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“Let me get this straight,” Jeongguk says. “You want me, certified Human Disaster Jeon Jeongguk, to take your one and only child to a magical stranger’s house in the middle of the woods.”
“I mean,” Namjoon says, glasses askew, desperately fighting to keep a baby carrot from being shoved up his nose, “he’s not a stranger because we know him, but essentially yes.” The chubby toddler in Namjoon’s lap jabs the carrot toward his right nostril.
Here’s the thing about Jeongguk: he is terrible at meeting new people. Part of it is because he gets all anxious and awkward about it, but the other part of it is that every time he meets a new person, something inevitably goes wrong. First impressions are not his forte. Neither are second impressions. Third impressions are usually the point at which he starts to read like an actual person and not some cyborg sent to mimic human interaction.
Meeting Seokjin and Namjoon was just a case in point. He grew up in Busan and moved to Seoul for college where he got drunk at some house party and stumbled into an unfamiliar yard only to vomit in the rose bushes. Turns out, the rose bushes belonged to Seokjin, Namjoon, and Hoseok (their third roommate at the time) who were decidedly unamused by the muscular drunk baby who had ruined their HOA standard landscaping.
Jeongguk woke up on their couch the next day to a black cat dozing on his chest, which would have been nice, if the cat hadn’t hissed at him when he petted it and said, Hands off the goods, human! Once Jeongguk stopped screaming in falsetto, he’d tried to escape through the nearest open window James Bond-style. Hoseok and Seokjin had thankfully hauled him back inside before he could make the two-story leap to freedom. Next thing Jeongguk knew, he was at a dining room table with a cup of tea and the attention of several strange, beautiful men who then said:
We’re witches. Sorry about that.
Haha, Jeongguk said.
No really, they said.
Your face is puffy, the cat snickered.
Why is it sTILL TALKING?! Jeongguk shrieked, clutching his metaphorical pearls.
Yeah, the talking cat really did a number on him. Turns out it was Seokjin’s familiar, Gukmul, which explained the attitude but not how it became capable of speech.
Anyway, the point is that his friends are still witches and he is still an absolute disaster when it comes to meeting new people.
Jeongguk crosses his arms and looks at Seokjin, who is watching the gladiatorial carrot struggle between his husband and his daughter with a disgustingly fond smile. “Look at her,” Seokjin sighs, “she’s going to crush every man who falls in love with her. I’m so proud.”
“Kim Misun, carrot-witch, destroyer of men,” Jeongguk intones in a deep announcer voice that has Seokjin laughing his squeaky laugh.
“Misun-ah,” Namjoon grunts, wrestling the vegetable from the girl’s frighteningly strong toddler grip. “Sit down and finish your lunch, sweetheart.”
The girl plops into Namjoon’s lap with silent giggles, revealing dimples as deep as Namjoon’s. She grabs a handful of rice and shoves it into her mouth. Some of it sticks to her cheeks. Namjoon picks it off and eats it like some weird baboon grooming its offspring. Jeongguk wrinkles his nose. Seokjin just looks enamoured.
“Anyway,” Jeongguk says loudly, “What’s this funky magic man supposed to do for Misun that a regular doctor can’t?”
“Oh my god,” Seokjin hoots, “please call him that to his actual face.”
“He’s one of our oldest friends,” Namjoon explains patiently, “and none of the human doctors have been able to explain why Misun isn’t talking.”
“Have you considered that maybe you’re just bad conversationalists?” Jeongguk suggests, very helpfully.
Three weeks ago, right after the exploding candles incident, Misun had stopped talking out of nowhere. Total radio silence. And the exploding candles didn’t have anything to do with it, Namjoon rushed to assure him, it’s just that the candles displayed in the lunch room had mysteriously exploded for no reason at all whatsoever. (Jeongguk would have been inclined to believe that explanation if Namjoon hadn’t been bright red when he’d said it.)
Anyway, at first Misun’s fathers thought she was ill with something like strep throat or glarea epiglottidis, but after several trips to the doctor it became clear that this wasn’t a normal illness at all. (‘Glarea epiglottidis’ is a normal illness? Jeongguk had asked them. It means epiglottis gravel, Namjoon had answered, and unfortunately yes. Highly contagious. And if afterwards Jeongguk had spent a good portion of the afternoon shoving a pen flashlight down his throat, well, he wasn’t going to admit it.)
“Min Yoongi’s a green witch,” Namjoon continues, ignoring him, “and a good one. Pretty famous in our community. He specializes in magical healing. Misun loves him. You might be her favorite babysitter, but he’s her favorite uncle.”
“Babysitter?” Jeongguk repeats, slightly outraged. “I’ve been changing her diapers since she was born! I’m like, thirty percent of her parental unit!”
Seokjin squints at him.
“Okay, twenty-five percent.”
Seokjin squints harder.
“Twenty percent? Nineteen? Oh come on!”
“We’ll put you at a solid seventeen,” Seokjin replies magnanimously.
Jeongguk types a rapid-fire text under the table.
Jeongguk>>>No New Friends
Jeonggukie
jin hyung says im 17% dad
read it and weep boyz
Jiminie
how
u literally couldn't keep a cactus alive without my intervention
Taehyungie
and children are v. complex cactuses with hair
Jiminie
its cacti tae
Taehyungie
ur so hot when u correct me
Jeonggukie
im telling jin u called his daughter a cactus
Taehyungie
NO!! GUK PLS!!!!
ill do anything
Jeonggukie
anything?
Taehyungie
anything
;)
Jiminie
>:(
...well on second thought
>:)
Jeonggukie
ew i take it back
“Jeongguk-ah?” Namjoon prompts.
Jeongguk snaps upright from where he was bent over his phone. Right. They were having a conversation.
“All you have to do is bring her to Yoongi’s place and hang out while he does his thing.”
Jeongguk pictures himself roaming a dimly lit house hung with tapestries and strewn with shiny magical baubles that could absolutely do irreparable harm to his mortal vessel. The air is heavy with incense, rich fabrics drape across furniture, Edith Pilaf’s voice croons a French ballad that echoes through--
“It’s Edith Piaf you uncultured heathen,” Seokjin interrupts. “She’s not a rice dish.”
“Did I say all that out loud?” Jeongguk asks, confused.
“Witches live just like you, Jeongguk, like regular people,” Namjoon says soothingly. “It’s not all crystal balls and old mansions.”
Jeongguk looks pointedly at the crystal ball in the middle of the table.
“That’s different,” Namjoon protests. “This is the séance room--”
“Wait, this is a séance room?” Jeongguk says in sudden alarm. “You eat meals in a ghost chamber?”
“Again, dramatic, but essentially yes.”
“Jeongguk-ah,” Seokjin says, “you’ve known us for years. How did you only just realize this was a séance room?”
“I don’t know!” Jeongguk shouts, gesturing wildly. “I thought all this shit was decorative!”
Seokjin glances around and looks at the incense, the mysterious black box from Seokjin’s great aunt Lucinda, the ouija board on the wall, the random paper scraps containing phrases like ‘YOU WILL DIE’ and ‘STOP CALLING ME’, and the sign above the doorway that says Séance Room: KEEP OUT.
Seokjin stares at Jeongguk with a look of deep judgement.
“The only decorative item in here is the ouija board,” Namjoon informs him. “As in we don’t use it, but you could technically still summon--”
“Not helping!” Jeongguk sighs loudly and sinks down in his chair. “What if I knock over Yoongi-ssi’s decorative ouija board and he turns me into a squash?”
“He won’t,” Namjoon says, a little too quickly, “he doesn’t even like squash.”
“You’ll be fine, Jeongguk-ah. Just be less yourself,” Seokjin suggests kindly.
Jeongguk frowns. “You mean just be myself?”
“No, of course not,” Seokjin scoffs. “Be more like someone cool and into hip hop. Someone with better hair. He’s into that kind of thing.”
“I am into hip hop,” Jeongguk snaps, “and my hair is fine, thank you!” He finally grew it out enough to be able to pull it back with a hairband. Jeongguk thinks it looks cute, but Seokjin froths at the mouth every time Jeongguk enters the premises with a ponytail. Just last week the older man had chased him around in the yard with scissors, yelling something about millennial fashion and the greater good.
“You don’t have to do this, Guk,” Namjoon tells him, bouncing Misun in his lap while she gnaws on a hunk of pork belly like a tiny, pigtailed gremlin. “We only asked because we’ll both be at work today, but we can bring her another time.”
And that just creates a whole lightning storm of guilt in his chest. Namjoon and Seokjin co-owned a start-up that helped underprivileged magical teens find apprenticeship opportunities where they could make money and learn about magic. Jeongguk, being from a perfectly mundane family with no magical powers of his own, hadn’t even realized that lack of resources might be an issue for witches when they lived in a society that didn’t think they existed. Jeongguk cares about the cause, despite not being a witch himself. He cares because it affects his friends and their community. He cares because he believes that everyone deserves an education and a job. He cares because he wants Misun to grow up feeling limitless. So sure, he could being an asshole and dip just because he’s freaked out about meeting another witch. Or he could be a good friend and suck it up because if Namjoon and Seokjin trust this Yoongi, then he can’t be all that bad. He’ll forgive Jeongguk if he says something weird or vomits into his landscaping.
...he hopes.
“It’s fine,” Jeongguk says finally, exhausted from his inner monologue. “I’ll bring her.”
“Oh good,” Seokjin says cheerfully, “because I already told him you’d be delighted to see his toenail collection.”
“That’s a joke, right?” Jeongguk laughs nervously. “Namjoon hyung, he’s joking, isn’t he? Isn’t he? Hyung?”
*****
Min Yoongi’s house is disappointingly normal on the outside. It’s a squat little cottage; bright white with sage green shutters. The roof is brown and mossy in some places, but it looks well-cared for. The stone path leading to the front door is lined with an array of flowering bushes and lanterns that burn bright even in the sunlight.
Jeongguk looks on indulgently while Misun skips from stone to stone like she’s trying to cross a river. The flower beds in the front of the house are bursting with lavender and herbs. Some Jeongguk recognizes, like mint and sage, and others he doesn’t. A frog-- a really big one-- hops over to Misun, who stoops to pet it. For a euphoric moment, Jeongguk feels like one of the dwarves watching Snow White summon woodland creatures, but then the frog unhinges its jaws like a snake, and bellows at the decibel level of a fully engaged French horn.
RIIIIIB-IIITT!
It hops away. Jeongguk watches it go, mouth agape. Misun waves goodbye. Were frogs capable of croaking that loudly? Why did it sound like two voices coming out of one frog? How had it completely dislocated its jaw? Jeongguk decides the less he knows the better. He sweeps Misun into his arms and books it for the door.
Jeongguk feels his heart pound harder when he gingerly lifts the door knocker and lets it fall. He’s never met a witch besides his friends. He knows enough to realize that they’re fairly uncommon now, that magic has been slowly leeching out of bloodlines for centuries. He wonders how rare it is that his friends found each other and got along well enough to stay together. Some witches probably never got that chance.
BANG.
Jeongguk swears and nearly drops the child in his arms. If he didn’t know any better, he would have said that the sound was made by a close range sledgehammer.
Misun, on the other hand, seems completely unconcerned. She’s sucking on her thumb and staring into the garden where the occasional frog will pop into view. It’s disconcerting to see her this way, Jeongguk thinks. She loves chattering about pretty flowers and telling dumb jokes and demanding that people do things for her. She’s Seokjin’s child. She shouldn’t be this docile.
He lifts the door knocker again.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
“Jesus-- fuck-- just a minute!” Jeongguk hears faintly from somewhere inside the house. There are shuffling sounds in the foyer and another muffled curse before the door is unlocked and opened.
A man with finger-tousled grey hair and delicate, sleepy eyes leans against the doorframe. He’s wearing a flannel shirt and ripped jeans. There is something ethereal about him, but for the most part he doesn’t look like a famous witch doctor. (Although to be fair, Jeongguk had been expecting an old man with a beard and a pointy hat. Gandalf, really. He’d been expecting Gandalf.)
Jeongguk skeptically eyes Not-Gandalf’s knobby knees and bows as best he can with a tiny human in his arms.
“Hello,” he says, “I’m Jeon Jeongguk. I’m here to see Min Yoongi?”
“Are you asking me or telling me?” the man asks in a deeper voice than Jeongguk had been expecting.
“Uh...yes?” Jeongguk looks down at Misun for guidance, but Misun is squirming desperately in his grip. He sets her down and she runs smack into the man’s bony knees, little pigtails bouncing. The man-- Min Yoongi, he assumes-- bends down to pull her into his arms, settling her on his hip like he’s done this a thousand times. She latches onto his shirt and lays her head against his shoulder.
Jeongguk only glares at Yoongi a little. Misun usually naps on his shoulder.
“Not doing much talking lately, huh kiddo?” Yoongi asks her. Misun, predictably, does not answer.
“Namjoon hyung said the doctors couldn’t figure it out,” Jeongguk tells him.
The other man sighs. “Right. Come inside.”
Yoongi doesn’t slow down to give a tour, but Jeongguk can see that the interior of the house is just as homey as its exterior would suggest. There are hardwood floors covered in thick, fluffy rugs and woven blankets carelessly thrown over furniture. Landscape paintings hang on the walls along with clusters of photographs. (Jeongguk doesn’t get close enough to see the people in them.) In every room there are plants; tendrils of ivy trailing from planters hanging in front of the windows, tiny potted succulents strewn on every hard surface, and fresh herb cuttings hanging from drying racks.
Jeongguk is pathetically relieved by the lack of decorative ouija boards.
Yoongi plops Misun down on the kitchen island amidst an array of glass bottles and produces a lollipop from seemingly nowhere. Misun giggles silently and opens her mouth so Yoongi can stick the lollipop in. Jeongguk is having less of a good time, having made the mistake of reading the bottle labels, which are slightly alarming. Nightshade Tincture (for consumption by enemies) reads a small, black bottle. Fuck-U Potion (virility) reads another. There’s another one that he’s pretty sure is just a repurposed Smirnoff bottle labeled: THIS IS A MISTAKE!!! Jeongguk hopes it isn’t an omen.
Yoongi proceeds to ignore him in favor of tapping on Misun’s head like a woodpecker searching for beetles. Jeongguk watches in pure confusion as he taps her temple a few times, frowns, and moves to rap his knuckles against the top of her skull. Misun kicks her legs and licks her lollipop. Her tongue is a fearsome shade of orange. Jeongguk wishes he could ask her what flavor it is. It was probably something horrifying like Swamp Mud or Dragonfly Juice. Jeongguk spends a good few minutes contemplating the taste of dragonfly juice and also the process by which one would obtain dragonfly juice because you couldn’t just milk dragonflies, could you? Did they even produce milk or were they like almonds? Speaking of which, how the fuck did you milk almonds? And what kind of cosmic mystery was oat milk?
Eventually Jeongguk runs out of thoughts about dairy alternatives and realizes that the silence has stretched a bit too long to be comfortable. Yoongi doesn’t seem bothered by it, though, as he is now examining Misun’s fingertips with something that looks like a multi-lens magnifying glass.
“Done with your internal crisis?” Yoongi grunts without looking up from his task.
Jeongguk blinks. “What?” He stares at the profile of Min Yoongi’s face. The green witch is objectively very pretty; all round cheeks and chapped lips and pale skin.
“You spaced out so hard I thought your eyes were gonna fall out of your skull.”
“Is that, like, a common occurrence here?” Jeongguk asks nervously.
Yoongi huffs a laugh. Jeongguk isn’t sure if it’s directed at him or Misun-ah’s fingertips. “What were you thinking about?” he asks.
“Dragonfly milk,” Jeongguk says and then mentally punches himself into the sun where he promptly interrogates whatever celestial being had cursed him with the social skills of a prepubescent child. One day he’d get through a conversation without embarrassing himself, but today was not that day.
The witch doctor’s face contorts with a weird mix of bewilderment, resignation, and something else Jeongguk can’t quite place. It’s a familiar expression, one that Seokjin wears at least once a week with startling regularity. Usually when Jeongguk is present and talking.
Suddenly, Jeongguk remembers Seokjin’s parting words and before he can stop himself, blurts out: “You don’t really have a toenail collection, do you?”
Yoongi buries his face in his hands, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. (At least, Jeongguk thinks it’s silent laughter. He could also be crying, but Jeongguk doesn’t think he’s done anything to warrant that just yet.) In the midst of his humiliation, he vaguely notices that Misun is kicking her heels against the counter in the exact cadence of Big Bang’s Bang Bang Bang. Jeongguk makes a mental note to tell Seokjin that Namjoon was stress binging G-Dragon music videos again.
Just as Jeongguk opens his mouth-- to what? Apologize? Laugh along?-- Misun sneezes and her lollipop falls to the floor.
Jeongguk braces himself for a tantrum as Misun’s face scrunches up, bottom lip quivering.
But in a stunning turn of events, the toddler just looks forlornly at the slimey orange lollipop fragments splattered across the kitchen tile and waves a hand.
“Bye-bye,” she whimpers and bursts into tears.
*****
“Selective mutism?” Seokjin repeats for the eighth time. “What the fuck?”
Namjoon doesn’t bother to scold him for swearing in front of their daughter; he’s busy doing meditative breathing exercises, but his face is hidden behind his hands, so it kind of sounds like he’s trying to smother himself. Seokjin’s hair is uncharacteristically mussed from the way he’s been running his hands through it.
“That’s what he said,” Jeongguk says wearily. “I have the forms if you want to read them.”
Namjoon groans. Seokjin grabs the printout from Jeongguk and scans them with lazer focus.
“It makes sense, Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin says quietly. “The other doctors said there was nothing physically wrong with her.”
“So you’re telling me that we’ve damaged our daughter so irreparably that she no longer feels safe in her own home?” Namjoon asks, voice muffled by his palms.
“I mean,” Jeongguk hesitates, “I don’t think so?”
Namjoon makes a sound low in his throat like a dying whale. Misun toddles over to the armchair and grips her dad’s grey work slacks in her chubby fists; a silent demand to be held. Namjoon picks her up and tucks her into his neck like a baby. She settles there, sleepy-eyed and contentedly sucking her thumb. Namjoon cradles her like she’s the most precious thing in the world. Seokjin coos and drops a kiss on both of their heads, resting a hand on his husband’s shoulder.
Something twinges deep in Jeongguk’s chest.
“I’m not a professional or anything, but I doubt it’s something you guys did,” he tells them softly. “She clearly feels safe with you. You guys are like, the best family I know.”
Seokjin smiles softly at the sentiment, carding a hand through Misun’s hair. “Obviously,” he says, in a tone so gentle it completely overshadows the smug delivery.
“Yoongi-ssi said he wanted to see her again for a follow up,” Jeongguk says. “He wants to try and figure out what’s causing it.”
“It’ll have to be next week,” Namjoon murmurs. “We have that charity dinner and way too many--”
“I’ll take her tomorrow.” The words jump out of Jeongguk’s mouth before his brain is consciously forming them.
The two older men stare at him.
Jeongguk fidgets.
“You, Human Disaster Jeon Jeongguk, willingly volunteering to go back to the magic man in front of whom you fantasized about dragonfly milking?” Seokjin deadpans.
“He breeds mutant toads, babe,” Namjoon replies. “Ge couldn’t have thought it was that weird.”
“I fucking knew it!” Jeongguk crows triumphantly. “I swear to god that frog was so weird, hyung. It’s mouth unhinged like a giant--”
“But you’ll do it?” Namjoon gazes at him intently. “You’ll take her?”
Jeongguk looks at Misun-ah, asleep and drooling on Namjoon’s shoulder.
“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”
*****
Yoongi opens the door with bedhead and squinty eyes, still in his pajamas.
It’s two o’clock in the afternoon. Misun is dancing to music only she can hear, gripping his first two fingers with the strength of a miniature ogre. Jeongguk stares the juncture between Yoongi’s neck and shoulder where his oversized shirt is slipping off his collarbone. The skin there is creamy and smooth. He wonders how hard he’d have to bite to bruise it.
Wow, pump those brakes, my guy, Inner-Jeongguk warns himself.
Yoongi yawns and ruffles his hair with both hands, and Jeongguk bravely elects not to stare at the bared strip of skin or the way his sweatpants dip low on his hips. He is a paragon of self-control, a master of temperance, the epitome of--
The witch doctor narrows his eyes. “You thinking about dragonflies again?”
Heat rushes to Jeongguk’s cheeks. “No,” he says primly and pushes Misun forward. Misun grips the man’s sweatpants at the knees and gazes up at him. Yoongi stoops and picks her up.
“Did you take a nap yet, Misun-ah?” Yoongi’s voice is low and rough, a hint of an accent lingering around his vowels. The little girl in his arms shakes her head without taking her thumb out of her mouth. “Can you use your words to tell me?” Jeongguk watches with bated breath, but Misun buries her face in the crook of Yoongi’s neck and doesn’t answer.
“Alright, kiddo.” Yoongi rubs her back. “Let’s head inside.”
Yoongi leads them into his living room and sets Misun down. She toddles over to the corner of the room that looks like a toy store; stuffed animals, plastic toys, and children’s books litter the floor. Misun haphazardly rips a few more books from the bookshelf along the wall, just for the fun of it. She picks one of them off of the floor and holds it out to Jeongguk imploringly.
“Do you want someone to read to you?” Yoongi asks gently. Misun nods. Yoongi crouches in front of her. “Do you want me to read to you?” Misun shakes her head emphatically. Yoongi pretends to pout and boy, does Jeongguk have questions. Questions such as: does Yoongi know what he looks like right now, currently? Does he practice his pout in the mirror? Who gave him the right?
“Who should read to you then?” Yoongi asks. Misun points to Jeongguk, who physically feels his heart expand three sizes.
“Who?” The witch doctor asks, puzzled. Misun points again.
Jeongguk fiddles with the hem of his shirt. Had Yoongi already forgotten his name?
“Who do you want to read to you, Misun-ah?” Yoongi asks again. Misun’s lower lip juts out and she points at Jeongguk more emphatically than the last time.
“Who’s that?”
Misun makes an exasperated sound and shrieks, “Guk!”
Jeongguk’s jaw drops. “Misun-ah!”
“Guk! Guk! Guk!” Misun shouts before attempting to climb onto the nearest sofa.
“How did you do that?” Jeongguk breathes, whirling on the self-satisfied witch behind him.
Yoongi smirks. “Magic.” He wiggles his fingers and Misun screeches, suddenly hovering two feet off the ground, bobbing and floating like a cork in water.
Jeongguk makes a strangled sound of alarm in the back of his throat. He reaches out to catch her, but she giggles and slips through his grasp like a wriggly earthworm, swimming away from him in the air. There’s a quiet hacking sound behind him. Jeongguk turns to glare and sees Yoongi, gummy smile, eyes squeezed tight, busting a gut like levitating toddlers was the funniest fucking thing he’d ever done.
“Your face,” the witch doctor snickers, “you should see your face!”
“Yoongi-ssi!” Jeongguk sputters. “You can’t...what if she falls!”
“Relax.” Yoongi smirks. “I’ve got her. She’s having fun.” He wiggles his fingers again and Misun drifts onto the couch and plops down, still cackling. Jeongguk rushes over and pulls her into his lap, briefly examining her for injuries. The couch dips as Yoongi takes a seat next to him. Jeongguk starts with surprise.
The weight of Yoongi’s eyes on him is tangible. He smells of bergamot and pine.
“You startle easy, huh?” the witch doctor says. “Like a rabbit.”
“Bun bun,” Misun burbles to herself.
“Are you saying you’re surprised that levitating toddlers startle me?” Jeongguk asks, peering at the older man with narrowed eyes. Yoongi’s socked feet are resting on the coffee table, the whole of him slouched and soft against the couch cushions. Something in Jeongguk’s gut lurches at the sight of him this close, cozy and sleep-warm in his stretched-out pajamas. It makes Jeongguk feel decidedly off balance. He isn’t even the one who got levitated.
Uh-oh, says Inner-Jeongguk.
“Nah.” Yoongi tilts his head back and yawns. “But you’ve probably seen worse with Jin hyung and Joon, haven’t you?”
Jeongguk thinks back to Gukmul the talking cat and decides that the witch doctor’s assessment is true.
“How’d you become friends with them?” Yoongi asks curiously, “I’ve heard about you a few times, but never how you met.”
“Oh, you know,” Jeongguk replies, thinking about the vomit-covered rose bushes, “we met the normal way. The way that normal people do.”
Yoongi narrows his eyes suspiciously. “That doesn’t sound right.”
Jeongguk laughs nervously and tightens Misun’s pigtails out of habit. “Well, you know how it is.”
Yoongi squints.
“I met them at a party,” Jeongguk says hurriedly. “Uh, where’d you meet them?”
“I moved to Seoul as a kid and Joon ended up being my neighbor. Seokjin went to high school with us. And night classes with the halmeoni down the street to learn magic.”
“Is she the one who taught you how to float people?” Jeongguk asks, very seriously.
Yoongi shakes his head with a small smile. “I learned that spell to be able to move heavier plants around after they’d been potted. Misun-ah saw me use it and just wanted to try it out.”
Jeongguk snorts. That sounded exactly like her. Looks like Yoongi couldn’t say no to a cute face.
“Guk!” Misun insistently smacks the book into his palms.
Jeongguk opens the book obediently and starts to read.
He couldn’t say no to a cute face either.
*****
The first thing that filters into Jeongguk’s half-conscious lizard brain is warmth; a heavy blanket of it draped across his lap and side, weighted and comfortable. He blinks sleepily and wiggles his feet. His blanket shifts and mutters to itself. He blinks again.
The second thing that filters into Jeongguk’s now mostly-conscious lizard brain is the fact that somewhere along the line, he, Misun, and Yoongi had fallen asleep on the couch. Yoongi is propped up against his side, head on his shoulder, drooling. Misun is strewn across his lap. Jeongguk struggles to free his trapped arm from the twin vices of Yoongi’s head and Misun’s entire body weight. His hand flies free, but he accidentally elbows Yoongi in the ribs in the process.
“Hrrng,” Yoongi groans.
Their faces are so close. Close enough that Jeongguk can count the individual lashes that flutter against Yoongi’s cheeks. Close enough that he could turn his head and kiss the tip of Yoongi’s nose if he wanted to. Close enough that--
Jeongguk hauls Misun into his arms and stands so quickly that Yoongi tips sideways.
Time to disembark that particular train of thought.
Misun jerks awake from the sudden movement and Jeongguk freezes. “Shh, sorry, it’s okay,” he whispers to the little girl. “It’s okay, I’m sor--” But Misun’s face screws up and she starts crying.
“Whathe fu--?” Yoongi bolts upright, fully awake. He looks around rapidly before meeting Jeongguk’s wide-eyed gaze. They stare at each other for a moment. Yoongi’s gaze flickers to Jeongguk’s shoulder.
“We, um, fell asleep reading,” Jeongguk says weakly.
“Oh.” Yoongi blinks. His hair is sticking up in little tufts. He looks dazed. “We?”
“Um, yeah.” Jeongguk bounces Misun on his hip but she keeps sob screaming in the way that grates unpleasantly on the inside of Jeongguk’s skull. Her lung capacity is impressive. She would probably grow up to be an incredibly successful Olympic swimmer. She lets out a particularly ear-piercing wail that has the two of them flinching.
Yoongi stumbles upright. “Misun-ah,” he sing-songs drowsily, syllables a little slurred, “Look what I have, sweetheart.”
Jeongguk watches him pull a lollipop from his pajama sleeve. Did the man always have candy hidden on his person? Or just when he knew Misun was coming? Was this some weird attempt to give his patients cavities so that he could collect insurance money? Was that even how insurance worked?
Misun stops screaming immediately and reaches for the candy. Yoongi holds it just out of reach.
“Say the magic word,” the witch doctor says.
“Pleeease!” Misun-ah pouts, still teary-eyed.
“Here you go, kiddo.” Yoongi hands her the candy.
He turns to Jeongguk, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry. I thought I could test her today, but I obviously need more sleep. I drained a lot of magic this morning and my body hasn’t caught up yet. You’ll have to bring her another time.”
Jeongguk frowns. “Seokjin and Namjoon hyung are really concerned, Yoongi-ssi. And I don’t know if they can afford another--”
“They aren’t paying, Jeongguk-ah,” Yoongi interrupts gently. “They’re family.”
“I--oh.” Of course. He should have realized. Yoongi wasn’t just some random witch in the woods; Namjoon had said they were old friends. “Sorry.”
“Hyung.”
“What?”
“Hyung,” Yoongi repeats, crossing his arms. “I drooled on you. I think we’re past the formalities at this point.”
“Okay.” Jeongguk clears his throat. “Okay, hyung.”
“Let me walk you out. Did you want one for the road?”
“One what?” Jeongguk asks, following the witch doctor to the door.
Yoongi magically produces another lollipop from somewhere on his person and holds it up.
“Oh, uh, sure,” Jeongguk says.
Yoongi echoes the words he’d said to Misun earlier. “Say the magic word.”
“The magic word?” Jeongguk asks stupidly, zeroed in on the doctor’s pouty, pink lips. They weren’t chapped today. The doctor’s lips were plump and shiny, slick with some kind of lip balm. Jeongguk sort of wants to lick them.
Why the fuck are you like this? Inner-Jeongguk laments.
He’d probably taste sweet.
“Go on, Jeongguk-ah.” Jeongguk tears his gaze away from Yoongi’s mouth. Yoongi’s eyes glint with languid amusement. Jeongguk’s breath hitches as the doctor steps closer. Electricity sparks deep in his core. “Just say the magic word,” Yoongi breathes.
Jeongguk swallows. “Please,” he whispers.
“Open.”
Jeongguk obeys. Yoongi pops the lollipop into his waiting mouth.
“Good boy,” Yoongi says with a wicked smile. Jeongguk blushes and makes a small sound low in his throat, something uncomfortably close to a whimper.
Jesus Christ you absolute embarrassment, Inner-Jeongguk groans.
But real Jeongguk is so fucking gone. Real Jeongguk’s soul has left the premises. Real Jeongguk feels hazy around the edges, a little drunk and a little desperate. Real Jeongguk is going to drop dead in the foyer and be eaten by mutant toads.
Must be something in the lollipop, he thinks. It tastes like blue raspberry.
Misun shifts in his arms and Jeongguk rouses himself from whatever dreamlike state he’s fallen into and steps onto the front porch.
Yoongi leans against the door frame and watches him appraisingly. Jeongguk waits for him to make some comment, to brush over the intensity of the moment, dismiss it all as a joke, but all he says is: “Get home safe, Jeongguk-ah.”
“Y-you too,” Jeongguk stutters and carefully power walks through the gang of driveway frogs gathered just beyond the front porch.
*****
Namjoon is home from work when Jeongguk stumbles through the door.
The older man takes note of the chewed up stick poking out of Jeongguk’s mouth and raises an eyebrow. “Whatcha got there, Guk?”
Jeongguk’s brow furrows. “Uh, your daughter?”
Namjoon spreads his arms wide and scoops Misun up when she runs to him, peppering her face with tiny kisses until she wriggles with delight.
“He makes them himself, you know,” Namjoon says, settling Misun in his lap. “Only gives them to people he likes.”
Jeongguk blinks. “Who?”
Namjoon sighs. “Jeongguk.”
“Jeongguk?” Jeongguk repeats innocently. “Never heard of her.”
Namjoon looks unamused. “Your teeth are blue.”
Jeongguk curses and rushes to the bathroom.
*****
Jeongguk>>>No New Friends
Jeonggukie
hl;ep
hepl,,,
help
Jiminie
oh no!!!!
Taehyungie
im here my son
Jeonggukie
pretti.e man
What d,,o0?
Taehyungie
ah yes
gay panic
Jiminie
we should have known
Jeonggukie
i need heLP not judgement!!!!11!
Taehyungie
tell him he’s pretty
Jeonggukie
nO
Jiminie
smooch him right on his beautiful face
Jeonggukie
absolutekly out of th questio,n
Jiminie
who is he??
do we know him????
Jeonggukie
his name is min yoongi and he gave me a lollipop
and also a heart attack
hashtag blessed
Jiminie
AALSKDJDS:LKFJSK! !!!!??
min yoongi?
joonies high school bestie?!!!??!?
Jeonggukie
he called me
…...a good boy
Taehyung
A RARE SPECIES
THE CONFIDENT GAY
Jeonggukie
he breeds mutant toads !!
Jiminie
yikes
Jeonggukie
and he's magic !!!
Taehyungie
cute!!!
Jeonggukie
misun-ah calls him her uncle and he loves her so much
im just--
Taehyungie
into older men?
Jiminie
mood
Taehyungie
when r u gonna tell him u wanna smooch????
Jeonggukie
never
im movnig to panama
this is my final goodbye
Taehyungie
rip :(
Jiminie
rip :(
Jeonggukie
rip in pieces :(((((((((
*****
Jeongguk’s recent Google history looks a bit like this:
How to tell if a witch doctor likes you
Mutant toads harmful?
How much is too much thinking about a stranger’s mouth?
How to erase feelings forever
How to make someone like you forever
Delete Naver???
Jeongguk is a normal, rational adult man. He just has a crush on a beautiful, talented, magical being. That’s all.
No big deal.
Everything is fine.
*****
Everything is not fine.
The day had started out normally. He’d gotten out of bed, gone to the gym, and picked up Misun before Seokjin had to be at work. He’d gotten used to experiencing weird things at Yoongi’s house, so when Yoongi had told Jeongguk he wanted to use dream analysis to poke around in Misun’s subconscious, Jeongguk hadn’t even blinked. Misun was currently taking a nap upstairs with some weird baby monitor plugged into her ear, and thank god that was the case, because while he had expected weird and baffling things like toads and potions, he had not been expecting dream witch Jung Hoseok.
Jeongguk stares soullessly at the flickering ghost man across the table.
Magic was fine for the most part. A little freaky, but fine. He didn’t mind the crystal balls and the talking cats (well, kind of) and the séance rooms (okay, he really minded those), but spirit people? Real life people separating their souls from their bodies and travelling that way? Leaving their flesh sack slumped over and probably half-dead somewhere? That was definitely on Jeongguk’s very specific list of Things That Are Not Okay. ‘Half-dead flesh sacks’ fell right between ‘fuzzy crocs’ and ‘capitalist machinations by the bourgeoisie’.
“You could have just called,” Yoongi says grumpily, placing a cup of tea in front of the guest.
“I did,” ghost-Hoseok chirps, “but sometimes you’re in Monaco and you feel the inescapable urge to visit your best friend who is suddenly and mysteriously super busy and doesn’t have time for gossip, Seok-ah. Your voicemail’s full, by the way.”
“Have you been talking to Jin hyung? Is that what this is about?”
Somewhere beneath the thrill of fear Jeongguk is experiencing (because he’s looking at someone’s actual soul given form, what the fuck, Hoseok) he wonders what Seokjin has to do with Hoseok’s visit.
“Maybe I just wanted to drop by and see what my best friend was up to, Yoongi,” ghost-Hoseok says. “What’s so wrong with that?”
“I told you, I’m busy with work.”
“Weird pet name, but okay.”
“Hoseok.”
Jeongguk watches ghost-Hoseok reach for the handle of his teacup. No way is he going to do it, Inner-Jeongguk hisses, no fucking way can he pick that thing up and-- ohmygod, ohmygod, he’s going for it.
Ghost-Hoseok bring the tea to his lips and swallows. The tea falls straight through his mouth and onto the table.
“Aw,” ghost-Hoseok pouts, setting the cup down again. “I thought for sure it would work this time.”
Jeongguk’s eyes bug out of his head.
Yoongi glares. “You better clean that up, Jung Hoseok, I swear to--”
Ghost-Hoseok flickers out of existence for a second and pops back a second in the chair across from Jeongguk, who startles so hard he hits his knees on the underside of the table.
“Long time, no see, huh, Guk?” Hoseok says brightly, ignoring Yoongi’s ineffectual rage.
“Yeah,” Jeongguk grunts through gritted teeth, clutching his kneecaps, “it’s been a minute.”
“You still dancing? You must be graduating this year, right? Joonie said you a job lined up already.”
“Ah, yeah, an entertainment company in Gangnam is interested in hiring me.”
“A few of them are,” Yoongi adds, and immediately turns red.
Jeongguk stares at the witch doctor. “Uh, right. A few companies made offers, but I like the one in Gangnam best.”
“Truly incredible, isn’t it, Yoons?” Hoseok says.
Yoongi mutters something about cleaning up and disappears into the kitchen. There’s a lot of stomping for someone who’s supposed to be cleaning, Jeongguk thinks, but whatever works.
“Wow.” Hoseok drops his chin into his hand. “I sure do wonder how Yoongi could have possibly known about your job offers, Jeonggukie. Don’t you? Isn’t that a thing you might, in fact, be wondering right now?”
Jeongguk frowns. Jeongguk gets the feeling he isn’t talking about his job offers, but doesn’t really know what else he’d be talking about. “I mean, he probably talked to my hyungs?”
“What an incredibly astute observation, Guk. Yes, I suppose he must have talked to Jin hyung and Joonie. Thoughts on that?”
“Uh,” Jeongguk says, “no?”
Hoseok sighs. “I just think it’s funny how he found time to talk to them about their cute dongsaeng when he couldn’t be bothered to text me back. Me, his best friend, who worries about his carcass rotting without proper burial? I just think I deserve better, you know?”
“Um, yeah. You definitely do, hyung.”
“And I mean, I understand, Guk, I do. You’re distracting to the useless bisexual. The hair, the personality, the abs…”
“You’ve seen my abs?” Jeongguk asks stupidly.
“...and we all know that Yoongi has a thing for nice thi-- AUGH!”
Hoseok squawks as a dish towel rockets through his translucent face and smacks against the wall.
Yoongi is standing at the head of the table, looking murderous. “Friendship cancelled,” he growls. “Get out of my house.”
Hoseok presses a hand to his chest like a scandalized Victorian woman. “Whatever for, Yoongi? Was I wrong about your thigh ki--”
“I told you,” Yoongi interrupts, cheeks tinged pink, “I’m busy.”
Hoseok stares at him with squinted eyes. Yoongi stares back and crosses his arms.
Jeongguk wonders if telepathy is, in fact, a real thing.
“Fine.” Hoseok say suddenly, pouting. “But you need to clean out your voicemail. And you have to add him to the group chat!”
“Absolutely not,” Yoongi snaps.
“You’re so cute when you’re angry.”
“Fuck off.”
“You love and cherish me.” Hoseok blows Yoongi a kiss. Yoongi continues scowling even as he catches the flying kiss and smacks it against his cheek.
“Alrighty then. See you soon, Gukie! Tell Jin hyung and Joonie to keep the canoodling in the bedroom. Their spirits send me SOS signals when I’m dream scrying.” Hoseok starts to flicker faster, a little more erratically. He smiles at Jeongguk from across the table. “Good luck,” he adds quietly, and winks once before blinking out of existence entirely.
The room is silent.
Even though Jeongguk is a certified Human Disaster who doesn’t do well with social interactions in general, he is pretty sure Hoseok had been hinting about something he thought Jeongguk knew about, when in fact Jeongguk had never felt more certain that he did not know what anyone, anywhere was talking about anymore.
“I...do not choose my partners solely on the basis of their thighs,” Yoongi says for some reason, staring at the floor.
“Uh, okay.” Jeongguk replies, because what else is he going to say.
Yoongi clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck. “You, uh, want some lunch?”
“Like, a normal lunch?” Jeongguk asks hesitantly. He feels like the question is justified because Yoongi cooks in the same place he makes poisons and aphrodisiacs.
“A normal lunch?” The witch doctor repeats.
“Yeah, like...people food? No magic ingredients?”
Yoongi stares. “Literally what else would I feed you?”
Jeongguk purses his lips. “Seokjin fed me worms once and told me it was spaghetti.”
Yoongi looks horrified. “Jeongguk-ah, what?”
“Illusion magic,” Jeongguk says sagely, “I should’ve known pasta wouldn’t move like that.”
Yoongi opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but seems to think better of it and just shakes his head before moving toward the fridge.
“No japchae,” he says, “Got it.”
*****
Jeongguk happily munches on a mouthful of kimbap, leaning against the kitchen counter while he watches Yoongi work. According to the witch doctor, he was experimenting with a line of botanical skincare, and was currently perfecting a rose water toner. The potions that Jeongguk had seen previously had been cleared away, sent out to different clients, Yoongi told him. Now the kitchen counters were covered in what looked like a mad scientist’s wet dream-- beakers and flasks and tubing all over the place. Jeongguk had seen Seokjin make his own toner in a pinch, so he wasn’t really sure why Yoongi required the setup from Dr. Frankenstein’s lab to shove some flowers into water.
“I’m not just ‘shoving flowers into a bunch of water’,” Yoongi scoffs. Jeongguk can hear the air quotations in his tone. “I mean...I am, but that’s just for the rose water part. I still need to figure out what base to use and what properties I want to enhance. I mean, obviously the roses, but I’m also adding--”
Yoongi talks about the toner for a few minutes while he waits for the rose petals to steep. Jeongguk listens, in awe of the complexity of what Yoongi is trying to achieve. There’s a delicate balance of ingredients and magic involved, not to mention a specific process to follow. Yoongi doesn’t seem to think it’s all that impressive, but Jeongguk frequently loses track of how long his macaroni has been boiling, so he has a hard time imagining what multitasking with magical ingredients would be like.
“Do you do anything else?” Jeongguk asks around a bite of kimbap. “Like, obviously you do other things, I’m not suggesting you don’t, like, exist outside of your job or anything. But what about hobbies? Do you have those?”
Implying that he’s either a Victorian spinster or a cog in the corporate machine, Inner-Jeongguk scoffs. Nice one.
Victorian spinsters had hobbies! Jeongguk argues back to himself.
You’re right, Inner-Jeongguk concedes, they totally did.
Yoongi is fiddling with the string of his apron, wrapping it around his finger over and over again.
“I write,” he says, not meeting Jeongguk’s eyes. “Song lyrics, mostly. Used to rap underground. With Hoseok and Joon, actually.”
“What?” Jeongguk’s jaw drops. “No fucking way.”
Yoongi grins. “Yeah. We were pretty good, too.”
“Hyung, Namjoon unironically wears knee socks with shorts.”
“Yeah,” Yoongi snorts. “Wore ‘em on stage, too.”
“No.”
“Yup. Called himself Runch Randa.”
“Oh my god, that’s amazing,” Jeongguk giggles, face scrunching up in the way that Taehyung always says makes him look like a rabbit. Something fond and amused slips across Yoongi’s face, but whether its aimed at him or knee-socked rapper Runch Randa, Jeongguk doesn’t know. “Hyung, what was your stage name?”
“Gloss.”
“Gloss?” Jeongguk gasps. “Like the soundcloud rapper?!”
“The one and only.” Yoongi rubs his palms against his thighs. “You know the name?”
Jeongguk makes a strangled sound. “Who doesn’t? Hyung, Gloss is so popular! He was totally on the cutting edge of hip hop! He’s credited for some of the current trends in the genre. People made conspiracy theory videos about what happened to him and everything!”
“Nothing happened to me.” Yoongi shrugs. “I just makes music for myself now.”
Jeongguk watches Yoongi strain the rose petals from the water, grimacing at the heat of the vapor.
“Do you miss it?” Jeongguk asks, a little reluctant to voice the question, but too curious to hold it in. “Performing, I mean. Being Gloss.”
“Yes and no. I’m still writing. I still sell songs sometimes. I’m just not as loud about it. My work here is just as important to me as music is. I’m lucky, Jeongguk-ah. The things I love loved me back so I could make a living from them. I’m surrounded by good things. All good things. Not many people have that kind of luck, you know?”
Jeongguk makes a low sound of agreement, turns Yoongi’s words over in his mind, looks at them from different angles. He doesn’t think Yoongi’s had an easy life. No witch has it ‘easy’ he knows. But he does think that maybe the universe saw Yoongi the way it’d seen Seokjin and Namjoon; saw the good things they were trying to do despite their difficult circumstances and said you deserve good things, too. Maybe that’s how Seokjin and Namjoon had their successful business. Maybe that’s how Yoongi became a famous witch doctor. Through effort and talent, sure, but also through a bit of well-deserved luck. A little bit of well-deserved love. Good people like them attracted that sort of thing.
“What about you?” Yoongi asks abruptly.
“What about me?” Jeongguk echoes.
Yoongi’s eyes linger in a way that makes Jeongguk’s cheeks burn. “You’re a dancer, aren’t you?”
“I--yeah.”
“Why?”
And Jeongguk doesn’t even have to think about it, because he knows why. He’s always known why. He’s just never had to share that with anyone else. No one’s ever asked. Namjoon and Seokjin know, but that’s because they’re Namjoon and Seokjin. They know without having to ask.
Yoongi busily mixes something on the counter while waiting for the rose water to cool. He doesn’t push for an answer. He just waits. Jeongguk likes that about him. Likes a lot of things about him, if he were being honest.
“I started when I was a kid,” Jeongguk begins, nervously tucking strands of hair behind his ears. “I had a lot of energy and a big imagination, which is a pretty lethal combination. My mom signed me up for dance lessons out of desperation.”
Yoongi chuckles.
“It’s hard to put into words,” Jeongguk continues, quieter than he had before, “the feeling I get when I’m dancing. It’s like...like I’m bigger than I really am. It feels like having a purpose. Like flying.” Jeongguk ducks his head so he doesn’t have to feel the heat of Yoongi’s gaze on him. “Feels like a lot, I guess,” he mutters.
“All good things, though?” Yoongi asks softly.
Jeongguk looks up at him. “Yeah,” he says, “all good things.”
He breaks the heavy atmosphere by airplaning the last piece of kimbap up to Yoongi’s mouth with a cheeky grin. He expects the man to protest and pull away, maybe laugh at the airplane noises, but there’s no hesitation from Yoongi when he eats the kimbap straight from Jeongguk’s chopsticks. He rolls his eyes when Jeongguk uses his announcer voice to declare that the plane had safely landed on the tarmac.
“You’re ridiculous,” the witch doctor tells him, as if Jeongguk doesn’t already know.
*****
Jeongguk slips Misun’s arms through her rain jacket while she’s still waking up, all bleary-eyed and mussed hair. Yoongi fiddles with the baby monitor that definitely isn’t a real baby monitor and frowns.
“What?” Jeongguk asks, alarmed, “Is she okay?”
“Probably,” Yoongi hums, which isn’t the most reassuring assessment. “I’ll have to have Hoseok take a look before I give the results to Joon and Jin hyung.” At Jeongguk’s confused head tilt, Yoongi adds, “Just to be sure.”
Yoongi walks them to the door like always, but he looks pensive, a little distracted.
“Hey,” Jeongguk asks the witch doctor, grabbing Misun’s hand before she tripped over the door jamb and face-planted on the porch, “Are...you okay?”
“Yeah,” Yoongi answers, startled. “Yeah, I’m just-- it’ll probably be the last time you have to bring Misun by.”
“Oh. I guess it is.” Disappointment and faint panic burns in Jeongguk’s chest. He hadn’t really thought about how his contact with Yoongi was dependent upon Misun. He hadn’t really thought about what would happen after she was better. He doesn’t even know what to say, and Yoongi seems to be waiting for him to say something, but all he can hear in his big, dumb head is Inner-Jeongguk screaming: Do something, you big dumb idiot! Don’t just stand there!
And Jeongguk really, really wants to do something. He thinks that if he did, there’s a chance that Yoongi might even reciprocate. But Jeongguk is an awkward human being who thinks about dragonfly milk and accidentally called Edith Piaf a rice dish. How could he, Human Disaster Jeon Jeongguk, possibly do something about someone like Min Yoongi? So Jeongguk decides to handle it the way he handles most of his problems.
He makes a split second decision and decides to abide by the consequences.
Yoongi shoves his hands into his jeans pockets and glances at his feet before meeting Jeongguk’s eyes again. “Anyway,” he says, smiling ruefully, “it’s been--”
“Do you maybe want my number?” Jeongguk blurts out with all the pent up energy of a toddler at Christmas time. But, like, a nervous toddler. A really nervous toddler waiting to find out that Santa wasn’t real even though he kind of already knew because fucking Soobin had ruined it for him by telling him that she’d seen her father putting on a goddamn beard and--
Oh no, Inner-Jeongguk panics, once he realizes what he said, you absolute moron.
Yoongi stares at him for a long moment, and then silently holds out his phone.
Jeongguk exhales heavily, planting his hands on his knees. “Thank god. That was easier than I thought it would be.”
Yoongi purses his lips. “Are you calling me easy?”
“What? No!” Jeongguk straightens up so quickly he nearly over balances, “No! I would never--”
Yoongi laughs then, laughs his beautiful quiet laugh that shakes his shoulders and squeezes his eyes shut. “God, your face,” he cackles.
Jeongguk grabs the phone from his hand and grumpily stabs at the keyboard to enter his contact information. He practically hurls the phone back at the older man when he’s done. His face feels hot.
“I’m leaving,” Jeongguk declares, hauling a half-awake Misun into his arms.
He’s marching down the driveway when his phone buzzes in his pocket.
Unknown Number
jeongguk-ah
aren’t you forgetting something?
Confused, Jeongguk turns around and jogs back to Yoongi as best he can with Misun hanging from his arms like a limp sloth.
“What?” Jeongguk pants, when he reaches the front porch. “Did I forget my--”
Yoongi pulls something out of his pocket and holds it out.
A bright red lollipop.
“Want one for the road?” Yoongi asks.
Jeongguk steps closer, entirely unconsciously, as if pulled. Any closer and he’d have Yoongi backed against the door frame. He clears his throat. “Yes, please,” he says.
The witch doctor grins. “Pretty manners,” he purrs. “Good boy.”
Jeongguk shivers and opens his mouth, pulse pounding. Yoongi curls a finger through his belt loop to hold him still, and places the lollipop on his tongue with a satisfied smile. When he steps back, Jeongguk isn’t sure if he’s relieved or disappointed.
“Get home safe, okay?”
“Yeah,” Jeongguk says around the lollipop. It’s cherry; both tart and sweet. “We will.”
He turns to go and collect Misun from where she’s holding court among the driveway toads, but changes his mind at the last second. Instead, Jeongguk leans down and presses a sticky, cherry-flavored kiss to the soft curve of Yoongi’s cheek. When he pulls away, Yoongi is just as red as the lollipop.
“See you later, hyung,” Jeongguk says shyly.
When he sneaks a look over his shoulder, Yoongi is still there, watching him leave.
*****
“He hates me,” Jeongguk declares to the empty living room where he’s draped over the sofa, languishing.
“He doesn’t hate you,” Seokjin calls from the kitchen. “Stop being annoying.”
“What do you know?” Jeongguk shouts back. “Namjoon always texts you first!”
“It’s been three days, Jeongguk! He’s a working man! Maybe he’d text you if you weren’t so--”
“You guys,” Namjoon hisses, walking into the living room, “Misun just fell asleep! Why are you shouting?”
“Why aren’t you shouting?” Jeongguk argues sotto-voice. “Your husband is a threat to civilized society!”
“I can hear you!” Seokjin hisses from the kitchen.
“Good!” Jeongguk whisper-screams. “When will you learn that your actions have con--”
Without warning, the front door slams open.
BANG.
Seokjin runs out of the kitchen, brandishing a spatula. Namjoon yelps. Jeongguk bolts upright.
Min Yoongi stands in the doorway, framed by the mid-afternoon light like a furious avenging angel, clutching a packet of papers in his hand.
“You horny motherfuckers,” he growls at Namjoon and Seokjin, who are currently gawking at the dent in their foyer wall. “This is all your fucking fault.”
Yoongi slams the door behind him and stalks toward Seokjin and Namjoon, brandishing the papers like a torch. “You can’t keep your goddamn hands out of each other’s pants long enough to make it to the bedroom?"
“What the fuck?” Namjoon asks the room at large. “Yoongi, what are you talking about?”
“I’m talking,” Yoongi hisses, toe-to-toe with the taller man, “about all the times you’ve boned in the séance room, you filth wizard!”
“How do you know about that?” Seokjin asks at the exact same time that a blushing Namjoon says, “I have no idea what you mean.”
Jeongguk immediately has a flashback to Namjoon’s face, beet red while explaining away the various incidents of exploding candles in the séance room.
Jesus Christ, Inner-Jeongguk groans. At least, he thinks its a thing Inner-Jeongguk groans, but he probably says it out loud, because Yoongi’s head whips around, eyes widening when he spots him.
“Hey,” Jeongguk says with a lame hand wave.
“Oh,” Yoongi says.
“Yeah,” Jeongguk says.
“Cool,” Yoongi replies.
“Yikes,” Seokjin comments.
“Why are you here?” Namjoon asks Yoongi, getting the conversation back on track.
“Why am I--” Yoongi balls his hands into fists. “Are you really telling me you have no idea?”
Seokjin and Namjoon just blink at him like a pair of confused great horned owls. Yoongi sighs. “You deserve each other, you know that?” The witch doctor marches down the hall toward the séance room.
Namjoon jogs to keep up with the smaller man’s pace. “What’s going on?” He asks desperately. Seokjin and Jeongguk scramble to catch up behind them.
Yoongi shoves open the door to the séance room and zeroes in on the small, black box from Seokjin’s great aunt Lucinda. It’s perched on the fireplace mantel, between a photo from Namjoon and Seokjin’s wedding and a plaque that reads ‘WORLD’S OKAYEST DADS’. He lifts it off the mantel, dusts it off, and holds it out.
“What do you think this is?” he asks Seokjin.
“Uhhh,” Seokjin says. “An heirloom box from my crazy great-aunt Lucinda? The one she made me sign ownership papers for?”
The room suddenly drops in temperature by several degrees.
“Lucinda?” Yoongi frowns. “Weird. Did she marry into the family or-- nope, you know what? It doesn’t matter. Hyung, have you ever opened the box?”
Seokjin scoffs. “Why would I do that?”
“Because there’s obviously something inside of it,” Yoongi says, far too patiently.
“Oooh.” Seokjin pauses for a second. “What is it?”
Yoongi looks murderous. “Let me ask you another question,” he says, clearly straining to maintain his zen. “Have you ever experienced temperature fluctuations in this room? Strange noises? Static objects moving? Exploding candles?”
Namjoon coughs uncomfortably.
“What entities can affect their environment like that?”
“Ghosts, obviously,” Namjoon pipes up. “Or demons.”
“Demons?” Jeongguk squeaks.
“Oh my god,” Seokjin gasps, horror stamped across his handsome face. “You're not saying that the box-- Aunt Lucinda?!”
“There you go,” Yoongi says with apparent relief. “Jesus Christ that was a process.”
Seokjin grabs the box from Yoongi’s hand and throws open the lid. He stares inside for several tense seconds. His lips thin. He shuts the box gingerly and looks up.
“...her ashes,” he says bluntly. “She made me sign ownership papers for her urn while she was still alive, holy shit.”
“Oh god.” Namjoon looks pale. “So all this time we--”
“--have been fucking in front of my dead relative’s haunted ashes, yes,” Seokjin finishes, very calmly. “God, what a power move.”
“Don’t you guys, like, cleanse the space or whatever?” Jeongguk asks. “Doesn’t that, like, yeet the ghosts back to kingdom come?”
“You can’t cleanse a contractually bound entity,” Namjoon explains, “it doesn’t work like that. She's kind of a permanent problem now.”
Yoongi plants his hands on his hips. “Misun-ah,” he declares, “has been dreaming about some skeletal white woman in the séance room.”
“That’s Aunt Lucinda, all right.” Seokjin glares balefully at the box of ashes in his hands. “You hussy,” he hisses at it. “Don’t think I won’t dump you into the icee mix at the nearest 7-Eleven!”
A lightbulb in the corner of the room cracks. No one notices.
“That’s not all,” Yoongi continues, “Misun-ah can see her.”
“What?” Jeongguk squawks.
“What?” Namjoon gasps.
“What?” Seokjin frowns.
“She can see her,” Yoongi repeats. “Misun-ah sees ghosts. Your Aunt Lucinda has been manifesting out of sheer fury that you two have been sucking dick in her presence, and Misun-ah can see her and is terrified out of her mind.”
“So what you’re saying,” Jeongguk says slowly, “is that Misun is selectively mute because she’s scared of great-aunt Lucinda? And it’s their fault?”
Seokjin sniffs. “Voyeur.”
“She doesn't have much of a choice," Yoongi says dryly.
“Well, then I guess she shouldn’t have forced her flamboyantly gay great-nephew to take her her weird box with explicit instructions to put it in the séance room!” Seokjin snaps. "What are we supposed to do, Yoongi? Have boring missionary sex in the bedroom like heterosexuals? Do you even know who I am?!"
Namjoon puts a gentle hand on Seokjin’s shoulder. “So what do we do about it? How do we help Misun?”
“Not fucking in the séance room would be a good start,” Yoongi replies, “but there are other suggestions in the print out.” He hands Namjoon the now-crumpled stack of papers. “Do you have coffee? I think I’m on the verge of death.”
“In the kitchen,” Namjoon mumbles, rifling through the papers.
“Great.” Yoongi grabs hold of Jeongguk’s flannel and drags him out of the room.
Yoongi doesn’t let go as he rifles through the dishwasher for a clean mug and pours the cold morning coffee down his throat.
“Thank god,” he croaks, closing his eyes in bliss. “I thought I was going to pass out.”
“Have you eaten yet, hyung?” Jeongguk asks in concern.
“No need to eat if you’re devouring your work,” Yoongi quips and then immediately grimaces. “Please forget I said that.”
Jeongguk tugs Yoongi along in the direction of the living room sofa. “Sit down. I’ll make you something.”
“No spaghetti,” Yoongi mutters.
Jeongguk bites back a laugh. “Got it.”
Jeongguk raids the kitchen for eggs and vegetables. He heats up red bean rice and puts some radish kimchi in one of the cute, porcelain bowls Seokjin always warns him away from. He’s glad to have something to do with his hands because it forces him to concentrate, forces him to stop thinking about what he’s going to say to Yoongi once he has nothing else to distract himself with. Far too soon, Jeongguk is presenting the witch doctor with a vegetable omelet and some banchan.
“You made all this?” Yoongi asks, hungrily tucking into the meal.
“Just the omelet,” Jeongguk admits. “Seokjin made the rest.”
Yoongi lets out an incredibly unnecessary moan after he bits into the omelet. Jeongguk feels himself turning red and buries himself in his phone, scrolling through his Instagram feed while Yoongi acts out a softcore porno with his breakfast. He practically inhales the food. Jeongguk wonders exactly how busy the witch doctor has been the past few days; whether or not he had anyone nearby to take care of him.
“Have you been sleeping?” Jeongguk asks once Yoongi has finished the meal and flopped back against the couch. His dark circles are darker than usual.
The witch doctor shrugs. “A bit. I have a lot to catch up on. Working on Misun’s case set me back.”
“Oh.” Jeongguk doesn’t know whether he should interpret that as hanging out with you set me back or not. He doesn't have the guts to ask Yoongi why he hadn’t texted him, either.
Yoongi must sense his train of thought, because he tilts his head toward Jeongguk. “Jeongguk-ah, don’t worry,” he says, “it was never a bother.”
Jeongguk ducks his head. "Okay."
“Hey.” Yoongi licks his lips. “I wanted to--”
“WHERE’S HOBI?” Seokjin shouts, blasting through the séance room doors and into the main part of the house. “GET HIM ON THE PHONE, NAMJOON, I WANT TO HEAR IT STRAIGHT FROM HOSEOK HIMSE--”
“Jesus Christ.” Yoongi covers his eyes. “Do they ever shut up?”
“Hyung, you’re still here?” Namjoon walks into the living room, a calm presence after the whirlwind of his husband. “Don’t you have a ridiculous amount of orders to ship?”
Yoongi groans, running a hand through his hair. “Fuck. Yeah, I do. Fuck. Fine. I’m going, I’m going.” He heaves himself off the couch like he’s weight down by something. Jeongguk fiddles with his bracelets, chest aching with disappointment. Hurt, too. Yoongi hadn't bothered to text him and now he wasn't even going to stay? Was it something he said? Had Yoongi just woken up and decided that Jeongguk was a little too shy, a little too awkward? That he just wasn't worth the effort?
Wouldn't be the first time, Jeongguk thinks bitterly.
“Jeongguk-ah.”
He looks up.
Yoongi holds out a hand. “Walk me out?” There’s a question in his eyes, something careful about the way he asks. He looks at Jeongguk like he’s something fragile, something worth handling carefully.
“I...sure, hyung.” Jeongguk takes the witch doctor's hand and pulls himself upright, marveling at the way Yoongi plants his weight so that Jeongguk’s doesn’t pull him down. Yoongi seems like the type of person who follows through on his promises. Solid, dependable. Maybe that’s why it hurts so much that he hadn’t texted.
Jeongguk goes to move away, but Yoongi just tightens his grip and doesn’t let go of his hand until they reach the foyer. Jeongguk watches Yoongi lace up his boots in silence, hands tucked into his pockets, unsure of what to say. Yoongi doesn't say anything either, but once he's done, he leans against the front door and blows out a slow breath.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, “for not texting you.”
“It’s okay.” Jeongguk shrugs, not meeting his eyes. “You were busy.”
“Yeah, but,” Yoongi says, and cuts off with a frustrated sound. “That’s not-- Jeongguk-ah, I just wasn’t sure if you knew what you were getting into."
Jeongguk frowns. "What?"
Yoongi rubs his neck. "You’re just so...you’re really accepting. You know?”
Jeongguk most assuredly does not know.
Yoongi huffs a frustrated breath. “Jeongguk-ah,” he begins, and Jeongguk is too endeared by his nervous-frustrated face to reply, “I’m a witch.”
“Uh-huh,” Jeongguk agrees.
“I work a lot.”
Jeongguk nods. “You do.”
“I’m not a morning person.”
“Okay?”
Yoongi shuffles his feet, fidgets with his jacket. “I just need to know,” he mumbles, “if you’re sure.”
“If I’m sure?” Jeongguk echoes.
“About me,” Yoongi clarifies, looking like he’d rather be on a fast train to Busan. “I need to know if you’re sure about me.”
And suddenly everything clicks into place and Jeongguk isn’t sure if he wants to laugh or scream or grab Yoongi by the shoulders and shake some sense into him because why on earth would he not be sure about someone as sweet and loyal and beautiful as Yoongi? Jeongguk’s not really good with words under pressure, so he isn’t sure how to respond or what to say, but all he wants Yoongi to know how much he likes him, truly likes him and might even love him someday. Might even be starting to. He wants to tell Yoongi how much he wants him. He wants to say it in a way that Yoongi will understand.
“Hyung,” Jeongguk says slowly, trying to swallow his uncertainty and be brave, “can I have a lollipop?”
Yoongi looks at him in bewilderment. “You want-- really? Right now?”
Jeongguk nods.
“I-- alright?” Yoongi digs into his jacket pocket and pulls out a pink lollipop in clear plastic wrapping. Jeongguk steps close enough that Yoongi has to look up at him. Which he does. He holds the lollipop between them, brow furrowed a bit. He’s looking at Jeongguk like he’s the fragile one now, like he’s spring ice that might crack if Jeongguk steps the wrong way. Like he’s unsure about what happens next.
“You have to give it to me, hyung,” Jeongguk reminds him.
Color blooms across Yoongi’s cheeks when he realizes what Jeongguk means. “Okay,” he says shakily. He unwraps the candy. Jeongguk puts a hand on Yoongi's hip.
“Ask me, hyung,” Jeongguk says quietly. “Go ahead.”
Yoongi sucks in a breath, threads a finger through one of Jeongguk’s belt loops, and pulls him closer so that he’s crowding Yoongi against the front door. Jeongguk thinks that they’re both trying to be brave, both trying to ask for what they want.
“What’s the magic word, Jeongguk-ah?” Yoongi whispers, his gaze all heat and velvet. Jeongguk feels electricity spark low in his stomach.
“Please. Hyung, please.” Jeongguk closes his eyes and opens his mouth. He hears Yoongi exhale sharply before the lollipop hits his tongue.
Jeongguk hums appreciatively and swirls the lollipop in his mouth. Strawberry. He opens his eyes and grins at the stunned look on Yoongi’s face, feeling bold. “Tastes good, hyung,” he tells him.
“Yeah?” Yoongi’s voice sounds a little strained, his eyes still trained on Jeongguk’s mouth.
Jeongguk pushes the lollipop to the other side of his mouth, into his cheek. “Yeah,” he confirms. He pulls the lollipop out slowly, letting his lips wrap around the candy. Yoongi’s eyes are so, so dark, eyebrows furrowed. His hand curls around Jeongguk’s waist now, firm and grounding.
“Wanna try?” Jeongguk asks breathlessly.
“Yeah,” Yoongi replies lowly, voice a little uneven, “yeah, I do.”
Jeongguk smiles, feeling as light as air, feeling incandescent. “What’s the magic word, hyung?”
“Please,” Yoongi breathes, looking up at him with something like desperation, “Please, Jeongguk-ah, plea--”
Jeongguk surges forward and presses their lips together. Yoongi makes a sound in the back of his throat, half startled, half relieved, and lifts up on his toes to wrap his arms around Jeongguk’s neck, pressing their bodies together, easy, easy, easy. Like they’ve done this hundreds of times. Jeongguk tangles a hand in Yoongi’s hair, fits the other one to Yoongi's waist, and kisses him until the witch doctor is arched against him, greedy and wanting. When Jeongguk pulls away, Yoongi's eyes are blown wide and dark like a midnight sky.
“Jesus,” the witch doctor whispers before crushing his lips against Jeongguk’s again. It’s messy and a little desperate, but Jeongguk thinks it’s the best kiss he’s ever had.
I was right, Jeongguk thinks to himself, somewhere beneath the haziness of satisfaction and want, he tastes sweet.
“Hyung,” Jeongguk mumbles against Yoongi’s mouth an indeterminate amount of time later. “Yoongi hyung.”
Yoongi nips at his bottom lip and soothes it with a soft kiss before pulling back. “What, baby?”
Jeongguk blushes at the nickname, at how smug Yoongi looks when he sees it.
“Are you sure?” Jeongguk asks tentatively.
Yoongi lets his hands drift to the small of Jeongguk's back. “About you?”
Jeongguk looks at the front of Yoongi's sweatshirt instead of his face. It's easier. “I know I’m not the best at socializing.”
The witch doctor hums. “Neither am I.”
“I’m a dancer," Jeongguk continues. "I’m probably going to be poor.”
Yoongi shrugs. “I make enough money for the both of us. And our future dog.”
“I’m not that-- wait, we're getting a dog?!”
Yoongi cups Jeongguk's face between his hands and looks at him very seriously. “We are. I've been waiting for this for a long time, so if you don’t shut up and kiss me some more, I’m going to throw a fit.”
Jeongguk giggles. “Oh no.” He kisses the tip of the witch doctor’s nose. “We can’t have that.”
He presses a gentle kiss to Yoongi’s lips, reaching for--
"Finally!” Seokjin hollers suddenly from somewhere behind them. Jeongguk and Yoongi startle and jump away from each other. “Namjoon, come quick! Bring Aunt Lucinda!”
Yoongi growls, “What the f--” but Jeongguk leans in and steals another kiss. Then another, and another after that.
“Thank god!” Namjoon says with a gusty exhale a few moments later. “I thought they’d never do it.”
“You see this?” Seokjin shouts at what Jeongguk can only assume is great-aunt Lucinda’s urn. “Do you see this, you evil hag? This is true love in the making!” There’s a disturbing noise of something sandy being shaken around like a maraca. Jeongguk desperately hopes it isn’t Seokjin, furiously shaking his aunt’s haunted ashes. “You’re about to find out that spite is a family trait, you old witch! Go ahead and manifest to my face! I dare you!”
“Ignore them,” Jeongguk whispers against Yoongi’s lips.
“That’s the plan,” Yoongi whispers back.
Fin.