Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

ACT I, STAGE ONE

PETALS 

 ☾

the first time yoongi meets him, stars have already started growing on namjoon’s face.

yoongi can’t tell how much time has passed since he’s been wandering around in the dark. his eyes have gotten used to it by now but his breath hasn’t and his heart is beating too fast for him to feel safe.

he never feels safe in the dark. he never feels safe anywhere, really.

yoongi takes a deep breath and proceeds to walk not knowing the direction he’s aiming for, stumbling on his feet and feeling the goosebumps running down off his back when something touches his arm – decides not to pay attention to it. not anymore.

the first half of this test he's spent wincing even just at the air moved by his breath and he’s just sick of it, all of it. he doesn’t want to be a witch, in the first place. more precisely, he can’t be a witch, he knows it and deep down everyone else does.

yoongi is only sixteen and his heart is already heavier than it should be, words he can’t say out loud worsening its load. he’s not made for this life, whatever this life is, but it’s hard to say it out loud when your entire family is made of light keepers and it’s hard to even think about it when you’re in the middle of an exam you’re probably failing. yoongi knows – he knows – all of his classmates have already found the exit door.

yoongi thinks his school’s system is fucked up.

although this is another thing among many others he keeps segregated in his throat and never lets out, but now, surrounded by air so heavy it feels like it’s suffocating him, he can’t help but think of how much he hates this.

the teachers make you meander in the dark with creatures touching you and things scaring you and the time is not true to reality and every minute feels like twenty and at some point, you’re supposed to be so drained and so afraid you should be able to light something up.

anything, really. a spark, a star, a fire.

once you’ve done that, your vision gets clearer and finding your way out gets easier. the sooner you make something light up, the sooner you’ll get out, the more your chances to pass the exam increase. it’s not even one of the final ones and for that yoongi is grateful.

this is just one they make you take in the middle of the year if your parents think you should take it. yoongi’s parents thought he had to. of course they thought he had to. he knew this would have happened and sometimes he thinks he’d like to make them proud, but yoongi can’t help it. he doesn’t like the whole idea, he doesn’t feel like a light witch.

he doesn’t feel like anything but an unlucky sixteen-year-old boy that has to deal with a whole school of promising wizards and witches.

it gets exhausting, most of the times and he’s exhausted right now, in the middle of the dark with the only knowledge of what’s surrounding him given by the hum of the plants that are probably all around him. that’s nice, at least. knowing the teacher decided to pick a setting in the wild makes him feel more comfortable.

he might not be able to light a spark but he definitely can understand plants – yoongi, for his part, is aware it’s no use when you live where he lives, but it helps him make him feel less of a weirdo. 

his mind travels to places where his father is shaking his head and his mother is looking down at him with eyes full of discontent and yoongi wishes he could make his body react to something but he tried and he can’t and he’s so tired and his feet are starting to hurt and the air in his lungs feels intoxicated and the tears well up in his eyes making them tingle and making it hard for him to breathe properly when he decides to give up.

yoongi doesn’t want to do this anymore. he couldn’t care less about creatures running towards him and grabbing his ankles just to scare him so much that magic will literally burn through him and, finally, found a way to exist. yoongi isn’t scared.

he’s sick and his whole school is sick and magicians are sick if they think just because there’s a tiny string of golden blood infecting his veins that they can make him like them. he hates the city of light and everyone in it.

sometimes he thinks about the capital, where humans and magical creatures live together and he dreams about it, his mind aching for it. they all call it the city of stars and yoongi wonders, during times like this, if he will ever be able to watch it shine for him.

“fuck this,” he says. he shouldn’t. he isn’t allowed to curse at home. so: “fuck this,” he says and it’s louder this time.

he doesn’t know where the test is taking place but he has the feeling it’s huge and they could let him walk for hours if they wanted to. he closes his eyes and tries to hear the buzz.

that’s how he knows he’s near nature. plants, flowers and trees, they all make sounds and yoongi is desperately trying to connect with them and even though it takes a while – he’s not really sure how much time, considering the whole distortion-of-reality deal – he’s able to hear something buzz louder and the next thing he’s doing is sliding down a tree trunk.

it’s a little angular and rough against his shirt but it doesn’t matter, not now. not when it’s the only thing he recognises as familiar in this place. it’s a nice feeling, really and as a reflex action, yoongi closes his eyes and sees behind his eyelids the greenhouse. his greenhouse.

it used to be in the backyard of his family for pretty much the entire length of yoongi’s life but no one ever used it until yoongi fell in love with it so hard it used to – and still does – make his body shiver with excitement every time he’d sneak in there.

the first time yoongi had opened the shattered glass door, though, something started to hurt and his eyes widened a little before he started to cry. as soon as he stepped in he realised almost all of the plants were dead and the only nature alive were weeds.

the silence was what really had gotten to him. plants would always talk to him, it didn’t matter if through quiet sounds or through energy.

there would always be a soft whir surrounding yoongi whenever he was around them. yoongi had stayed in there for half an hour, wiping his tears away with a white shirt now dirtied with soil, before realising he had to do something. he wasn’t mad with the weeds but he knew they had to be gone.

he had talked about it so much to his parents he brought them to exasperation and told him: “if you really want that greenhouse, you’ll have to clean it up by yourself.”

yoongi knew they were hoping he wouldn’t have taken them seriously but he had nine years and a lot of herbal magic in his hands, so much it took him less than a week to clean the whole space.

the door, that had been a problem, but his parents accepted to fix it when they saw how much work yoongi had put in it.

they didn’t really care about the greenhouse, but no one has ever cared about that kind of magic in his house, the one that makes you talk with the roots of a tree and bloom flowers ‘cause spring always comes when you call it.

no one really cares for anything but thunderstorms and electricity. his mother can make a show out of the thunders that grow in her palm and even though there’s not much gold blood running in his dad’s veins, he still manages to work with magic light bulbs.

he’s always seemed proud and happy of his workshop so much that when yoongi was a kid he used to be as excited as them in front of his mother’s storms and the calm of his dad’s shop.

he wouldn’t have minded it, really, if it wasn’t for his sister:  three years younger than him and already able to make the sun bend and shake under her feet, walking on paths of lava and bathing in it.

since then, his parents started to demand too much from yoongi, who could never, not even by mistake, make anything shine. he stopped liking the light but he didn’t like the darkness either, not when his parents would lock him up for hours in the basement and leave the house, hoping that would spark something in yoongi, different than a few panic attacks and loads and loads of tears. no one had ever really said anything about it.

his mother would open the door and give him a tissue but the disappointment on her face was the only emotion pouring from her.

the memories hit him, making yoongi cry a little harder when he decides he’s probably going to die in here.

no one cares about you here if you don’t have light swirling around your soul and blinding your eyes. the tree behind his back soothes soft puffs of fresh air for him. yoongi can feel its tiredness. it’s not easy for a tree to be in the dark, it’s not easy for it to be asked to scare people, to use its roots to make the ground shake and its branches to purposely become sharper and fall in order to wound the people that walk under him. all of this just to light a little sparkle.

“that’s how they treat you when you’re different, here. i’m sorry you were carried in this shitty town just to be used for this stuff. it’s stupid. you’re a tree.”

yoongi sighs, his dark hair brush against the tree trunk and it hurts a little but not as much as his soul. therefore, yoongi thinks he can handle a little scratch on his cheek.

“do you miss the sun?” he asks, then. it’s gentler, quieter. everything around him seems calmer now that the tree refused to hurt him and decided to keep him safe instead. there’s another puff of air but it’s hotter now.

“i know you still have warmth in you, but they’re abusing your power,” yoongi says. “they’re abusing all of us,” he whispers and then pulls his thin legs to his chest, his chin in between his knees, his gaze lost in the dark. they stay like that for a while, the tree keeps breathing quite loudly in order for yoongi not to feel alone, but it’s inevitable.

yoongi has grown to hate the dark just as much as he has grown to hate loneliness. they mix together well, most of the times.

he can’t stop his mind from thinking about how many hours it’s gonna take for the panic to kick in, for him to start running around and screaming when they decide to rush things up and making storms appear right behind his back. yoongi knows they could do that. magicians are control freaks.

if something doesn’t happen on its own, then they’re gonna make it happen and if his teachers are thinking of doing something absurd, then yoongi thinks he’d rather die than go back to his family.

once they'll know about this they’re gonna lock the greenhouse, no matter how many times yoongi is going to tell them it’s not his fault. he tried.

he’s been trying for two years. more precisely since he first stepped into this academy.

he’s been trying hard since he was born but now he’s in school and he’s still classified as the last one of team c.

“i think it’s bullshit,” he says and every time he curses it feels better. even though he’s in the dark, even though no one can hear him. it’s the only way of rebelling against his family he has. one day he’s going to make it to the city of stars and he’s going to open his herbalist’s workshop and he’s going to curse. he’s going to curse a lot.

for now, whispering words he shouldn’t say in the middle of an exam is enough. the tree puffs a thicker stream of air, to let yoongi know it’s listening but yoongi is already aware. he can feel it.

“this whole thing of dividing us in teams. team a always has the promising magicians, i’m sure by now they’re all out of this place. team b is where you usually end up when you’re done with your first year, but team c? it just makes it worse for those of us who are older than the freshmen. you’ve seen all of them. team c has the shortest people because it’s the team made for kids who just arrived here.”

the presence of the tree seems strange now. yoongi furrows his eyebrows when something pops up on the ground and brushes against the side of his thigh.

he lowers his eyes and it takes him a few seconds for him to see the tree made a flower bloom on its grass and for a second he feels honoured. that’s how trees communicate. they bloom a specific flower for you that always means something. yoongi gets the flower as close as he can to his eyes and he touches its petal. then, his dark brows slightly draw together.

“a chrysanthemum?” means: cheerfulness, playing. yoongi’s jaw drops open. “did you just make a joke about my height?”

another chrysanthemum pops up.

“i can’t believe my eyes. i know i’m short, that wasn’t what i was trying to say,” he says but he’s laughing and realising his tears froze on his cheeks. “unbelievable,” yoongi mutters, the ghost of a smile still on his lip and then the room goes silent again and nothing seems to change. no one is going to pick him up.

he thinks there’s nothing he can do but close his eyes. he lets his eyelids close, eyelashes too short to touch the circles under his eyes. he doesn’t think there’s a reason left to hold hard to consciousness, so he just lets himself slip into the unknown.

when yoongi opens his eyes again, he nearly screams.

he still can feel the tree behind his back, meaning he’s still going through the exam and the room is still dark but not pitch black, because someone is standing right next to him and now that yoongi has screamed the shadow looks down in his direction.

“what the fuck,” yoongi says but can’t find the strength to get up. besides, he’s scared. the figure keeps looking at him for a while before moving and yoongi starts considering the many horrible things his teacher could have sent in the room and he really wants to think of a way to escape but the shadow is already kneeling towards him.

“shit,” he says, squeezing his eyes closed. “please, please. please don’t kill me,” he says but then there’s a stream of hot breath against him. the first thing he can think of is that the thing must be an animal. it’s alright. he can deal with animals. kind of. slowly, he lifts his lids again, brows still arched.

it takes yoongi a while to recognise the figure is, first of all, a human being and second of all, the top kid belonging to team a. namjoon, maybe? he’s pretty sure the kid’s called namjoon.

yoongi is able to understand it's him only because of that thing.

it’s the first thing he notices.

everyone is always talking about it and yoongi realises it must be really annoying for the guy and still he can’t help but stare at the field of stars crossing a thin path on his left cheek. a few of them pop up on the bridge of his button nose and there’s just one on his other cheek, right before the start of his right cheekbone. a mark. that’s how people call it when magic manifests through your body.

few magicians have them and usually, it happens when they’re old enough for their shrunken skin to hide it and then you have namjoon. a freshman, coming from a family with not even a drop of golden blood in their veins, stepping a few months before into the alley of the school with a forming mark on his face. the rarest one, to be more precise.

everyone knew about him as soon as he arrived, the energy emanating from his body was too much to be ignored. namjoon was nice, really. nice, but shy and too guileless for someone that could have brought the entire school at his knees just by breathing. however, the fact that he was able to exceed his seniors in less than a few months, having no experience at all, pissed most of the school off and made him lonely.

it didn’t stop people from wanting to be like him, it just made it easier to rein their jealousy. yoongi was never too envious. now that he’s directly looking, though, yoongi wonders if he wouldn’t like to have that kind of power as well.

he doesn’t really have time to reflect on that because namjoon moves and suddenly his face is lightened up by something shining in his hands.

the light is so bright yoongi has to squeeze his eyes to protect them. he’s probably been in the dark for too long if even the magic of a kid can threaten him to make him blind.

“what the fuck,” he repeats.

“are you min yoongi?”

“yes, and i’m pretty sure you would have known even if you didn’t ask. who else keeps stuck during an exam if not min yoongi.” it sounds bitter. in his mind, yoongi is shrugging.

“actually,” namjoon says and he offers yoongi his free hand. “i know it because the teachers sent me in to get you out of here.”

yoongi furrows his eyebrows. grabs the hand. looks at him even though the light in namjoon’s palm still manage to make yoongi’s eyes sting.

he can’t help but wonder what in the world he has in his hand for it to shine so brightly.

“what?” yoongi asks and stands up. he feels dizzy from sitting in the dark for too long and he has to close his eyes for just a second. it gets weird when yoongi realises namjoon must have noticed that because he doesn’t let go of his hand until yoongi’s eyes are open again.

“yes,” namjoon says. his finger brush against yoongi’s as he lets go of his hands. “you know, there’s the rule about them not being allowed to come in once the exam starts. i was the first one that made it out and i didn’t look too terrified, so they asked me to come back in. i said yes ‘cause i thought you’d be scared to death by now. i stayed in here for a few minutes and i was almost crying. let’s go,” he says, smiling at him.

yoongi doesn’t return the smile and tries to ignore the irritation caused by how kind namjoon is acting. they start walking and yoongi can’t help but notice namjoon is way taller than him. even though namjoon’s thin, his legs move fast and even though he doesn’t look too athletic he moves like he knows exactly where he’s going.

he probably does: with the amount of light he has in his hand he must see the pattern in a much clearer way than yoongi. not that yoongi sees anything but dark. the realisation makes his stomach twist in envy.

“how long have i been in?” yoongi asks, following him.

“uhm,” namjoon says. the leaves under their feet crack at every single move but namjoon doesn’t seem to care and looks like he’s zoning out. it lasts just a few seconds. “it must have been two hours? i’m sorry if this isn’t very accurate,” he says. “i’m a mess with timing, but if you give me your palm i can tell you exactly how many minutes and seconds you’ve been in here. i’m really sorry if i can’t be more precise, yes, i’m. oh,” he pauses, eyebrows arched. “does it sound like i’m bragging? i’m not. i really am not, i just. wow. i’m sorry, it’s been about two hours, yeah,” he babbles and he’s sounding mortified.

yoongi has to force himself not to stop in the middle of a dark jungle to check if this guy is okay, considering how concerned he’s looking. it’s easier for yoongi, now, to understand why he’s the top in every single class.

“no. it’s fine,” yoongi says. “two hours, wow. it felt like days.”

“yes. i’ve heard they mess up the time so that you can get tired and scared more easily. so that you can light a light, you know.”

“yes. i know. of course i do. i’m older than you.”

a few of the tiny stars on namjoon’s cheeks light up and yoongi can’t help but stare again, this time wondering if that’s the way people like namjoon, marked people, the winners, blush.

“yes. i know. i’m sorry. should i call you hyung? probably. i’m sorry, hyung. i didn’t want to offend you.”

“you didn’t offend me. i just think it’s stupid. it doesn’t work out for the people that can’t make it work.”

namjoon takes a few steps and then turns to the right. yoongi didn’t even know you could turn, in this room.

“maybe you just need more time to actually make it work, hyung.”

“who says i was talking about myself?”

“oh. oh, oh Almighty, i’m so sorry. i know. i’m sorry. did you actually manage to spark a light? that’s great. it’s okay if you couldn’t keep it. i mean, i believe you. i’m sorry if i was rude. i was just assuming, yes. i’m sorry.”

yoongi is, of course, bemused. this kid walking next to him is probably going to be the greatest witch of their times and the only thing he knows how to do is babble, the blush on his cheeks makes his stars dance on his cheek. he says sorry again.

yoongi doesn’t understand and can’t help but roll his eyes as he keeps following namjoon without saying a word. yoongi doesn’t like people assuming things about him but it’s obvious he couldn’t spark anything.

he wouldn’t have stayed in here for so long, otherwise: the more magic you use, the more the room scales down and you automatically get closer to the exit. yoongi’s been stack in the room for two hours, he was the last one meaning the room stayed still for him because no magic was used. yoongi sighs quietly and his hair pinch is forehead as he shakes his head.

“i didn’t. i didn’t spark a light.”

“oh.”

“yeah.”

“it’s fine, there’s plenty of time.”

“there isn’t, actually. i’m sixteen. they’ll kick me out of these classes next year if i won’t make the light sparkle in my soul or whatever is the thing they keep saying.”

“lighting a sparkle so bright it feeds your soul,” namjoon says it in a robotic way and yoongi can’t help but turn his head in his direction. namjoon looks back at him and his stars shine even more but it only hurts yoongi’s eyes for a second because namjoon’s gaze is fixated on the floor.

he says something yoongi doesn’t understand but sounds like a sorry. yoongi doesn’t know if he wants to whack him or hug.

“yeah, yes. that one thing. there’s not really a lot of time. i mean, look at that,” he says and uses his chin to point at the lights dancing in namjoon’s hands. “what’s that?”

namjoon looks at his palm and smiles. “stars.”

it takes a while for yoongi to process what he’s being told.

“what.”

“yeah. They. yeah.”

yoongi inhales sharply. “those are,” he pauses. a leave creaks under his foot. yoongi’s palm brush against his face. “those are stars? like, actual, real stars?”

“yes. look,” namjoon says. he doesn’t stop himself from walking, he just lifts his hand and places it next to yoongi’s face and namjoon sees it, he sees them.

yoongi catches the spheroid, some of them are tiny and some of them are oblongs but they really burn when you keep staring at them for too long.

namjoon must know this really well because he closes his palm after what it seems to be a precise amount of seconds but it’s okay because yoongi doesn’t really feel the need to examine them to know those are real stars.

“are those–” yoongi starts and doesn’t finish, cutting his own sentence. he wonders if what he wanted to ask might sound too rude but namjoon is already smiling. yoongi realises a lot of people must have asked him the same question and the thought makes him blush and makes him feel stupid.

“the stars on my face, yes. they’re real as well. i was born with just one on the side of my left eye. then they kept spreading. they say by my twenties i’ll have my entire cheeks covered in them. i don’t really mind it.”

“i bet you.”

“no, i– sometimes, you know. the mark. it doesn’t make my life easy. everyone in school hates me.”

“who cares about the people in school. you’re going to be powerful after this whole thing ends.”

“yeah, i know. but i wish i could be a little loved, as well. does it sound silly? i guess it does,” he says, shutting himself up when one of the stars on his face sparkles. the corners of yoongi’s small mouth begin helplessly to raise up and he does his best to hide it. it’s not hard when it’s so dark. plus, he doesn’t think it’s a silly thought.

“it doesn’t but like, you have stars on your face. a tiny constellation just for you. see,” he points at his face first and his hand secondly. “you’re. you’re the embodiment of magic, something i could never dream of being. no one gives a shit in this city if i can talk to plants. i just need to light something, even though i can’t do it. i can’t even work my way out of a magical room.”

namjoon looks at him and the stars enlighten his face, a serious, thoughtful expression wedging into the features of his profile. “i think it’s because you don’t believe in it enough.”

the words brush against his already tense nerves.

“it doesn’t work like that.”

“who says so, hyung?”

yoongi scoffs. “who says so? i’m walking next to a fifteen-year-old kid who has stars in his palms and constellation on his cheeks even though his family doesn’t know shit about magic. that’s how i know. you’re either born with it or you get kicked out and mistreated until you’re old enough to get out of here and go live with humans.”

yoongi’s tone is stern and the sentence comes out harshly, almost like it has been waiting to be left out ever since yoongi stepped in the room.

he sounds angry but it doesn’t hurt him anymore. he knows he has to endure this for just another year and then he’ll be done.

they kick you out of magic classes if you still aren’t able to show any when you’re in your third year. you’re a renegade, at that point.

it’s a curse that shows through a scar on your hands, those same hands you should have used to create magic. it’s should be shameful, especially when you come from a family of light witches. when you’re the only one that gets kicked out of a class, you’re targeted, but yoongi doesn’t care anymore. he’d rather be targeted than locked in a dark room with only the voices in his head drowning out the silence.

“but you can talk with trees!” namjoon says it so enthusiastically that yoongi snap out of his thoughts and jumps a little. they turn to the right again and yoongi wonders how big this damned room is, if getting out is taking such a long time even when he has the marked kid on his side.

“i can talk with nature in general,” yoongi specifies. it’s the truth. flowers are the pettiest. yoongi adores them. “but, how—how do you know that?”

namjoon smiles and yoongi sees clearly, now, the way he lowers his eyes and whispers: “the stars.”

“the stars?”

“yes. they know a lot. it’s thanks to them i was able to get at you in here pretty fast. they talk a lot but it’s just because they know a lot of things and they’re kind enough to share,” he says and yoongi finds himself staring once again. namjoon looks down at his palm, a wistful look on his face as the tiny starts dance on it.

yoongi can’t bring himself to think of how that must feels. how special namjoon must feel.

even though he doesn’t show it, yoongi doesn’t fall for it. is it a façade? the way he seems so innocent about magic, the way he doesn’t brag about being a witch with a mark?

“well, good for you,” yoongi says. that’s the voice he uses when he throws a fist at home. he recognises it and feels guilty about it when namjoon turns in his direction and his expression turns from something somewhat excited into something that makes his eyes fill with genuine regret. yoongi hates namjoon’s stars for being so bright and making it impossible for him to ignore the expression on the kid’s face.

namjoon blinks at him.

“did— did i say something wrong? was i bragging again? i just— you asked me and. i just wanted to point out that you’re a witch too. not everyone can talk with plants and trees.”

“can you?” yoongi snaps, the red backpack on his shoulder suddenly feeling heavier and his feet struggling to avoid the mud.

“well,” namjoon sighs. “yes. but that– that doesn’t mean anything.”

“i think it does mean something. i think talking with trees isn’t that much of a thing when you live in the city of light or when your sister can make the sun appear in your living room and i can’t even spark a tiny light.”

“i told you, you don’t believe in yourself enough.”

“how would you even know?” yoongi asks, his tone being even harsher, and then he realises he already knows the answer and hates it. “stop. stop, don’t answer. don’t say anything about the stars. i get it. let’s just— let’s just get out of here,” he says and can feel himself pout.

yoongi’s eyes hitch because of new drops of tears. he’s having mean thoughts and being rude to a kid who’s just trying to help. he thinks he probably should have stayed right where he was, next to the tree that was able to make him feel better.

he thinks about his parents’ disappointment, he thinks they would tell him they have no idea how he belongs to their family. for a second, he also thinks it should probably better if he stopped existing.

as if the guilt wasn’t already enough, namjoon stops talking from that moment on. he just keeps walking and he looks sad, his gaze fixated on the palm of his way too bigger than yoongi’s hand and it’s like his lips, full and pink, are pouting at the stars – like they’re communicating in a language that excludes yoongi. of course it does.

yoongi knows he probably deserves it, but then he chases away the thought and remembers they don’t even know each other. and if they don’t even know each other, then namjoon doesn’t get to be sad nor angry, he doesn’t get to have his eyebrows furrowed in irritation and mortification.

yoongi looks at him with the corner of his eye, from time to time and the more he does the more he feels responsible for all the negative emotions showing through namjoon’s face. a tear rolls down his cheek and yoongi is quick to catch it with the tip of his tongue, even though he still feels the burn against his chapped lips.

namjoon shouldn’t be the one that gets mad. he has stars on his skin. he’s just a kid, a fifteen-year-old walking prodigy with a nice face, a kind smile and the night in his hands. his future is already bright and holds him no pain.

everyone knows that people with marks are successful, they finish school earlier than anyone and move to the capital. they start working and their companies and shops are successful. everyone knows about them because, again, they’re marked. namjoon doesn’t get to say anything about yoongi’s future or about how he should believe in himself more or anything, really.

he should have just helped him get out of the room and watch him fail his exam, staring down at him with his brilliant potential.

yoongi gets swallowed in the same whirlwind of negative, envious thoughts. he still thinks namjoon should stop being so kind, he still thinks it makes him sick but he can’t help but open his mouth, ready to talk. he doesn’t know if he’s going to say sorry, though.

“look,” he starts fidgeting with his hands. “i’m sorry. i know you were just trying to be nice,” yoongi says. namjoon doesn’t answer. “i’m really stressed out, i’m just. i’m genuinely tired and i say a lot of mean things when i’m like this and this doesn’t justify me, but i. i, well. i’m sorry, i guess.”

namjoon doesn’t say anything once again and yoongi feels irritation crawl up on his skin once again. he might have been mean, but he still deserves an answer. even an insult would be okay. he doesn’t deserve more silence, not after having spent almost three hours in this hell of a room. he’s about to complain when a thought crosses his mind.

“no. please, no,” he whispers and then instinct is what makes him raise up his eyes in a heartbeat but namjoon isn’t next to him anymore. something swells up in his throat and yoongi gulps loudly when he realises he’s in the dark, again. namjoon isn’t next to him. the stars, those are gone as well.

“namjoon?” he calls again but the only thing answering back is the silence that’s surrounding him. his shoes are dusted with mud and the air feels tedious once again.

“namjoon. where are you?” his voice cracks at the end of the question and for a second he feels stupid. the second later, though, he feels scared when he realises he must be outside the area filled with trees because the only energy he can sense is coming from the grass. no trees, no flowers.

grass doesn’t have enough energy to talk and he wouldn’t even know what to ask because namjoon didn’t go anywhere. he disappeared, without making a sound.

“is this some kind of joke? oh, man. was that part of the exam?” he says and suddenly there’s anger dripping from every single word.

“this is insane! you all are insane! fuck this school, fuck this fucking school full of fucking fuckers!” he’s shouting and he can feel the blood rushing through his veins, scratching the insides of his ears. he hopes everyone is listening to him.

he hopes he’s going to get expelled, he’d rather die as a cursed witch than be like them.

“what are you gonna do? are you gonna let me die in here?” his screams mingle with the fear of being left alone.

was namjoon real or did he just talk to a part of his soul? did he create a hologram of himself? he knows namjoon is able to do both of those things.

they must have forced him. they must have told him to do one of his tricks on yoongi so that they can make fun of him just a little more.

yoongi knows the school is absolutely built on making the ones without power feel ashamed. that’s how they try and make things work, that’s the same thing yoongi’s parents do and it makes him want to vomit. he feels his cheeks burning up with exasperation and that’s when he feels it.

the stars have disappeared for a while – as if namjoon closed his fist and reduced all of them to dust, leaving him alone in the dark – when yoongi feels the air moving behind him.

just one second later, his name is being whispered next to his ear, just right above his lobe. it gives him the creep. the skin around that area is rippled by goosebumps and he shakes his body that begging him to shiver. that was namjoon voice. the one that just called him, that was his voice.

yoongi doesn’t have the time to realise it nor to curse him – he knew under all that sweetness a prick was hiding – because the air is shifting again and someone is laughing next to him.

there’s a flicker of light right next to his arm and it stings a little but yoongi doesn’t care, not when he’s sure he has just seen namjoon’s plump lips and heard his laughter. then, the air shifts again and someone is running. there’s a path of light behind their back and the only thing yoongi is thinking, now, as his legs increase speed and his feet touch with fury the ground, is that he can’t lose track of him. he’s sure that was namjoon and he’s sure the light he sees in front of him are the stars imprisoned in his palm.

“namjoon!” he shouts and he doesn’t flinch, his voice isn’t compromised by how fast he’s running. his slim face is glistening, droplets of sweat running in between his forehead down to his nose but he doesn’t care about it. he doesn’t care about anything that doesn’t involve grabbing the kid that’s still running in front of him.

“you think this is a— fucking…” this time, he stutters and stops when saying the word out loud. thinking about how namjoon was just making fun of him and realising all of the bad things he said before were heard by the teachers, even when they didn’t do anything manage to make him even angrier. he’s probably going to get kicked out anyway, so: “you think this is a fucking joke?”

it sounds harsh even to his own rebel tongue, always complaining and never losing a chance to caress the words of disappointment yoongi reserves for his family. he just keeps running and everything feels hotter now, but it’s more than his sweat, it’s more than the rush in his blood. there’s warmth everywhere now and the grass behind the sole of his shoes is alive but yoongi doesn’t care. for once, he just keeps running.

namjoon is still running in front of him when yoongi calls him out for the third time.

“this isn’t funny! oh, i hope you’re getting expelled because of this. i hope you’re going to get burned by those stupid stars of yours!” yoongi says and keeps moving, dodging the roots and the mud and indulging his body when the heat feels like it’s still increasing.

namjoon’s legs are longer than his even though he’s younger but yoongi’s are somehow moving even faster and even the room is still dark and he still shouldn’t be able to see anything but for some reason, his vision gets clearer. yoongi doesn’t pay attention to it, not now, at least, when his only target is namjoon. the only goal is reaching him.

then, namjoon scoffs and yoongi has had enough of him and this whole day. it takes just a boost more of energy and he’s almost behind namjoon.

yoongi can clearly see the back of his white shirt’s collar and he’s about to grab it and shout his name again but then something is hitting his face like a flash. neon lights are crashing against his cornea and he’s shielding his eyes with the back of his hand, a groan leaving his mouth.

still, yoongi doesn’t stop running, knowing namjoon is still ahead of him. he gets the hand away from his face after a few seconds and he quickly looks around as his legs keep moving. he’s out of breath by now, his mouth half-open to let as much air as he can fill his lungs when he realises he’s out of the room.

he recognises two of his classmates and even a few teachers of his and still, even when he feels like screaming both because of joy and frustration, he keeps making his legs move and none of the teachers run after him or try to stop them – some of them look at the scene with eyes open wide – and his body start to ache but he still won’t take a break, or at least not until he’s bumping into someone.

his head is pounding and his whole body is shaking, the feeling of warmth even more intensified than before when yoongi’s gaze runs towards the person in front of him. yoongi feels other eyes watching him but the only pair he focuses on his namjoon’s. namjoon, who is now standing right in front of him, looking at him with arms crossed and a smug smile on his face.

yoongi’s frown etches deeper. “do you think this is funny? why are you smiling? that was so mean, so stupid of you! you go around and act like you’re the next generation witch and yet you try these– these things. pranks. on people that you just met. that’s rude, that’s–"

“hyung.”

“don’t hyung me! that—whatever that was, it wasn’t funny. did they tell you to do to it? did they force you? or were you just being mean?”

“hyung!”

“are these your real colours, namjoon? you act all nice and shy and then betray someone who’s been sitting in the dark for two hours just to make them envious of how you can light an entire sky in your hand? wow, how incredible of you! you’re going to make this city shine even more! you’re a legend, namjoon. truly! ”

yoongi’s breath keeps getting shorter but it doesn’t stop him from cussing again when namjoon rolls his eyes – he rolls his eyes – and grabs yoongi’s left wrist.

“what are you–”

“your hand, hyung,” namjoon says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world but yoongi doesn’t understand. for a split second, he considers the idea to break free from namjoon’s grip. then, he does.

he moves his hand, pushing against namjoon’s flesh, trying to chase namjoon’s fingers away but then his eyes meet his palm. suddenly, he stops. yoongi can’t remember the last time there were no words scratching at his throat.

“no,” he says. he stares at his hand. then, he’s staring at namjoon and then his gaze his back on his hand. “how– how did you. did you do something? did you make this happen, namjoon?”

namjoon lets go of yoongi’s wrist and yoongi manages it to keep it still in the air. he’s afraid everything he’s going to end if the air hits his palm. “what did you do?”

“i didn’t do anything. i told you. you didn’t believe enough in yourself, hyung” namjoon says. “you didn’t need fear. you needed anger, apparently. also, you’re probably going to pass your exams. i’ve heard this city hasn’t had a fire keeper for a while, now,” he pats his shoulder and yoongi flinches but doesn’t move his gaze.

then, namjoon is turning onto his heels with a wily smile painting his lips. his cheeks, riddled with tiny stars and blooming with red, lift from how much he’s smiling. yoongi doesn’t pay attention to any that, though.

there’s no way someone else did that for him. there was no one in the room expect namjoon but it would make sense. he was just proving his point, he was making him angry. maybe the stars suggested it to namjoon. yoongi knows he must say sorry.

he probably has to say thank you, as well. yet, he is unable to do anything apart from admiring the roaring fire that’s squirming and dancing right there, on those fingers yoongi thought could light nothing but a flicker.

☾

 six years later, yoongi’s mint hair glow under the streetlights in the city of star, he always wears shirts with a pocket sewed on them so that he can fit a bouquet of flower in it and he works as namjoon’s assistant, whom cheeks and nose have now a full pattern of stars. they have a shop. in the capital. of course it’s the capital when you’ve got namjoon next to you.

they met for the first time during one of their exams and since then, they never stopped talking. with time, yoongi realised he could actually make something out of his thin stripe of golden blood.

not much, just enough for him to pass the exams every year – still, namjoon managed to graduate before him. of course he did. and yet, namjoon didn’t move as soon as that happened.

he could have done anything, could have entered the most important academy for witches, he could have opened straight away a company of his own. everyone wants to work with marked witches, especially when they’re as young, as talented and well-mannered as namjoon, who stayed in the city of light until yoongi graduated, and then they run away.

(“you are a crazy piece of shit, namjoon. you can’t stay here. you’re eighteen. you have the whole world in your hands, dude. i can come to stay with you once i’m done. you have to go, it –it might take me another year. you hate your family and you get the chance to go away sooner than everyone else and you–” yoongi stops talking.

his hands are cupped together around a periwinkle vase and he’s supposed to be hosing it down but the more he talks the more he loses control and as soon as he knows the pot is overflowing. he curses. 

namjoon’s is sitting on one of the tables in yoongi’s small greenhouse, his eyebrows are furrowed and his long legs covered in pink bermuda shorts are swinging.

“i can resist one year longer.”

“that’s not the point! you are marked, namjoon,” yoongi snaps and lets go of the vase. namjoon keeps his gaze fixated on the floor. “more than anyone in this city, you –you could run away from this place and you decide to stay for me? do you think i’m a lost child or something? just because you’ve got more magic than me running in your blood doesn’t mean you have to protect me. you could do so many amazing things, you can get so powerful, have the magicians’ industry bend at your fe–”

“but that’s not what i want!” namjoon’s cuts yoongi’s sentence, his tone too high. yoongi is about to tell him to calm down before he makes something explode but he doesn’t make it on time ‘cause suddenly one of the glass windows is shuttering into tiny pieces.

yoongi jolts and takes a step back when namjoon gets off the workbench with a jump and stands straight in front of him, his chest rising and falling at a high speed making his shirt crinkle under the movement.

yoongi breathes and notices how namjoon’s hands are curled in fists.

he looks at the glass now laying on the ground and: “what?” he breathes.

the question caresses his tongue and gets out of his mouth in a soothing way. “what is it that you don’t want?”

“i don’t. i don’t want that. i don’t want to be powerful,” with his shoulders curved, he meets yoongi’s gaze for just a second before sighing and turning his back. his slender fingers grasp the table he was once sitting on and the ring he has on his middle finger clinks onto it.

“you all have these high expectations but i. it’s not that i can’t meet them but i don’t want what everyone expects me to want, you know? you, my parents, people at school. you all talk about me going to the capital and becoming a businessman but i don’t want that. i have all this magic in my hands and i can’t. i don’t care about money. i don’t want to care about money. i’ve grown up with them and they made my life easier but i’ve seen the way they shape people. i have seen my parents. you have seen my parents.”

yoongi sighs. “yes”, he says. they’re not great people – on the contrary, they’re most likely the reason why namjoon grew up with so much social anxiety. yoongi still remembers how many times he used to say sorry and how hard it still is for him to keep his chin up when he talks with someone.

“yeah. i don’t. i don’t care for money, that’s not what i want to do, hyung.”

“what is it that you want to do, then?” yoongi asks. the midday light pierces through the now broken windows, it cuts the floorboards of the wooden flooring and enlightens namjoon’s side. his blonde hair twinkle in the sun and yoongi can’t help but stare.

at first, it doesn’t make sense. what namjoon is saying is absurd and he must feel it too because he keeps fidgeting with his fingers and almost hits multiple leafs of one of yoongi’s plant. “you’ve been my best friend for years, hyung. i know i’ve helped you with magic stuff but you– Almighty, don’t make me say it,” namjoon cracks his knuckles and he lifts his head to the ceiling, the sun now kissing his neck as he squeezes his eyes.

yoongi scoffs. “say what?”

“you know what,” namjoon shakes his hand in the air. “you helped me as well. with social stuff. friends. whatever. hyung, i really want to help people–”

“okay.”

“and i want to get a master in magical nursing. i know i can do great things with all of… this, but healing people. that’s. that’s a lot for me. that’s what i want to do. i have this huge pressure but i already know what’s going to make me happy, it might be stupid but i don’t want great things from life. i really don’t.”

namjoon turns is head in his direction and he seems sad, troubled almost.

“okay,” yoongi repeats and then he’s already as close as he can. he jumps a little, just enough for him to reach his head and slap it, his gaunt fingers collapsing against namjoon’s soft blonde hair.

“what the fu–”

“you can do that. you’re going to be a great healer. why are you looking so sad, prick.”

a hand tangled in his hair, the palm massaging his scalp, namjoon looks at him and his now multiplied stars are lighting up. “because i really want to go to the capital, hyung. i really want to, but– i want to wait. i want you to come with me.”)

yoongi yawns, his elbows leaning on the table and the back of his hand rubbing his eyes and recovers from the memory.

“i know sweetie, i haven’t forgotten about you. not yet. but if you keep rebelling to this i’ll have to throw you away and we don’t want that, do we? please, please let me just do my job,” he whispers, placing the tip of his index finger against Spearmint’s stem.

her buzzes increases in a protest and yoongi forces himself not to roll his eyes. no one in the greenhouse likes the part where they get insecticide all over themselves, no matter how many times he tells them he knows it doesn’t hurt that bad and they’re all just a little bit dramatic.

Spearmint must know what he’s thinking ‘cause all of a sudden yoongi’s face is wet with dew.

“oh god,” he says, shaking his head to get the fringe off of his hair and doesn’t let go of the steam. “did you just spit on me? you’re the worst. i’m doing this so that insects don’t come and bite your leaves off. i can’t believe we’re still having this talk,” he mumbles and he sounds annoyed but he isn’t, not really.

he would never be annoyed, not when he’s a twenty-one-year-old-guy living in the capital, having a job and his best friend (who happens to be a pretty cool witch) still by his side and more importantly a greenhouse all for himself.

before they moved namjoon promised him he’d do anything for yoongi to get one big enough for him to never run out of space. 

(“we’re going to open a shop. i’m going to heal people and you’re going to help me and you will be in charge of providing me with the right ingredients, the right herbs. you’re going to have a greenhouse behind our shop and it’s going to be so big you’re going to lose yourself in it. i mean, your sense of direction is shitty enough for you to–” namjoon starts but never finishes. yoongi puts a hand on his mouth before he can.)

he kept the promise. namjoon’s parents told him to go find seokjin when he arrived in the capital. told him he’d helped them.

(“i think he’s going to be a prick,” namjoon says.

“stop being so negative. we’re in the capital. people can’t be pricks here.”

“he’s friend with my parents.”

yoongi looks at him. “okay,” he says. “okay, i can’t argue with that.”)

seokjin soon turned out to be one of their best friends and still to this day, he’s the reason why they were able to open a shop only two weeks after having arrived in the capital and most importantly also the reason why they have so many clients. seokjin had accepted to sponsor them as soon as he saw the mark on namjoon’s face, he had sent so many people to their shop during the first opening week that even when they lost a few clients, the place still managed to be busy.

yoongi smiles at the memory of them sitting in a mundane coffee shop surrounded by people with no magic and at the thought of namjoon’s disgusted face when he first tried coffee.

he had tried not to show it because it had been clear seokjin adored it but he ended up frenetically washing his mouth and drinking three cups of water – yoongi’s included – as soon as seokjin left and yoongi founds himself smiling at the memory when he realises he’s almost done injecting the insecticide and that he lost track of the time once again.

it must be three in the morning or so it tells him Hesperis, a night plant that sits on the most hidden table, the one that has to be hidden the most so that light won't reach her too much.

Hesperis blooms and lives at night and her flowers light up in the dark. she’s a bit talkative but yoongi doesn’t really mind, not when she’s the only thing that keeps him awake. that, and the glass door slowly creaking open.

yoongi doesn’t stop doing what he’s doing but he already knows what’s going on and a feeling of familiarity spreads through his chest. Hesperis moves her petals, her way of laughing. he shoots her a gaze but doesn’t get the chance to say anything because his name is already being called.

“hyung.”

yoongi raises his hand from Spearmint’s foliage, hearing her dramatically gasping out of relief and turns around. namjoon stands just a few feet away from him. kikimora, the black cat with a tiny moon on the tip of her nose is hiding behind his legs and she hisses at him.

she’s supposed to be their cat but really, she’s namjoon’s. she hates yoongi because he won’t let her sneak around into the greenhouse without someone keeping an eye on her.

yoongi thinks he’s a good man and he probably deserves better right before realising he’s spending too much time with the plants, his thoughts being almost as dramatic as theirs.

namjoon keeps his hands tight around a cup of something that must be steaming hot judging by the redness on the tip of his fingers. yoongi thinks he probably should have put on a pair of gloves or he should have wrapped a cloth around the mug in but he doesn’t say a word, knowing namjoon had a bad day that started with him getting bitten by a fairy.

he was panicking a little when he called yoongi, asking for help and he almost cried when yoongi softly snorted and handed him a mask to put on. the fairy was still flying around the place when yoongi opened the shop’s door and she was leaving behind her a contrail of fairy dust that namjoon had already inhaled.

fairy dust makes you sleepy and slows down your reflexes. when he looks at namjoon he notices how both those things show, the residues of the day showing on the kid’s face.

namjoon’s eyes are puffy and bloodshot and his hair ruffled, the messy fringe framing his face. it must be because it’s very late and because of all the hours of sleep they’ve lost and ‘cause they’ve been working for pretty much the entire week non-stop but he can’t help finding himself thinking namjoon looks cute. a bit silly, but cute.

“joon-ah, why are you still awake?” yoongi asks, voice deep and low, in the attempt of not scare him or wake him up from the temporary trance he’s fallen into.

“i. uhm,” namjoon rubs his eyes and brings his left blue sweater paw against his face. “i brought you this,” he says and yoongi smiles immediately. he doesn’t even try to stop it, this time, because this, this thing they have, genuinely makes him happy.

namjoon always brings him some kind of herbal beverage at night and every night it has a different ingredient that gives yoongi a different feeling.

he started doing it the very first week they moved in the capital, when yoongi couldn’t get much sleep because of the huge fight he had with his family that brought them screaming at him they never wanted to see him again.

yoongi thought he would stop, at some point, but namjoon has always been someone who gets attached to routines, so he never really did. yoongi still tries sometimes to stop him, to tell him there’s no need, that he feels in debt.

yoongi also told him, once, he’s going to finish the ingredients – namjoon has proved to be creative enough to come up every night with something different.

“thanks. what is it?” he asks, taking his gloves off and placing them on the table. he rubs his forearm against his forehead, disparately trying to dry Spearmint’s spit.

“clary sage. a little bit of vanilla. brings you peace and stuff.”

yoongi smiles and sips a bit of it. it’s sweet and slips easily down his throat, warming his whole body and his freezing hands. he loves being in the greenhouse but it gets cold, especially during the night. it also gets noisier.

the plants start breathing more loudly and almost every single one of them is awake, so they start buzzing and chatting and all of them starts to crave attention. unfortunately, yoongi only has two hands. namjoon often tells him to get an assistant – yoongi pouts a bit and says those are his plants and he wouldn’t trust anyone but himself. he can manage.

namjoon grumbles but lets him be because he knows. plants only listen to yoongi, anyway.

“how was your day?”

“leaving out the part where a fairy literally covered me with fairy drugs? fine. seokjin passed by. he left me a few herbs that work for broken bones and for aching backs. he said i should try mixing it with something but i don’t remember what ‘cause, you know, i was half asleep,” namjoon says. “is Spearmint still making a fuss about you wanting to spray her with insecticide?” namjoon asks, crossing his arms and staring at the plant behind yoongi’s back.

“yes,” he says, gulping down another sip of his drink. “it’s okay. we’re going to be fine. i told her she’s going to die if she doesn’t stop complaining. she spat at me afterward but i’m used to it. she’s a good girl.”

“how are you so whipped about a plant?”

“she’s nice. she keeps me company. also, she talks with bees most of the time and it helps when they come around here. it’s thanks to her if i never get bitten.”

“truly impressing.”

yoongi winks at him, bringing the mug closer to his lips and taking another sip of the tea before handing the cup to namjoon. “here, even though i think you need coffee more than you need vanilla that brings you peace and stuff.”

“i’d rather die than drink that human thing that tastes like roots,” namjoon says. he quaffs the beverage and lays it down the worktable next to him. “she’s so pretty,” he says, getting near Hesperis and looking closely at her.

yoongi can’t believe his eyes when she starts moving the leaf of the flowers growing on her and making their lights flash in front of namjoon. he smiles and yoongi, standing behind him, can’t help but smile as well.

“anyway, i’m tired. i need to sleep. please don’t stay here all night and try not to wake me up when you come home. i’m gonna put poison in your next drink otherwise.”

“then you’re going to have to sell this place. these plants would rather die than be touched by anyone that isn’t me.”

Hesperis buzzes loudly in disagreement. namjoon, though, doesn’t know that. he might hear her, but he doesn’t know her. yoongi simply throws her a glance and she turns her lights off. that doesn’t mean she’s done messing with him – it only means she’s offended.

“i’d hire someone new,” namjoon says, turning in his direction and getting closer. he’s trying to look intimidating but he barely can keep his eyes open. yoongi stares for a second at the stars.

“i’d like to see you try,” he eventually replies.

namjoon laughs at that and the star he has in the hollow of his right cheek shows. “i’m gonna go. don’t tire yourself too much,” he says and yoongi is about to say something, he’d like to say goodnight back and tell namjoon to rest easy but he can’t.

not when namjoon is bending down to his height – then, his lips are on yoongi’s. it lasts about a second. it’s just a small pack, just a tiny little thing, so delicate and sugary yoongi thinks he must be having a hallucination. maybe he did inhale a bit of fairy dust after all.

maybe he’s just dreaming and the feeling of namjoon’s soft, plump lips on his, the warmth of his stars so close to his face are just signs he’s losing his mind and he should stop working this much.

it really looks like that for a second, because namjoon isn’t paying attention to anything that isn’t straightening his shoulder, rubbing his eyes again and scratching his protruding collarbones that his blue sweater doesn’t seem like it wants to cover.

it’s like namjoon didn’t even realise what he did: he’s about to turn his back and the only thing stopping him is the way yoongi coughs – he almost chokes, actually – and it must sound so awkward that namjoon’s eyes fly open.

“oh, shit,” namjoon exclaims. he has learned this expression in the capital and apparently he loves it ‘cause he just says it all the time. he frenetically turns in yoongi’s direction, his eyes wide open, the same lips that a second before were on yoongi’s lips are now half-open. “did i. did i just kiss you goodnight.”

“yes. you kissed me goodnight on the lips, dude.”

namjoon stares at him for a second. then, he throws his head back and starts laughing, tiny crinkles carve their way near his eyes as he covers his mouth with his hand – that doesn’t stop yoongi from noticing the stars on his cheeks that are shining like they always do whenever namjoon laughs candidly. 

“i’m so sorry,” he says, grains of his laughter still resting on his pink lips. “that fairy fucked my head up. i’m sorry. please don’t kill me, i’ve never been a great kisser.”

it’s funny how yoongi thinks it’s a shame he doesn’t know since namjoon kissed him not even for a split second. 

“no. it’s. yeah, it’s fine.”

“is it really? i’m sorry. i need to stop draining myself this much,” he says and it’s so natural. he’s not shaken and yoongi understands. they’ve always been really touchy, it’s not about that. it’s something else that’s making yoongi feel confused as he stares at him and makes him wonder if he’s overreacting.

namjoon says sorry and then goodnight and tells him not to stay up too late once again before leaving – he’s still giggling when he closes the door behind his shoulders.

yoongi’s gaze follows him until he’s out of sight and for a second he has the feeling something isn’t quite working in his body. instinctively he brings a hand to his chest and he furrows his eyebrows, his back arched and a hand flat on one of the tables.

he closes his eyes when he’s hit with the feeling of something cracks in his lungs, letting him out of breath. it lasts just one second. yoongi inhales as much hair as he can and then slowly, carefully brings the tip of his bony fingers near his lips.

namjoon tasted sweet.

he tasted like vanilla and something else yoongi can’t quite name.

for a second he had the feeling like a whole new garden bloomed all around them and its entire smell find its way to yoongi’s nose. it was intense, but even then it only lasted a heartbeat. yoongi brushes the tip of his finger all over his mouth, feeling it nicks. namjoon’s lips were soft and gentle against yoongi’s.

something stops working again in his body, this time it hits his ribcage in the same exact moment yoongi smells the same scent he felt before. he wonders if namjoon didn’t put poison in his drink already.

yoongi keeps tracing the area of both his upper and lower lip and warmth spreads through his body, it feels familiar but at the same time, it’s something new.

it feels even warmer than the usual, warmer than the moment in which yoongi lights a fire on his palm. Hesperis chuckles behind him.

“shut up,” he tells her but his cheeks are blooming red.

☾

namjoon doesn’t bring it up.

kikimora stays behind his legs and he keeps the shop going and bringing yoongi tisanes, some of them containing herbs yoongi grows himself.

yoongi doesn’t bring it up, either.

he still works ’til late at night and he still lives with namjoon but since it happened – since that happened and yoongi, he swears, feels so stupid for not being able to even properly think about it in his head – Hesperis hasn’t stopped buzzing or laughing at him.

yoongi threatens her multiple times but she knows better. she knows yoongi would never hurt not even one of her petals and yoongi knows Hesperis can feel his emotion. she’s been his plant for three years now, so she just keeps on laughing so often yoongi doesn’t even try and stop her, at some point.

yoongi doesn’t bring it up.

he keeps working and helping namjoon treating whoever comes into the shop and yet he can’t help but feel something different and stare a little more.

they’re fine.

namjoon doesn’t seem to remember, probably because of the fairy dust. yet, ever since that happen, yoongi feels like his vision has become sharper. he starts noticing things he already knew about in a more attentive way and finds himself looking at things with eyes that wander on namjoon’s skin a little too much, with a breath that’s just a little too short.

(“what is that?” it’s morning when yoongi asks about the necklace dangling on namjoon’s bare chest. yoongi’s mouth is full of cereal and he has to force himself to keep chewing and not let his jaw drop. it’s morning and he already hates himself.

“what is what?” namjoon asks. he steps into the kitchen and reaches for the highest shelf where he keeps his cereal. the only thing namjoon can think of is that it’s not necessary. namjoon doesn’t have to do that. he never does that.

he usually snaps his fingers and the cereal box will start slowly levitate towards him, but today. oh, today he stretches his body, his back isn’t muscular but yoongi still catches the way the muscle flex as he tries reaching for the cereals. he also notices a mole right on his left shoulder blade and that’s the moment he tells himself he needs to stop.

“that,” yoongi says, pointing at the necklace with his chin once namjoon turns in his direction, the box now in his hand – yoongi’s eyes are lowered and he’s looking at the wooden bowl he’s cupping with one hand, at this point.

“oh. this?” namjoon takes in between his fingers the crystal. “it’s a crystal. green aventurine. for peace and vitality.”

“looks good on you,” yoongi conveys. then almost chokes on his milk. who says that. who in the fucking world says that. namjoon, however, doesn’t seem to notice him being weird for the hundredth time in the span of a week and he just laughs, running his hand through strands of blonde hair.

“i’ve always had it.”

“yeah. whatever. looks good,” and then yoongi’s on his feet, the bowl in the kitchen sink and he’s out of the door. yoongi can almost hear Hesperis laugh at him.)

he notices how gentle namjoon is with their clients, he starts finding funny how ever since namjoon discovered takeaway, mundane, unhealthy food he can’t stop craving it. sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night just to find him eating pizza with his vision still clouded from sleep.

sometimes, yoongi catches him while he’s focused on making something move with only the power of his mind, his sloppily cut fringe obscuring the top of his eyes. he’s almost about to make it when kikimora promptly steps into the room and he’s so happy to see her he ends up letting the thing fall. most of the times on his own feet. he never says anything, though, he just holds the cat in his arms and pets her head. when it happens, yoongi scoffs and shakes his head but his ribcage hurts a little.

more than anything, though, yoongi likes how two nights a week he comes back home and it’s impossible for him to feel namjoon’s presence in the house – he doesn’t hear his footsteps, doesn’t hear him humming lullabies to the stars swaying from the ceiling of his room – and he knows. every two nights a week, yoongi comes back home and can’t feel namjoon’s presence in the house, knowing exactly where to find him.

(yoongi slowly opens the door of their rooftop, hoping it won’t make too much noise. usually, it brushes against the concrete pavement when being opened but this time yoongi pays more attention and tries lifting the weight of the door. it works. he slides outside and the fresh air of the night kisses his nose and his cheeks, following him as he moves to his usual position. a composition of brick they made when they first moved in.

it’s not the most comfortable thing but yoongi doesn’t really mind. he sights namjoon’s shadows, the way he comfortably sits with his legs crossed right near the edge of the rooftop, his chin pointing upwards.

yoongi smiles and sits on the bricks, elbows on his thighs and a bad back posture. none of them say a word but the night is never quiet in the capital, even when you live on the top floor you can still hear the cars whizzing down the streets and the laughter of a youth filled with dreams and hope. yoongi loves it. he wouldn’t trade this place for anything. he wouldn’t trade his life for anything else in the world.

“i know you’re there,” namjoon suddenly says.

“yeah,” yoongi says. he’s not surprised. namjoon always knows.

“you can come here. you don’t disturb them.”

“it’s fine.”

“come. i know it makes your hate for magic decrease a bit.”

“first of all,” yoongi says but he’s already getting up from the brick wall. “i don’t hate magical things. second of all, you just keep getting more and more pretentious,” yoongilets his body go completely slack and he falls on his butt like a sack of hammers next to namjoon. he says namjoon is pretentious but he has to try his best not to look straight at his face. namjoon notices and laughs and yoongi can’t help but catch with the corner of his eyes how shinier the lights get.

“why are you acting like you don’t love this. look,” he says and then he’s turning his head in his direction and yoongi stares right back at him and his heart does something. he’s not sure what that is way too distracted by the way his stomach drops.

“pretty, aren’t they?” namjoon asks and yoongi can’t help but nod straight away. the stars on namjoon cheeks shine brighter when under the moon, they connect with the others through a thin glittery line and a constellation shows up on namjoon’s face. that’s how they manage to get stronger and increase their power, namjoon once told it.

the stars need the natural light of the night in order to keep connecting so deeply with him, in order to shine on his face and let him be the witch he is, namjoon explained. he told him it works exactly as it works for plants. “it’s like you’re watering the stars but you’re using moonbeams instead of water,” he had said.

yoongi had found the concept to be quite interesting. he had always known namjoon was connected with all of the elements, both to zenith and midnight, to spring and summer just as much as winter and autumn, but he always loved the moon dearly. namjoon is sitting under its glow and he’s shining more than ever. his plump lips curled into a smile, an expression of golden lashed calm showing on his face.

his small nose is pointed towards the night sky and the stars on his cheeks are fizzling with flashy shiny lights, blonde hair looking like they’re dripping in amber as the skies and its star reach closer to namjoon’s soul. yoongi’s heartbeat increases its speed. he thinks he’s going to be dazzled by all this sometimes but he’s not sure he’s going to mind.

namjoon points at the constellation. “they’re shining a lot, aren’t they?”

“yes.”

namjoon smiles, dimples showing on his honeyed skin. “that’s because i’m happy.”

“are you?”

“i’ve always been since i’ve arrived in the capital.”

yoongi nods. he agrees, he understands. he’s always been happy as well since he has arrived in the city of stars. since he started living and working with namjoon. that, he doesn’t say. he keeps his mouth shut and just keeps staring at the moon, the white lavender taste is sugar-coated and it’s sliding down his throat.)

yoongi has gotten used to it. he detects the perfume of flowers wherever he goes now, it’s always with him. the aroma gets so strong especially at night, when curled up in bed he starts calling his brain a stupid asshole for doing such things making him feel like he’s getting too hung up on namjoon, his lifetime friend and boss and for making it seem like he’s living in a field filled with blossoming florets. he doesn’t pay attention to it.

sometimes, when kikimora enters his room at night yoongi talks with her. he’s never done that but he starts when she keeps coming and stares at him with her green eyes, almost like she’s ready to listen to whatever yoongi has to say.

he asks her if maybe he’s going crazy and that’s why she never liked him the first place. kikimora stare for a few seconds more and then she hisses at him, but this time she doesn’t get out of the room.

she settles next to yoongi and yoongi doesn’t mind because that means namjoon will start looking for her when the morning comes and will wake him up sitting on his bed and tickling his hips.

yoongi usually kicks him out and namjoon usually always lets him do that but once the door is closed behind his back, yoongi smiles – just a little – in his pillow, eyes still sleepy and mind still in a haze.

other than that, he tries not to pay attention to the way he’s reacting to a stupid fucking peck on his lips and the more he does it, the more he tries to convince himself he’s just tired and dramatic, the more namjoon smiles at him and rubs his fingers on his hair in the greenhouse at night.

yoongi thinks he’s got this.

he smacks away his hand and tells him to stop making fun of his height – namjoon tells him he’s cute. the smell of flowers sweetly scratches against his throat –, he starts waking up earlier than him and avoiding breakfasts with namjoon that all of a sudden feels comfortable wearing only crystals on his chest and too short shorts.

he’s definitely got this. he does.

it’s late in the evening on a monday night and the capital is more awake than ever when namjoon makes a pattern of stars knock against one of yoongi’s greenhouse windows and every single one of yoongi beliefs shutters down.

whenever namjoon sends tiny stars towards the greenhouse, it usually implies nothing too urgent is going on but namjoon would still like him to go to the shop. maybe for an opinion, the answer to a question namjoon surprisingly doesn’t know the answer for.

yoongi looks at the pattern of stars and finds himself still magnified by how much they quiver and flicker into the night. then, one out of the group of the Venus Flytrap Sisters, the tiniest species of the many carnivorous plants yoongi keeps in his greenhouse, is biting down on his finger. not in an evil way, but hard enough for yoongi to jump and whine.

“god, i’m sorry. i didn’t notice you had this one left,” yoongi says, hurrying up and cutting off the last old small leaf. “there you go. all nice and clean, you’re looking all pretty, aren’t you,” he says rubbing his hands together and getting rid of the soil laying on his fingers. the Sisters start buzzing loudly and close their mouth all together, flattered. “i’m gonna get going. no, Lavander, kikimora is gonna come with me, i’m not that reckless. she’s here just because namjoon sent her, isn’t it,” yoongi says. kikimora, sitting right behind him with her tail slightly moving, hisses.

“i’ll pretend to be shocked,” yoongi says and gets out of the greenhouse, waiting for kikimora to get out and locking the door to prevent her from eating all of the plants.

the distance between the glass building and the shop isn’t much. there’s just meadow in between the two buildings and yoongi walks fast enough to quickly arrive and enter the store.

the smell of the incense hits him and yoongi scrunches his nose, his lips puckering.

namjoon doesn’t turn in his direction nor does he jolts, he just keeps sitting on the back of his heel, a few sticks of magical herbs are spread out around him. he used them and a few blades a grass, interlocking both of them and making them create a star-shaped figure on the floor.

namjoon, yoongi notices, must have done something to the purple lights they decide to install for the shop because they’re barely lightening the place. yoongi doesn’t mind. it’s nice, relaxing almost. vines are hanging from the ceiling, carefully placed into little wicker baskets and softly shaken by the wind entering from the only window existing in the shop that namjoon apparently chose to leave open.

as soon as namjoon moves one of his hand from one tip of the star to another, one of the light bulbs dangling off of the floor blows.

yoongi rolls his eyes and has to stop himself from scoffing. he should be used to this whole energy thing by now but he really, really isn’t. also, if namjoon makes something break because of this, namjoon solves the problem, so yoongi doesn’t interrupt him and avoids taking take a step forward.

he just waits for namjoon to emerge from the trance state he’s in. he stays still on the doorstep and manages to even regulate his breathing, trying to make it as calm as possible.

“come here,” namjoon says, at some point. “d’you remember the thing seokjin gave me? i realised just thirty minutes ago this is literally a compound that was waiting for someone to make an essential oil out of it. i need someone to test it on. you’re the only one that came in my mind.”

“because you’re a loser and i’m your only friend.”

“no. ’t’s because this is for aching backs and you’re a cranky old man trapped in a body of a twenty-one-year-old one.”

“okay, wow. slow down, petty ass.”

namjoon smiles and starts to open his eyes. his hands are laying down on his thigh and he puts the weight on that zone of the body as he very slowly raises from the ground. the spell didn’t look too difficult or too magic consuming, however, yoongi knows namjoon always prefers to be careful. it takes namjoon just a minute to straighten his whole body.

yoongi stares at the long black trousers namjoon’s wearing, his whole covered by the usual cloak he uses when staying in the shop and waits for him to say something. namjoon, eventually, talks or rather he points at the exam table and: “get your shirt off and get on your stomach.”

yoongi follows namjoon’s order without much complaining, getting closer to the table and takes off his coat, dropping it onto the ground. the shop isn’t cold, it never is. namjoon’s presence is so strong it warms the entire place. yoongi unbuttons his shirt and for some reason, his fingers aren’t responding well to his command and just keep shaking. he furrows his eyebrows, not really getting the reaction of his body.

this isn’t the first time he lets namjoon tests stuff on him, sometimes he had found himself with broken bones because of spells went wrong but it’s eleven in the evening anyway and he hasn’t gotten a decent session of sleep in Almighty knows how long, so it’s fine. it’s probably the weariness.

he blames it on that, unbuttoning the last button and slowly starting to lay down on the small straight bed in the middle of the shop, his back exposed to the air and his chest touching the surface of the table. meanwhile, the bones of his back crack. namjoon snorts.

“what?”

“nothing. it’s just that i couldn’t have asked for anyone better to test this on.”

yoongi gives him a middle finger even though namjoon isn’t really looking in his direction and hides his face in between his arms, crossed just a little bit above his head.

“just get on with it,” he says. 

the shop stays quiet for a few more instants before yoongi hears namjoon’s bare feet starting to walk on the creaking wooden floor. he also hears the noise of something – a tin, a container maybe – being opened and then there’s namjoon’s aura all around him.

it’s so strong yoongi feels like he can almost touch it, sign that namjoon is probably next to the table. yoongi’s first instinct is to move his head and look around him but namjoon doesn’t let him. he must have felt that. the uncertainty, he must have felt yoongi hesitate and now namjoon’s hand is on the back of his head, applying just enough pressure for yoongi to stay still.

“relax.”

“’t’s a little hard when you’re trying to choke me backwards.”

“what the fuck,” namjoon mumbles under his breath, taking off the ring made out of a tiny silvery skull. “alright,” namjoon closes his eyes trying to attract the positive energies humming while floating around in the shop and when they’re finally open again, he immediately starts massaging the back of yoongi’s neck. he tries to be as gentle as he can, both his thumb and his index finger delving into his body tissue for a few seconds. then, namjoon starts what it seems like a precise sequence of movements.

“relax,” he gives him this instruction only, his voice sounding stern.

if yoongi didn’t trust namjoon with his life he probably would think he was putting some sort of relaxing spell on him. namjoon knows he doesn’t need to do that with yoongi.

namjoon puts a little more pressure on the back of yoongi’s neck, fingers moving in a rotary motion as they dig into his pale flesh dotted by a few moles. he pushes the tip of his nimble fingers, easily spreading on yoongi’s skin, rubbing every spot he can reach until he detects the area right before his lower hairline more tensed. namjoon pauses just enough for yoongi to inhale properly. the second later, albeit with gentle touches, namjoon hits a nerve and yoongi can’t help the noise leaving his mouth.

it’s not quite a moan, it’s more like a whimper. his face, still hidden in between his arms, turns red immediately, all of the blood in his body rushes into his cheeks and to the tip of his fingers and he – he doesn’t know why. they’ve done this plenty of time. namjoon has loosened his body’s knots many times before, and yet now his touch makes him blush. he must be really fucking tired.

“there you go, now you’re relaxed,” namjoon announces after a few seconds and yoongi still feels traces of a smirk in his voice. “can we proceed?”

“whatever,” yoongi slurs, his reddened mouth pouting at nothing.

“i’ll take that as a yes.”

“whatever,” yoongi remarks.

namjoon raises his fingers from the grip he was keeping yoongi’s neck into and gets away for a second. yoongi almost groans in displeasure ‘cause that – that was nice. the contact, the feeling of smooth fingers on his naked skin, it felt nice, almost like someone was cuddling him and yoongi remembers this is a current thought he has.

he thinks about it every time namjoon gives him a massage or even just touches him.

namjoon is always warm.

yoongi, whose hands are always too cold and whose body’s temperature is always too low, loves that about him. one time, when yoongi had stayed in the cold for too long, namjoon even had stars rolling down his spine in the hope of helping with yoongi’s red nose, his frozen hands and stopping the way yoongi’s whole body and jaw were shaking in unison.

the spell had tired namjoon out so much he had fallen asleep on the green leathered couch right after, right next to yoongi – namjoon’s left arm cocooned around yoongi’s hip. for that very reason, it only happened once. still, they both remember it perfectly and yoongi still treasures the moment, locked in the most hidden spot of his mind.

“there’s nothing much i have to do here,” namjoon begins to explain. “i just have to apply this and hope it works on your back, can i proceed?” namjoon asks but his voice is much gentler now, much softer. yoongi groans and hopes namjoon understands that is the closest thing to a yes that’s apparently willing to leave his mouth.

“alright,” namjoon says, tone still low and then his palm is against yoongi’s back. it’s just his right one, at first. it stays in the same area for a few instants, a light touch pressing on yoongi’s corresponding shoulder blade.

the first thing yoongi notices is how the skin results too cold to belong to namjoon. the second thing he realises, thoughts still blurred, is it must be because is soaked in oil. the third thing he realises is how namjoon’s palm – wide, soft, oh-so-gentle – is slowly starting to climb down his back just to suddenly be on yoongi’s spine. yoongi feels a warmth starting to spread right where namjoon’s hand was a second before. it’s weird.

“feels okay?” namjoon says – whispers.

“yeah. it,” he stops, clearing his voice and using his tongue to wet his lips. yoongi searches for the right words to break through the silence and explain what he’s feeling but doesn’t find anything barely close to resemble how light he’s feeling, so: “yeah, feels good,” he drawls, words sliding down out of his mouth like his tongue has a layer of oil making it slippery.

“feeling lightheaded?”

“uh, –i, yeah.”

“that’s probably ‘cause you’re also tired. can you tell me what exactly is that you’re feeling?”

yoongi knows the process. namjoon tests it, yoongi explains it. somehow, though, he can’t make his tongue answer to his commands. yoongi feels himself melt under namjoon’s tone of voice, under his touch and his limbs feel numb. what he promptly thinks about is that maybe the oil is drugged.

maybe seokjin is trying to kill some of namjoon’s patients and take the rest for him.

there’s a small section of his brain, the one that’s still rational, that lets him know he’s being delusional but that’s alright, yoongi thinks, ‘cause he’s unable to bring himself to say out loud what he’s thinking. plus, it feels good after all. that’s what he wants to tell namjoon.

he wants to say it’s like he feels every single muscle and nerve stretch out but every word comes out like a whimper or a sigh. it’d be quite embarrassing if he wasn’t this relaxed and wasn’t constantly spacing out but he is so it doesn’t really matter. namjoon notices, shushing him as soon as he notices the way yoongi struggles to talk.

“it’s okay. i guess you can tell me later,” he says and then namjoon’s wet fingers start moving again and they begin to trace a line on his spine.

yoongi can feel himself shiver and wonders if namjoon sees the way his skin reacts to the goosebumps, wonders if namjoon thinks his pale skin looks pretty under the violet light of the studio, wonders if namjoon is being gentler with him than he’d be with any other patient.

“you must really like this,” namjoon says and yoongi sighs. that’s all he does. he sighs and then his spine starts to feel warmer too, like every vertebrae are going back to its place. yoongi feels his nipples stiffen and he has the urge to squirm under namjoon touch.

“don’t move,” namjoon says. strict. gentle. yoongi’s fingers grip a part of his arms hidden from namjoon’s gaze and pinch it a little but he doesn’t have the time to think that maybe he’s pinching too hard, that maybe it’s gonna bruise because and maybe he’s hurting himself because both of namjoon’s hands are now on his back, putting so much pressure on his back for a second he feels like he’s being.

it lasts a few seconds but it’s not like yoongi was necessarily minding the feeling. he knows it probably shouldn’t feel as good as it felt but his senses are overdeveloped now and he’s aware of everything more than ever.

yoongi can feel every inch of his skin namjoon is touching, every thin puff of breath leaving his mouth reaching down on the skin of his spine. it feels so good yoongi can’t even bring himself to breathe normally. at some point yoongi wonders if he’s even breathing at all and he feels something moving in his chest, his heart raising its speed, his skin being oversensitive and shivering even more.

“there. you can be good when you want to, can’t you hyung,” namjoon says and that’s all it takes. it’s like all at once every single of yoongi’s sense is awaken.

his eyes, those have been shut for the whole time, are now open wide and is breath is harsher. he feels one of the bones in his back crack as soon as he sits up all of a sudden, his naked back hit by air and his mint hair following the movement. resting at the bottom of his stomach, yoongi has a feeling he can’t quite recognise but that’s still making him panic.

something scratches against his throat and namjoon is looking at him, looking so worried he makes yoongi worry even more. yoongi would like to explain to him what’s going on, he’d like to tell him everything is fine he would like to say he knows exactly what’s happening but he – he doesn’t. he looks at namjoon for just a split second, just enough to catch how his filled lips are parted. the stars on his cheeks are glowing alarmingly and lighting up his cheeks.

“hyung?” he calls and there’s too much concern in his voice. yoongi looks at him. yoongi thinks namjoon he’s absolutely beautiful and he wants to throw up. he stands on his feet as quickly as he can and runs towards the back of the shop, straight to the bathroom, hoping namjoon won’t follow.

he does, though. of course he does. namjoon is always around when yoongi is sick, always hoping he can be helpful in any sort of way. this isn’t the case. yoongi feels like his ribcage is ripping apart and he doesn’t know how to explain it, let alone how to ask namjoon for help so the only thing yoongi can do, at this point, is shutting the door behind his back.

his hands quickly find their way to the sink and they hold onto it his prominent, cracked by the cold knuckles turn white and namjoon is knocking on the door but yoongi feels like shit and every sound around him is muffled. then namjoon says his name again. yoongi, yoongi i’m sorry. he says. he starts talking about how he shouldn’t have tried it on him, he didn’t know it could have negative effects, he swears he didn’t feel it. i’m sorry. please let me help you. and that’s when it happens.

yoongi’s entire body bends over the sink and it’s impossible for him to contain the shaking force of it. he trembles so much he loses the grip on the sink for a second and his head is spinning and his stomach hurts like hundreds of tiny little needles are piercing through it.

what he senses in his chest isn’t pain, it’s more like a sting in its insides like something is blooming in his chest and he can feel every bit of the process. breathing isn’t hard but his entire lungs aren’t filled up with normal air. the smell is too sweet. too sugary.

yoongi doesn’t like it but that’s not really what he’s thinking about because his head starts spinning wildly and he hears his body telling him to do just one thing. just one. so, yoongi does. he opens his mouth and hopes it means that whatever he’s breathed, whatever he has eaten is going to come out.

he parts his lips and coughs loudly. then, just like the feeling has come, it goes away. all at once, leaving him confused. yoongi stills for a second, eyes still closed. he waits for something else to happen, for his knees to kneel on the cold pavement, for his stomach to twist and starting to make him vomit, for his fingers to start shaking again.

nothing happens, though, and everything stays still for a few seconds, leaving him with only laboured breathing and the skin of his face covered in cold sweat.

yoongi doesn’t understand. he swears it was like he was about to die and then he coughed and everything was gone. it lasted less than a second. yoongi didn’t have the time to blink. he felt like throwing up but nothing liquid came out of his mouth. there’s just a weird, too sweet flavour in his mouth. it tastes like lavender and it’s making him sick.

he furrows his eyebrows and starts opening his eyes – slowly, just like namjoon has taught him – because his head still feels heavy and the taste on his tongue is too candied and it’s making him sick once again. yoongi looks at him in the mirror and his skin is pale, only his cheeks are blooming red because of the rush of adrenaline and fear and his hair is ruffled just like he has come out of a fight with someone three times his size.

he blinks at himself, breath still accelerated. maybe he imagined it. maybe the perfume of the oil really was a narcotic, a poison maybe. maybe he just hallucinated but then he stops staring in the mirror and his gaze shifts to the sink.

the static noise of nothing is the only thing filling the air of the bathroom when yoongi stays silent for a second but the grip of his fists loosens. yoongi squints his eyes a few times, feeling ridiculous but hoping the image will change. it doesn’t. yoongi breathes in and gets away from the sink, getting closer to the upper little window in the bathroom. he presses the heels of his palms against his eyes.

“fuck,” he says. “fuck. fuck.”

“yoongi? yoongi, please open the door.”

yoongi’s throat starts to sting again as soon as he hears namjoons’ voice.

“fuck,” he repeats under his breath and wonders if he will be able to delete from his head the image of a lavender petal laying on the sink. a petal coming out from his mouth. just one, yoongi thinks. it was just one petal. maybe it was a mistake. maybe he can handle it.

“yoongi,” namjoon calls his name like he’s about to cry. yoongi looks at the door. lavender has always been namjoon’s favourite flower.

☾

hoseok sits in front of him, a thin line of smoke coming out of his mouth. taehyung, wrapped in a clearly too big for him beige sweater, raises from the couch, golden eyebrows furrowed and sits next to yoongi, framing his calf under his butt and sitting on it.

yoongi catches a glimpse of taehyung’s puppy ears popping out from his messy ash blond hair. his eyes are still puffy from sleep. he thinks he’s cute. taehyung’s lived with hoseok since yoongi first moved to the capital and was kind of – very much. a lot. – shocked when he saw he had a tail. hoseok laughed and that day yoongi became aware of the fact that there were hybrids in the capital. free hybrids, hybrids that worked, hybrids that were happy. you didn’t talk about them in the city of stars so it took a while for yoongi to realise they weren’t– freaks. they didn’t wish for all humans and magicians to die. just a few of them – and yoongi couldn’t really blame them.

moreover, taehyung is really kind, has always been. it didn’t take a lot for yoongi to get used to his vibrant way of being nor to the fact that somehow, sometimes taehyung needed affection. sometimes he’d say hi and then sniff yoongi’s neck for a few seconds. at the beginning he was nice and polite, asking him to please pat his head and yoongi remembers looking over at hoseok thinking maybe his hybrid was actually not right in his head. hoseok would just nod, smiling and mouthing a go ahead. now that they’re friends, though, he doesn’t ask anymore. whenever he needs cuddles, he just tells him yoongi to give them to him, hyung.

“so,” taehyung says. “tell us all your problems and while you do that pat my head, thank you very much”, then he rests the side of his face on yoongi’s shoulder. it must be comfortable and yoongi knows the sweater he’s wearing, the black one made out of velvet, is one taehyung’s favourite. taehyung doesn’t address it, though, and just waits for him to talk. it takes a while for yoongi to eventually get to the point. he stutters when he shares the memory of namjoon kissing him hoseok snorts and yoongi gives him a middle finger, then proceeds to tell him to shut up.

“did you like it?” taehyung asks, his eyes closed.

“what?”

“the kiss. did you like it?”

yoongi changes the subject. hoseok smiles again and takes another drag from the cigarette. yoongi goes on, telling them of how different it felt, how it made him feel weird. how it felt familiar. when he stutters once again, right before starting to talk about the day of the massage, he asks hoseok to hand him a cigarette.

“so. you kissed him, this time? oh, wait. no. fuck. did it get sexual? did you blow him? or did he blow you? he doesn’t really seem the t–”

yoongi frenetically reaches for the lighter and lights the cigarette, inhaling sharply from it. “oh for fuck’s sake, dude. stop. i’m–” yoongi would like to sound annoyed but really, he only sounds embarrassed.

“what! what did you guys do, then?”

“nothing,” yoongi murmurs and his cheeks are burning. taehyung is looking at him and his ears move. he must be thinking he’s cute. yoongi hates it.

“then why are you so worried, hyung? what did you do?” hoseok asks, bending his shoulder and resting his elbows on his knees.

“it didn’t. we didn’t do anything. i felt sick after he did that to me, like massaging and shit.”

“fuck,” taehyung raises his head and almost hits yoongi’s face with his ear. “does this mean seokjin gave you guys something poisoned? doesn’t sound like him at all.”

“yeah,” yoongi says. he exhales another stream of smoke and taehyung scrunches his nose. “that’s what i thought at first but. i don’t think that’s it. i. it felt weird when he started, like. telling me stuff. i had to run to the bathroom when he,” yoongi laughs but it’s hysterical. “when he told me i was good and, yeah. stuff. you know how namjoon is. he’s gentle, he’s kind. he was making me feel weird and when i went to the bathroom i. i puked. a petal. a lavender petal,” he concludes. there’s a heavy silence settling into the living room, now. yoongi inhales the smoke and tries to avoid hoseok’s gaze, now fixated on him. the sharp feature of his honeyed skin is even more highlighted by the way he clenches his jaw.

“what?”

“yeah. that’s –that’s namjoon’s favourite flower.”

“fuck,” hoseok says and he leans back on the couch. his eyes are wider now and he runs his hand through his orange, healthy hair.

“fuck, do you know what that means, hyung?”

“i did but i wasn’t too sure. we don’t have that where i come from.”

“you can’t get hanahaki?”

“no. i mean, i’m sure you can but because everyone is really concentrated on working, feeling are more… rational. you need to be methodical, there. if someone doesn’t love you back it’s not a big deal. most of the time you get married ‘cause you have a slight interest in the other person, not because you love them. but even when that’s the case, even when you fall in love, rationality is what gets to us first. that’s why it’s just a myth. you hear about it because people in the capital get it a lot but it seemed absurd to me as well. this whole disease seems just surreal.”

“did you tell him?” hoseok asks, he stands up and goes sitting on the armrest of the other small couch, the one where yoongi and taehyung are snuggling.

“no. no, but i need to,” he says. cigarette ashes fall into the ashtray. “i need to ‘cause he called seokjin. i had to tell him something once i got out of the bathroom so i told him i puked. like, proper vomit, not a petal. he called seokjin. in the middle of the night. he was freaking out, he just. he looked so worried and sounded so mad, i,” yoongi shakes is head and closes his eyes, pressing his ring and little finger on his temple, careful not to burn himself with the tip of the cigarette.

“it could fuck up our business but i couldn’t. i didn’t know, i guess. i heard about it, yes, but i just saw one petal and thought that maybe it could have been something else. i’m the one that talks with petals but that one. it didn’t. like, it didn’t buzz or anything. it felt like it was already dead. like it fell off of a plant but i don’t feel it. in my body, i mean. i don’t feel anything. i’d sense a fucking plant if there was one stuck in my chest.”

“you should get yourself checked, hyung. this. this is serious. or at least, it could get really serious,” hoseok says, a hand on his shoulder and a look on his face that yoongi doesn’t particularly like.

it’s the same namjoon had when yoongi came out of the bathroom.

“i will,” he says. he inhales the smoke again and for a second, he naively, disparately hopes it burns down whatever it’s growing in his chest. “i will, but i need to tell him first,” he says.

that is, in fact, what he does. it takes him a few days to gather the courage. for a few days, the only thing he does is wondering how namjoon might react. he wonders if namjoon is going to think he’s weird, if he’s going to interrupt working with him and for a while, he even wonders if namjoon knows at all what hanahaki is and worries about how he’s going to explain it in case namjoon doesn’t. yoongi also wonders if that means he’s enamoured with namjoon, now, but he shoos the thought away as soon as it comes. it’s stupid, anyway.

it’s late at night when he enters the shop and namjoon is scribbling down something on the notebook. the large, black one he always keeps on the counter. his eyes snap in his direction as soon as he hears him step in and he closes the notebook. he adjusted the cloak on his shoulder and steps out from behind the counter.

“hyung,” he says. “everything okay?”

yoongi would like to reassure him. for a second, he wishes he could just make fun of him and tell him to stop being a dad. that he’s fine. that he was just walking by, maybe going home already but as soon as he steps into the shop and looks at him, he can’t help but notice how under the cloak he’s wearing a large yellow shirt and his blue overalls. he looks cute. he looks tired. yoongi feels his throat starting to do again that weird scratching thing.

he sobs. “yeah,” he says and it doesn’t sound okay at all. “i, uhm. i need to tell you something,” yoongi is looking down at the tip of his black shoes. “i, uhm. do you mind if i. sit? yeah,” he says but he’s already heading towards the table that sits in the centre of the room, the same he almost died on just a few days before.

namjoon doesn’t say much, he just follows him with his gaze and slowly approaches him. yoongi can’t bring himself to look him in the eye when namjoon enters his personal space.

“what’s up?”

yoongi raises an eyebrow. “what’s up? where did you learn this from, now?”

namjoon’s stars light on his cheeks and he mumbles something. “stop making fun of me whenever i say something that mundanes say.”

“i just think it’s funny. it’s not like it doesn’t suit you, but–”

“okay, i’m sorry. here we go,” namjoon clears his throat. “what is happening, min yoongi-hyung, son of the city of stars and guardian of the flowers? has the Almighty showed in all Its greatness to you to communicate a divine message? if that’s the case, you shall tell me.”

yoongi stares at him and then proceeds to shake his head. “fucking hell, you’re so dramatic,” yoongi rubs his face and his laugh is silent but still better than nothing. it seems to calm namjoon down a bit.

“so, what is it?”

yoongi’s legs swing in the air and he fidgets with his finger for a while, feeling namjoon’s gaze on him.

“i lied to you,” he doesn’t even try to dance around it. he just tells him. straight away. his voice is too low but namjoon catches the sentence anyway.

“what? what do you mean?”

“remember when i. i told you that i puked? a few days ago, i mean.”

“do you mean when i almost died of a heart attack because you wouldn’t open the door and you stopped making noises? yes. yes, hyung, i remember.”

yoongi doesn’t sound alarmed thanks to the thin line of sarcasm in namjoon’s voice. it makes everything look and sound and feel a little less weird.

“yeah, that. so. that’s not. what happened. technically.”

“you’re confusing me.”

“yeah. so. i’m just gonna get straight to the point, alright?”

“alright.”

“so,” yoongi’s eyes are still fixated on the floor. “i don’t know if you know what this is, but i. i might have hanahaki,” he should probably add because of you, but he doesn’t. the words get stuck in his throat just like the petal did a few days before.

“oh,” is what namjoon says, at first. then: “oh, fuck, hyung,” and that’s when yoongi realises namjoon knows exactly what hanahaki is. of course he does.

“yeah.”

“oh for fuck’s sake. how couldn’t i fucking tell? i’m sorry i couldn’t tell,” he says and he sounds so concerned, his honey coated skin glows under the light of the shop and his eyebrows are all scrunched up. yoongi feels like he doesn’t deserve any of the worry showing on his face and his stomach twists at the thought. “how bad is it. did something in the oil trigger it? maybe the smell? did it smell like a certain type of flower? i can’t remember, shit. did you already vomit? fuck, you should’ve told me earlier, yoongi.”

it’s instinctive the way namjoon’s hands found their way to yoongi’s knees, gripping them.

it’s done in a protective, caring way but it does no good.

actually, it worsens the scenario for yoongi and namjoon opens his mouth and talks about something that sounds about yoongi not having to worry, that it’s fine, that they’re going to sort everything out and he looks both so worried but calm, like he already has a solution for this, like he can handle anything when yoongi isn’t feeling great and it makes yoongi feel both worried and calm as well and all of a sudden the weight of namjoon’s palm against his knee is heavier and he can feel the skin burn where he’s touching them no matter if there a layer of jeans’ cloth over it and then his throat hurts and his chest tightens and suddenly he knows – he knows – he should open his mouth but it’s stupid and disturbing and he hates having to bend to the feeling without even being able to put up a fight but namjoon’s touch is so gentle and his hair is messy and his mouth the same one that kissed him the same one that feels so soft and warm is now hanging open and the stars on his face are dancing ‘cause they do that when namjoon is focused and yoongi thinks it’s cute yoongi thinks is head is spinning and he knows all of namjoon’s attention is focused on yoongi and it’s overwhelming it makes everything in his chest rip and makes it harder for him to breathe and now the only thing yoongi can do is move quickly namjoon’s hand from where they’re sitting and then the touch is gone but his lips are already parted and he’s couching coughs a petal and suddenly he’s breathing again.

he looks in front of him and he verifies that no matter how he pushed namjoon’s hands away, no matter how they weren’t close to yoongi ‘cause the petal still managed to land nowhere else other than the back of namjoon’s hand.

yoongi thinks he really fucking hates his life.

namjoon stares at the petal for a second. “is this a lavender one?”

“now, that. that was embarrassing.”

“wait.”

yoongi knows namjoon knows because namjoon not only is smart, he has studied for becoming a healer and of course – of course – he knows not only what hanahaki is, he also knows what it means if someone spits out your favourite fucking flower. as if the whole situation wasn’t already mortifying enough.

“yeah, that’s. yes, yourfavourite flower. that means. well, whatever, you know what that means,” he says and then he drops his head, hoping this whole demoniac situation will end soon so that he will be able to go back to being a seething mass of self-loathe and insecurities.

he just wants namjoon to say something. anything. he’d accept anything. having namjoon yelling at him telling him he was crazy and that he needed to get the fuck out of their shop? that’d be okay. everything would be better than him not saying anything. yoongi raises his gaze for a second only to find namjoon still staring at the petal.

“okay,” namjoon says, eventually. yoongi has to force himself to stop the relieved sigh sitting on his lungs. “then,” namjoon starts again, almost like he’s weighing every word coming out of his mouth. “does this mean that maybe i shouldn’t touch you anymore? if that. i mean, if that makes you feel better? i don’t. i feel like that could help, hyung.”

“what?” yoongi says. he was expecting so many questions, so many doubts and yet the only thing namjoon was aiming for was an immediate solution. yoongi realises once again that that’s probably why he’s a marked magician.

“i mean!” namjoon looks embarrassed when he notices yoongi not answering straight away. it makes yoongi confused. namjoon should be freaking out. he should be at least surprised and yet: “i mean, of course that’s not like, a solution. we will set an appointment. i don’t. i don’t really know a lot about this so i can’t. i can’t really help you. but maybe, meanwhile, i was just suggesting that i shouldn’t touch you. of course we will go to a doctor. that. this wasn’t a final solution. the fact that maybe i shouldn’t touch is just, like. it’s just –just something.”

“something,” yoongi repeats.

“yeah,” namjoon whispers and his cheeks light up with rays of stars.

“no,” yoongi says and it’s probably the wrong answer.

“no?”

“yeah, that. the thing about not touching me. i didn’t tell you this because we need to stop. you know. talking or whatever,” he mumbles. it’s definitely the wrong answer. “it means i lied to you. it means i’m telling you ‘cause you should call seokjin. he’s our number one sponsor, we can’t lose him. if he thinks we’re saying his stuff is shit when clearly, it isn’t –it might put our business in trouble.”

“okay, but. you’re not fine. what do we do.”

“nothing. it’s just a few petals. they’re going to die on their own.”

“i know what this is and its effects but it’s not. this involves surgery, hyung. i don’t even know how to treat this because it’s a medical thing, not a healer one. there’s probably something i can do but it’s gonna take time and how – how can you say that the petals are just gonna go away? we don’t even know what is it that we’re talking about.”

“i know.”

yoongi doesn’t.

“are you sure?”

“yes.”

yoongi isn’t.

“does it hurt?”

“no,”

it’s a lie.

“they’re just a few petals, joon. they’re gonna fade away,” he says.

yoongi is almost sure that is going to happen. except, it doesn’t.

every cup of herbs namjoon brings him tastes sourer and every time namjoon touches him even just by mistake yoongi has to slide into the bathroom and he has to his mouth, letting the petal fall off from his tongue. sometimes it hurts his chest, sometimes it doesn’t. sometimes it just gets really bad and the taste makes him sick to the stomach.

namjoon doesn’t really say anything but yoongi can see how much he’s trying to both not make things weird and still not say certain things or touch him whatsoever. yoongi hates it. he appreciates what namjoon does but he misses him and it’s like something changed and they’re not as genuine with each other as they used to be.

if this is the situation now, with yoongi technically not even being confirmed a hanahaki case, he doesn’t even want to imagine what’s going to happen after.

what is namjoon going to do? stop looking at him in the eye? yoongi feels like he’s going mad when he notices that even kikimora seems to be gentler with him.

he doesn’t remember the last time she hissed at him. sometimes yoongi even looks at her straight in the eye, knowing she hates it and the crafty little devil just gets closer and starts rubbing her face on yoongi’s calf. she starts doing it so often yoongi gets used to it and it’s –it’s absurd. he’s grown up around magic and still, he can’t believe he gets used to kikimora acting like a normal cat.

“could you please open up, sir?” yoongi asks, snapping out of his stream of thoughts. it’s morning, the soft light of the early sun kisses the floor and the man that’s currently lying on the table in the shop sighs and opens his mouth. it’s kinda scary, actually. yoongi’s never really liked vampires.

“i’m sorry if i ask, sir, but i need to understand the background better and understand its seriousness. how did you manage to break your fang?”

the vampire stiffens and for a second yoongi thinks he’s going to talk about something bloody. a murder. his fang getting stuck in someone’s throat. he expects it, he does, but then: “i slammed my face against a wall.”

yoongi’s hand stops opening the vampire’s mouth and for a second he leaves his hand hanging in the air. vampire’s fangs aren’t that fragile.

“i’m old, alright?” the vampire says, almost like he’s reading his mind. yoongi panics for a second – what if he’s actually reading his mind? “and no, no i’m not reading your mind. it’s just that you all have stereotypes about us and i can tell what you’re thinking. i had surgery, i wanted my fangs to be covered in gold and they told me they could do that but it was going to weaken them. i paid a shit ton of money and then i slam into a wall and there you go. broken.”

yoongi doesn’t find weird the fact the vampire wanted golden fangs: it’s a thing among the vampire community in the city of stars. what isn’t common, though, is going around slamming against walls like it’s an easy thing to do when you’re a vampire with keen senses.

anyway, yoongi stops caring about it quite quickly. he just turns his back and grabs a little box with extracted of Feverfew and gently starts applying that onto the missing part of the tooth, his other hand is busy keeping busy the vampire’s mouth wide open.

yoongi’s being careful not to get stung by the other fang when namjoon, who was scribbling something on the notebook just until a minute before, raises his head all of a sudden and: “i booked an appointment at the hospital for you. it’s in two days.”

it takes yoongi a moment to understand what he’s being told. when he realises, his eyebrows are furrowing and he shoots a gaze at namjoon. he doesn’t know why he felt the need to tell him right there, in the shop, while yoongi is dealing with a patient. he doesn’t even know why he feels so surprised.

maybe the fact that namjoon was so worried he booked an appointment before he could, maybe the fact that namjoon started talking out of fucking nowhere and he was startled but he is. he is so surprised he ends up with the tip of his thumb cut open from the fang and a stripe of blood starts flowing out of it.

then, it starts to burn.

then, the vampire’s nostrils expand.

yoongi must widen his eyes because he doesn’t miss how the vampire sighs and rolls his eyes, the grey skin of his forehead frowning.

“don’t worry, son. i’m used to it. i’m old, i told you. also, your smell is too sweet. smells like flowers. it’s weird. i don’t really like it. how is it possible for blood to smell like flowers, son?”

yoongi ignores the last part of the sentence and starts bubbling uncoordinated words and apologies: “i’m sorry, sir. i’m really, deeply sorry. this usually doesn’t happen, we try to provide our best service for our clients, this isn’t a regular thing at all. i’m very sorry sir, that was disrespectful of me. let me just finish applying this. also, this visit is free for you, sir. it won’t happen again,” yoongi tries to shoot his meanest look to namjoon and hopes it works. it does, though, because namjoon doesn’t dare to move until the vampire is out and he says sorry at least twice the times yoongi already said it.

“the fuck was that, namjoon,” he says as soon and shuts the door behind them. the nests of flowers hanging from the ceiling are shaken by the angry flow of air that enters the shop.

“could you please hand me the bandages, please,” yoongi sounds annoyed and namjoon looks at him for a split second before reaching behind the counter and throwing at him the pack of bandages. yoongi catches it and lays it down on the table.

“no, wait. come here,” namjoon says. yoongi has the feeling namjoon is annoyed as well and that annoys him even more.

“what?” yoongi says, trying to open with his teeth the pack. namjoon walks towards him with a heavy foot and he takes the pack away from yoongi.

“what are you doing.”

“you’re bleeding because of a fang. it must hurt. let me do this.”

yoongi isn’t even looking at him and still his throat starts hurting like hell. “i can manage,” yoongi wanted to sound serious and strict but all he sounds like is like a baby throwing a fist.

“yeah, whatever. hand me your hand.”

yoongi obeys and doesn’t say much more, he just observes how quickly namjoon cleans the cut with just the bare tip of his finger and how a nice warmth spreads through it.

“it’s going to burn until tomorrow,” namjoon says. yoongi knows it already. he has studied too and yet he lets him talk and explain to him things he’s familiar with.

“you should have been more careful. i didn’t say anything weird.”

“well, you talked about the hospital. that’s a private matter. i was surprised you said something in front a client. it’s unprofessional and not like you.”

“we knew the guy,” namjoon says, wrapping the bandage around yoongi’s finger.

“we knew the guy? what the fuck is up with you today. he’s a client.”

“he comes here once a week for a new injury, you’re overreacting,” namjoon yanks the bandage and yoongi howls.

“what the fuck,” he moves his finger away from namjoon and looks at him, his eyebrows are furrowed but he lowered his tone that now sounds deeper. namjoon knows exactly that yoongi never screams when he’s mad.

“that doesn’t mean i want him to know i’m going to fucking flower-vomit in a few weeks, namjoon. what the fuck, really,” yoongi says.

“why not? so that you can ignore this problem like you’ve done with all the other problems in your life?” namjoon’s words are harsh and the stars on his cheeks are turning into a deeper shade of color. it resembles red.

yoongi’s jaw goes slack and he can feel his mint hair brushing against his eyebrows as soon as he raises them up. yoongi finds himself being surprised.

namjoon does this, sometimes.

sometimes, when he starts feeling too much inside of him and all the magic energy clusters, he loses control of his words and thoughts and starts saying stuff with the only purpose of hurting those who are listening.

yoongi knows this problem was caused by his parents and that why he’s always able to manage it, but this time the words hurt not only his pride and his ribcage even. it feels like is ripping again. yoongi wonders for how much he’s going to have to endure this.

“listen to me very closely, namjoon,” yoongi says. his tone doesn’t change, his body doesn’t move. “if i want to ignore something, i’m going to ignore it. if i want to not think about something that might bring me death, then i’m not going to think about it. you think it’s stupid? i think it’s self-preservation and you don’t get to say a word about this. it’s none of your business, dude. none of your fucking business, alright?” he grabs the bandages, hoping he can storm out of the room but namjoon- he doesn’t let him.

with a movement of his hand namjoon’s lures the pack in his direction, slams it against two of the walls of the shop, against one of the lavender nests and finally on the counter, making half of the receipts and the notebook fall onto the ground. he misses the glass flasks by just an inch.

yoongi’s eyebrows stay raised, looking unimpressed. the stars on namjoon’s cheeks are lighting up and shutting down intermittently.

“wow,” there’s dry sarcasm coating the word. “no, i mean it. wow. what was that supposed to mean, now.”

namjoon doesn’t answer, he just looks at him and he looks so small all of a sudden even though he’s taller and broader than him. his chest is rising and falling but he doesn’t break the contact with yoongi’s gaze, fists tight.

“alright,” yoongi says. he breathes in as much air as he can and then crosses his arms, his voice not sounding as husky as before. “are you done with this shit show now, joon-ah?” he sighs as a sign he’s not mad, nor scared. he was, for a tiny, short second, but he’s not anymore. deep down he already knows why namjoon is acting like that.

he must feel responsible, he must feel like it’s his fault and it is, technically. he didn’t make yoongi develop feelings for him forcefully, though, and there’s no reason why yoongi would ever blame it on namjoon and then yoongi’s thoughts run again at the place where namjoon’s comes from.

he knows his family is absolutely mad, knows they’ve always made him feel guilty for whatever he did, mocked his mark even.

yoongi isn’t mad. he just waits for namjoon to calm down as well. the petals in his chest stay at their place and then namjoon’s shoulders deflate and his gaze drops to the ground.

“fuck. i’m sorry, hyung. i’m really –i’m really sorry,” he says, taking a step forward him. “fuck, fuck. you’re right. i don’t know why i’ve told you when he was there, that was. i don’t know, fucking stupid? i guess. i was afraid i was gonna forget. i didn’t want to forget so i told you as soon as it came to my mind.”

yoongi looks at him and his lungs shake.

“i’m sorry. i’m just on the edge, i’m. it’s–”  namjoon cuts the sentence but yoongi knows what namjoon was about to say.

he knows this, – his reactions, the way he says sorry, the way his hands shake a little too often –, all of this is always about guilt.

he knows namjoon feels constantly trapped in a cage made out of disgrace and regret, knows whenever he touches its bars, he gets burned and scolded by his parents. yoongi knows it as well as he knows it took him such a long time to learn to talk without being afraid of them.

yoongi knows, so he sighs and looks at the way namjoon is now a little curved on himself and the stars on his cheeks have finally calmed down.

he physically feels the petal traveling all the way from his chest up to his throat and landing on his tongue.

he won’t do this again in front of namjoon, so he just swallows it back.

that’s probably not the right thing to do ‘cause it hurts is throat and it tastes like dirt. there’s a rush of pain when the flower brushes against his entrails once again. yoongi endures it. it’s not his priority right now, not really.

“come here,” yoongi’s voice sounds raspy.

namjoon’s brown eyes have smudged makeup all over them and his gaze screams confusion. all yoongi can do is smiling at him, even if with just the left corner of his mouth. it hurts yoongi to see how his eyes look glassy, now.

“come here,”, he repeats and eventually, namjoon does. he steps in front of yoongi and it’s just one second later the moment when he’s wrapping his arms around yoongi, bending his shoulders just a little.

“i’m so sorry, hyung. about what i said. i’m sorry.”

“yeah,” yoongi says, voice raspy. “i know. i’m sorry as well. it’s okay. it’s okay,” he says. his ribcage shakes as he rubs namjoon’s back and he doesn’t dare to touch him more than he should.

namjoon sniffles and lays his forehead against yoongi’s neck for just a second. then, he probably remembers and suddenly gets away from him – his hands wandering on yoongi’s hip for just a second more.

“let’s just get this solved out,” namjoon says. he wipes his nose with the back of his hand, rubbing the skin and a few of the stars on it. “it’s going to be alright. it is, hyung,” and it sounds like he’s telling that more to himself than to anyone else. “let’s go back to work,” he whispers. “i’m going to use the bathroom for a second, ‘cause. you know” he gestures to his face and then he’s turning his back. yoongi smiles: when namjoon’s turns around, a contrail of stardust follows him.

☾

yoongi looks at namjoon and it’s almost like he can feel something twitching constantly in his stomach. that is the truth, indeed. this is different, though. this is stupid. it really is stupid, but yoongi can’t help the way he feels himself pout when namjoon smiles at him and hands him in the backpack.

“it’s just for a few days,” namjoon says and it sounds bittersweet to yoongi’s ears. plus, namjoon was aiming to sound as convincing as possible but that didn’t happen and that makes yoongi feel even sadder. yoongi watches the way namjoon cocoons himself a little more inside his cloak and nods. the night would be dark if it weren’t for the stars on his cheeks and the light filtering through hoseok’s house windows right behind yoongi.

“i know.”

“then why do you look so worried?”

“i’m not–– i’m not worried. i’m just,” sad. he’s going to miss him and this decision still suck.

(yoongi is putting his shirt back on while still cursing the doctor for having needles perforating his stomach. that when namjoon says it.

“you should go and stay at hoseok’s.”

yoongi’s head comes out of the shirt so quickly he thinks he’s going to snap his own neck.

“wha––” he tries but his voice breaks in disbelief. “namjoon, are you –are you perhaps kicking me out. right now?”

namjoon looks at him like yoongi is being delirious and yoongi doesn’t understand. he knew this would have happened, eventually, but to kick him out right after a blood sample at the hospital is mean. just mean. it’s obvious to yoongi but namjoon’s eyebrows stay furrowed. “ah?”

“listen, i’m sorry,” he says, smoothing the ripples on his shirt. “i know this is troublesome and we work a lot and this whole situation is making you feel embarrassed but it’s just. you could have waited until we arrived home. and i know this is embarrassing for you, i just–”

“hyung, what the fuck are you talking about.”

yoongi blinks. pauses.

“you said i should go and stay at hoseok’s.”

“yes. i said that but. like. i meant until they give us the results of the analysis. i mean, they. your body is stressed enough and i think it might be better for it to be away from me for a while. just, you know. rest and take a few days off of work. i’ll manage.”

“oh, no. no, you won’t. you’re gonna kill all of my plants.”

“i’m a witch, hyung. your plants don’t hate me.”

“no, but i hate the thought of you and satan’s daughter around them,” yoongi doesn’t have to point out he’s referring to kikimora.

“hyung,” namjoon says and his voice sounds serious. “i’m serious,” he says, in fact.

yoongi thinks that yes, yes he had already realised that, thank you very much.

“i just. i would never kick you out, i mean. i would never, you seem tired, though. you must be. and i think it’d be nice if you could let your body be in peace for a while. i know my handsomeness tires it out, so,” he says but yoongi doesn’t react to it. “oh, fuck. i’m sorry. too soon?”

yoongi thinks it’d be. if he gave a single fuck about his illness. he doesn’t, really. the only reason he’s here is because namjoon did all the calling and the booking and whatever. he looks at namjoon and can feel himself sulking and the more he realises the more he keeps sulking and the more he keeps sulking the more he wants to punch himself in the face. on the mouth, specifically.

at some point, namjoon sits next right next to the hospital bed and tells him he’s going to miss him just as much.

“i never said i’d miss you.”

“you don’t need to say that for me to know. ‘cause, you know. i know.”

yoongi rolls his eyes and sighs, rubbing his palms on his face and then namjoon hand is patting his thigh.

he tells him it’s time to go and that he should think about it. yoongi turns in his direction and looks at him. he can’t help but think namjoon is caring and nice and he probably doesn’t deserve him and these are all pretty stupid fucking thoughts and the back of his throat feels like lavender again. great.

he hates he can’t control that but eventually he sobs. then he sighs. he grunts. then namjoon asks him what the fuck is doing and yoongi says alright.
“alright?”

“yeah. i’ll ask hoseok.”

“great. and hyung–” namjoon says.

“yeah?”

“just until we get the results.”)

the way namjoon had said it didn’t sound bad and it didn’t make his heart hurt but now, standing right in front of hoseok’s house he’s gone back to hating the idea and the more he thinks about it, the more everything hits him and then hits him a little more. he really is going to miss namjoon. it’s stupid, so he sobs. and he doesn’t say it.

“i’m tired and i’m sorry i have to put you through all–” yoongi says and gestures vaguely in the air. “all this. i really am.”

“i’ve been the one that called the doctor.”

“yes, that’s because i’m sure you don’t really like the idea of me puking in the shop whenever i see you,” he says and it should be weird. to say that he has plants growing in his insides because of namjoon, it should feel bizarre but namjoon just chuckles and yoongi doesn’t follow but it still feels nice to look at him doing so. to be with someone that understands you so deeply is a treasure yoongi has taken for granted not even once.

“that,” namjoon starts as he straightens his back. “and also ‘cause you’re a fucking idiot and i knew you wouldn’t have done it yourself.”

“touché.”

they stand there and it’s a little awkward, with the way namjoon swings his weight from one foot to another, the edges of his black coat moving with him.

again, yoongi doesn’t mind but he can enjoy the feeling just for a few seconds more before he starts feeling a gross, already too familiar taste of lavender swelling up in his throat.

“okay!,” he says and he claps his hands. he claps his hand in the middle of the suburbs. while none of them was talking. for no reason other than his own head making him cringe and his own stomach making him want to puke. namjoon jumps at that and yoongi decides that the only way he’s not going to slam his head against the nearest wall is to keep talking. “then i’m gonna. yeah. gonna go ahead. alright! don’t burn the shop down!”

“yeah. don’t choke on your petals. now get in before i get all sappy and weird.”

yoongi gives him the middle and turns his back, a soft, small smile on his face. he steps over the porch of hoseok and taehyung’s house when namjoon says – shouts – it.

“just until we get the results back!”

yoongi pauses for a second. closes his eyes. swallow the gastric fluid. and doesn’t turn back. as he knocks on the door, traces of a smile still his face, he knows they’re going to be fine. he’s going to be fine and the results are going turn out okay. plus, when hoseok opens the door yoongi knows namjoon is already gone and all of a sudden it’s not a big deal. he can always find him in the stardust.

 ☾

it turns out, one week later, that it’s not fine. it’s not bad either, namjoon says as he reads the results, but it’s not fine. in fact, it is nothing.

“what is this? what kind of. i don’t know. what kind of scam. we paid for this,” yoongi says and it’s not really about that.

they don’t have problems with money but as he stares at the back of his analysis results, he feels disappointed.

they told him the petals are there but the plant is still growing. they also told him the monitor that had is stomach displayed on it showed a few black shadows and they’re gonna need to investigate deeper. then, they told him to remain calm and smiled at him. yoongi hates mundane hospitals.

“they’re just trying to understand what’s wrong.”

yoongi rolls his eyes. “they always say this. you know what i think about places like this.”

“you mean hospitals?”

“no,” yoongi says and gets closer to namjoon. he looks around. “i mean hospitals that use magic and science and they mix it together and then, there you go. you waited a whole week for them to tell you there’s something confusing,” he arches his eyebrows and pronounces the next sentence through gritted teeth. “oh, really? i’m sorry, miss. i thought that having petals growing inside my living and breathing body was already confusing enough,” yoongi looks at namjoon. he realises he’s too tall. he’d like to be that tall. he then realises he’s in the middle of a hallway and lowers his voice, getting away from him.

“so like,” namjoon answers. “you mean all hospitals in the city.”

“alright, mr. know-it-all-namjoon. you’re a marked witch who knows everything. we get it,” he hopes that sound annoyed enough but namjoon is giggling and covering his mouth with the palm of his hand and yoongi is suddenly hyper-aware of himself. he knows he sounded like he was whining.

“why are you being so dramatic, hyung.”

yoongi looks at him just one second more before sighing. he hates this. he hates medicine. he can’t believe he lives with a witch nurse or whatever namjoon is.

“okay, listen,” yoongi starts, pushing his mint hair back. “i just. they do a thing when they take the test. they. you know. it’s,” he takes a breath. rolls his eyes. crosses his arms. “whatever. it’s stupid.”

“more stupid than me, a marked powerful witch, burning my own feet ‘cause i forgot to turn off the iron?”

yoongi doesn’t find the strength to laugh but it makes him feel better. that really was quite stupid of him.

“i just. they use needles to do this kind of thing. they. they put needles in your stomach and they leave them there. i didn’t like it,” then he lowers his voice. “y’know. ’t hurts.”

“hyung.”

“yeah.”

“are you –are you perhaps scared of needles?”

yoongi stays quiet for a second. then: “shut up.”

“are you?”

yoongi would like to say no and he would gladly say namjoon to shut up and fuck off but then he sees her. walking down the hallway, he recognises her. it’s the same doctor who took the test the last time and he feels both his mouth and throat go dry and then she’s smiling at him and yoongi feels his palms sweating.

“fuck,” yoongi says under his breath. “yes. whatever. i’m fucking scared of needles. i’m going to get the fuck out of here.”

it takes namjoon to hold him by the hem of his shirt and threaten him to curse his greenhouse but he eventually he manages to get yoongi to sit in the same chair as the time before, in the same room, with the same doctor.

kyungmi, that’s her name. yoongi knows it well ‘cause it’s the fiftieth time he has read that by now. he’d rather look at the name on her white coat than look at the needles they’re gonna make pass through his skin.

“hyung,” namjoon whispers his name as sits right next to him.

“yeah,” yoongi whispers back. he doesn’t know why he does that. he doesn’t know why he’s sitting in a hospital chair with petals sitting in his stomach. he doesn’t know anything at this point and the stress must show on his face.

“you need to calm down.”

“i am calm. actually, i am so calm i could faint from how calm i am. i mean, they’re just going to do needle magic while they’re piercing my stomach. for the second time. i mean, no biggie, right?”

“alright, mr. min,” doctor cheong kyungmi says. yoongi thinks nothing about this is alright, much less the needle she’s holding in her hand.

“this is a necessary procedure. we have to know exactly what’s sitting in your stomach and the quantity of it in order to understand the gravity of the problem and eventually book you a surgery. you know the procedure already, but i’m going to explain it to you quickly for transparency reasons,” she says and she goes on how she’s going to (barbarically) insert three needles inside the skin of his stomach. one is for the plasma, the other is for his different types of globules. whatever. yoongi can’t seem to focus and he’s not interested in changing that.

“i can assure you it sounds more complicated and painful than it actually is. you’re just going to feel like someone is tickling you,” but he doesn’t really hears the whole sentence. he stopped hearing during the first part of her speech when all she said sounded very unconvincing to his ears.

namjoon asks something about the procedure and yoongi would usually appreciate the worry but now he’s too focused on the fact that he sees a way out of this.

for a second, he thinks he should say that nothing of what she said was clear and the hospital sucks and he has the marked witch next to his side. he could get away with it.

he would still have petals in his stomach but he doesn’t know if it’s a bad thing compared to the first needle that is now way too close to his bare skin for his likings.

if he wants to say something, he has to say it now but his heart is beating so fast and he’s sweating and he hates his life oh he really does and he just wants to scream he’d do that he’d scream maybe people would think someone is murdering him maybe it would get doctor kyungmi scared enough for her to jump back and he’d run away and– and then his mind shuts down when namjoon takes his hand into his. yoongi blinks.

he turns his head into namjoon’s direction who’s not looking at him, he’s looking at what they’re doing to him.

yoongi then lowers his head to the point where it seems like all the blood flew just a moment before and yes. yes. they’re definitely holding hands and yoongi can’t help but notice how small his palm looks when against namjoon’s. stupid, tall, broad, nice hands, marked witch. yoongi hates him. he furrows his eyebrows. then he holds namjoon’s hand tighter.

it’s just for a few moments, just enough for all the needles to perforate the pale skin of his stomach but it does the work because all of a sudden that’s all his body is reacting to. namjoon’s fingers are warm against his always too cold ones and it feels like namjoon’s grip is keeping him together.

he was this close to losing it and the first thing namjoon thought would be smart to do was to hold his hand. yoongi smiles, his eyes still closed, and doesn’t mind the taste of lavender in his throat. namjoon knows him too well, the motherfucker.

“and… i’m done,” the doctor says and gets away from his stomach. “now i’m just going to need to apply a few things here and let the needles analyze parts of your plasma.”

yoongi furrows his eyebrows.

“it’s a more specific, thorough blood investigation. takes a little more of your time.”

“alright,” yoongi says. he sounds skeptical. annoyed. skeptical and annoyed.

namjoon lets go of his hand.

yoongi furrows his eyebrows a little more but doesn’t say anything. now he feels skeptical, annoyed and sad. great. a few minutes later, he starts feeling dizzy and he already hates the feeling. he doesn’t like this and he starts liking it even less when namjoon is asked to leave the room with the doctor. it’s going to take a while. this is the part where they turn the light off and let him in silence not to alter his system or his heartbeat after the procedure.

whatever it is that they do, yoongi doesn’t trust them so he just closes his eyes and thinks that he really misses namjoon’s palm against his. he wants to hold his hand again, his fingers are nice and his grip is tight and he feels closer to namjoon when they hold hands. which they hold, in yoongi’s opinion, not very often. he pouts and thinks he really, really wants to hold namjoon’s hands.

at the same exact time, though, the doctor stands in front of namjoon in a separate headquarter and she smiles at him when she tells him that maybe –no, actually, it surely would be better for yoongi’s health if namjoon stopped doing that.

two days later, yoongi is standing in the shop’s bathroom right in front of the mirror and his eyes are threatening him to close at any moment.

he needs to stop staying up this late in the morning. they both should, he thinks as he hears a loud crash coming from the shop, followed right after by a curse. the neon lights installed over the mirror hit his face as he brushes his teeth.

they make him look paler and he doesn’t mind it. he quite likes it, actually, but he still has to squeeze his eyes.

it’s not like he minds the light. he just wishes he had the strength to reach for the switch and turn them off and never turn it on again and that’s a little dramatic probably but it’s four in the morning and his stomach still hurt, so.

“hyung, listen.”

yoongi jumps and widens his eyes. namjoon has appeared out of nowhere and is now looking at him while staring near the bathroom’s door.

“whatbhe fucg!” namjoon tries to say but the toothpaste makes his words incomprehensible.

“yeah. i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to scare you, i just. you know, i was thinking.”

yoongi directs his attention back to the mirror and he keeps brushing the toothbrush against his teeth. he’s not looking at namjoon anymore but he still manages to show  a fake impressed expression, hoping namjoon will still catch it from the reflection. he does and he rolls his eyes.

“i just. this might sound stupid but,” and then he stops again. yoongi furrows his eyebrows and looks at him with the corner of his eye, just to see what he’s doing and namjoon is just. he’s standing there, his right shoulder leaned onto the side of the door while he stares at his feet and nibbles at his nail.

“i was thinking that if this whole. you know. the results and whatever. if it goes wrong,” he says and stops straight away before he starts babbling. “which, of course, i don’t really think it’s going to happen. of course. everything is going to be great and i’m sorry if you feel like i’m being a jinx ‘cause that sounded like i’m jinxing it but like,” inhales. “if it goes wrong i feel like,” pauses. closes his eyes. scratches the tip of his buttons nose with his knuckles. “well, i just. i feel like i could fall in love with you.”

if yoongi was tipping around the confusion room he has in his mind, he is definitely lost in it now. he tightens his grip on his toothbrush and can physically feel his spit mixed with toothpaste run down his chin.

for a moment, he thinks the reason why the hanahaki is a disease is because the flowers are poisoned and make people hallucinate. that’d be the only explanation to all the nonsense he’s hearing. it’s not the first time they’ve been up ’til four in the morning, therefore tiredness can’t be the reason. namjoon stays quiet for a second and then he keeps talking on. he keeps talking.

“i mean. i could. i really. i like you, you know? i really, really like, just. i feel like i could because–”

“alri-gth kid,” yoongi stars, mouth already stuffed with water. he washes the walls of his mouth and proceeds to straighten his back, then furiously turns into namjoon’s direction. his throat hurts like a motherfucker.

“enough. okay. yes. whatever you say. also, yes. that is a very stupid thing to say. kind, but also stupid. now please, dude, please get out of here. i need to puke. also, no. don’t go around people tell things like that. oh, there it goes! a petal!” he says and the next thing he knows he’s slamming the bathroom door behind his back and his hands are gripping once again the sink.

it doesn’t hurt like the first time but it gets weirder the more it goes on. he opens his mouth and lets his body do the work, lets his stomach contract and his eyes fill up with tears.

it’s still quick but it really does gets weirder every time. the petals are growing and yoongi knows it because now, when they fall out of his mouth, they always come in pairs. a bunch of them are now sitting on the edge of the sink and yoongi can feel himself swallow the last one but it’s not that. it’s not the quantity that’s weirding him out. yoongi doesn’t really like the idea of touching the petals but every time he brings himself to peer closer and every time he peers closer.

the petals look different, lately. they always come out of his throat with something sitting on them and yoongi doesn’t really understand what that might be. sometimes it looks like spit, sometimes it looks like tiny wings. other times like this time, yoongi thinks he’s going crazy and he doesn’t blame himself with a whole garden growing into his stomach.

“whatever,” he rolls his eyes, letting the water run and observing the way the shiny petals disappear into the plumping.

he watches them as they’re being sucked into the sink and he decides there’s no reason to tell namjoon.

he’s getting surgery anyway.