Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ghost City was a perfectly normal town with perfectly normal citizens. 

The cobble-stoned streets were lined with mom and pop shops selling flowers, baked goods, and good books from the big city. Though Ghost City was its name, the place was really more of a town, so-called for the spooky lore surrounding its founding nearly two centuries ago.  

Built upon the backs of dead soldiers where they fell following a large-scale battle, the mass grave brought about plenty of unrest — or so they said. Visitors from all over would pass through, hoping to see or encounter a haunting of some sort, only to leave disappointed with an “I survived my visit to Ghost City and all I got was this lousy t-shirt” souvenir. 

For the most part, the citizens of Ghost City were like people from any other town. They came and went, did their own thing, and lived their lives without any fanfare or complaint. 

Really, the only thing that set Ghost City apart from the rest of the country were the witches. 

Situated on the outskirts of the town overlooking the lake was Black Water Grove, a cul-de-sac leading to a row of houses. Cottages really. Overgrown with natural foliage and buzzing with insects at all times except in the dead of winter when even the rose bushes looked haunted, everybody in Ghost City knew to avoid that part of town. 

Though legends said that the Black Water witches put the dead to rest two hundred years ago using their mystical powers, nowadays nobody really believed that tale. 

After all, magic wasn’t real… 

Except then someone would get desperate — to get rid of a stalker, or to have someone fall in love with them, or with help in the bedroom. Then, under the cover of night with hoods pulled up, they would sneak their way into Black Water Grove to ask one of the many witches living there for assistance. A short time later, they’d leave much happier and carrying a paper talisman or a glass vial of whatever concoction would fix the problem. 

Once upon a time, the number of witches that lived on the hill was twelve. A full coven. Two hundred years later, only two families remained. 

Well — make that one. 

On a cold October evening, after battling her worsening condition for weeks, the witch living in the house on the left succumbed to her illness to be found hours later by her one and only son, Hong’er. 

Hong’er was a strange boy. Any who met him said so. At ten years of age, he appeared closer to seven. Small in stature with mismatched eyes, one a bright blood red — a curse, his father once said, and there may have been some validity to those words. Ever since the boy was born, strange happenings occurred around him. A cloud of bad luck followed him wherever he tread, an echo of misfortune lingering on everything he touched. 

If there was a twig to trip on, Hong’er would find it. If there was a glass to break, Hong’er would break it. If there was something to lose, Hong’er would never see it again.  

The man who fathered little Hong’er was not a witch. He was the head of a wealthy family, with a wife and two sons already, when he enjoyed a dalliance with the mysterious beauty at the end of Black Water Lane. From that union, Hong’er was born, a byproduct of adultery forever immortalized in the red hue of his eye and the lack of luck on his side. 

And now, that same little boy, with no mother and a father who wanted nothing to do with him, was all alone in the world. He stood in the shared garden of the cul-de-sac behind the last two occupied homes, surrounded by the ruins of condemned dwellings on either side, staring up at the night sky. 

The stars twinkled with a particularly bright luminescence tonight, and every time the lights blurred due to the tears in his eyes, the child quickly blinked them away. The little boy refused to cry. He’d already cried enough tears to last a lifetime, and in Hong’er’s little mind, he was not a little kid anymore. He believed, like most kids do at that age, that at ten years old, he was practically a man. 

And men, so they say, do not cry.

“Hong’er?” a voice called. 

Hong’er didn’t respond. 

The gardens were a perfect place to disappear. To the outside world, they looked like nature had overtaken the space, reclaiming it in a mess of vines, branches, and flowers. But to the witches of Black Water Grove, there was a method to the madness. Every herb and bush had a specific meaning and purpose. Unlike life, there was order to the chaos if one just looked for it. Even so, it still made for a perfectly good hiding place. 

And hiding was exactly what Hong’er was doing. 

Behind him, the last two remaining cottages of the twelve that once lined the cul-de-sac were alight with warm yellow glows as people moved about. There weren’t many people there to begin with but more than usual. Enough to say that something was going on. An event or a party or a funeral—

Hong’er blinked rapidly and flipped through the pages of the book in his hands just as quickly. The red leather-bound tome was full of aged yellow paper covered in a language he couldn’t read with diagrams that meant nothing to him. 

However, for years, little Hong’er watched his mother and auntie lean over this exact book while discussing witchy matters. He was just beginning to learn the old language when his mother was cruelly taken from him, the congestion in her lungs moving to her brain until two evenings ago, she refused to wake up. 

This book was his mother’s precious grimoire: passed on from generation-to-generation, full of magic both simple and complex, handwritten in too many different scripts to count. Now all of that knowledge belonged to Hong’er, and he never had the chance to learn how to read most of it. Yet somewhere buried in this tome, was the one specific spell he was hunting for. One that he knew he could perform if he could just find it. 

“Hong’er?” the voice came again. “You are shit at hiding.” 

Hong’er whipped around to glare at the boy standing there amongst the thorny bushes. He Xuan was one of the other young witches that lived in Black Water Grove, the son of Hong’er’s neighbors. The two boys grew up together, labeled the outcast weirdos of Ghost City their entire life. Though He Xuan was a year younger than Hong’er, he was taller and ganglier, his face sharpening faster and making him appear older. 

Having practice as an older brother helped, allowing him to perfect the elder sibling exasperated glare. He Xuan delicately stepped over a few of the roses in bloom, kicking his leg out twice when the thorns caught on his white socks, before managing to join his friend. The nine-year-old kept his hands in the pockets of his shorts to avoid the temptation to comfort his fellow witch, which Hong’er was grateful for. He didn’t want or need any sort of sympathy, thank you. 

“You keep talking like that, and I’ll tell your mom,” he threatened. 

He Xuan shrugged, unperturbed. “What are you doing?” 

“Casting a spell,” Hong’er said. 

He Xuan rolled his eyes. “Why? You should be inside.” 

“I’m not going in there,” Hong’er said harshly. “Not while he’s here. He didn’t do anything while she was sick, but now that she’s dead, he’s…” 

“He won’t take you,” He Xuan said. “My ma already said you can stay with us.” 

“He’ll fight you,” Hong’er said. “He’ll fight all of you. He doesn’t care that Mama just died. He’s just that much of an asshole. He ignored us for ten years, but now that she’s gone…” 

“He’s scared of magic,” He Xuan pointed out. “We’ll just say he’ll be cursed if he takes you.” He paused. “Wait? Is that the spell? Are we going to curse your pa? I’ll help.” 

The excitement bleeding into He Xuan’s voice brought the other boy’s intense mismatched gaze up. It was such a strange sound for the normally monotonous boy, verging on the point of hilarity, but Hong’er didn’t laugh. He just rolled his heterochromatic eyes and returned his attention to the grimoire. He flipped two more pages before he finally found it, and his entire face lit up. 

“No,” he announced. “We’re casting this spell.” 

He turned the book for He Xuan to see, and the other boy recoiled. 

“What? Who’s we? I’m not helping with that!” 

Before he could run off, Hong’er caught He Xuan’s wrist and gave him a good yank, tumbling him into the grass. Hong’er didn’t feel bad as he started to arrange the supplies. A blanket. A bowl. Four different flowers. Oil. A lighter. And the stars overhead. He glanced up to make sure the meteor shower hadn’t started yet. 

“Yes, you are,” Hong’er said, “and stop complaining. It’s going to start soon.” 

“Why would I want to help with this?” He Xuan glowered, but he didn’t make any effort to get back up. He crossed his legs and ripped up a handful of grass to show off his annoyance. “And here I thought you were hiding from me. Smart move — hiding when you need my help.” 

“I don’t need your help,” Hong’er protested. 

He Xuan raised an eyebrow and, though tempted, Hong’er wisely did not throw the book at his stupidly smart head. There was no reason to. Even if Hong’er did not explain himself, He Xuan would help. He Xuan always helped, always went along with all of Hong’er’s little schemes and plans. Today — especially today — would be no different. 

After all, today was the day Hong’er buried his mother. As selfish and manipulative as Hong’er knew he was being, he could get the other boy to do anything today. 

It was only fair. If the situations were reversed, he’d do the same. 

“I…” Hong’er chewed on his bottom lip. “I can do it just fine on my own, but since you’re here you might as well help. There’s a better chance that this works if you help.” 

Which was all very much true. Combined efforts increased the chance of a spell succeeding. And since they were both children, their magic young and unpracticed, the type of spells they could perform with their limited reserves were very few. The spell Hong’er held open was on that short list. 

He Xuan knew all of this having grown up in a magical family in the cottage to the right of Hong’er’s. Their mothers shared a covenant, practicing magic together since they were young girls. Now, their sons were being raised together and doing the same thing. 

Though the two women did much together, they couldn’t have been more different.

While Hong’er’s mama was wild and unsettled, He Xuan’s mother fell in love with a nice boy from town who adored her for all her flaws and eccentricities. He married her, moved to Black Water Grove, and happily helped her profit off of her magical ability by setting up shop to sell “folk remedies” to the good people of Ghost City with his broad smile and bursting with pride for his family. This allowed He Xuan’s mother to stay home with her two children, teaching them her witchy ways, and acting as the aunt Hong’er never had.

“But why a love spell?” He Xuan asked. “I thought you’d be out here… I don’t know… trying to talk to your ma.” 

Hong’er’s bottom lip trembled without permission, and he glared at the ground. It took him several steadying breaths before he was calm enough to respond without sounding like what he would call a total sissy. “I will never be in her position.” 

He Xuan stared at him. “In her position?” 

“She’s dead because of love,” Hong’er said bitterly. “That bitch had my ma make her a tishen without telling her who it was for, and then she bound the doll to Mama, and…” 

“You don’t know that’s what killed her,” He Xuan said quietly. 

Hong’er shot him a glare so hateful, it made the other boy recoil. Though Hong’er felt a little bad, it was not enough to make him apologize. The little witch grabbed the flowers and ripped them apart, petals and pollen falling into the brass bowl in a flurry of angry tearing. 

“Okay…” He Xuan frowned. “I don’t fucking get it. You’re casting a love spell so you never fall in love? The fuck?” 

“Do you want to fall in love?” Hong’er shot out. 

“Hell no,” He Xuan said, his nose wrinkling. 

“So, how would you not do it?” Hong’er asked. 

He Xuan gave him a strange look. “Just… don’t do it?” 

Hong’er rolled his eyes. “And you’re supposed to be a genius. No, dumbass. How many times have you heard people say that they didn’t mean to fall in love, that it was outside of their control, or whatever bullshit they come up with? If people could control who they fell in love with, or whether or not they did, then your parents would have been out of business ages ago.” 

“Asshole.” 

He Xuan took a fistful of grass and threw it at Hong’er. The other boy rolled his eyes and brushed the debris off of his little altar, picking out a few stray blades from the cup, but otherwise was unperturbed. 

“So…” He Xuan started, still scowling but it had edged into thoughtful, “you’re casting a love spell to…” 

“To tie myself to someone that doesn’t exist,” Hong’er explained. 

“How does that work?” He Xuan asked. 

“The spell says to come up with a bunch of traits for your one true love,” Hong’er said. “If you come up with a bunch of traits that are impossible, then clearly that person can’t exist.” 

“What? Like both blind and has 20/20 vision?”  

“No, it can’t be impossible like that. It needs to be things that could technically both exist at the same time but probably don’t. The more weirder, the better.” 

The sky pulled He Xuan’s attention away just as he opened his mouth to respond, and he gasped, drawing Honger’s gaze upward. The boys watched as a shooting star streaked across the sky, a light trail following after it. Another two stars followed before Hong’er shook himself out of his amazement and wonder, knowing that the time was very much limited now. 

The meteor shower had begun.

“It started,” Hong’er said urgently, moving from sitting cross-legged to balancing on his knees. He grabbed the brass bowl and pestle, crushing the ingredients together. “We have to cast the spell now. Are you helping or not?” 

“What if the person you make up does exist?” He Xuan asked. “What then?” 

“They won’t,” Hong’er said, putting the bowl back down. He grabbed the lighter and ripped out a piece of paper, holding it up. “So?” 

“There’s nothing written on the paper,” He Xuan deadpanned.

Hong’er rolled his eyes. “There doesn’t have to be. It’s metaphorical, genius. So, are you helping or not?” 

He Xuan stared at Hong’er, then glanced back toward the houses. The soft yellow glow of the house on the left was gone. Hong’er’s father had methodically gone through every room, gathering everything of value to take with him, and leaving everything he didn’t want behind. There was no shouting of Hong’er’s name, which told the two boys everything they needed to know: the little boy who lost his mother three days ago was one of those unwanted items. The sting of emotions welled up behind Hong’er’s eyes once more. 

“Answer me or go away!” Hong’er snapped. 

He Xuan jerked his attention forward again. He moved to sit on his knees and nodded. “I’ll help.” 

“Good.” Hong’er’s expression turned dark as he flicked on the lighter. “I never want to fall in love. But if I do…” His mismatched eyes flickered up toward the meteor shower raining down overhead. “He will be my soulmate. No matter where he is in the world, he will find me before I find him. He will be terribly unlucky but unwaveringly kind. He will be beautiful, inside and out. He will be incredibly strong, powerful, and skilled in all forms of combat. But especially with a…” He paused, his face pinching in thought. “…a sword!” 

He Xuan shot him a look. “A sword? Nobody uses a sword.” 

“That’s the point!” Hong’er snapped. “He has to sound believable but not be real. He’ll be incredibly smart but not obnoxious like little fish.” 

He Xuan stuck his tongue out at him. 

Hong’er ignored him. “Especially in… Philosophy. And political science!” 

He Xuan rolled his eyes. “You don’t even know what that is.” 

“Shut up!” He hovered the lighter closer to the paper, and the edges singed. “He’ll have matching tattoos on his neck and… ankle.” 

“Why?” 

“I don’t know.” Hong’er glared down at the grass for a second before bringing the flame to the paper. It began to burn in his hand, and he watched as the scorched edges grew closer and closer to his fingertips. His eyes lit up. “And he won’t feel anything… unless it’s with me.” 

“I thought you said he had to be believable,” He Xuan muttered. 

Hong’er shot him a glare before dropping the paper into the brass bowl. The oil and macerated herbs caught fire instantly. Hong’er ripped out another sheet of paper and handed it over to He Xuan. The other boy stared down at the blank sheet of paper with an equally blank expression. 

Hong’er’s eyebrow twitched. “Hurry up. The meteor shower is going to end soon!” 

He Xuan looked up. “That’s why you wanted to do this tonight… because of the power it provides.” 

“No shit.” 

“I thought you were doing it because of your mom,” He Xuan said. 

Hong’er’s entire body went stiff. “I don’t want to talk about that. Are you going to help or not?” 

Truth was both things were true. 

If the meteor shower had not coincided with the day Hong’er’s mother was lowered into the ground, and if his mother had not passed three days ago, it was unlikely that they would be casting such a heart-limiting spell this night. Instead, Hong’er would have probably been cuddled up with his mother, learning about the power of the meteor shower, and hearing stories of its magnificence. 

He Xuan looked at Hong’er and then turned to look over his shoulder again. The expression on his face was complicated, a dark shadow overlaying every feature on his young face, making him appear twenty years older. For, you see, He Xuan had a secret: he knew something like this was going to happen. 

He had not told Hong’er — after all, what would be the point? But for three days prior to his auntie’s passing, He Xuan’s little witchy eyes watched a dark cloud follow her ailing form around. He hadn’t understood what he was seeing, but his gut told him it was bad. 

How could someone so young have known just how bad of an ill omen it truly was? 

Then, on a cold October evening, the cloud vanished. A weight lifted from He Xuan’s chest, allowing him to breathe. It wasn’t until the next morning that he was told of the passing. It could have been a coincidence, but He Xuan knew in his heart of hearts it had not been.

He had a day of relief and guilt before the cloud returned. Except, this time, it was following his little sister, He Shui. Barely coming into her magic, with eyes so bright and full of excitement of what this life had to offer, He Xuan couldn’t understand it. He didn’t want to believe what his gut was telling him. He didn’t want to believe that the cloud had appeared darker and more dense during the funeral service than it had this morning.

And really, dear reader, could you blame him?

Hong’er stared at his neighbor, his fellow young witch, his brother from another. He wanted to ask what was going on in that head of his, but then He Xuan looked forward, grabbed the lighter, and lit up the corner of the paper. 

Hong’er’s eyes widened. “You have to say—!” 

“If I have to fall in love, I want it to be with someone who can make He Shui laugh,” He Xuan said. 

Hong’er’s temper flared. “I thought you were going to take this seriously!” 

He Xuan looked over at him. “I am! I did! I made my wish.” 

“Your meimei loves to laugh,” Hong’er accused. “You basically said you’ll fall in love with anyone. You’re such a liar.” 

“I’m not a liar!” 

“Ugh, whatever, asshole.” 

Hong’er snatched the burning piece of paper out of He Xuan’s hand, ignoring when it burned his fingertips, and tossed it into the ceramic bowl. The orange fire grew in size and burned white. After a few seconds, it burned out, leaving nothing but ash. Overhead, the meteor shower dwindled down to three, two, and then no more falling streaks. 

“Congratulations,” Hong’er said darkly, “you’ve doomed yourself into being a manwhore. You’re such a jerk.” 

“Sorry,” He Xuan murmured.

Except He Xuan was staring back toward his house, no longer paying any attention to Hon’ger. The shadows elongated across He Xuan’s face as he curled in on himself, and his little body rocked back and forth. The dark cloud snuffed out the yellow glow of his cottage home, the smoke seeping out through the windows, and escaping out the chimney.

Then, with the speed of a sharp inhale, it dissipated, and Black Water Grove was never the same again. 

Nor was the life of one exceedingly average little boy two towns over who awoke with a start to a pajama clad little girl standing at the foot of his bed.

Chapter Text

Yin Yu stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. 

What a sorry-looking picture he made. He reached up to brush aside his limp hair, the impossibly straight stands falling right back into his eyes. A sigh fell past his lips. God, he was so tired. Everything about him was tired. His limbs, his hands, his expression. The dark circles under his eyes would have spoken to his exhaustion too if the left shadow wasn’t covered up by an actual bruise. 

He winced as he palpated the sensitive flesh. Luckily, his eye wasn’t swollen shut — not like last time — but it was a near thing. An uncomfortably normal near thing. And, he thought wryly, at least his lip wasn’t split that bad today. Jian Yu must have been pulling his punches last night. Maybe he wasn’t actually that mad. 

Joy! 

Even Yin Yu’s inner snark couldn’t fully chase away the deep-seated feeling of disgust over his situation this morning. He was, as already stated, tired. Once upon a time, his heart had been set on making things work with Jian Yu. There were many reasons why Yin Yu deserved a little bit of vitriol, some hatred, and lost all rights to what little patience his boyfriend had left. However, those reasons were harder and harder to remember with every new beating. 

Ha, it was probably the brain damage. Wonderful. 

Yin Yu pulled open the medicine cabinet. His reflection disappeared, replaced with lines of pill bottles. He sought out the aspirin and shook two out. He wondered if he could get away with buying some concealer before deciding the risk wasn’t worth it. Someone could see him at the store, and it wasn’t like he knew much about makeup to begin with. Even though Hua Cheng had once tried to teach him— 

His eyes landed on a glass vial on the second shelf. Dried shriveled up herbs contained beneath a cork top. An herbal remedy, he’d told Jian Yu when his boyfriend asked, meant to help with anxiety. And Jian Yu, who did not have anxiety, had scoffed. Why he hadn’t thrown it out then, Yin Yu would never know. Maybe he simply forgot about its existence after the initial skepticism, but it had lived in their medicine cabinet ever since. 

“For whenever you decide you’ve had enough,” Hua Cheng had said. 

Yin Yu picked up the glass vial. Was he there yet? 

“What are you doing?” 

Yin Yu nearly dropped the vial in his haste to hide the container behind his back, his other hand slamming the medicine cabinet shut. Jian Yu stood behind Yin Yu at the bathroom door, a frustrated expression on his face. He looked handsome, because of course he always did. Had always been. Tall and broad, compared to Yin Yu’s lithe frame, with visible muscles straining against a size too small shirt. 

Aesthetic muscles only, though. 

If Yin Yu wanted to fight back, he could. And he would probably win. The problem was finding the drive to do so. The problem was caring. 

He gripped the bottle tighter in his fist. 

“Aspirin,” Yin Yu answered, holding up the chalky aspirin before taking them both dry. 

Jian Yu’s frown deepened. “Don’t say it like that. You started shit last night.” 

Had he? 

Yin Yu almost wanted to laugh. He supposed he had. After all, how dare he not want mud trekked through the house after a rainstorm when he just mopped the floors? 

“You’re right,” Yin Yu said instead. “Sorry. I just have a headache.” 

“Food will help,” Jian Yu offered. And it almost sounded kind until he added, “So get to it.” 

And what else could Yin Yu say to that except a muttered, “Sure.” 

Jian Yu stepped aside to allow him to exit, and Yin Yu held the glass vial close. He paused to watch Jian Yu disappear back to the bedroom to finish getting ready for work. The bathroom mirror reflected his tired visage again, looking even worse in the shadows of the hallway. A little girl stood next to him. Yin Yu jerked to look where she was supposedly standing, but he found only an empty corridor. 

Wonderful. It was going to be one of those days. 

Yin Yu stepped into the kitchen and let out a heavy sigh. Fuck, he hated cooking. Genuinely. Completely.

Actually, if he were honest with himself, he hated everything about his current life. Back in the day, when he’d been younger, this was all he wanted. It would be hypocritical to back out now, wouldn’t it? Especially when he’d given up so much to be with Jian Yu… 

The glass vial grew heavier in Yin Yu’s hand. He wondered briefly if it was part of the magic, an allure to tempt him into using it, before deciding he didn’t care. Even if Hua Cheng had cursed the vial to siren song him into acting, the man would have done so out of care. And maybe it was time he listened to his old friend instead of to the voice in his head telling him deserved every horrible thing that happened to him. 

He pulled out two mugs. In one, he shook out a few of the dried herbs. He paused and stared at the amount. What had Hua Cheng said back then? He couldn’t remember. Finding it hard to care if he got the amount wrong, Yin Yu shook out more. Then he poured hot coffee into both mugs. As the herbs dissolved in the bitter liquid, he quickly threw together a breakfast of garlic noodles. 

Yin Yu set the table and was just sitting down when Jian Yu joined him. Until this moment, there hadn’t been an ounce of doubt about what needed to be done. But as Jian Yu reached for his coffee, Yin Yu’s heart flip-flopped. He thought about slapping the mug out of his hand or confessing right then and there. But his fear and hesitancy lasted too long, and Jian Yu took a long drink. 

Well. Too late now. 

Yin Yu picked up his chopsticks and stared down at his breakfast. He suddenly didn’t really have much of an appetite. 

The same could not be said of Jian Yu who took a bite before making a face. “I thought you said you were going to learn how to cook.” 

Ouch. 

“When did I say that?” 

“When you moved in,” Jian Yu said. “You said you’d do the cooking! And if you’re going to volunteer for something, the least you could do is learn how to do it well.” 

Just like that, the building guilt faded. If he recalled correctly, he had been told that he would be doing the cooking, because Jian Yu joked he would probably burn the kitchen down. At the time, the comment had been endearing, silly, a tad flirtatious. Yin Yu hadn’t minded.

No, that wasn’t true. He had minded. He just hadn’t wanted to rock the boat by protesting. And wasn’t that always the damn case? 

Yin Yu stared at his boyfriend coolly, trying to see any signs of the herbs working their magic on Jian Yu’s face. He forced a tight smile. “Apologies. I’ll do better next time.” 

Who knew lying was so easy? 

—

“Get up.” 

A kick to the bed shook the entire frame. He Xuan groaned as he peeked out from his bundle of blankets. The room was in pitch darkness, the black out curtains working their magic. The only light — other than what was spilling in from the hallway, far too bright and cheery for his liking — was the dark green and blue backlight of his bubbling fishtank. That was until Hua Cheng, the absolute bastard, pulled back the curtains to allow the mid-morning sun in. 

He Xuan hissed and burrowed further under his blankets. Which were unceremoniously ripped off of him a second later. 

“Get up!” Hua Cheng repeated. 

“Fuck off!”

He Xuan reached for the blankets, which Hua Cheng unfairly pulled further out of reach. He just wanted to sleep. And keep sleeping. Forever, preferably. 

His head pounded, and the room spun from the effort of trying to chase the blankets. Little spots of color exploded in his vision when he glanced toward the windows, which to him meant that he might as well just give up. He threw an arm over his eyes, finding comfort in the darkness once more. 

“It’s almost eleven, little fish!” 

“Look who doesn’t give a shit,” He Xuan grumbled. 

“I swear to God, if you don’t get your ass up, I will drag you out of bed by your ankles,” Hua Cheng promised. “And you know I will. I need your help.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“Two minutes, little fish!” Hua Cheng threatened as he marched out of the room, his voice echoing down the corridor. “Then your ass is hitting the floor.” 

He Xuan sighed. Alone again, but now his room was flooded with so much natural light, it made him want to hide away like a vampire. He considered getting up for the sole purpose of pulling the curtains and door closed to return to the safety of darkness, but it would only be prolonging the inevitable. Hua Cheng didn’t make threats he didn’t intend to see through to the end. 

What a pain in the ass. 

He rolled out of bed, using the momentum to sit up, and stopped when his vision swam. He braced a hand against his forehead, waiting for the merry-go-round to stop before he shakily got to his feet. His rumbling stomach told him that he should probably eat something, but the somersaults veered just far enough into nausea to make the idea unpalatable. Knowing Hua Cheng, though, food would also be waiting for him. 

Grimacing inwardly, He Xuan scratched his bare stomach as he drug himself into the bathroom. He half-heartedly brushed his teeth and gave his stringy hair a few swipes with a comb before pulling on yesterday’s t-shirt. He called the pathetic image staring back at him through the mirror ‘good enough’ and padded his way into the main living space. 

Unlike his gothic bedroom, the rest of the cottage was practically homey. It was a carryover from the former occupant’s aesthetic. Everywhere he looked, he was faced with memories of Hua Cheng’s mother. The hanging rack for drying herbs filled the home with the scent of earthy goodness. The framed photos of family members long past held pain. The floral-patterned furniture were Sunday garage sale finds never replaced. 

There was a reason he hated leaving his room. He couldn’t understand how Hua Cheng handled it. Then again, he supposed his da-ge wasn’t haunted by ghosts in the same way. 

Hua Cheng stood in the kitchen, visible through the window bar separating the living room with its open space and large open archways. A cauldron of something foul-smelling boiled in front of him. His dark hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, and his one good eye was narrowed in concentration. He Xuan took a few steps forward before pausing, the sight of the rest of the counter coming into view. A stack of yellow bamboo pulp paper and cinnabar sat to Hua Cheng’s left, several crumbled and then discarded attempts littering the countertop.

He Xuan sighed quietly to himself. 

He tried to make talismans. Which was usually He Xuan’s job. Which meant they probably ran out during the last order, and stuff needed replenished… Which was something He Xuan never fucking bothered to do. 

Self-deprecating guilt settled in his gut as he wandered into the kitchen. “I didn’t fucking know we were out.” 

Hua Cheng glanced up, raising an eyebrow. “Oh? So, you don’t run this business with me? I suppose I should cut you off then, since you can’t do something as simple as check the stock.” 

“Fuck off.” He Xuan snatched up one of the discarded crumbles, unfurling it. He barely managed to keep his face schooled as he attempted to read the demonic chicken-scratch marring the expanse of paper. “What talisman was this supposed to be?”

Hua Cheng shot him an annoyed glare. “Healing talisman.”

He Xuan ignored the look and took a seat at the counter, grabbing another failed attempt to judge. “You should stick with brewing the shit for seasonal allergies.” 

“What do you think this is?” Hua Cheng asked wryly. “You’d think we were a pharmacy with how many of these we sell.”

“Might as well be,” He Xuan muttered.

And wasn’t that the truth? Most of the time, the reason why people even bothered to come to them was because traditional medicine wasn’t working. They filled in the gaps left behind by the modern world. He Xuan knew that the pharmacy in town had its place, but he still considered it a win for them anytime some normie showed up wanting a cure for something they could’ve gotten over the counter. 

“Next time you get a bug up your ass, don’t waste my damn paper,” He Xuan grumbled, snatching up the cinnabar.

“Our paper,” Hua Cheng corrected. “We need a restock on luck, prosperity, and protection as well while you’re at it.” 

He Xuan made a face. “You’re joking.” 

“That’s what happens when you slack on the job, little fish,” Hua Cheng said. 

He Xuan resisted the urge to throttle his brother from another mother. “If you weren’t giving our shit away in record time—” 

“Giving it away?” Hua Cheng repeated, a dangerous grin on his lips. “In what world would I ever give anything away?” 

Okay, that was fair. Hua Cheng and generosity didn’t usually belong in the same sentence. Even his adopted little brother received no grace, having accumulated a debt way too large to even calculate by this point. 

He Xuan tried to recall the last time he put in any actual effort to keep things restocked, but his foggy memory came up empty. Had it really been so long? He still wanted to argue, to try to save face. He didn’t like knowing he’d let things go by the wayside, that he was losing track of time. Again. 

“Fuck,” He Xuan cursed. 

“You’re getting bad again,” Hua Cheng said, much softer than before. “When’s the last time you ate?” 

His stomach twisted in response to the question. He Xuan avoided Hua Cheng’s gaze as he shrugged. “I eat.” 

“When’s the last time you ate?” Hua Cheng asked again. 

Truth was, He Xuan wasn’t sure if he could answer that. He remembered smoking the night before and having one hell of a craving for noodles. The hunger had practically crawled down his arms and up his throat, urging him to do something about it. He also remembered just… not bothering. Continuing instead to just lay there, staring at the fish swimming back and forth in the tank as his mind tried to wander while the smoke kept his thoughts mercifully blank. 

“You should shower,” Hua Cheng said, changing tactics as he ripped off some dried nettle to toss into the cauldron. “You stink.” 

“Fuck you too,” He Xuan grumbled, but there was no fight in it. 

Hua Cheng was probably right. Even though He Xuan’s nose had grown blind to the herb ages ago, he probably smelled like last night’s weed. Not to mention the musk of being cooped up in a single room. The dust of autumn’s descent. And all the accumulated stenches of their various strange but necessary ingredients. But the thought of putting any effort in to do, well, anything felt like too much. 

He just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep some more. 

Hua Cheng’s phone chirped, and he reached out with a quick swipe. He smirked a bit. “On second thought, why don’t you go greet our guest?” 

He Xuan frowned. “Guest? What guest?” 

He leaned forward, trying to see what was on Hua Cheng’s phone, but his annoying as fuck brother flipped the device over. Purposefully. He Xuan glared, and Hua Cheng grinned. 

“Why don’t you go find out?” 

He Xuan wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, but he didn’t have any leg to stand on. He was the asshole who fell behind on orders, who was causing issues. He was the one who couldn’t keep his shit together. Which meant unless he was looking to cause actual problems, he needed to swallow his pride and listen. 

Which he did. But not without flipping Hua Cheng off on the way out. 

Autumn greeted He Xuan loud and proud as he stepped out onto the porch, his nose curling as he was assaulted by the transitioning scents of the garden. Though, garden wasn’t really an apt name for their situation. The entire yard, both front and back, was a forest of overgrowth. The sounds of insects and bees buzzed happily through the blooming flowers and prickly vines. 

The walk up to the front door of the witches’ cottage was an exercise in not getting scratched or caught on a stray branch. The winding once-paved path was now overgrown and could only be seen if you were looking for it. 

He Xuan stepped off of the porch, not caring to put on any shoes, as he waited for their visitor to reach him. Ankle-tall grass tickled his toes, and he adjusted slightly to the left until the soles of his feet found the cobbled stone, warmed by the sun, to stand on.

Through the forest of overgrowth, He Xuan made out the cheery form waltzing through him. Fuck. He considered turning on his heel and racing back inside, but he didn’t. This was exactly why Hua Cheng sent him out here: he found He Xuan’s pain humorous. 

That was the only explanation. 

Shi Qingxuan squeaked as a bee flew by her face, and she ducked when it came back. Instead of running, however, she determinedly kept marching forward. Her teal maxi dress snagged on a branch, which she pulled free without missing a beat, and her caramel heeled booties rocked her left and right as they failed to find comfortable purchase on the cobblestone. In her hands, she carried a wicker basket covered in a checkered cloth napkin. 

“Hi, He-xiong!” she sing-songed as she reached him. 

He Xuan kept his hands buried deep in his sweats, the same pants he slept in. He wasn’t going to feel bad that he was still practically in his pajamas as he greeted her. He also wasn’t going to reach out to steady her when her next step nearly sent her careening to the ground. It wasn’t his business; it wasn’t his job. 

He scowled. “What do you want?” 

“He-xiong!” she admonished, one hand on her hip. “Don’t be like that! I brought you the leftover baked goods from this morning’s rush.” 

He Xuan’s eyes flickered down to the basket, his heart growing warm at the words. Shi Qingxuan, for some unfathomable reason, had been doing this for a while. Years, if he was being honest with himself. Ever since she started working at her family-owned bakery as a teenager, she went out of her way to walk her pretty ass all the out here with whatever baked goods didn’t sell during the morning rush. 

It was stupid. It was pointless. 

Every time she did this, He Xuan picked the basket clean. His fingers itched to reach out and lift the cloth, curious to see what goodies were tucked into the basket today, but he didn’t dare let a single flicker of emotion cross his face. His scowl remained firmly in place as he looked back up at Shi Qingxuan’s bright sweet face, trying to appear as apathetic as humanly possible. 

“You don’t have to do that,” he said. 

Like always. 

“I want to,” she said. 

Like always. 

Fuck, why did they have to have these repetitive interactions? If Shi Qingxuan would just leave him alone, he could go back to his depressive solitude with only his annoying as fuck da-ge to bother him once in a blue moon. Instead, the town’s sweetheart decided to have some weird vested interest in feeding him. He was too afraid to ask why. 

(He knew why. 

He couldn’t bear to hear it, though.) 

“If I have to fall in love, I want it to be with someone who can make He Shui laugh,” he’d said once upon a time. 

The spell took. Destiny spun its weave. And He Shui died that night without a single giggle. He Xuan’s dead black heart was his own doing, so what good would it do to drag anyone — especially someone as kind and good as Shi Qingxuan — down with him? 

He tried to find love once before despite the spell, and look at how it turned out for her.

“Please, He-xiong,” Shi Qingxuan said softly, holding the basket out toward him. “Take it? You don’t have to eat anything if you don’t like it, but you know… if you don’t take the food, it’ll just be tossed. That’s no good, right?” 

“Fucking wasteful,” He Xuan agreed. 

He took the basket. Now that he had an excuse, an out, it felt okay to do so. He needed to ignore the desire to do anything else. Like take her hand. Let their fingers brush. Linger in her presence. If his stomach fluttered with butterflies, it was only from the nerves of social anxiety. Nothing else. 

“Yeah, it is,” Shi Qingxuan sighed. “I told Ge that we should donate the leftover goods at the local shelter, but he didn’t want to hear it. At least this way I know someone is eating some of it. The rest we sell in the afternoon at a discount. You should come by the shop sometime. Everything is so much better fresh from the oven!” 

“No thanks,” He Xuan deadpanned. 

“Oh. Okay. That’s fine!” 

He Xuan couldn’t take another second of her peppy tone. He turned on his heel to head back toward the cottage without another word. 

Shi Qingxuan made a squeak of surprise before shouting after him, “Okay, um, bye, He-xiong! I’ll talk to you tomorrow! Or maybe later? Haha, probably not. Bye!” 

And because He Xuan couldn’t help but torture himself, he raised a hand to wave her off before disappearing indoors. He counted to five in his head before allowing himself to peek out the window. 

Shi Qingxuan was delicately picking her way down the broken cobblestone path, attempting not to break an ankle with every step. She wobbled to the left and nearly fell into a thorn bush; He Xuan’s heart lodged in his throat. At the last second, she caught her hand on a low-hanging branch, saving her from devastation, and righted herself. She held her hand, staring down at her palm. She was hurt. Probably scraped up her palm in the near fall. 

The cottage was stocked full of bandages, balms, potions, ointments. It would be so easy for He Xuan to grab some supplies, rush out there, and administer first aid. He could assist her. He could. 

He didn’t. 

Shi Qingxuan cradled her hand to her chest as she exited the property, disappearing out of sight. He Xuan dropped his forehead to the glass. The basket weighed a million pounds in his hand, and he wanted to throw the damn thing across the room. 

What. A. Fucking. Jackass. 

“You know, you could talk to her like a civilized human being one of these days,” Hua Cheng said lightly. 

He Xuan’s heart skipped a beat, but his body barely reacted. He was far too used to Hua Cheng being an asshole for that. He pushed off of the window and shot his da-ge a glare. “Fuck off.” 

“I’m just saying,” Hua Cheng said. “It wouldn’t kill you.” 

“There’s no point,” He Xuan said bitterly. “You know there’s no point.” 

“Stop that.” 

“Why?” He Xuan shot back. He pushed past Hua Cheng to head into the kitchen, shoulder-checking him on purpose, and slammed the pretty wicker basket down on the table. “You know it’s fucking true. No laugh means no love. I fucking cursed myself.” 

“You don’t know that,” Hua Cheng tried. 

He Xuan ripped off the checkered handkerchief and chose a baked good at random, tearing off a bite far more violently than necessary. It wasn’t until the sweetened goodness touched his tongue that he recognized the softness of the baked bun, and he had to fight to hold in the groan of satisfaction. 

How the fuck Shi Qingxuan always chose his favorites, he would never know. 

“Oh?” He Xuan quipped back, sarcasm lacing his words as he spoke through the pastry, not giving a shit about manners. “What? You trying to tell me you’ve fallen in love, da-ge? Congratu-fucking-lations.” 

Hua Cheng glared. “Shut up. No, I haven’t. But you — the way you look at her — if that’s not love, I don’t know what is.” 

“Too fucking bad we both know you don’t know what love is,” He Xuan said, knowing he was being a grade-A asshole and unable to stop himself. 

“Fuck you.” 

“Right back at you.” 

They glared at one another. It wasn’t as though the two of them never fought. In fact, that was probably one of their favorite pastimes growing up, but sometimes, it was too much. The grief. The anger. The pain. It was all too much. And sometimes, when He Xuan was being honest with himself, he blamed his malfunctioning heart on Hua Cheng, and wasn’t that just fan-fucking-tastic? 

The phone rang, breaking the standoff. He Xuan took another bite of the sweet crust bun while Hua Cheng turned to look down at his cell. His face, still twisted in anger, shifted into something a bit more surprised as he lifted the device off of the counter. 

“It’s Yin Yu,” Hua Cheng said. 

He Xuan froze, the name triggering a ripple of unease and excitement all at once. He should say something, something profound, but the only words he could think to say were, “Holy shit.” 

—

Hua Cheng had half a mind not to answer. 

The petty bitter part of him wanted to tell their old friend to go fuck himself and never look back. After all, hadn’t that little weasel chosen love — the very thing that neither he nor little fish could ever feel again — over them? But that wasn’t fair. It was more complex than that, and wasn’t it always? 

Wasn’t that why he chose to pick that fight just now? 

Plus, his anger was colored by the argument with He Xuan. Technically speaking, Yin Yu left on good terms with them. Sure, at the time, the goodbye had felt like a forever farewell, no matter how much they tried to say differently. Seeing that number brought up so many different conflicting emotions. Hua Cheng wasn’t sure he was ready to dissect any of them this morning. Especially not when he was already over today, and it wasn’t even noon. 

Fuck him. 

He answered the phone. “Yin Yu?” 

“Um… Hi.” 

Yin Yu sounded as he always did. Hesitant. Uncertain. An edge of breathlessness as if he were always having to force himself to speak at all. It was endearing in the same way babies were — depending on the day, Hua Cheng either wanted to protect them or abandon them on the side of the road. He wasn’t sure where he fell now. 

Unable to handle this alone right now, he pulled the cell away from his ear to put it on speaker. He Xuan edged closer, knowing what he was doing, and Hua Cheng was glad he didn’t have to hold the guy down to listen with him. He supposed he shouldn’t be too surprised. Even during their worst arguments, he could always count on little fish. 

“I’m surprised you still have my number,” Hua Cheng said wryly. 

“Me too.” 

There was an odd edge to Yin Yu’s voice that automatically set off alarm bells. Hua Cheng glanced toward little fish and was somewhat relieved when He Xuan raised an eyebrow. At least he wasn’t alone in thinking something was strange. Not that it was necessarily a good thing. No, if Hua Cheng had to guess, it was just the opposite. 

“So what made you call?” Hua Cheng asked when the silence lingered. 

“I…” Yin Yu trailed off. “It’s hard to explain.” 

“Try,” He Xuan interjected. 

Yin Yu made a surprised sound. “Was that…?” 

Hua Cheng rolled his eyes. “Little fish is listening. Do you want me to kick him out? I don’t mind. In fact, I’d relish it.” 

He Xuan flipped him off. 

“Uh… no, it’s fine,” Yin Yu said. “I should have guessed he would be there.” 

“But you didn’t, and now his presence has completely thrown you off,” Hua Cheng guessed, trying to fill in the blanks that Yin Yu always loved to leave. “You called for a reason. If you can’t say so because of nosy little brothers, just say the word.” 

When silence answered, Hua Cheng cursed silently. It made sense to put the phone on speaker when he realized who was calling. After all, he wasn’t the only one who had been friends with Yin Yu back in the day. It had been the three of them. The two outcasts who decided to adopt the overachieving nerd because there had just been something about him. And when Yin Yu showed interest in the occult, it had been too easy and too tempting to teach him a few things. To bring him into the fold. 

To adopt him as a brother.

But that was then. And it didn’t give Hua Cheng the right… 

“Do you remember the day I left?” Yin Yu asked softly. 

His voice was so quiet, it almost didn’t cut through Hua Cheng’s internal monologue. Not that Yin Yu was whispering; it was more like he was speaking without realizing it. Like his thoughts were just spilling past his lips while his mind continued to wander down whatever road it was lost on. Either way, it chilled Hua Cheng, his senses tingling uncomfortably with warning. 

“Of course,” Hua Cheng said. 

“You didn’t want us to see you off,” He Xuan added. 

“We came anyway.” 

“Yeah,” Yin Yu murmured. “You gave me something.” 

Hua Cheng wracked his brain for what he was talking about. 

Truth was, he didn’t like to think about that day. Though Hua Cheng didn’t consider himself a sentimental man, the people he considered close to him could be counted on one hand with fingers to spare. The fact Yin Yu weaseled his way onto that list and then fucked off had stung more than he could ever put into words. Even now, as he tried to dredge up that day at the bus stop, he didn’t want to delve into what happened. But Yin Yu had to be bringing it up for a reason. 

“A vial,” Hua Cheng recalled, “of poison.” 

“You gave him fucking poison?” He Xuan asked. “The fuck’s wrong with you?” 

“Nothing,” Hua Cheng said. “I just thought it might be useful.” 

“Poison? Useful? You fucking maniac.” 

Hua Cheng shot him a glare, which went entirely unnoticed as He Xuan continued to massacre the sweet bun in his hand. Hua Cheng would have been annoyed, except at least He Xuan was eating. That was a good thing. He looked away, not wanting to draw attention to that tiny little detail. 

“Yeah,” Yin Yu said, “poison.” 

“Yin Yu, what is this about?” Hua Cheng asked, but as soon as the question left his lips, a horrifying thought settled in his stomach. He gripped the phone tightly in his fist, bringing the receiver up toward his lips. “Yin Yu… did you take the poison?” 

He Xuan froze mid-bite, a look of horror and understanding gracing his face. 

“No,” Yin Yu said. “No, I didn’t.” 

The two witches let out a sigh of relief. 

“Jesus thank fuck,” He Xuan cursed. 

“I gave it to someone else,” he finished.

Hua Cheng forgot how to breathe. “You… you did what?” 

“Who the fuck did you give it to?”

“Do you remember what you said when you gave it to me?” Yin Yu asked. 

No, he didn’t. He barely remembered giving the vial over at all. Why would he remember what he said with it? He’d been angry, but not angry enough for the gift to be a veiled threat. 

Right? 

Had he tried to taunt Yin Yu into doing something unthinkable? 

Was he that type of monster? 

But Yin Yu didn’t wait for an answer. He barreled forward, “You said it was for when ‘that bastard betrayed me’. You said it like it was a certainty, like it was definitely going to happen. I remember thinking you were so bitter and broken then. I felt sorry for you.” 

Hua Cheng gritted his teeth, not knowing what to say. Because, yeah, that sounded like him. Between his hatred for Jian Yu and knowing that Yin Yu, one of the few people he let into his circle, was leaving for love — that stung. 

It stung in the same way that knowing his mother died due to love did. It stung in the same way as watching He Xuan dance around Shi Qingxuan due to his own fear of love, inherited from Hua Cheng, did. It stung in the same way as knowing that the curse of love seemed intent on either hurting or taking every single person in his life away. 

“You said that?” He Xuan asked quietly. “The fuck’s wrong with you?” 

Hua Cheng shot him a glare. “Fuck you.” 

He Xuan shrugged and finished off his baked bun. 

“I’m sorry,” Yin Yu said. 

Hua Cheng glared at the phone. “Why are you apologizing? You weren’t the one that said it.” 

“Because you were right,” Yin Yu said. 

“…What?” 

“I used the poison,” Yin Yu continued. “I’m not… I’m not really sure what to do now. He’s unconscious in the other room. Is he dead? I think he might not be breathing.” 

“Yin Yu…” Hua Cheng started. 

“You killed someone?” He Xuan edged closer to the phone, close enough to bump shoulders with Hua Cheng. Too caught up in the phone call, neither man cared. “What the fuck, Yin Yu! Who did you kill? Was it…?” 

“Jian Yu,” Yin Yu whispered. “So… is he dead?” 

“No,” Hua Cheng said. “No, he’s not. Not unless you fed him the whole bottle. Where are you?” 

“In the bathroom.” 

Hua Cheng’s heart vibrated in his chest as adrenaline coursed through his veins. This phone call had gone from innocuous to alarming real fucking fast, and the seesaw of emotions was having a hard time keeping up. However, Hua Cheng wasn’t exactly an amateur when it came to horrific situations. He took a breath and centered himself. 

“Are you done? With the relationship, I mean,” Hua Cheng asked, managing to keep his voice level. “You don’t want to stay or fix this?” 

“No,” Yin Yu said, his voice shaking. “I’m done. I’m… I…” 

“You don’t have to go into detail,” Hua Cheng cut him off. “Not right now. First, we need to get you out of there. Safely. So, this is what you’re going to do…”