go down with a fight.

“Yeosang.” The blond stopped rambling as Hongjoong stepped up next to him, a small smile on his face. 

“Here’s the bowl, here’s the knife. You know what to do, you will do fine.” Hongjoong said sternly. Yeosang nodded and accepted the items, but his gaze was still on his cat. “This spell is hard to mess up from here on out. The hardest parts are already over. Plus, it’s a full moon tonight, so if you manage to this fuck up, I’ll be really impressed.”

“… Thanks, I guess.” Yeosang set the quartz bowl in front of Wooyoung, and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. He opened his eyes and stared down Wooyoung. “But… if I do mess up, it won't hurt him, right?”

Hongjoong smiled and shook his head. “No, nothing you can possibly do will hurt him. He will be fine, and so will you.”

He chewed on his lip. “I’m nervous it won’t work. What if I misread all of this…”

Hongjoong softened slightly. “He accepted your bond weeks ago, I promise it will go well. And I’m here for support, so don’t worry. I know you're capable of this. Stop doubting yourself and your abilities.”

Yeosang nodded. When he refocused, his eyes seemed to glow. That sweet honey color turning into molten sunlight, making Wooyoung pause for just a moment. As captivating as they were normally, they were downright lethal as Magic coursed through him. 

“I can do this,” he nodded. “I’m going to bind Kitty as my familiar and it will all go okay, and I can give him plenty of rotisserie chicken in apologies afterwards. I have a whole chicken in the fridge just for this.”

Oh.

Oh.

Shit. 

Wooyoung wiggled again, trying to escape his prison. The words shot a sense of humanity back into him, and he didn’t like what he was finding out. Not only were two of his friends witches, but he also wasn’t sure what would happen if a human tries to bond another human as their familiar, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.

The bindings wouldn’t give, not even an inch. Hongjoong didn’t seem worried, just staring at him impassively, while Yeosang took a deep breath. Wooyoung even tried shifting back into his human form, not caring that it would blow his cover immediately and permanently, but nothing was working. He was absolutely stuck, and couldn’t use his Magic at all.

Yeosang hissed as he picked up the knife and quickly dragged it across his palm. He let the blood pool up and drip into the bowl, face scrunched in pain. Wooyoung felt something in his chest lurch. 

“Vires meae tibi conferantur.”

Wooyoung felt his stomach flip, anxiety shooting through him.

“Kitty’s offerings,” Hongjoong whispered as he handed him a few items in a different bowl. Wooyoung’s eyes widened. It was all of the stuff he gifted Yeosang weeks ago. The flowers, the mushroom, the lottery ticket. Everything he found, just to give to him.

He accepted your bond weeks ago.

Yeosang set them in the same bowl where his blood was. “Sit eius vires influunt ad me.”

Yeosang took a deep breath and looked him directly in the eyes. “Let this sacred bond be unbreakable, and let our Magic be one; Heart, soul and mind.”

“Nunc te mihi ut meum familiarem vincio. I hereby bind you as my familiar.”

The contents of the bowl burnt up in a shimmering smoke. The familiar smell of it brought back memories Wooyoung hated, the somehow sweet yet sulphur aroma that Magic always carried. Yeosang’s eyes started to glow, almost like the candles around them, and the energy in the room shifted. Wooyoung hadn’t felt anything like this in years.

Okay, so not wannabe, hippie witches, clearly. Great.

Wooyoung jerked as something shifted far inside of him.

No, not just inside. That word felt too small, too specific. What he felt couldn’t be contained in a single space or word, not when it was tearing through every thread of his existence like wildfire. It wasn’t a shift so much as a rupture—something buried cracking open, something that had been sleeping in his bones now clawing its way to the surface violently.

It was worse than when his body had first twisted into a shape that wasn’t human. Worse than fur and paws and a tail. This wasn't skin-deep, not even appearance deep. This was soul-deep . Something remembered him—he didn’t know how he knew that, but he felt it, as if the air itself recognized him now, whispered to him with invisible teeth.

His stomach lurched, bile crawling up his throat, but it was tangled with a wave of unbearable relief. He felt like crying. Or screaming. Or curling into a ball and disappearing.

It hurt . Not in any way he could name—he wasn’t bleeding, wasn’t bruised. But something hurt . A heavy ache blooming outward from some impossible place inside him, blooming like fire. And beneath it, suffocatingly strong, was something gentler. Vast. Familiar. It wrapped around the pain like hands to a wound.

He hated it. He wanted it. He didn’t understand it.

And suddenly, it was all relief. So sweet it almost made him gasp, like the first swallow of water after days lost in a burning desert. Too cold, too perfect, too real to trust, but life-saving. It poured through him, washing over the sharp edges of panic, dulling the pain into something bearable. Something beautiful.

His breath hitched. It was terrifying. It was exquisite. It was him. 

Wooyoung screamed loud and raw, as whatever had been buried deep inside him tore free. It wasn’t really pain. It was wrong , and personal , and new, but familiar like something that had always been there had finally woken up. His voice cracked through the air, no longer unable to make noise. He hit the ground hard, toppling from the altar in a graceless sprawl, his mind only focused on one word: run.  

He barely registered the shout that echoed through the chamber, someone yelling “What the fuck!” Though he couldn’t tell if it was Hongjoong, Yeosang, or himself.

Everything blurred. He was scrambling forward, blind with panic, concrete biting into his skin. He didn’t know where he was going, just away from the circle and glowing sigils and people he thought he could trust.

His stomach churned, bile rising in his throat. He was going to be sick. His skin burned. The air was thick and wrong. He choked out a sob, adrenaline finally wavering and letting fear take its place.

It took him a second to realize that his noises were also extremely human sounding. Then, through the haze, his eyes caught his own movements and the world lurched sideways.

A hand . Not a paw. No black fur. Tan skin. Fingers.

Shit.

Shit.

He didn’t realize he’d stopped until his back hit the cold brick of the basement wall. The impact jarred him, but there was nowhere else to go, so he let himself stay there, crumpled and gasping, one trembling hand pressed against his chest like he could physically hold back the tidal wave of emotion rising inside him.

He was cornered. Literally. And completely exposed.

What the literal fuck?

His head started pounding as his mind split in two. 

It felt like dueling radio stations in his head, static screaming in both ears, a voice he couldn’t decipher yelling over his own, demanding attention. He clutched at his skull, pressing his palms hard against his temples like he could mash the panic out of his brain by force. It only seemed to make it worse—his own thoughts layered with something foreign, something that didn’t feel like his, but felt inside him all the same.

It’s—

What?

No.  

No, no, no.  

“You need to calm down,” a voice said, but distant, like it was being spoken through water. But definitely not coming from inside of him.

He barely heard it over the drumbeat of his heart. The emotion was swelling again, like a balloon in his chest ready to pop. It was beyond fear now. It was too much . His nerves were fraying at the ends. He couldn’t take this.

“I—” Another voice tried to speak. That one… that one he knew . Yeosang.

God, he wanted to hear it again. Just something familiar. Something safe.

“This can’t be happening,” he whispered, but it came out breathless and choked.

“H–help,” Wooyoung choked out, hoping Yeosang could hear him. “Sangie—”

His body shook harder, tremors rolling through him, jaw clenched to keep his teeth from rattling. His thoughts weren’t even thoughts anymore, just waves of pure panic, helplessness, confusion. And something else , like there was a second current of emotion in him that wasn’t his, something overwhelming and electric.

“ Calm. Down. Yeosang. ” Hongjoong’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade again, louder this time. “ Get a hold of your emotions right now, they’re affecting him. ”

Yeosang flinched like he’d been slapped. His breath hitched, and he backed up half a step, guilt carved deep into every line of his face. His hands were raised slightly, hovering in front of his chest like he didn’t know what to do with them—like he wanted to help but was afraid of making it worse.

“I didn’t mean to,” Yeosang whispered, eyes wide and shimmering with panic. “I don’t know what’s happening—I'm sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“ Breathe, ” Hongjoong snapped, not unkindly. “Right now. Center yourself. He’s feeling everything you are feeling.”

Yeosang’s lips trembled, but he closed his eyes. Inhaled. Exhaled.

Once. Twice. Three times.

He pressed a hand flat to his sternum, holding himself with slow, even breaths. A quiet hum under his breath—something ancient and laced with gold, something Wooyoung might’ve heard from his mother at one point. The air around him shimmered faintly as if even the atmosphere responded to his focus, retreating from the frantic static of earlier.

And as Yeosang began to steady, something inside of Wooyoung responded in kind.

The swell of panic in his chest started to ease. It didn’t vanish, but it settled. Like a lid finally pressed back onto a boiling pot, though the water was still rolling. 

His body stopped shaking quite so hard. The breath tearing out of his lungs began to slow, and the wheezes turned into gasps. His vision, which had been nothing but a vibrating blur, started to coalesce into the basement around them, Yeosang and Hongjoong crouched beside him, staring at him in fear and confusion. 

It was like a tide receding. Like he was in the eye of the storm. And even though Wooyoung was still shaking, still confused and overwhelmed and sitting on cold stone with nothing but a human body and too many questions—

A tense silence fell. 

He didn’t know how long it lasted—seconds, minutes, hours—it could’ve been any of them. Slowly, cautiously, he lifted his head. Two faces stared back at him, both wide-eyed and stunned like they’d seen a ghost.

“…Wooyoung?”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

He really expected them to kill him immediately.

They probably should’ve. It would’ve saved them from this incredibly awkward reunion, where he was also completely naked. 

Not that his complete lack of clothing was the most pressing issue right now. Just top three.

“I… I don’t even know where to begin,” Hongjoong said, pinching the bridge of his nose before grabbing the blanket from the altar and flinging it in Wooyoung’s general direction. “Like I really, really don’t know.” He threw his head in his hands, tugging on his mullet slightly.

“Thanks…” Wooyoung muttered, draping the blanket around his shoulders and trying not to die of embarrassment.

Hongjoong paced like he was clearly trying to talk himself down from manslaughter. “Genuinely, what the fuck , Wooyoung? What the actual fuck . How? Why? Were you gonna tell us? Ever? Or were you just planning to keep licking your own ass in Yeosang’s house forever?”

Wooyoung flinched as his tone, body still shaking from everything that had happened. But he guessed he really deserved this. 

Yeosang, for his part, hadn’t said a single word. Just stood there looking like someone had unplugged him, mouth parted, eyes locked on Wooyoung in absolute crisis mode . He hadn’t even blinked in at least a minute. He could practically feel how confused he was. 

Wooyoung really didn’t know where to begin either. He coughed. “Uh… well. Long time no—”

“ No. ” Hongjoong spun on his heel and pointed a finger like he was casting a curse. “Wooyoung, unless the next words out of your mouth are ‘here’s a bullet-point list of why I’ve been living as Yeosang’s cat for gods know how long,’ shut the fuck up.”

“…Okay,” Wooyoung said meekly, clutching the blanket tighter like it could protect him from Hongjoong’s wrath. “Got it.”

“Gods help me,” Hongjoong sighed, throwing his arms up. He resumed pacing. 

“I don’t understand…” Yeosang finally whispered, voice hoarse and faint. He was still staring, wide-eyed and unmoving. “You just disappeared… and you were my cat this whole time?”

“I—yeah. I’m really sorry,” Wooyoung said quietly, trying not to sound as pathetic as he felt. He meant it with his whole heart. “It’s… a really long story.”

“Well, lucky us—we’ve got the time,” Hongjoong barked, stomping forward suddenly, knife pointed directly at Wooyoung’s throat. An embarrassing yelp escaped him.

“Hongjoong!” Yeosang shouted, alarmed.

“Don’t,” Hongjoong growled without taking his eyes off Wooyoung. “Don’t defend him right now.”

The glare Hongjoong leveled at Wooyoung was scorching, unflinching, like he could burn the truth right out of him by sheer willpower. Wooyoung couldn’t move. He barely breathed. The blade wasn’t cutting, not yet, but the threat in Hongjoong’s stance was clear. He wouldn’t hesitate.

“First, he shows up out of nowhere, never talking about his past, parading around as our friend but never really letting us get to know him. Then he just disappears, right when a motel turns up looking like a fucking crime scene out of a horror movie, veiling runes crossed out in blood and every witness wandering around like they’ve been fucking lobotomized. And now, now , we find out he's been living in your house for weeks. As. Your. Fucking. Cat. Which isn’t even Magic that exists anymore to my knowledge, Yeosang.”

He pressed the blade just a little harder against Wooyoung’s neck. “He is not moving from this spot until we get a real explanation. One that makes sense.”

Wooyoung gulped audibly, every inch of his body frozen in place. He wouldn’t really kill him, right?

“Hongjoong, please ,” Yeosang said again, stepping forward like he might intervene. His voice was still shaking.

Hongjoong didn’t move. “If he so much as blinks wrong, I will gut him.”

“Okay!” Wooyoung blurted, head pressed back against the wall like it would give him some space from the knife. “Okay, okay—I’ll talk! Just, like—knife down? Please?”

A beat. Hongjoong didn’t move, nor put the knife down. “Start talking, now. And make it good.”

“I… Um. You see...” He didn’t know what to say. If he didn’t tell him the truth, Hongjoong would probably figure it out, and maybe kill him. But if he did tell him the truth, Hongjoong would likely send him straight back to his Coven, where he would be killed anyway. Neither sounded great.

“Go ahead.” His eyes glinted in the candle light. 

“Right. Yes. I… I kind of hid as a cat for a while, true, but… I was just— just…” His throat started to tighten. He was just what?

Guilty for leaving his friends and family behind.

Being hunted down to be executed by his birth Coven.

Tired of running away from his problems, but it seems to be a habit at this point.

Sorry that he got attached to the people in this town.

Afraid of being alone again. Please don’t leave him alone again. 

A sob suddenly overtook his body. 

Hongjoong and Yeosang both flinched back, glancing at each other warily. 

Wooyoung didn’t care anymore. He didn’t care if they stabbed him, banished him, locked him up, he deserved all of it. What was happening to him now, was everything he’d spent the last four years desperately trying not to feel. Guilt, fear, grief, shame. It surged out of him in waves, loud and helpless. He coughed wetly between sobs, his throat catching on each breath like it physically hurt to breathe. And it did. It hurt .

Yeosang’s face twisted suddenly, a mirrored pain surfacing across his features like someone had punched the air out of him. His hand flew to his chest, eyes wide, mouth trembling.

“I—I can feel it,” Yeosang whispered, his voice breaking. “Oh my gods, I can feel it.”

Hongjoong took a sharp breath in through his nose and swore under it. His expression shifted rapidly from suspicion to concern, then to a leader’s urgency. He lowered the knife reluctantly. 

“Okay. Okay,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “This is above my fucking paygrade.” He spun toward Yeosang. “Call Seonghwa. Tell him to get over here now.”

Yeosang didn’t argue. He just pulled out his phone with shaking fingers.

Hongjoong crouched down beside Wooyoung again, staying just far enough away not to be intrusive. His tone was still firm, still sharp-edged, but it softened just enough to slip past Wooyoung’s sobs.

“I still don’t trust you,” he said, eyes narrowing slightly. “Not even a little. But if you’re really this—if this is real—then we need you able to talk. So let’s get you cleaned up and clothed before Hwa gets here, and then you’re going to explain everything to him. Full story.”

Wooyoung could barely process the words. He just nodded dumbly, crying silently now, his body heavy and limp like the storm inside had finally emptied him. He let Hongjoong guide him with a hand on his wrist, his legs shaking as he got to his feet, the blanket dusting the floor behind him.

He stepped carefully over scattered books and bundles of dried herbs, the floor beneath his feet humming faintly with Yeosang’s Magic. The walls were lined with shelves stacked haphazardly with jars, bones, and broken crystals, and in the center, Yeosang’s ritual table sat half-lit by the soft glow of floating candles, still lighting the sigils from the binding. Hongjoong roughly dragged him upstairs. Maybe this was why he was never allowed down here as a cat.

Wooyoung was given a pair of old sweatpants and one of San’s enormous t-shirts, one that swallowed him whole and smelled faintly like detergent and pine, and to really complete the picture of a humiliating house arrest, they’d tied him to the dining table using one of Yeosang’s macramé ropes. Stylish.

Hongjoong had even taken the time to inform him rather smugly that he’d warded the entire house, and fence line. If Wooyoung so much as looked like he might try anything or make a run for it, he’d be knocked out cold and dragged straight back to the basement.

How thoughtful of him.

So Wooyoung sat quietly, wrist gently but securely bound, still sniffling despite the fact that the tears had dried. His eyes felt like sandpaper. He could barely keep them open. He felt pathetic. He probably looked worse.

“I just can’t believe I never noticed you were my cat,” Yeosang muttered from across the table. Hongjoong stood nearby, arms crossed and expression thunderous, too busy looking sour and waiting on his fiancé to arrive to contribute to the conversation other than the occasional judgmental glare. “I didn’t even suspect anything…”

Wooyoung blinked at him. He wanted to laugh. He almost did. Maybe if this had happened any other way. “You thought that your cat reading and watching television was normal?”

“I thought that it was normal for familiars! They’re supposed to be smarter than average animals—”

“Tell that to Yunho’s dog,” Hongjoong mumbled under his breath.

“Cats can’t read, Yeosang.”

Yeosang's face went completely blank, and then, slowly, horror began to dawn.

“Oh my gods,” he whispered, hand flying to his mouth like he’d just remembered something traumatic. He leaned back in his chair, eyes huge. 

“I almost neutered you.”

“You what ?” Hongjoong choked, rounding on him.

The front door slammed open with a bang, and the sound of footsteps echoed through the house. Seonghwa didn’t even knock. He stormed into the dining room, hair slightly mussed and breath heavy from getting here so quickly. His eyes scanned the room hysterically until they landed on Wooyoung.

Wooyoung flinched, bracing himself. Of all of them, Seonghwa was the one he feared letting down the most. He could take Hongjoong’s knives and Yeosang’s disappointment. But Seonghwa’s? His sudden parental figure, the person who helped him settle in here, that one might just break him.

So he wasn’t prepared at all for Seonghwa to drop to his knees and wrap his arms around his torso in a tight, protective hug.

“Seonghwa! What the hell are you doing?” Hongjoong whisper-shouted.

“Wooyoung,” Seonghwa breathed out shakily, smoothing a hand through his tangled hair, voice tight and warm. He squeezed him tighter. “Oh gods. You’re okay. You’re okay , right?”

Wooyoung couldn’t speak. The lump in his throat rose too fast. He gave a tiny nod and buried his face in Seonghwa’s shoulder, clutching him tightly with his shaking hand. The other was still tied to the table, but he didn’t care. He clung onto Seonghwa as tight as he could as his eyes burned again, soft cries sneaking out of him again.

“Hyung—”

“It's okay,” Seonghwa cooed, rubbing his back, combing his hair. “We’ll figure this out, okay?” Wooyoung nodded, trusting him. “I’m glad you’re okay, I’m glad you’re here.”

“Honey , we’re in the middle of—”

“No,” Seonghwa snapped, his tone a velvet-covered blade. “You’re terrifying him. And you’re not helping Yeosang, either—both of their emotions are a mess. You're only making it worse.”

“He’s been hiding as Yeosang’s cat for weeks now, of course he’s going to be emotional now that he’s been caught! You’re not even a little—?”

“I’m worried, not suspicious, and I know how to not let fear control my actions,” he glared. Yeosang sat unmoving, afraid of being reprimanded too. 

Hongjoong glanced away, jaw tight. “I… I’m worried too, Hwa. But... What if this—what if he —is dangerous?”

He didn’t like how that word felt. It was everything he was trying to not be. He knew how it looked. He just didn’t know how to fix it.

“Love,” Seonghwa said, voice calm but edged. “You called me here to fix this. Argue with me again, and see what happens.”

Hongjoong’s mouth snapped shut. He looked offended… and, frankly, a little turned on.

Seonghwa gently turned back to Wooyoung, voice instantly soft again. “Just breathe. You’re okay. Let’s get you settled so we can talk, got it?”

Wooyoung nodded numbly, still clinging to his shirt like a child.

“Sangie, can you go make some tea or something?” Seonghwa called toward the kitchen. “Something to take the edge off both of you?”

Cabinet doors creaked open as Yeosang shuffled out of sight. Still, Wooyoung didn’t move. He stayed right where Seonghwa had steadied him, unwilling to let go of the comfort that had started to seep into his body—gentle, like water lapping at his ankles, the warm ocean after his own storm fled.

It wasn’t his own feeling. But he welcomed it anyway. He let the feeling of calm sink into him and wash away his own fears.

“A… A Sentimentor?” he asked softly, already knowing. He would recognize this Magic anywhere. 

Seonghwa smiled, his eyes shimmering with Magic just slightly. “Mhm.”

Wooyoung blinked slowly. It flowed through him, soothing his nerves and made his chest loosen. “My elementary school counselor was one,” he said dumbly. “She was the only adult I didn’t want to throw a rock at.”

He now wished he had been born one, because whatever Seonghwa was doing inside his head right now felt great, and he didn’t want the feeling to stop. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Seonghwa said, brushing his fingers carefully through Wooyoung’s tangled hair. “Do you feel a little better now?”

He nodded against Seonghwa’s shoulder. He didn’t trust his voice not to break again.

Then Seonghwa turned, drifting his gaze to Yeosang, who had just returned with a steaming mug in each hand. One look at Yeosang’s face, and something in Wooyoung’s chest unwound even further.

Yeosang set the mugs down and sat beside him again, looking quiet. Still stunned. Seonghwa took a moment, pressing his palm to Yeosang’s cheek until the other let out a deep sigh. Calming him too. 

“There’s not a single trace of ill intent inside him,” he finally said firmly to his fiancé. “Whatever happened, whatever he was doing—he’s not here to hurt anyone. He’s just scared. And overwhelmed. And guilty.”

Wooyoung’s face burned red at the call out, but he supposed it was obvious. 

Seonghwa clasped his hands together, tone shifting like they were about to start a meeting. “So. Why don’t we all sit down, drink something warm, and have a nice, long chat. I think we’re overdue, don’t you?”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Hongjoong refused to take the wards down, but after enough bickering, Seonghwa managed to get him to untie Wooyoung, put the knife away, and let him sit on the couch like a regular guest. Small victories.

The blanket he used to love now felt wrong on his lap. He clutched the mug of hot chocolate, though he hadn’t touched it. He just stared at the swirling liquid, watching the way it rippled when his hands trembled.

“You should drink that,” Seonghwa urged. His legs were tucked underneath him as his fiancé draped an arm around his shoulders. They looked so domestic, minus the way Hongjoong was still glaring daggers at him. “Yeosang infused it with a soothing elixir, to help keep your nerves down while we figure this out. Just drink it slowly.”

He nodded without looking up, bringing the mug to his lips. The chocolate was still warm, thick and rich, but not overly sweet. The moment it touched his tongue, something softened—like the tension gripping his spine melted just slightly, like a hand gently pushing down on his shoulders, reminding him to breathe.

“You feel it?” Seonghwa asked softly.

He gave another small nod. Nostalgically, it almost reminded him of the first day he arrived here. Lost, soaking wet, but with a warm hot chocolate that tasted like it could fix all of his problems. This, however, couldn’t be solved with liquid chocolate. He couldn’t even convince himself to worry about how now at least three of his friends were also witches. 

Yeosang smiled from across the room, sitting rigidly in one of the armchairs. “It’s gentle, I promise. Just to uh, help.”

Wooyoung believed him. He didn’t think Yeosang could ever lie convincingly, especially not with the way his brows were furrowed and his hands kept fidgeting in his lap. Hongjoong, meanwhile, hadn’t stopped staring at him. Wooyoung tried not to flinch under the weight of it.

“So,” Seonghwa began gently, “are you doing okay?”

Wooyoung gave a half-hearted smile. “Well… I was. Being a cat was fine.”

“I meant emotionally. Right now.”

“Oh.” He blinked, eyes flicking up briefly before dropping back to the mug. “Sure.”

“ Sure? ” Seonghwa echoed, unconvinced.

Wooyoung nodded again. He didn’t know what else to say. Nothing felt sure.

Seonghwa exhaled slowly. “Listen, I’m not trying to push you. You don’t have to share anything you’re not ready for. But I do hope you understand how this all looks from our side. We’re not here to interrogate you,” he added, shooting a sideways glance at Hongjoong, “but a little honesty might go a long way.”

“I am here to interrogate you—” Hongjoong muttered, only to get a sharp elbow to the ribs.

Wooyoung flinched slightly at the sound, then stared down at his hands. He picked nervously at his cuticles, the skin already raw from his fit earlier. He knew they deserved the truth. At least some of it. Enough to make sense of why he’d done this to them, why he’d done this to himself.

He shifted forward, bowed his head low. “I’m really, really sorry. For everything. For forcing myself into your lives, knowing I’d have to leave eventually. And for not leaving when I should’ve. I was—” his voice cracked, “I was scared. I didn’t want to go. And I was more afraid of what waited for me out there, than I was of staying here. So I stayed. Selfishly.”

The room was quiet, heavy. Yeosang sat across from him, eyes unreadable. Seonghwa offered a small, encouraging smile, but it didn’t ease the weight pressing down on Wooyoung’s chest.

“I’m not from anywhere near here,” he said, quieter now. “I’ve been running for four years now. I’m from far south of here—far enough away, but they still came looking. My birth Coven… I don’t–I can't go back to them. Not alive.”

That finally got their attention. Even Hongjoong’s glare faltered, replaced with something closer to alarm.

“They found me again, all the way out here. They trashed the motel I was staying at, so I hid before they could find me.” Wooyoung resumed picking at his nails, avoiding everyone’s gaze. “I wasn’t trying to deceive you by… hiding as your pet. I really planned on staying at the café, but the weather here isn’t what I’m used to. I just needed somewhere safe to stay for the winter, at least until it was warm again, or until they moved on. They know my face, so it was either hide here as a cat, or I would’ve had to move on. I didn’t want either, but I chose to be selfish.”

There was a long pause before Seonghwa finally spoke up. “You’re… part of a Coven?” he asked slowly.

Wooyoung nodded, confused. Seonghwa and Hongjoong exchanged a glance.

“I didn’t even realize those still existed,” Yeosang admitted.

“... Huh?”

Yeosang shrugged. “I mean, yeah, they’re technically still a thing, but I thought they were mostly for support networks. Like, young witches with no families, or people who need help channeling power. I didn’t know traditional Covens were still around. Isn’t that kind of… I dunno. Eighteenth century?”

Wooyoung blinked at him. “... Traditional? You think Covens are outdated?”

“Kind of?” Yeosang tilted his head. “I mean, binding blood pacts and rigid hierarchies and ancient punishments. Doesn’t it all sound a little… dark?”

Wooyoung looked to the other two for help, but they looked just as confused. Wooyoung didn’t understand. Every witch was born into their community’s Coven. It was sacred. You served your Elders your whole life, honored the bonds that held your community together, and if you were lucky, became an Elder yourself someday. 

His grandmother used to warn him about what happened to witches who broke their Coven bonds, how they withered from the inside out. How the emptiness drove them mad, until that madness drove them to death. It was the only thing that kept him from trying to figure out how to sever the link four years ago when he fled.

Even now, he could feel it. The tether. Thin and trembling, but still there. That was probably how they kept finding him. Still, he’d rather run forever than let that bond kill him from the inside.

So, what was it like not even being a part of one?

“You guys… aren’t in a Coven?” he whispered. 

Did that mean none of them had gone through their coming-of-age rites? No solstice offerings? No study declarations? No blessings from the Eldests? What did witches even do without a Coven?

“I don’t believe any of us are a part of a Coven, especially not by birth,” Seonghwa said gently. 

Wooyoung tilted his head. 

“I don’t think birth Covens are a thing anymore,” Hongjoong started. 

“They are,” Wooyoung said quickly. “I was born into one. Every witch is. Maybe you just… don’t know yours?” He bit down on his thumb, anxiety curling tighter in his chest. He didn’t like how the ground felt like it was shifting under him. “For some reason?”

He didn’t like how everything he thought he knew suddenly was being argued against.

“Maybe,” Seonghwa entertained him. “ But why did you leave your Coven to begin with?” he asked gently. 

“I—” His mouth went dry. “I can’t…”

The words clawed at his throat. Because he didn’t want to say them, but also because saying them might make everything real again. He stared down at the mug in his hands, watched the faint ripples of the enchanted drink still swirling.

He couldn’t have these new people in his life learning about who he really was. 

“I can’t say,” he finally managed. “If I say too much… if certain words are spoken out loud, it could make it easier for them to find me.” It was a bold lie, but perhaps they would believe it.

He didn’t look up. Couldn’t bear to see their faces. Or worse—their disgust in him.

“Just know there was an accident, and it really was one, even if they think otherwise,” he rushed out. “But it looked bad. They weren’t going to ask questions, they were just going to kill me. So I fled.”

Hongjoong’s voice cut through the silence, low and sharp. “You hear yourself, right?”

Wooyoung flinched.

“I mean, come on,” Hongjoong pressed, sitting forward slightly. “You talk about being a part of a birth Coven, something that doesn’t really exist anymore, and you can shapeshift into a cat, which is Magic that doesn’t exist anymore either. And now you’re giving us half-truths and cryptic warnings like we’re supposed to just smile and say, oh, okay, thanks for the trauma dump, you're good to go?”

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa warned softly, but Hongjoong didn’t stop.

“No, I’m serious. You want us to believe you’re just some scared witch who got caught up in something bad, but you won’t even tell us what you did. You say it was an accident, but you won’t explain. You say talking about it is dangerous, but that sounds an awful lot like avoiding accountability.”

“I’m not lying,” Wooyoung whispered, gripping the mug tighter. “It was an accident.”

“Then tell us what happened. Was the motel also an accident?”

“I can’t! ” he shouted, more forcefully than he meant to. The mug rattled slightly in his hands. “I’m not trying to screw you over, okay? I’m not here to hurt anyone! I like being here. I liked —” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard. “I was so tired of running, from hopping from city to city to lose them. But they always found me, and then this time, I just couldn’t leave!”

“Then why didn’t you tell us?” Hongjoong argued. “If you were in danger, if you were running. We could’ve helped.”

“I—I didn’t know you guys were witches—”

“When were you going to tell us?” Hongjoong pressed. “About all of this?”

“I—When you found out? I don’t—”

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa warned again.

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the best one I have!” He gripped the mug tighter, fingers going white. “I don’t know! Do you think I wanted this to happen? That I wanted to be in hiding as a cat? That I wanted to scare everyone by randomly disappearing? That I wanted to ruin everything I had here?”

The silence was deafening, and it made him realize how loud he got. 

“No, Wooyoung,” Seonghwa said quickly, gently. “No one’s saying that.”

Hongjoong opened his mouth, then closed it. After a long pause, he said, “You didn’t ruin anything.”

That surprised him.

“I’m still mad,” Hongjoong added, like it physically hurt him to say something kind. “So fucking pissed off at you. But you didn’t ruin anything, okay?”

A silence settled again, heavy and tense. Yeosang was staring at him now, expression unreadable. Seonghwa looked pained, caught between both sides. Hongjoong… looked ready to tie him back to the chair.

“Okay,” Wooyoung whispered.

“Okay,” Seonghwa echoed, leaning forward slightly. “So. You’re here. You’re safe for now. We’ll figure it out together.” He reached over and rested a hand on Wooyoung’s knee.

“We don’t need the full story tonight,” he continued gently. “But I think you do owe us some of the truth. Not about your past, necessarily—but about your intentions. Are you putting us in danger, Wooyoung? Honestly.”

Wooyoung’s jaw trembled. He looked down at his lap again.

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “Not on purpose. But if they find me… then maybe.”

“And it's your Coven hunting you down?” he asked. Wooyoung nodded slowly. “And you said this time, you couldn’t leave? Why not?”

“I uh, I got carried away,” he said, voice cracking. “I was dumb.”

Seonghwa tilted his head, brows softening.

“I let myself get attached,” Wooyoung admitted. “…To you guys.”

He noticed the way Hongjoong’s face shifted, pretending to be emotionless when Wooyoung knew he was anything but. The way Yeosang wore the oversized hoodie San always complained about him stealing—even though he never really tried to get it back. He noticed the photos on the wall: of them together, smiling, arms around each other. Yunho. Mingi. Even his own face, a picture of him and Seonghwa at the farmer’s market.

A tremor ran through him. His eyes stung again. He wrapped his arms tightly around his torso, trying to hold himself together, like if he squeezed hard enough, he could stop everything from spilling out.

“Okay,” Seonghwa said softly, casting a glance at the others. “He’s telling the truth.”

Wooyoung blinked at him, startled. “H-How can you tell that? I thought you were just a Sentimentor?”

The oldest removed himself from his husband’s grip and came to sit by Wooyoung, grabbing a tissue to clean his face. “I’m confused, what are you asking me?”

Wooyoung didn’t know how to even explain his confusion. “You’re a Sentimentor . I thought they could only read and influence other people’s emotions? I didn’t think they could also tell when people were lying.”

Seonghwa brushed his hair back again soothingly. “That’s true, I was born with the Gifts of a Sentimentor . But I studied many different areas growing up, though I will admit ones relating to human emotions have always been my forte. But I studied Verotimancy, too. It seemed useful.”

“You… You can do that?” Wooyoung asked.

His large eyes studied Wooyoung’s with a frown. “Almost all witches work outside of the Gifts they are born with. Hongjoong, for example, is a Seer, but hates unsolicited visions and reading other’s tarot cards, so he hardly practices it. He is much more interested in the traditions of rituals, hence why he was helping Yeosang today. He’s our local Ritualist .”

“I don’t…” He swallowed thickly. “I don’t understand…”

“Though Yeosang actually does prefer to work within his Gifts,” Seonghwa added. He’s a Botanicum.”

“Yeah, because I suck at everything else,” he grumbled unhappily, crossing his arms. 

“Not true! You’re fantastic at potions, and you know it,” Seonghwa argued. 

“I’m alright at potions…”

“I…” Wooyoung’s voice trailed off. He looked between them, his fingers tightening around the mug in his lap. “In my Coven, witches only practice what they’re born with. That’s why we get tested so young, and why the Elders help us pick our studies right after our coming-of-age. You don’t just… do whatever Magic you want. You’re born with it.”

Seonghwa’s expression softened with something like pity. “I don’t think that’s how it works everywhere, Wooyoung.”

“It’s how it’s supposed to work,” Wooyoung insisted, but his voice wavered. “That’s how it’s always been, they said so. You’re either born with a Gift, or you’re not. You don’t just— study your way into whatever Magic you want.”

Hongjoong tilted his head, curious. “But why not?”

Wooyoung stared at him blankly.

“I did,” Hongjoong continued. “So did Seonghwa, and Yeosang. If Magic is a living thing, like everyone says, and it lives inside you—why wouldn’t it respond to learning? To intention? No one is born with a full spellbook in their head.”

Wooyoung blinked. His grandma used to say the opposite. That the Magic was sacred because it chose you, that's why it didn't choose his father or younger brother. That practicing anything outside your given path was dangerous. Wrong. That the body wouldn’t withstand Magic not meant for it.

“That's dangerous. That’s why I ran,” he whispered suddenly. The words escaped before he realized he’d spoken. His hands trembled harder. “Because I tried, and I messed up. Bad.”

Seonghwa sat up straighter.

“I tried to study something outside my Gift,” he said, so quietly it almost wasn’t a sound. “I just… I thought I could. And then there was an accident. And–and…” He sighed, dropping the conversation.

A deep silence fell over the room. No one interrupted. No one spoke.

“Uh. I just thought that… I don’t know.” The wave of anxiety crept up again. He tucked his hair behind his ear nervously and glanced away. “I don’t really understand anything you guys are talking about. Like, at all. Sorry.”

It was all so opposite of what he knew as truths for his whole life. 

“Maybe we should unpack this Coven thing a little later—” Seonghwa stopped when the sudden metallic click of the garage door echoed down the hallway, startling all four of them into silence. The energy in the room tightened. Wooyoung tensed so visibly that Seonghwa gently laid a hand on his shoulder in reassurance.

“I’m home,” San called from around the corner. “I got the oat milk you like. And they finally restocked those spicy noodles you were whining about—oh.”

He paused in the doorway as his eyes fell on the scene before him. Seonghwa perched on the armrest of the couch, still half-leaning over Wooyoung with an uncharacteristically serious expression. Hongjoong sat stiff and alert across from them, and Yeosang was biting his thumbnail—a sure sign that something was wrong.

San’s smile faded.

“Uh?” he asked, slower now, stepping into the room. “Hi…?”

Yeosang grimaced. “Hi, Sannah.”

“I’ll um…” he said mindlessly. “I guess… I’ll start dinner. Should I… make extra?”

“Yes, please. I’ll help you!” Seonghwa jumped up. “I’m starving.”

San blinked at the sudden shift, clearly trying to catch up. His eyes lingered on Wooyoung for a moment longer, probably wondering who he was, but when Seonghwa patted his arm and ushered him toward the kitchen, he let himself be pulled along.

Yeosang stood, stretching awkwardly before hovering a little too long near Wooyoung’s side. “I’ll, um. Set the table,” he offered, even though that clearly wasn’t needed yet. But he didn’t move, just looked at Wooyoung as if he wanted to say something else.

Wooyoung just looked away. Yeosang quickly followed the others into the kitchen.

That left Hongjoong, still sitting across from Wooyoung with his arms crossed. “Whatever happened, whatever you’re running from, you’re gonna tell him at least, right?” he asked quietly.

Wooyoung stared at the surface of his drink. “Yes,” he said truthfully.

“You better,” Hongjoong said. “He deserves to know. We all do, but most of all, him.”

Wooyoung nodded, but didn’t say anything. His throat felt tight again. He knew Hongjoong was right—but that didn’t make the words any easier to form.

After a beat, Hongjoong stood up and gave him a long, unreadable look. “If you want to stay here, we’ll protect you. But you have to meet us halfway, Wooyoung. Got it?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, just turned and walked off toward the kitchen. Wooyoung clutched the cold mug between his hands.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wooyoung pushed at his food miserably. They decided on something quick and easy, so grilled cheese and soup it was, but nothing on the plate looked remotely appetizing. Nerves clawed up his insides, twisting tighter with every passing second.

The irony almost made him laugh. After all this time, he was finally allowed to eat human food at the table… and he didn’t even want to.

San sat beside him in their usual spots, just like every night for the past few weeks. It would almost feel normal, if not for the fact that he now had opposable thumbs and a voice again. Yeosang sat on San’s other side, staring blankly into his soup.

Wooyoung was just as anxious. Maybe more.

They hadn’t told San anything yet—Yeosang had promised they’d explain after the food was finished—but it was clear San had already picked up on the tension. His eyes kept flicking between Wooyoung and the others, clearly waiting for someone to crack. He frowned slightly when noticed the lack of little black cats begging for food scraps in the kitchen while he cooked.  

Now Wooyoung was sitting next to him and it felt weird . Just awkward. 

“So,” San said finally, slicing through the silence, “am I gonna be introduced to your friend now, or…?”

Seonghwa gave Wooyoung a small nod, inviting him to speak. Wooyoung sighed, setting his spoon down. How did you even begin to explain something like this? 

Did San know? About the Magic, what his boyfriend was? He shouldn’t, Wooyoung’s Coven always wiped the memories of anyone who found out about them. But he was starting to think that things didn’t work very similarly around here.

If San didn’t know—if no one had ever told him about Magic, about the truth of Yeosang and the others—then this wasn’t just awkward. It was dangerous . Wooyoung’s very presence at this table could unravel everything these people had built to protect him.

It wasn’t like he could just say, hey, I’ve been living as your cat for the past few weeks after kind of having a thing with your boyfriend, since I didn’t know he already had someone for him at home. 

Except Yeosang did. Kind of. 

“I’m Wooyoung, it's—” he said simply, holding out his hand politely. 

“This is our cat, except it turns out he's actually our missing friend,” the blond quickly said at the same time.

“—nice to officially meet you, San…”

San froze, his spoon halfway to his mouth. Across the table, Hongjoong let out a long, pained sigh and buried his face in his hands.

San glanced at Yeosang, then back at Wooyoung. “Uh… You’re joking.”

Yeosang shook his head slowly. “Nope. Found out an hour ago.”

San turned back to Wooyoung. “Right. Okay. Um. Nice to meet you too. As a… human, I guess.” He reached out and gave Wooyoung’s hand a quick, cautious shake, then let go quickly. He tilted his head. “So… you’re the Wooyoung I’ve heard about?”

Yeosang kicked him under the table with a sharp look. San winced.

“You guys talked about me?” Wooyoung asked, glancing over with feigned innocence. “That’s funny. I didn’t know anything about you before coming here.”

Yeosang flushed, eyes darting away. It was a petty jab and definitely not the time or place for it, but Wooyoung couldn’t help himself. But he still wasn’t over the kind of cheating thing they had going on before all of this. And he still kind of hated San for existing. 

“Mmm. Yeah,” San replied easily while smirking at him, not taking the bait. “All the time. I’ve heard a lot about you from Sangie.”

“Oh yeah?” Wooyoung smiled, all teeth. “Like what?”

“Hm, you know,” San shrugged, dimples deepening. “Just about how you vanished on him one day. No note, no goodbye. Just gone.” His pleasant tone sharpened into something much colder with a shrug. A side of him that Wooyoung hadn’t seen before. “Shit like that.”

“San—” Yeosang hissed.

Wooyoung’s smile faltered. “Right. Well… I had my reasons.” He looked away, the edge in his voice softening, though his shoulders stayed tight. “Not that I expect you to care.”

Yeosang cleared his throat sharply. “We should probably focus on what happens now,” he said, voice tight. “Now that he’s back.”

Wooyoung’s chest ached. 

Hongjoong leaned forward. “So, Wooyoung…”

He nodded, already bracing himself. “Yeah. I know. I’ll leave after dinner. Just need to grab my stuff from the café.”

“What?” Hongjoong blinked, clearly thrown. “No—what are you talking about?”

Wooyoung looked up slowly, dread thick in his throat. “I stashed my stuff at the café. I didn’t want to lose it. But, you know, a cat with a backpack kind of draws attention—”

“No, I mean, why would you leave?” Hongjoong cut in, frowning deeply.

Wooyoung froze. His heart stuttered painfully. “I just thought… I assumed you’d want me gone?”

“That kind of defeats the whole fucking purpose of the past two months, doesn’t it?” Hongjoong shot back, incredulous. 

“But I can’t just stay here now,” he said, more firmly. “Not after leaving you guys. And hiding all of this.”

“You told us your reasoning,” Seonghwa reminded him, voice gentler. “And I believe you. And besides…” He hesitated, then glanced at Yeosang. “You’ve got a bigger issue than hiding from your Coven keeping you here now.”

Wooyoung blinked, confused. “What?”

“You’re bound as Yeosang’s familiar,” Hongjoong said plainly.

The room fell into another hush. Yeosang’s shoulders tensed beside him.

Wooyoung turned slowly. “I’m… what? No I'm not, that's not possible."

“It happened before you transformed back,” Hongjoong explained. “The spell—it worked, somehow. I didn’t know it could be done with another human, but maybe because you were a cat at the time… I’m not sure. But I felt it. There’s a bond between you two.”

“How?” Yeosang asked. “How is that possible?”

“I’m not sure it is,” Hongjoong contradicted. “But the Magic, the Fates, they must have wanted it to be this way, I don’t know how else this could have happened.”

Wooyoung stared at him, stunned. “But it’s temporary, right? I mean… it’ll fade? If I leave?”

“No,” Seonghwa said, voice quiet but steady. “It’s not like that.”

Wooyoung's mouth opened, then shut again. His thoughts were sprinting too fast to catch up. “You mean I’m… stuck here? Like— permanently?”

“Well, technically it’s a soul tether,” Hongjoong said, waving his hand around. “So you’re stuck to Yeosang, not here. Not as dramatic as it sounds. But it does mean you're connected. Spiritually. Magically. Probably even emotionally, depending on the bond's strength. It sure seemed like you two were earlier.”

“That sounds… very dramatic,” San said flatly. He glared at Wooyoung again. 

“It's a rare bond,” Seonghwa added. “It usually only forms by choice. Between witches and familiars. They both have to want it.”

Wooyoung caught Yeosang’s eye at that, who quickly looked away. San cleared his throat, and he suddenly wasn’t so sure he wanted to be next to him anymore. 

“So, now what?” Wooyoung whispered, eyes darting between them. “I just… belong to him?”

“No way,” Yeosang said quickly. “You don’t belong to me.”

“But you two are connected. Which means… we’ll figure this out,” Hongjoong sighed. “There’s got to be a way to reverse it, somehow.”

Wooyoung’s throat felt tight. “What would happen if I did leave?”

For a moment, no one answered. The air was still, the tension thick enough to taste.

Hongjoong exhaled slowly. “It depends on how strong the bond is. You might feel… disoriented. Sick. Maybe worse, if you go too far or stay away too long. Soul tethers like this—they’re meant to keep you close. That's the whole point.”

“And what about Yeosang?” Wooyoung asked, his voice small. Yeosang’s fingers curled around the edge of the table. 

“The same.”

“That’s why they’re usually mutual,” Seonghwa said gently. “You’re not just bound to him. He’s bound to you too.”

Wooyoung stared at the table, heart pounding in his ears. His next words cracked when they came. “So if I run… Or if my Coven finds me, and takes me back, we both suffer?”

Hongjoong didn’t speak, but he gave the smallest nod. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wooyoung stared at the ceiling, willing his consciousness to check out, but it stubbornly refused. The couch wasn’t as comfortable as he remembered it as a cat, and half of him was tempted to shift back just to make it more bearable, but he wasn’t sure if that was too soon. 

That felt like giving up. Or worse, like hiding again. And after tonight, he wasn’t sure anyone would forgive him for that, least of all himself.

He was grateful that Yeosang (and reluctantly San) let him stay with them, at least until Hongjoong could figure out a way to reverse the bond. After that, he was free to run again.

His thoughts kept looping—Yeosang’s flushed face, San’s unreadable glare, the weight of the situation deep in his chest, this bond thing like a leash he hadn’t asked for. It was weird, because now that he focused on it, he could tell it was there. Right now, if he thought about Yeosang hard enough, he could feel that he was asleep, peacefully resting in his own bed. 

Part of him thought it was creepy and invasive, but then another part of him remembered he hid as their cat for two months, so. 

He heard soft footsteps and the quiet creak of the fridge opening, and when he peeked over the couch, he saw the light spilling across the kitchen floor. He didn’t have to look to know who it was.

Wooyoung froze, unsure if he should pretend to be asleep. But San was already grabbing something, probably more ice cream, and he paused just as he spotted the figure staring at him from the couch.

“Oh,” San said flatly. “You’re awake.”

Wooyoung slowly sat up all the way, the blanket falling from his chest. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Huh.” San took a bite from his bowl, spoon clinking against the sides. “Must be hard. Guilt usually is.”

The silence that followed was sharp. Wooyoung didn’t respond. Honestly, San was right.

San didn’t leave. He leaned against the counter, eyes still on him. “So you’ve just been, what? Living here with us? Sleeping in our bed? Watching us shower?”

“Okay,” Wooyoung said quickly, hands raised. “First of all, I never watched either of you shower.”

San just hummed, staring at him. It was uncanny to see San like this. He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t teasing, wasn’t warm like Wooyoung had come to associate him with. His posture was tense and his words clipped. 

“I wasn’t spying on either of you,” Wooyoung added, quieter now. “I wasn’t trying to manipulate anyone. I just didn’t know where else to go.”

“Well. This all worked out for you in the end, didn’t it?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Wooyoung asked, voice low. 

San’s eyes flicked up, sharp and unreadable, his usual easygoing smile nowhere to be seen. “It means you landed yourself right where you wanted, whether you planned it or not.” The words were casual, but there was an edge to them that cut deeper than Wooyoung expected.

Wooyoung’s heart stuttered, something like nervousness. The tension in the air thickened, as if all the unspoken thoughts between them were hovering, waiting to ignite.

“I’m not sure I wanted this,” Wooyoung said carefully, voice low, trying to steady himself as he met San’s unwavering gaze.

San took a slow step closer, and Wooyoung felt the heat of his presence shift the air around them. “Maybe you don’t know what you want yet,” San murmured, voice almost a tease but with an unmistakable weight behind it. “Maybe you’re just trying to see what you can get.”

There was something in the way San looked at him, like San could see past the thin walls Wooyoung had built around his feelings. Like he already knew about the way Wooyoung’s eyes lingered on Yeosang a moment too long, or the way his breath hitched when Yeosang smiled. 

“You think I’m playing some game?” Wooyoung asked, voice trembling slightly despite himself.

San’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Maybe,” he said softly, voice dropping an octave. He rested both of his palms on the back of the couch, looking down at Wooyoung. “Are you?”

Wooyoung’s breath hitched. His fingers curled into fists in the blanket, a flush spreading through his chest that had nothing to do with embarrassment. San was too close now—close enough that Wooyoung could smell the pine scent of the body wash he used.

“I’m not… playing games,” Wooyoung said, voice barely above a whisper, his eyes darkening with something fierce and vulnerable all at once. “I’m just… stuck here. For now. I'll leave when we sort this out, and I'm not bound to him anymore.”

San’s smile deepened, a slow, predatory curve. “Stuck can be fun,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing but with an undercurrent that made Wooyoung’s pulse spike. He leaned even closer, the heat between them thickening. “Depends on who you’re stuck with.”

Wooyoung swallowed hard, heat flooding his cheeks. “Yeah. Whatever.”

San’s eyes softened just a fraction, but the tension didn’t ease. “Well, you’re here now, Kitty. Bound to him whether you like it or not.”

Wooyoung’s pulse hammered in his ears. He wanted to pull away, to push back, but San’s presence was magnetic, the way he leaned in just enough to kindle the fire between them. 

Wooyoung glanced away, heart pounding. He wasn’t sure if it was fear or something else—something aching, desperate. The line between anger and jealousy was seriously thinner than he wanted to admit.

Wooyoung met his gaze again, with a look that made the air between them crackle. “I really didn’t plan any of this,” he admitted, voice low. 

“Yeah,” San muttered. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

Wooyoung swallowed hard, throat dry. “You’re angry.”

“Wouldn’t you be?”

He didn’t answer. San shook his head, sighed through his nose. “Just… don’t leave him again. Think about the people who have to stay before you run off again.”

Then, without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away, the light from the fridge clicking off behind him.

Chapter Text

Wooyoung was dreaming.

He knew it was a dream because the house was wrong—too dark, too quiet, and like someone had taken the real place and drained all of the warmth out of it. The couch beneath him felt too big and too hard. The walls stretched too far away. The windows were open, but no breeze moved through the room. None of the little lights Yeosang had everywhere to avoid the overhead one were on. Everything was still.

He sat up, suddenly aware of how alone he was. Just silence.

“Hello?” he called, voice echoing in the unnatural quiet. It sounded small, like only he could hear himself. Where were they?

He pushed off the couch and walked toward the hallway, but it stretched longer with every step, the shadows growing deeper, the walls tightening like they were trying to squeeze him out. The door to Yeosang’s room stood ajar at the end, light flickering from within.

Wooyoung reached it with a shaky hand and pushed it open.

Inside, it wasn’t their bedroom anymore. The room was full of nothingness, just a void, but somehow still a room, floor to ceiling. And in the center, standing over a ritual circle drawn in deep red ink, was Yeosang.

He didn’t look up. He didn’t even acknowledge Wooyoung’s presence.

“Yeosang?” Wooyoung whispered.

Yeosang raised his palms, fingers glowing with golden light, and began to speak words Wooyoung couldn’t understand. They rang in his ears like bells underwater. The lines on the floor sparked. The wind in the room surged, but Wooyoung couldn’t move. Couldn’t get closer.

Something pulled at his chest—hard. He looked down.

The tether.

It was visible, like a string, and glowing red-hot between them, thrumming with pain. It stretched taut from his sternum to Yeosang’s, and as Yeosang chanted, it began to fray. Burn. Smoke.

“Stop,” Wooyoung tried to say, but no sound came out.

Yeosang didn’t look at him. Didn’t even seem to know he was there.

“Yeosang, stop that,” he tried again. “Don’t—don’t do it—”

Yeosang’s golden eyes were trained on the rope, turning red in the reflected light. 

“Yeosang!” he tried again frantically. “No! Don’t—”

He just whispered something soft—and suddenly the tether snapped.

Wooyoung screamed, or tried to, but it was silent. His body collapsed forward like a puppet with its strings cut. Cold rushed in. Emptiness swallowed his ribs, a void where something warm used to live.

He looked up just in time to see Yeosang finally glance toward him. There was no recognition in his eyes. Only relief.

Wooyoung woke up gasping.

His heart was pounding. Chest aching. The room was quiet—but warm this time. Real.

But the tether was still tugging in his heart uselessly. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wooyoung didn’t go back to sleep for another second before a knock on the door eventually sounded, making him jump. 

He groaned from the couch, one eye cracking open to glare in the general direction of the front door. It was so early that the house was still quiet—no signs of San banging around the kitchen to grab a protein shake for the gym, or Yeosang silently heading off to the café. One of them would probably wake up and get it, and it wasn’t like it was his house to open up anyway.

The knock came again, more aggressive this time. No noise came from the bedroom indicating that either were waking up.

“Hey! One of you fuckers let me in!”

He rolled off the couch with a groan, blanket tangled around his ankles, and stumbled to the door, yanking it open. Hongjoong stood there, a towering stack of books cradled in his arms. He gave a muffled grunt of greeting.

“What the hell—” Wooyoung blinked. “What is this?”

Hongjoong huffed. “Mind taking some of these before I dislocate something?”

Still half-asleep, Wooyoung reached forward and took the top few books, arms straining slightly. They were all old and heavy, bound in rough canvas or cracked leather. He squinted at the titles, but half of them were in Latin. And it was too early to read Latin.

“Remember when I said we would find a way to undo the binding?” Hongjoong sighed when his arms strained less. “I actually meant you would. You got yourself into this mess, so you can get yourself out of it.”

“Oh, right. Thanks,” Wooyoung said, both touched and horrified.

Hongjoong breezed past him into the house, setting the rest of the stack down on the kitchen table with a heavy thud. “I told you I’d help, and I will, but you’re doing all of the reading. Plus, Seonghwa’s been threatening to organize my spellbook shelf again, so I needed to make some room anyway. This worked out in my favor.”

“You could’ve come over when it wasn’t still night time .”

“It’s five forty-five.”

“Exactly.” Wooyoung dropped the books onto the table and leaned against it with a sigh. He dragged a hand down his face, then looked at the massive pile again. 

“I have to go open a shelter, and take care of animals. You know, it’s that job you used to show up for.”

“I could still come help—”

“No, you can’t,” Hongjoong smiled. “You’re busy staying in hiding so your Coven doesn’t kill you, and you are going to spend your day looking through these tomes to find a way to unbind yourself from Yeosang.”

“You think there’s really a way to undo it?”

Hongjoong hesitated. “I think there’s always a way to do anything. Whether or not it’s a good idea… we can cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“So you don’t think it can be undone.”

“I didn’t say that—”

“You didn’t not say that—”

“I don’t care if you’re a human now, I’m about to find a water bottle to fucking spray you with.”

Before Wooyoung could retort back, San emerged from the hallway in a hoodie and sweat pants, hair messy and rubbing the sleep from his puffy eyes. He blinked blearily at the sight of books on the table, then at Hongjoong.

“Did you rob a library?” he asked, voice heavy and raspy from just waking up. 

“Morning, San,” Hongjoong said with a grin, clearly unfazed. “I brought your favorite thing. Required reading.”

San groaned and turned back around. “I’m not doing that.” He shuffled back into the kitchen to open a cabinet and peer in, eyes still half-closed. “Hyung, are you staying for breakfast?”

“Nah, I’ve gotta head to work soon, but thanks.” Hongjoong leveled Wooyoung with a firm glare as he adjusted the bag on his shoulder. The sounds of San starting to cook filled the background. “I’ll swing by around dinner time with Hwa. Find something by then.”

Wooyoung frowned up at him, a sinking feeling that none of these books would help. 

Hongjoong lingered at the door for a beat longer than necessary, watching Wooyoung with a quieter expression. The sternness in his eyes softened just a little as he took in the mess of tomes, the unease written across Wooyoung’s face, the tension in his shoulders.

“Hey,” he said, drawing Wooyoung’s attention again. “I know this feels impossible. We don’t even know if it is possible yet. But you’re a lot more capable than you think.”

Wooyoung blinked, caught off guard.

Hongjoong shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. “You survived running from your Coven, and living with them ,” he added, nodding toward the kitchen where a spatula clattered loudly against a pan. “And you managed to somehow figure out shapeshifting, which no one else can do. You’ll figure this out too.”

His heart beat a little harder at the words, unwelcome and unfamiliar warmth catching in his throat. Wooyoung looked down at the books again, then back up at Hongjoong, who was already halfway out the door.

“Thanks,” he said, quietly—genuinely. It was for more than just the pep talk and the books.

Hongjoong paused, hand on the doorknob, and glanced back over his shoulder with a sharp grin. “Just don’t make me regret saying all that, okay?”

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Wooyoung alone in the stillness of the apartment—except for the sounds of sizzling from the kitchen and San humming under his breath.

He stared at the books. Then he sighed, deeply. Gods help him, if he got a curse from opening one of these that haven’t been touched in centuries, he would hex Hongjoong himself .

San came around the corner and slid a plate across the table without looking at him, the motion rushed but intentional. Two eggs, toast, and sliced fruit. Wooyoung stared at it for a second, caught off guard.

“…Thanks?” he said slowly, unsure if it was a peace offering or just pity. Or a joke.

San sat down across from him with his own plate, jabbing at his eggs. “Both of us work today. Can we trust you enough to leave you alone all day?”

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow, already chewing a piece of fruit. He forgot how much he missed human food. “You did for like two months.”

San didn’t even blink. “You didn’t have opposable thumbs.”

Wooyoung smirked. “I actually did. Sometimes.”

San paused mid-bite, squinting at him. “… Huh?”

“I shifted back into a human during the day.” He shrugged, as if it wasn’t that big of a deal. Yeah, it was absolutely just to get under this asshole’s skin. 

San’s fork clinked against his plate. “You—You turned back into a human while we were at work? You can do that?”

“Yeah. I usually just watched TV though. Ate some of your snacks. Showered. You know, usual human things.”

San’s eyes slowly widened in something between horror and disbelief. “You—Oh my god.” He sat back in his seat. “My soap—I feel violated. ”

Wooyoung was about to taunt him more, when something in his chest tugged his eyes towards the hallway, to find a certain blond appearing from the bedroom. He was already dressed for the day, in a warm sweater and corduroy pants, cozied up for the autumn chill. 

“Morning, babe,” San said cheerily, completely opposite from the tone he was just giving Wooyoung. He quickly stood up to fetch a tupperware container from the kitchen counter and set it in his boyfriend’s hands, and placed a sickeningly gentle kiss on Yeosang’s round cheek.

Yeosang blinked, clearly still waking up, but his expression softened instantly as he accepted the container and the kiss. “You made me breakfast?”

“Of course I did,” San said with a grin, voice warm and gooey in a way that made Wooyoung physically recoil. “Egg whites, fruit and toast.”

“Mmm. Thank you, Sannie,” he smiled warmly, and fuck, he’d been doing so good, completely ignoring the not-a-crush-anymore he definitely didn’t have on the blond witch. But then Yeosang would go and smile like that , it didn’t matter who at, with his eyes crinkling up and the apples of his cheeks getting all round and soft and—

Wooyoung dropped his gaze to his plate when Yeosang suddenly turned towards him, meeting his eyes with a look he couldn’t decipher. He shoved a bite of toast into his mouth in self-defense, willing the heat crawling up his neck to disappear.

A tug—not physical, but no less real—tightened low in his chest like someone had quietly knocked on the inside of his ribcage. He looked up on instinct, and Yeosang was still watching him.

He swallowed hard. “What?”

Yeosang just turned back to his boyfriend with a serene little hum. “Nothing.”

San didn’t notice any of it, he was busy cleaning up the pan he used to cook the eggs, but Wooyoung suddenly felt like the house was too small, like they both knew something he didn’t. He forced another bite down and tried to breathe.

Why was living with them suddenly so complicated? It hadn’t even been a full day since he’d become a human again, and this shit already sucked.

After a pause, Yeosang’s gaze drifted to the table piled high with ancient, dusty books. “What are all of those?” he asked quietly.

San didn’t skip a beat, flicking a glance toward the stack. “Hongjoong just brought them over. He said it’s required reading.” He shrugged, then added with a hopeful grin, “He’s coming back tonight with Seonghwa after work. Hopefully, Kitty will have found a way to unbind you two by then.”

Wooyoung nearly choked on a strawberry. “Kitty? Seriously? Don’t—Do not call me that,” he snapped, cheeks flushing red with embarrassment and irritation.

San’s smile twisted into something smug and unrepentant. “Oh, sorry,” he said, voice dripping with mock sincerity. “Old habit, you know?” He threw a playful wink over his shoulder, as if daring Wooyoung to protest more.

“Fuck off.”

“See? Just like Kitty, if you could've talked in cat form.”

Yeosang amusedly watched the exchange quietly, but his eyes and the tether held a deeper feeling, maybe a mix of fondness and something tender that maybe made Wooyoung’s heart skip a beat when he felt it, even if he couldn’t quite understand why. Nothing was tender nor fond about the way he wanted to rip off San’s face. 

San stretched lazily, slipping on his coat and sneakers by the garage door. “I’m heading out to the gym before my shift at the clinic. Try not to burn the place down while I’m gone, yeah?” He shot Wooyoung a grin that was half serious, half teasing.

Yeosang was already tying his apron around his waist, and gave a soft nod. “I’ll head out with you.” His eyes flicked to Wooyoung one last time, warm but heavy. “Um, good luck, finding… Whatever you can.”

“Right,” Wooyoung managed. “Thanks.”

They moved around the small house while slipping on shoes and grabbing bags and keys. Then, almost simultaneously, they were both gone—leaving Wooyoung sitting alone in the suddenly way too-quiet space, alone. 

He swore it never felt this bad a cat.

The weight of the tether hummed softly in his chest as he sank onto the couch with the first three tomes he grabbed, the silence of the house finally pressing in. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was weird feeling Yeosang’s feelings throughout the day.

For the first time, he felt the full weight of being bound... and yet somehow not near the other. It was almost like the further Yeosang was, the tighter it tugged, like a rubber band stretched to its limits.

At one point, there was a sudden spike of anxiety that prickled at Wooyoung’s skin like static. He furrowed his brow, trying to pinpoint the cause, but clearly, he wasn’t a mind reader. Was it a rush of customers overwhelming the café? Did Yeosang accidentally burn a loaf of gluten-free bread? Or maybe someone had been rude to him—maybe they didn’t want to be charged for extra caramel drizzle and started yelling. 

Wooyoung fought with the possibilities, but before he could dwell on it more, the tension faded as quickly as it had come. The lingering warmth of Yeosang’s calm returned, like a soft exhale. It was like catching a glimpse of something fragile and intimate, tethered by the strange bond between them, and something he would never be able to actually see.

It kept pulling him out of his studying every so often, where Latin was starting to swim around him from the amount of words that were on some of the pages. He knew exactly when Seonghwa stopped by the café, by the way the tether sang happily. 

Wooyoung kept moving between the couch and the cluttered kitchen table, the early morning light filtering softly through the curtains. The heavy tomes spread before him were dense with strange symbols, diagrams, and a few other languages he barely recognized. The silence around him was almost suffocating, broken only by the occasional creak of the house settling or a bird chirping and the distant hum of the city around him waking up.

He flipped another page, eyes scanning over the cramped text that seemed to swirl and blur together. The words felt like fragments of a puzzle he wasn’t meant to solve as he tried to focus, tracing the lines and footnotes, looking for anything, anything that might offer a way out of this binding.

Hours passed. His arms grew sore from holding the books, his eyes burning from the strain. Some tomes were thick and heavy, written in archaic calligraphy and strange dialects. Others were thinner, filled with sketches of runes and sigils—some vaguely familiar from those his mother and aunt had taught him when he was a teenager. But no matter how much he searched, the word he wanted to find was never there: Unbinding .

The closest he came were scattered mentions of loosening “magical ties” or “releasing curses,” but the instructions were really vague, often followed by warnings of dire consequences. Like, super dire. One passage spoke of a ritual involving rare herbs and blood sacrifices, but the language was so obscure it was hard to tell if it was even meant for a binding like his. Another hinted at the need for “consent of all parties”—a note that sent his mind spiraling in ways he didn’t want to consider.

He slammed one of the books shut, frustration bubbling up. The weight on his chest wasn’t just from the tether anymore, but from the growing realization that this might not be fixable. Not with these dusty old books. Not with whatever Magic had tied itself around him and Yeosang. Sure, he really had only been trying for a few hours and Hongjoong might not own the very book they needed, but gods, this wasn’t motivating him either.

He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. 

Maybe it’s not about finding a way to undo it, he thought bitterly. Maybe it’s about learning to live with it.

A faint hum of energy pulsed through his veins—the tether’s constant presence—and Wooyoung’s gaze drifted to the window. Outside, the world moved on without him, unaware of the invisible chains he carried. Just like it always had. The sun was on the opposite side of the sky now, fallen victim to autumn’s too short of days. 

It was weird not hiding from his own Magic though. He wasn’t sure that it was a good idea, two months wasn’t that long of a time for whoever was looking for him to give up, but it was nice. Freeing, weirdly enough. He got up to take a little break, stretch his legs, use the bathroom (thank the gods it wasn’t that litter box anymore) and grab some water. The movement was great for his headache, and he even listened to the plants hum around him for a while. 

Just as he returned to the table, the garage door creaked open, and San’s voice broke through the quiet. “I’m home,” he announced, dropping his bag by the door.

“Any luck?”

Wooyoung wanted to snap at him, to be rude back, all because it was San . But the exhaustion and frustration he’d been bottling up made his throat tight and his words catch before they could form. Instead, he shook his head, voice low and brittle.

“No. Nothing. Just a bunch of vague rituals and warnings. No clear way to undo this yet.” He gestured at the piles of ancient books scattered across the table.

San raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “You just started looking today. It’s not your fault if it wasn’t in the very first book you checked.”

Wooyoung swallowed, blinking away the sting of tears he didn’t want to admit were there. “Feels like it is.” His voice cracked, honest and raw for once.

San’s expression softened. He looked like he wanted to reach out, hesitating for a moment before putting his arm back down. “Well. We’re, uh, in this together. You’re not alone.”

“Thanks...” he whispered, going back to the pages in front of him.

San stepped back into the kitchen, starting the rice cooker and something started sizzling on the stove. He heard the rhythmic sounds of vegetables being chopped. 

Wooyoung barely looked down at his book again when Yeosang stepped inside, the faint creak of the door announcing him. The scent of rich espresso and warm bread followed him.

“Sangie,” San lit up. He ditched the cooking food to greet his boyfriend, helping him hang up his bag. “Long day?” 

Yeosang sighed, rubbing his flour-dusted hands on his apron. “Yeah, but it’s worth it, or whatever they say.” He glanced over at Wooyoung, and he caught the exhaustion written plainly on his face.

“Still buried in those books?” Yeosang asked, stepping closer.

Wooyoung blinked and closed the tome in his lap with a soft thud. “Yeah. I’m trying to find anything,” he said quietly. “But nothing makes sense. Or there’s just nothing here at all.”

Yeosang’s eyes softened with sympathy. “Hey, it’s okay to take a break. You’ve been at it all day.”

Wooyoung nodded, but his mind was already spinning, the words and symbols swimming behind his eyelids again. If he stopped looking, his anxiety would eat him alive. But he also wasn’t sure he could fix this yet. 

Yeosang gave him a small, encouraging smile before heading off to the kitchen. Alone now, Wooyoung sank deeper into the chair, his fingers tracing the worn edges of the book. 

They were right, it really was the first day since he’s been bound, it would be a miracle if they found a solution this fast. 

The truth was, a small part of him had hoped the books would offer an instant cure. And he was pissy that they didn’t. Some forgotten spell, some ritual tucked between faded ink and margin notes. Something that would make this all go away.

Something that would make him go away. 

But all they’d offered so far were riddles, theories, and pages of useless fucking Latin. 

“Uh, Wooyoung,” Yeosang started awkwardly a few minutes later, and Wooyoung peaked over his shoulder. He stood by the kitchen counter, watching as San set out three plates.  “Dinner’s ready.”

“Oh, okay,” Wooyoung blinked, and closed the tome and shoved it aside with the rest. “I’ll move all this—”

“No, like, come eat,” San huffed. 

“Oh—Right. Um. Okay.”

He quickly got up to grab his plate, totally ignoring how cramped the kitchen became with three grown men in it, and suddenly didn’t know what to do after that. He picked up one set of chopsticks on the counter slowly.

San glanced at him over his shoulder, arching a brow as walked towards the table. Yeosang followed silently, both of them taking a spot on the side of the table that wasn’t covered in tomes. “Aren’t you going to sit at your spot?”

Wooyoung blinked. “My…?”

San nodded to the chair on the end—the head of the table between him and Yeosang. The same spot Wooyoung had claimed almost every night as a cat, usually leaping into it mid-meal or curling up there and waiting for scraps.

“Oh,” he said, throat tight. “Yeah. Right.”

He moved toward it slowly, half-expecting someone to stop him, to tell him it was a joke. No one did. He sat down.

The scrape of the chair against the floor sounded violent . He cringed a little.

San was already digging in. Yeosang passed Wooyoung a bowl of rice without a word, still avoiding eye contact. The silence stretched long and brittle. Wooyoung stared down at his food, picking at the vegetables with his chopsticks.

He cleared his throat. “So… what is this? Tofu stir fry?”

“It’s what we had,” San said, not unkindly, but not particularly warm either.

“Right.” He nodded. “Smells good.”

Silence again. San chewed. Yeosang sipped his drink. Wooyoung stared hard at his plate.

It was so much weirder being here like this. Upright. Verbal. Fully able to respond to all the conversations he’d once only listened to, curled quietly at their feet.

And they knew that. Knew he’d heard everything every time they ate together.

San watched him for a minute, then leaned forward on his elbows, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re allowed to speak to us, you know that, right?”

“I’m trying not to invade your lives more than I already have,” Wooyoung said, trying to sound light, but it came out more like a plea.

“You already have. You’ve been living in our house for months.”

“Yeah. As a cat . I didn’t talk, I didn’t eat dinner with you guys, I didn’t—"

“Would you rather go back to that?” San asked, smirking. “I can put the stir fry in a bowl on the ground for you, if that’s easier.”

“Sannie.”

Wooyoung flushed. “No, just—shut up.”

San smirked, but didn’t say anything else. Wooyoung opened his mouth, a knock on the front door halted him from saying anything too bitchy.

“I got it,” Yeosang said, already wiping his hands on a napkin as he made his way to the front. Wooyoung took the opportunity to glare at San across the table, who just returned the look with an infuriatingly satisfied, handsome smile.

A moment later, the door creaked open with loud voices following.

“Evening,” came Hongjoong’s voice, smooth and casual, followed by the unmistakable rustle of a takeout bag. Seonghwa followed behind him, hands full with two drinks and a large, plastic bag that smelled distinctly like greasy fries and fried chicken. 

“Hi guys,” he said, warm as always, as he kicked the door shut behind them with a quiet thump . “Hope you don’t mind, we brought our own dinner.”

“I do mind, actually,” Yeosang frowned. “How dare you bring fried chicken into my house without sharing?”

“Oh Sangie, I would never do that to you,” Seonghwa cooed as he set his food down where he could find space on the table. He handed a separate bag to Yeosang. “Just for you.”

“Oh gods, you’re my favorite person ever,” he grinned happily, snatching up the bag.

“Hey,” San pouted from his seat.

Yeosang ignored him and started putting his fried chicken in the fridge. “There’s stir fry too, if you want something with vegetables and nutrients.”

“Gods forbid,” Hongjoong said as he dropped into one of the chairs and began unpacking their food. 

Seonghwa leaned over to peer at the stack of books still covering the coffee table. “Any progress?”

Wooyoung sighed heavily and slumped in his seat. “Not really. I read like thirty pages that were just about bloodline protections and ward-breaking, but they’re either too broad or too old. Nothing specific about tethers or soul-binding spells. Not a trace of anything to do with familiars.”

Hongjoong gave a sympathetic hum, tearing into a chicken sandwich. “Well, we figured as much. These kinds of spells are rarely in any books, especially ones that circulate outside of the libraries.”

“Libraries?” Wooyoung cocked his head. “You can find these at libraries?”

“Eh, not exactly. Libraries for witches, yes, not just regular public ones. Like what Sangie has going on at the café,” Seonghwa explained.

Yeosang, halfway through his stir fry, blinked in surprise. “You think the café counts?”

“Yeah, it is where you keep all your family’s books, right?” Hongjoong asked, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Even if it's not officially registered, it’s a private archive. Places like that sometimes hold the things formal records won’t. Especially if the spell is rare or dangerous.”

Wooyoung leaned back, brows furrowed. “So we’ve just been sitting here combing through these old, dusty tomes, when the good stuff might be hiding behind his espresso machine?”

“Say one more thing about my old, dusty tomes,” Hongjoong threatened with a drumstick. 

“Potentially,” Seonghwa answered with a shrug. “We also really have no idea where to start. It depends on what his father kept, and what he was willing to write down.”

Yeosang set down his chopsticks, the tension already returning to his shoulders. “Yeah, but he was careful. Really scared of stuff getting into the wrong hands. But… if the spell’s old enough, he might have at least referenced it.”

Hongjoong nodded. “It’s worth a look. After your shift tomorrow, we’ll meet you at the café and go through everything. Even the books you’ve sealed off.”

Yeosang hesitated, but then nodded. “Okay.”

“So, what now?” Wooyoung asked, resting his chin on his hand. “We just wait around until then? What if it’s not in those books either?”

“Hmm,” Seonghwa said, calmly popping a fry into his mouth. “We have other options. Oral histories, old witches that owe us favors. Hongjoong can try asking the Fates, we can do some readings. There’s still a trail to follow.”

“And you still have several of my books to go,” Hongjoong pointed out. He suddenly pointed a fry at him. “But first, you’re taking the rest of the night off.”

Wooyoung blinked. “What? Why?”

“You’ve been missing for two months, and come back with some horrific backstory about being hunted down by a cul— Coven ,” Seonghwa said, smiling gently. “So no, you’re hanging out with us tonight. It’s a Friday night for the gods’ sake. Live a little."

“We’ll talk about what’s next tomorrow,” Hongjoong finished. 

“But I could—”

“Resting for a few hours won’t hurt anyone,” Seonghwa smiled. "You're already bound."

Wooyoung wanted to argue further, but another glare from Hongjoong and a bite of stir fry shut him up long enough for San to eventually scoop up the empty takeout bags and plates, nudging everyone toward the living room.

A few minutes later, the lights were dimmed and Seonghwa had dragged a throw blanket over Wooyoung’s lap, despite his grumbling. Yeosang reappeared with a bottle of soju and a couple of ciders from the fridge, passing one to Wooyoung with an expectant look.

“What, are we celebrating something? My horrific backstory?” Wooyoung asked, eyebrow raised in his hyung’s direction. 

“No,” Seonghwa said calmly, cracking open his bottle. “We’re celebrating the fact that you’re here. And alive. And no longer a cat.”

“That’s depressing,” Wooyoung muttered, but he took a sip of the drink anyway.

Seonghwa and Hongjoong curled up together on the other end of the couch, the rest of their fries balanced between them, as San queued up something on the TV—a cheesy kids movie about twin witches that made Seonghwa immediately start pointing out everything they got wrong. 

The first round of drinks went quickly, then a second. Wooyoung thought briefly that the last time he drank was at the bar on a normal Thursday night, the week before everything went to shit. And here he was again, even though he was convinced he would never be. 

Maybe it wasn’t the bar, and maybe two people were missing, but it was pretty damn close. 

However, he realized quickly that Hongjoong was much different than how he knew him before, when he was tipsy in the comfort of a house versus tipsy at a loud bar. The movie ended, not that anyone had been really watching it, and they were all sufficiently tipsy and chatty now.

Hongjoong leaned further into the couch, soju glass sloshing slightly in his hand as he pointed accusingly at Wooyoung. His cheeks were flushed pink, his expression a mix of mock outrage and genuine exasperation.

“Do you know how mad I was when you didn’t show up to volunteer,” he admitted, dramatically clutching his chest. “Do you know how hard it is to run that place alone? After I got so used to giving you the tasks I didn’t want to do? We got a litter of puppies that day, and they were climbing the cat trees! Climbing , Wooyoung!”

Wooyoung blinked, halfway through a second bottle of cider, then slowly lowered it. “You mean at the shelter?”

“Yes, the shelter! ” Hongjoong groaned. “Do you know how many litter boxes I had to clean?! By myself?!”

“Do you know how many litter boxes I had to use?”

“One?” San guessed.

“One is too many!”

“Joongie, he kind of had bigger things to deal with,” Seonghwa reminded him gently. His nose was bright pink and his eyes were just slightly glassy. “Like hiding from the people trying to kill him.”

Hongjoong waved that off with a flick of his wrist. “That’s not an excuse.”

“Babe, that’s… actually a pretty solid one.”

“It’s barely an excuse,” Hongjoong muttered, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he was losing the will to argue. He smiled dopily at his fiancé, the last of his mock-annoyance dissolving.

Yeosang strolled back in from the kitchen, balancing a tray of drinks like the barista he was, with pastel colored drinks shimmering in soft lights, that definitely weren’t normal cocktails. He handed them out wordlessly, a little proud smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Wooyoung took one and sipped it. “Mmm. Why are all of your drinks so good?”

“Because he puts elixirs in them,” San said casually, already halfway through his own. He licked a bit of glowing syrup off his finger. “Is this the one that saves us from hangovers?”

Yeosang nodded happily, his own face red. Wooyoung’s eyes widened. “ For real?”

Yeosang chuckled, settling onto the chair beside them. “You never noticed before, at the café?”

“ No?? ” Wooyoung said, scandalized. “I thought you were just, like, really good at making coffees!”

“I am,” Yeosang said smugly. “The elixirs just help with the finishing notes, and I give them out sparingly. Mood stabilizers, good luck potions… Extra warmth when someone comes in soaking wet from the rain.”

Wooyoung’s face burned a little at that, and Yeosang glanced away shyly.

Hongjoong, who was outpacing all of them, raised his glass in salute. “Blessed is thy barista-witch combo.”

“What the fuck does that even mean, hyung?” San giggled, but raised his too. They both tossed their drinks back too quickly. 

“How did you never realize?” Seonghwa asked him, lounging against his fiancé with a soft laugh. 

“I don’t know!” Wooyoung cried, tipsy and indignant. “Maybe because I don’t usually assume my friends are mixing potion shots into my Americanos!”

Yeosang looked genuinely surprised. “Wait—hold on. Are you saying you didn’t know any of us were witches this whole time? Not even a suspicion?”

“No!” Wooyoung flailed dramatically. “I thought you guys were just—like— really into crystals and weird tea blends and tarot cards!”

“You’ve lived here for like two months! I have potion ingredients on top of the fridge!”

“I couldn’t see up there, I was at cat height! And you never did anything witchy around me!”

“That can’t be true,” Yeosang thought with a frown. “I use it so openly at home, and San is always commenting on it.”

“Because it’s cool!”

“You’ve literally been in the shop with me when I charmed jewelry,” Seonghwa added, brow raised. “You didn’t feel it?”

Wooyoung blinked, slowly piecing it together. “...Oh my gods. The fucking veiling sigil. That’s how come I never felt anyone’s Magic before…”

Everyone stilled.

“The what? ” Seonghwa asked for them.

Wooyoung let out a slow, horrified breath. “I—I drew a veiling sigil on myself every single day. To block anyone from sensing my Magic, just to be safe. I didn’t want anyone using it to track me. I must’ve...I must’ve been blocking everything, including all of yours . That’s why I never felt it. That’s why I didn’t know.”

Seonghwa huffed. “That’s some advanced sigil work, Wooyoung. I don’t know like, any sigils.”

“I think my moms taught me one for good luck,” Hongjoong thought. “But I forgot it.”

San leaned over and refilled their glasses with more soju. Hongjoong laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“How did I not see this???” he exclaimed off-handedly, eyes crinkling. “The Fates spoil stupid movies for me all the time—but not the fact that my friend’s cat is my missing volunteer??? And never the winning lottery numbers either.”

“At least you have the Fates to blame,” Seonghwa teased. “Wooyoung doesn’t. He just saw it all and willingly ignored it all.”

“Yeah—But—the café?” Wooyoung sputtered, gesturing wildly. “The ridiculously obvious witchy aesthetic? The gluten-free pastries? The overpriced crystals? I thought that was just your whole vibe! Being kind of crunchy?”

Yeosang blinked at him, clearly offended. “It is my vibe—because I am a witch. And what do my pastries have to do with anything?”

Wooyoung flailed. “They’re so weirdly specific and contain nothing!”

“I’m allergic to gluten!” Yeosang gasped. “That’s not Magic, that’s a dietary restriction! And my crystals are fairly priced —they're charged under a full moon every month, thank you very much.”

San giggled at their bickering, his face burning red from all of the alcohol. He slumped in his seat lazily. 

“Besides, hiding in plain sight is the safest place to be. Where else would I put a Magical business in the middle of a quiet town? Seperatus don’t exactly patrol witchy looking cafés for actual spellwork.”

Wooyoung stared at Yeosang, slack-jawed. “That’s actually… kind of smart? I think.”

“I know,” Yeosang said smugly, the alcohol finally getting to him. “And by the way, if you ever actually paid attention to the drink board, you would’ve noticed half the runes on the menus actually spell out elixirs witches can order from me.”

Too bad Wooyoung had been too busy staring at the pretty barista behind the counter to look at anything else.

“You know I feel weird about that word,” San pouted, his puppy eyes blinking up at Yeosang. 

“We’ve told you before San, it’s not demeaning,” Seonghwa sighed. “It’s just what you’re called in our community. A Seperatus. Separate from Magic.”

“Still,” he grumbled, folding his arms. “I think you guys should change it to muggles.”

“Wait,” Wooyoung said, sitting up straighter. “San isn’t a witch?”

“Nope,” he popped out, smirking. He swirled his finger at him like he was going to hex him. “No Magic here.”

“So the three of you are witches, clearly, but San is a Seperatus, and he just… knows all of you have Magic?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Hongjoong asked. 

“It would be kind of hard to date Yeosang and not know he’s a witch,” San chimed in.

“What, are Yunho and Mingi also in on this?” Wooyoung’s eyes widened. 

“Yunho’s a Medium,” Seonghwa answered easily, stealing one of Hongjoong’s fries. “He’s just low-key about it, doesn’t really practice spellwork much.”

“But Mingi?” San shrugged. “No. He has no clue, last we heard. Yunho is still trying to figure out how to tell him.”

“ What? ” Wooyoung gawked. “You guys are just casually hanging out with a Seperatus who knows you're witches?”

“I mean,” Hongjoong started, “it's not like we go waving wands around in front of him.”

“Wait—You guys have wands?”

“No, I was being sarcastic.”

“Okay, well. I’m just saying,” Wooyoung said, frowning now. “In my Coven, if a Seperatus found out about witches, their memories were wiped. Immediately. No exceptions.”

Yeosang’s smile faded a bit, his fingers idly tapping his glass. “Why? What’s the big deal if someone knows?”

“What… Everything?” Wooyoung blinked, but he really didn’t have that good of an answer. “It would… expose everyone?”

“I could go out there and tell the whole town I can do Magic, and I’m certain not a single one of them would believe me,” Seonghwa giggled. “They’d probably debate locking me up.”

“Yeah but…” He really didn’t think about that either. Why was his Coven so uptight about it? “I guess it was different where I’m from.”

“That… explains a lot, actually,” Hongjoong murmured, looking over at him. “The way the motel staff’s memories were gone. No exceptions, right?”

“Hongjoong, now isn’t the time,” Seonghwa patted his leg gently.

Wooyoung looked up at him, startled. “If someone sees Magic who isn’t supposed to—”

“Then you take their memories,” Hongjoong finished for him, voice soft. “Because that’s what you were taught. Did you ever think that maybe what you’re taught isn’t always right?”

The room went quiet for a moment. Not in judgment, just with the heaviness of it. The realization that Wooyoung was living a life much different from them, despite the same Magic flowing through all of their veins. 

Wooyoung stared into his half-empty glass, the flickering light from the candles San lit, to Yeosang’s dismay, casting long shadows over his hands. He didn’t say anything at first—just let the silence settle all the way into the corners of the room.

Then he let out a breath, his tipsy words speaking before his brain processed what he was admitting. 

“I didn’t think any of it was weird, before now. But you all…” Wooyoung glanced around the room at Seonghwa curled into Hongjoong’s side, at San comfortably sprawled out next to him, at Yeosang watching him with quiet attention from the chair next to them. “You live your lives like you’re not afraid of it all the time. Like you don’t have to keep your Magic hidden behind silence.”

“No community is perfect,” Seonghwa said gently. “But not all of them are like your Coven either.”

Wooyoung nodded, slowly. “I think I’m starting to agree with that.”

He didn’t say the word cult , not out loud. But he could feel it lingering, thick and heavy in the back of his throat. Was that truly what it was? It felt like it, compared to this.

And for the first time in weeks, Wooyoung felt something loosen in his chest. Like he could finally exhale without expecting to be punished for it. And Wooyoung didn’t say anything, just stared into the liquid in his hand, warmth blooming slowly in his chest, from something a little harder to pinpoint than just the alcohol.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The scream caught in his throat.

Wooyoung jolted upright, gasping. His blankets tangled around his legs, soaked with sweat, and his pulse thudded in his throat hard enough to feel nauseous. It had been vivid—something about fire, about drowning in it and watching helplessly as it consumed everything he touched. His chest heaved, the room spinning in dark, pulsing shadows. 

Where was he?

Where—

“Get off me—!” he yelled, kicking the blankets away, chest burning with panic. “Fuck—Let go—!” His vision tunneled. There were shadows in the corners, screams from the dream still echoing in his ears—

Fire. Smoke. Yeosang, screaming. San, standing by the edge, he was next.

He stumbled off the couch and hit the ground hard, barely feeling the sting in his knees as he curled up in on himself. His breath came in sharp, ragged bursts, too fast, too shallow. He dragged his hands through his hair, digging his nails into his scalp. 

Not real. Not real. Not real—

A door slammed open. Yeosang was rushing in the living room, breathless. His pupils were blown wide, panic in every line of his body.

“Wooyoung—? Are you—what’s happening, I felt—” He took a step forward, but froze when he saw Wooyoung crouched on the floor, eyes wide and unseeing.

“No—” Wooyoung shook his head violently. “You have to go, get away from me—!”

Yeosang staggered back like he’d been struck. His fingers flexed at his sides. “It’s me, I swear—it’s Yeosang, I’m here—”

“You’re going to get hurt,” Wooyoung choked out, hands pressed to his ears. “You were on fire, I saw it— you died —It was my fault—”

“Wooyoung.” 

San’s voice cut through his panic like a blade. He was at Wooyoung’s side in seconds, dropping to his knees, not touching, but just close enough. 

“It’s San. You’re safe, we’re safe, okay? You’re in the living room. It was just a dream, there is no fire.”

Wooyoung didn’t look at him. “No, no, I’m going to burn you—You have to go—”

“Breathe with me, okay?” San said, voice gentler now. “In through your nose, right now. Just copy me.”

He exaggerated his inhale, slow and deep.

Wooyoung didn’t follow. His hands were trembling too badly. His whole body was still locked in the dream. San moved just a little closer, keeping his voice low, soothing. He slowly grabbed Wooyoung’s shaking hands, holding them tight in his own. 

“See? I’m fine, you’re not burning me. You feel this?”

Silence. Then the faintest nod.

“That’s it. And my voice—that’s real too. You're not in the dream anymore, Woo. You’re here. You’re safe. No one is on fire— Hey, look at me.”

It took a moment, but eventually, Wooyoung’s head turned. His eyes locked on San’s. 

“Breathe with me, okay?” San kept his voice low and steady, like Wooyoung might tip off if he faltered for even a second.

“In,” he said softly, drawing a breath of his own. “Come on, with me. In.”

Wooyoung’s chest hitched, but he obeyed, dragging in a shaky inhale that barely filled his lungs.

“Good. Now out. Just like that.” Wooyoung forced out a sad wheeze. 

They did it again. And again. Until the trembling slowed and Wooyoung’s fingers, which had been clawing into San’s hands, began to loosen.

“There you go,” San murmured. “You’re okay, you can’t hurt us. You’re fine now.”

Wooyoung finally looked at him— really looked at him—eyes glassy but present now. “I thought I was still on fire,” he admitted, voice cracking. “It felt so real.”

“I know,” San said gently. “But it wasn’t. It’s over. You’re here.”

Wooyoung let out a weak, breathy noise, something between a sob and a laugh, and scrubbed at his face with both hands. “Gods, I hate this.”

“I know,” San said. “It sucks. Nightmares are assholes.”

And just like that, something inside Wooyoung broke. A whimper escaped him—high and helpless—and he surged forward, clutching San roughly, burying his face into his shoulder. His whole body shook with the force of his sob.

San held him without hesitation, arms firm around his back, anchoring him. He rubbed his back softly. 

Yeosang still stood frozen, still near the couch. His knuckles were white, fists clenched so tight his nails bit into his palms. The tether between them was burning, not with pain, but with something raw and terrifying: fear, grief, guilt.

He’d never felt anything like it.

San glanced over at his boyfriend. “You okay?” he asked quietly, still cradling Wooyoung, who was now hiccuping softly into his chest. 

Yeosang shook his head once, then nodded. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to feel all of it—It just woke me up and—he was screaming and—I think I made it worse—”

“It’s not your fault,” San said firmly. “He’s okay now. You both are. Come here.”

Yeosang hesitated. Then slowly, he crossed the room and knelt down beside them. He didn’t touch, not yet.

“I’m here too,” he said softly as Wooyoung’s cries fizzled out sleepily, exhaustion silencing him. “You’re not alone anymore, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung didn’t resist when Yeosang also wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him in.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wooyoung’s fingers trailed across the worn spines of Yeosang’s book shop, the soft glow of the lamps casting long shadows across the cafe since the sun had set. He was surprised they agreed to let him come, even if he wasn’t helping at all, but it was nice to get out of the house for the first time in two months. All of the plants whispered happily as he paced around the shop, but he was too tired from his rough night before and reading Latin all day to talk back.

It was nerve-wracking as hell, and he kept checking over his shoulder and at the veiling sigil on his forearm every few seconds, but nice. 

He was searching for a book to lose himself in while Hongjoong and Yeosang dug around for the family journals somewhere in the back, maybe something he could sneak home to read too, a book that could take his mind off the strange tangle of feelings he hadn’t sorted through yet. It wasn't really stealing if he took it to the bookshop owner's house, right? But as he pulled out one title after another, a clear pattern began to emerge—most of the books weren’t what he expected at all.

Glossy, vividly illustrated covers, embossed titles in flowing script, and inside, pages full of words dripping with heat and desire. Wooyoung blinked, caught off guard by just how many of Yeosang’s books here were—well—pure smut. Pure gay smut.

Wooyoung grinned, eyes sparkling when he noticed the two finally emerging from the back with three books in their hands. 

“I wasn’t expecting the quiet, serious witch to have such… spicy tastes.”

Yeosang flushed. “It’s what sells, okay?”

Hongjoong snorted, clearly amused as he dropped his journal onto the nearest table. “Don’t let him fool you,” he said, pulling out a chair and stretching. “He’s read every single book in this shop.”

Yeosang narrowed his eyes. “They’re not just smut. Some of those have excellent plots.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Wooyoung said, pulling one book off the shelf and flipping it open to a very detailed scene. “This one appears to be about a siren and a pirate captain. And there’s a very plot-driven scene in chapter two already.”

"Oh, that one's good," Hongjoong added.

“That one’s a bestseller!” Yeosang huffed, snatching it back and stuffing it behind a row of more modest-looking paperbacks. “Some people like a little spice with their plot, okay?”

Wooyoung leaned against the shelf with a smug smile. “Hey, I’m not judging. I just didn’t expect you of all people to be running a smut library out of your café.”

“It’s a bookshop,” Yeosang muttered, ears pink.

“And a bakery,” Hongjoong added helpfully. 

“And a potions dispensary, apparently.”

“And a plant nursery.”

“Don’t forget metaphysical shop either.” Wooyoung grinned. “You really do it all, huh?”

Yeosang lifted his chin. “Welcome to Golden Hour.”

Wooyoung smiled and shook his head. “So, did you guys find the journals you were looking for?”

Hongjoong held up a leather-bound book, its edges frayed and the clasp barely hanging on. “Three, actually. These are some of the oldest things Yeosang has from his dad’s collection. We’re hoping something in here will point us toward anything about familiars.”

Yeosang set his own stack down more gently, smoothing a hand over the worn covers with something close to reverence. “It’s mostly notes, sketches, spellwork in old dialects. I’ll need time to translate, but I think if we’re lucky, we’ll find something.”

“So,” Wooyoung said, picking up a book with a cover that suspiciously had a shirtless vampire about to kiss another man on it, “while you two translate ancient family grimoires, I’ll be over here researching the important stuff.”

Yeosang groaned. “Please put that back.”

“Nope.” Wooyoung tucked the book securely under his arm, the cover pressing lightly against his side. “I need something to do when you two are working.”

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Didn’t I tell you? You got yourself into this mess, so you can figure out how to get yourself out. You’ll be reading these.” He shook the journal in his face.

Wooyoung huffed, clearly annoyed but unwilling to give in. “Yeah, yeah. I know. I’ll help.” He did not put the smut back.

“I’m going to check that everything is locked up in the back,” Yeosang sighed, leaving his journals with Hongjoong. “Then we can head home.”

“Sounds good,” Hongjoong said, giving a casual thumbs-up as Yeosang disappeared through the doorway.

The room fell quiet. Wooyoung’s fingers tapped restlessly against the book’s spine. Hongjoong watched him, then broke the silence.

“If we find a reversal, and it actually works, are you sure you’ll be okay with that? Losing whatever you and Yeosang have?”

Wooyoung’s pace slowed as he turned to look at the older. “Huh? What we have? We don’t have anything.” He crossed his arms.  “I didn’t ask for this.”

“Yes, you did,” Hongjoong said quietly, stepping closer. “So did Yeosang.”

That made him pause. “No—”

“He wouldn’t have been able to bind to you unless something in you wanted it,” Hongjoong added gently. “And vice versa. So stop lying to yourself, and stop lying to me. Now answer, will you be okay with reversing this?”

Wooyoung’s breath caught, and he glanced down at the book in his hands, and around at Yeosang’s cafe. Finally, his voice cracked, soft and uncertain. “I don’t know. But… I think not giving him a choice would hurt worse.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Yeosang appeared again just as Wooyoung was sinking into the couch that night, eyes and head tired from flipping through those endless books. He still hadn’t finished going through all the ones Hongjoong brought over yesterday, but it truly seemed like a dead end anyway.

The blond cleared his throat awkwardly. In his hand, Yeosang held a familiar-looking backpack—a little scuffed, really dirty—but unmistakably Wooyoung’s.

“I uh, found this at the café,” Yeosang said softly, sitting down next to him. “You said you stashed your stuff there so… Thought you might want it back.”

Wooyoung blinked, surprised and almost hesitant as he took the bag from Yeosang’s hands. He set it down carefully on the coffee table and unzipped it slowly, like uncovering a small, hidden treasure chest. It kind of was a time capsule at this point, wasn’t it?

Inside was the clutter of papers and notebooks and crystals he shoved in there when he fled the motel, but what caught Wooyoung’s eye immediately was the well-worn photo album. He pulled it out, heart stinging. 

Yeosang frowned at him. “What’s that?”

“Oh, it’s uh—I took this with me,” he said quietly, almost like a secret. “The day I ran from my Coven, it was the first thing I grabbed, this cheap photo album. It’s stupid, I know, but…” 

Yeosang scooted beside him, peering over his shoulder as Wooyoung carefully flipped through the worn pages of the photo album. The first one he opened to was a faded picture of himself and Jongho, arms slung casually over each other's shoulders, grinning wide with their stupid bowl cuts they thought looked so good in middle school. 

“Who’s that?” Yeosang asked softly.

Wooyoung swallowed. “Jongho. We grew up together.” His voice cracked just a little, memories folding over themselves. “He was my best friend, kind of like a little brother.” 

“Was?”

“Yeah,” he said after a moment, the word barely audible. “Was.”

Yeosang stayed quiet, the word settling between them.

Wooyoung let out a shaky breath. “I mean, he probably still is. Maybe. I just… I haven’t seen him since I left. If I contacted him, I’m sure the Coven would find me.”

Yeosang’s brow furrowed. “He didn’t come after you?”

He tapped the edge of the photo. “He didn’t know I was planning to leave, and to be fair, I didn’t either. I just—ran. It’s better that he stayed.”

Yeosang’s voice was quiet when he asked, “Do you think he would’ve gone with you?”

“I don’t know.” Wooyoung’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I think he would’ve tried.” He finally looked at Yeosang, eyes glassy but steady. “I honestly hope he hates me. I kind of ruined his life. So it’s easier to think that, than to hope he forgave me and misses me.”

Yeosang’s chest tightened. He reached out slowly, resting his hand just over Wooyoung’s on the page. Their fingers brushed. “I don’t think he hates you,” he said gently. “Not if he was your best friend. Not if he knew even a fraction of who you are.”

Wooyoung didn’t respond. But he didn’t pull away either. Yeosang didn’t ask any questions after that, but his eyes never looked away either.

Another photo showed Wooyoung with his family: a warm group shot from some long-ago holiday, laughter frozen mid-air. His parents smiled proudly, and his younger sibling Kyungmin was pressed close to him like he always was. The image made the tether in his chest tighten, feeling the bittersweetness of memories so full of love yet so far away.

Scattered between these were candid snapshots of quiet moments; Wooyoung laughing with friends from school, quiet afternoons in sunlit rooms, and even the occasional picture of Wooyoung by himself, tucked carefully in the back of the album.

Yeosang’s gaze lingered on each page, feeling each of those moments for himself, the stories behind the smiles, and the invisible threads that had led them all here. It was the first time he had gone through the whole thing, since leaving.

He put the album back in his bag, but the blond didn’t leave. Wooyoung ignored his phone when he found it, probably dead anyway, and his fingers brushed over a small stack of colorful cards tucked into the inside pocket. 

“These are from birthdays,” he said, pulling out a few and spreading them on the table.

Yeosang picked one up, squinting at the handwriting. “You keep all these?”

Wooyoung shrugged, cheeks coloring a little. “Yeah. I like remembering who sent me what.”

Curious, Yeosang’s voice softened. “When’s your birthday?”

Wooyoung hesitated. “November 26th,” he murmured, eyes flicking away.

“That’s this month!” Yeosang frowned. Wooyoung glanced away. “You weren’t going to say anything, were you?”

“I didn’t think it mattered,” Wooyoung muttered, shrugging.

“Didn’t matter?” Yeosang repeated slowly, frowning. “You didn’t think we’d want to know?”

Wooyoung shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.”

Yeosang stared at him, silent for a beat too long.

“It is a big deal,” he said finally, voice quiet but firm. “You’re part of this house now. So it matters, because we celebrate birthdays here.”

Wooyoung blinked, caught off guard. His shoulders hunched slightly, like he was trying to disappear into himself. He looked up at him, hesitant. 

“You really wanna celebrate it? You don’t have to.”

Yeosang tilted his head. “Of course we do. Why wouldn’t we? San’ll probably be so excited to bake a giant cake or something, and I already have ideas for decorations.”

Wooyoung snorted. “You don’t even know what flavor I like.”

“Then tell me,” Yeosang said, and he smiled, so gentle and patient. “Or don’t, I think I have an idea. Either way, we’re celebrating.”

Wooyoung couldn’t help but smile. “Th–Thank you,” he sniffled. “I haven’t had a birthday in years. Usually… I would just go to a random bar and get drunk enough to forget my own name.”

“Eh, we can still get you drunk enough to forget your name, and we definitely can get San there too,” the blond smiled. 

“…Okay,” he giggled, quieter now, but his smile didn’t falter. “Then yeah, let’s celebrate it.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It wasn’t the worst thing ever, but he decided that living as their involuntary roommate was really awkward, but nice.

Yeosang was still never anything less than polite towards him, but Wooyoung kind of felt like he was constantly walking on eggshells. Yeosang always stared at him as if he was longing for something, and to be fair, Wooyoung tried to avoid him too. 

San still glared at him every chance he got, though it wasn’t always with the same edge of anger as before. Sometimes it felt like San was glaring just to make sure Wooyoung knew he could. Like a warning shot or something, but he was at least nicer to him now. Just really annoying, and full of himself. 

Dinners were quiet and awkward. San and Yeosang talked about their days while Wooyoung picked at his food. It didn’t feel right . They let him stay in their house, despite everything. They tried so hard to make him welcome, when the only reason he was taking up their space was because he would die if he didn’t, and snuck in. 

He would die if he left. He would die if he stayed. He would die if his Coven found him. He was kind of tired of the stakes always being his life.  

Wooyoung wasn’t used to this kind of silence. He was loud by nature, born to fill spaces with laughter or talking or something in between. He could handle literal silence, but this weird thing they had going on? Absolutely not.

And Wooyoung hated it.

He was stuck at home every day, reading Latin for hours and trying to decode Yeosang’s father’s cursive, which was atrocious by the way. Stuck wearing their clothes, because he didn’t have most of his own anymore, and it was annoying smelling like San every day because of it. Eating their food, sleeping on their couch.

But it wasn’t all awful, because a lot of the time, Yeosang would bring him home a drink from the café. Or San would leave him an extra dessert in the fridge, right next to his own midnight snack dessert. Or they would ask him what movie or show he wanted to watch in the evenings with them, or let him read in peace on the couch.

And sometimes, when Wooyoung was elbow-deep in translation notes and ready to hurl a cursed grimoire out the window, one of them would wordlessly appear beside him. San with a blanket tossed over his shoulders like he was the stray cat that needed warming up, or Yeosang slipping off his apron to quietly sit and read beside him, their knees brushing under the table.

It was driving him fucking insane.

Not in the bad way. Or maybe yeah, in the worst way. 

Because somewhere between cursing Latin syntax and learning how to decode combined Magical wards, Wooyoung had also started learning them.

San, who cooked like it was an act of love, who took up more space than anyone Wooyoung had ever met, and somehow made Wooyoung feel like there was still room for him. The most annoying person he’s probably ever met, who still shot him rude remarks when he could get away with it, but also was never anything but genuine. Who loved sugary treats and the beach and yelling over video games with Mingi. 

And Yeosang, who looked quiet until he wasn’t, because he absolutely wasn’t, whose voice could cut through anything when he let it, whose hands trembled when he made tea for someone he cared about, but always showed he cared somehow. Who loved his plants like his own children, and doodling in his journals when no one was watching. 

And neither of them had asked for this. Neither of them had signed up for the tangled knot that was Yeosang and Wooyoung, with San loyally sticking through it all. But still, they stayed. And they took care of him.

They made it harder to keep pretending he didn’t care. And he hated most that he was really happy to not have to leave just yet. 

That night, the table was a war-zone of open books, sticky notes, wax-sealed pages, empty coffee cups, Google translate, and one stubborn candle that refused to melt evenly, fragrance free for Yeosang. 

The blond sat hunched over his father’s second journal, lips pressed into a thin line, thumb running along the corner of the final page. There was nothing left to decode. Every page had been translated, annotated, and cross-referenced with at least three other books from Hongjoong’s stash.

Still, nothing. Not a single mention of soul-tethering. Nothing about familiars. Nothing about anything useful to their situation.

Yeosang exhaled shakily, pushing his reading glasses up onto his forehead as he stared down at the final sentence like it might rewrite itself if he blinked hard enough.

Wooyoung’s voice broke the silence, too sharp to be casual. “Finished?”

Yeosang looked up slowly. Wooyoung was only sitting a few feet away, arms crossed tight over his chest like he was holding something in, but it felt further. His hair was damp from a shower, and he was in yesterday’s hoodie, technically San’s hoodie, since he was still borrowing their clothes. He hadn't been sleeping much, he could even see it in the shadows under his own eyes when he caught a reflection of himself.

“Yeah,” Yeosang said carefully. “This one is done.”

Wooyoung waited. And when Yeosang didn’t immediately follow up with anything, his brow furrowed. “Well?”

“I didn’t find anything,” Yeosang admitted. “No references to soul-bonds. No familiar rites. Not even a hint.”

Wooyoung blinked once, twice. His throat moved like he was trying to swallow something thick. 

“So that’s it?”

“No,” Yeosang said quickly. “No, I didn’t mean—it doesn’t mean there’s nothing. Just not in this journal. It was mostly about arcane theory, enchantment modifications, some—some healing rituals.”

Wooyoung let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Healing rituals. Great.”

Yeosang winced. “Wooyoung…”

“Sorry, I’m just… I’m fine,” he snapped, and then immediately regretted it. His hand shot up to rake through his hair again, messy and wet. “I just—I thought there’d be something by now. It’s been almost two weeks. What if this is it? What if this is permanent?”

Would he even care if it was?

Yeosang scooted closer slowly, approaching like Wooyoung was a wounded animal he didn’t want to spook. The tether was eerily calm though. “We’re going to figure this out.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I don’t,” Yeosang agreed, softly. “But I want to, for you, so I’ll just keep trying.”

For him. 

Funny, because he was only doing this for Yeosang. 

Wooyoung looked away, blinking fast. He had already cried too many times here. But now his chest was tight and hot like something was starting to crack open again.

Yeosang squeezed his arm. “Let’s look through the last grimoire tomorrow. The one from my great grandmother’s collection. She kept records the others didn’t, she was scared of nothing.”

“And if there’s still nothing?”

“Then we keep going. There are other witches. Other communities. We’ll find someone who knows.”

Wooyoung swallowed again, jaw tight. Then, reluctantly, he nodded. “And if… it’s permanent?”

Yeosang froze, hand still resting lightly on the edge of the journal. The words hung heavy in the air, thick as the smoke that bound them together to begin with.

He looked up slowly, meeting Wooyoung’s eyes. There was no dramatic edge in Wooyoung’s voice this time, no sarcasm, no bite. Just fear. 

“If it’s permanent,” Wooyoung said again, more softly now. Why was he asking this? “What happens to… us?” Did he even want to know the answer?

To him?

Yeosang’s mouth parted, but for a long moment, nothing came out. He looked down at the journal, then back at Wooyoung, who was still sitting stiffly like he might run if the answer hurt too much.

“I don’t know,” Yeosang said honestly.

That made Wooyoung flinch visibly, not dramatically but enough that Yeosang saw it. Just enough that something in him cracked.

“I don’t know what will happen,” Yeosang continued, continuing forward, his voice lower now. “But I know I wouldn’t let you go through it alone.”

Wooyoung let out a breath that shook a little on the way out. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?”

“For getting us into this mess,” he said weakly. “For making you have to go through all this to help me.”

Yeosang blinked, surprised for a second but then his expression softened, like something inside him was opening. He scooted even closer, until they were sitting nearly hip to hip, the half-shut journal forgotten on the table in front of them.

“Wooyoung,” he said gently. “You didn’t make me do anything. I performed the ritual. I’m the one who bound you to me.”

Wooyoung’s eyes searched his face, confused. “But… I misled you, I was just trying to get away—”

“And I was the one stupid enough to cast a familiar bond without fully understanding it.” Yeosang gave a humorless laugh. “We’re both in this because of what we did. So if there’s blame, it’s mine, too.”

Wooyoung opened his mouth to protest, but Yeosang held up a hand.

“I’m serious,” he said. “You didn’t trick me into anything. You didn’t ruin my life. You showed up and I—I think some part of that was good for me. Someone who would crash into my world and turn everything I knew upside down.”

Wooyoung’s breath hitched, visibly caught off guard by the admission. “How can you…?”

Yeosang looked away for a second, then added, quieter, “If I had to do it over again, knowing how chaotic and complicated and you it would all be…” He looked back at him, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I think I still would’ve done it the exact same way.”

Wooyoung swallowed hard. “Even if it’s permanent?”

Yeosang paused, but only briefly. “Even if it’s permanent.”

The only sound was the soft creak of the old wood beneath their feet and the ticking of the clock on the far wall. Then Wooyoung laughed quietly, disbelieving and a little wet around the edges. 

Permanent.

What a word. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The house had grown quiet again that weekend, long after the sun had set, long after dinner had been eaten and the floors turned cold. San had fallen asleep against the armrest, lips slightly parted, one hand still loosely tangled in the edge of the blanket. Wooyoung sat tucked in the corner, legs drawn close, fingers absently picking at the seam of a pillow as he skimmed another book .

Yeosang was still awake too. The soft rustle of paper had been going for a while now, quiet enough to be background noise, until he shifted suddenly and sat upright, the motion loud enough to break the calm.

Wooyoung glanced over. “What?”

Yeosang didn’t answer right away. He was staring down at his open journal, thumb pressed into the crease like he was afraid it might vanish if he blinked. The candlelight cast a soft halo around his features, highlighting the tension in his brow, the slight tremble in his fingers.

“I think I found something,” he said at last. “It’s about familiars.”

That got Wooyoung’s attention. He sat up straighter, careful not to disturb San too much. “Found what?”

Yeosang didn’t look up, his voice strained. “Something I missed before. It’s—it’s old. And hard to read. But it’s about bindings. Specifically about familiars.”

Wooyoung’s stomach turned. He knew that tone. The one Yeosang used when he already knew the answer and hated it.

“What does it say?”

Yeosang finally lifted his head, and Wooyoung hated the hollow look in his eyes.

“It says there’s no undoing a familiar born of any ritual, even a false ritual. No clean reversal. No way to sever the tie without... the possibility of a consequence.”

He didn’t have to finish. Wooyoung already knew.

“The familiar dies,” he whispered. “Doesn’t it?”

Yeosang nodded, once. "There's a chance."

Wooyoung closed his eyes, trying to breathe past the weight settling in his chest. “And if we don’t? If we just leave it?”

“Well… Besides physically being stuck to me... There’s a part here about familiars that aren’t supposed to be bound, I missed it the first time I read this section because apparently witches used to try and bond demons and other horrific creatures to them, for personal gain and power… But essentially, the tether spreads because the Magic is too strong,” Yeosang said softly. “The Magic destabilizes, it’s not meant to hold something like that. It eats through every boundary; your body, your mind, the Magic around it. It won’t stay small, because it can’t. The longer it exists, the more it unravels. It... consumes them both."

Wooyoung let his head fall back against the couch. His pulse was racing, but he felt hollow. “So either I possibly die, or watch it ruin both of us.”

“No, I’m not sure,” Yeosang sighed. “We should ask Hongjoong and Seonghwa tomorrow morning. Hongjoong might be able to check out the ritual here and tell us how safe he thinks it is. And this is about demons and hell creatures in specific, which are very different from you. This might be a lead us to the actual answer, or nothing we need to worry about at all.”

Wooyoung had a hard time believing that, with his luck.

“I don’t want it to be true,” Yeosang said quietly, his voice raw. “I won't let you severe it, even if the possibility of you... dying is slim. But I’ve read every angle. I’ve gone through every language I can think of. This is all I’ve found.”

“I basically fucked us both over, didn’t I?” he asked dryly. 

Yeosang didn’t argue, but his expression cracked, just slightly. He set the journal down and slid closer, careful, like he didn’t know if he was allowed to offer comfort.

“You didn’t mean for this to happen,” he said. “And like I said, I had a hand in it too.”

Wooyoung shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. I’m the familiar that isn’t supposed to exist.”

San stirred then, as if sensing the shift in the room. His eyes blinked open, bleary and slow. “What’s going on?”

No one answered right away. Yeosang glanced at Wooyoung again. His hand hovered for a moment before resting gently against his knee. A small touch.

“We might know how to break it,” he said carefully, “but it comes with a cost.”

San sat up, expression darkening. “What kind of cost?”

Yeosang’s silence was all it took.

“Oh,” San breathed.

Wooyoung still couldn’t speak. His throat was thick with grief, maybe. Rage. Or maybe just fear. Because no matter how bad the bond was, no matter what it might become, it had still answered him when he was scared. It had listened.

And now he had to let it die. Let himself die.

Yeosang’s hand tightened slightly. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “It won’t come to that. I won’t let it happen.”

And for once, Wooyoung had nothing to say. Because there wasn’t an apology in the world that could unmake what he’d made. Or take away what he’d have to do next.

“And that’s a promise, Wooyoung.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The kitchen was quiet except for the gentle hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the old floorboards under San’s feet. Sunlight streamed through the half-closed blinds, striping the counters in soft gold. San stood barefoot at the sink, sleeves rolled to his elbows, peeling a handful of plump clementines for Yeosang, something about an elixir he was low on. The citrus scent filled the air, bright and clean.

Behind him, a kettle clicked off with a soft pop, and he turned to pour the hot water into a mug already waiting with a tea bag.

It was peaceful, the kind of morning Wooyoung secretly liked best. No shouting, no bickering, just the rhythm of the house breathing around them.

For a second, Wooyoung just… watched him. Not because he wanted to— okay, maybe he kind of wanted to —but because it didn’t feel real. The way San could just exist like that, calm and unbothered, like there wasn’t a massive, life-altering tether wrapped around his boyfriend and the stranger living with him.

He shifted his arms and the books creaked slightly against each other, breaking the moment.

“You gonna be home all day again?” San piped up as he leaned against the counter, lazily peeling an orange. “Doing this?” He nodded at the mess. 

Wooyoung looked up at him with a flat stare from where he was sorting through one of the last books Hongjoong had lent them. “I am kind of in hiding, and need to figure this out quickly, you know that, right?”

“You’d think a witch with all the knowledge of a culty Coven in his head could manage finding one familiar-bond reversal spell,” San teased around a mouthful of fruit, leaning casually against the fridge. “Or leaving the house every so often.”

Wooyoung spun around from where he was hunched over the kitchen table, papers and notebooks strewn everywhere. “Excuse me?”

San shrugged, utterly unbothered. “I’m just saying. So, you don’t have any plans tonight?”

“Of course I don’t! Are you trying to sexile me or something?”

“Huh? No, I was trying to ask if you—”

“I’m doing my best, ” Wooyoung snapped, shooting up to his feet. “It’s not like there’s a fucking instruction manual for this! I'm trying to keep me and Yeosang alive, because all he found was some depressing shit about demons! Unless you have a better idea, or an answer.”

“Not really,” San smiled, knowing he was digging under Wooyoung’s skin easily. "Don't you think you're working too hard? And should take a break?"

"Don't you think you're not helping enough?" he glared back.

"I would if I could," San shrugged. “By the way, Yeosang doesn’t work tomorrow, so it will be just you two again.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes and didn’t look up from his notebook. “Cool.”