"It's Amortentia!"
"It is indeed. It seems almost foolish to ask," said Slughorn, who was looking mightily impressed, "but I assume you know what it does?"
"It's the most powerful love potion in the world!" said Hermione. "and it's supposed to smell differently to each one of us, according to what attracts us, and I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and-"
But she turned slightly pink and did not complete the sentence.
Day 1: Begin Amortentia
Ingredients: Potioning Water, Peppermint leaves, Powdered moonstone, Rose thorns, Ashwinder Eggs
The headmaster has to take a thorough evaluation of you before you are allowed into Advanced Potions.
One wrong ingredient—pixie violets instead of wolfsbane, powdered frog eyes instead of newt ones—and suddenly half the class is in a coma and the other half is green from head to toe, when all you were trying to make was a bone mending tonic.
Despite the chance of such disastrous mishaps, bone mending tonics are an important thing to keep in your survival kit.
Seungcheol walks into class on a bright Monday morning, and sees the word Amortentia scrawled across the board.
“Love potion?” he mumbles, rubbing his eyebrow with the edge of his sleeve. “What?”
A commotion from behind signals the arrival of a cluster of Slytherins. Advanced Potions is a popular class with Slytherins, but not so much with Gryffindors—the only other red tie in the room is a girl one year younger who casts a mean Expulso curse.
He isn’t sure if he’d rather deal with her, or the two demons he has right now.
“Amortentia,” Joshua repeats, while Seungcheol is dragging his cauldron out from underneath the table. “Oh, could you bring mine up too?”
Seungcheol spares him a withering glance from below, but does his bidding anyway, hoisting up another (considerably heavier) weight.
“What type of greedy niffler needs a solid silver cauldron?” he complains, for what must be the thousandth time.
Joshua blows him a kiss and Jeonghan snickers. They get to share a cauldron on account of being partners, but don’t seem content enough with their partnership to leave Seungcheol in peace.
Like the very word peace revolts him, Master Song comes billowing into the room in dramatic fury.
“Welcome, welcome, welcome,” he hums, and the curtains slide open with a flick of the wand. “Today, we will begin the process of a particularly tedious potion known as Amortentia. Some of you may know it as the love potion.”
So it isn’t a joke after all. That’s surprising, even though Master Song isn’t really known for his sense of humor. Amortentia is a rare substance, its ingredients’ registries carefully monitored by the National Society for Magic.
Maybe he can sneak some out to show Mingyu.
“What it induces, however, cannot be called love. True love cannot be manipulated or changed, and it certainly isn’t an obsession. So if I see any of you trying to sneak your finished product outside of this classroom,” Here, he rakes his eyes across the room. “I will personally report you to school administration and have you disciplined.”
Well, that’s the end of that. Mingyu hardly needs a love potion anyway; he probably has half the house trailing after him at any given moment.
Master Song continues. “There are a few crucial ingredients to Amortentia. Peppermint stems, moonstone, rose thorns, and ashwinder eggs. Brewing it is a nine day process, I expect all of you read this for last class’ homework assignment.”
Seungcheol zones out.
Joshua is scribbling notes down with a fancy ink pen. A gentle pop is the sound of Jeonghan uncapping the potioning water, gathered fresh from a stream down Biseondae trail.
When they are let free, he pulls out a scale to weigh the rose thorns. “I’m not sure why they’re teaching this to us. Couldn’t love potion be used for bad things too?” he wonders, carefully tapping some into his plate.
“I think it’ll be fun,” Jeonghan replies lightly, having given up on measuring his potioning water and just dumping in the entire jar. “Apparently, at the end, you can smell the three things you hold the dearest.”
“Things or people,” Joshua adds, mouth folding into a pinched, cattish smile. “Our Seungcheollie will finally realize his true love for the two of us!”
Choking, Seungcheol smacks him in the shoulder. “Yah, you—”
Like a dead leaf from its branch, Master Song drifts over. After scanning their empty cauldrons, he offers them a piercing gaze.
“Potion making is just as much about the making as it is about the potion. It is often not the scent of Amortentia, but the process of brewing it, which reveals more about your secret affections.”
Then, just like that, he glides away.
“Is this potions or philosophy?” Joshua mutters, stirring his silver cauldron with a matching silver rod.
Their potions professor is all about process, process, process. All spells are forbidden in his classroom. Knives must be used instead of Diffindo , mortar and pestle in lieu of Confringo.
Mingyu, who romanticizes struggle on a daily basis, would love it all.
“Mingyu—” he begins, ready to joke. Seungcheol can’t finish the sentence though, because he has fished out a moonstone the color of mermaid tails and fading rainbows. It glimmers knowingly, not magical in its own right but captivating all the same.
He turns it in his hand, letting it catch the muggish sunlight through the windows.
In a strange way, it reminds him of Mingyu’s eyes when he laughs.
Amortentia requires three dragon scales’ worth of powdered moonstone. The pestle stands before him, waiting. But his hands waver when he reaches for it.
Then he’s dropping the stone into his pocket, quick and easy.
“What were you saying about Mingyu?”
Seungcheol’s head flies to the side. Both of them are looking at him strangely, hands frozen in midair. Jeonghan looks half-ready to take his temperature.
“Nothing.” He forces a tight smile, rolling up his sleeves. “Just making my potion.”
After a moment, Joshua leans over to toss a fistful of peppermint stems into his cauldron.
Seungcheol’s smile drops. “Thanks.”
~
Seoraksan is the name of three things.
Firstly, it’s a mountain. A many-ridged mountain that peaks through the mist in sharp, consecutive points.
Secondly, it’s a national park. The park is named after the mountain, but stretches far beyond—steep ridges of rock scaled with rickety stairs, waterfalls and glassy streams, droves of green forest so soft that even the clouds stoop to sift their fingers through it.
It also stretches for kilometres on end, which makes it ideal to hide in.
Hide in because lastly, most importantly, it’s the name of Korea’s foremost magical institution: Seoraksan University of Sorcery.
There are many primary schools of magic scattered around the world, but very few universities. For this reason, Seoraksan has a sprinkling of foreign students as well—Joshua from America, Jun and Minghao from China.
Only a few years ago, their university became sister schools with Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Britain.
This explains a few things, like the names of the houses, and some of the quirks. For example, there are talking paintings hung across campus, but upon random trees and behind heavy waterfalls. It’s a bit of a scavenger hunt.
Sometimes the muggles find them. One has to master a suite of memory-erasing techniques to combat that.
On the other hand, it’s nice to have a national park as your campus. A plethora of walkable trails crisscross between their classes, which take place across the landscape. Still, he thinks some better choices could have been made regarding the locations of lodging.
Deep in the confines of the damp cave which is the Gryffindor dorm building, Seungcheol waits.
“Hey.” Mingyu drops down next to him and grabs a plate, quickly assembling a formidable pile of rice and bubbling quail egg curry. “Good selection today.”
Mingyu doesn’t like eating outside. Mosquitoes have a penchant for seeking him out near the river, and no amount of protective wards seem to be able to dispel the pests. Nature’s power and all that, he says.
Seungcheol thinks it’s ridiculous, but sits with him anyway.
“I heard you guys are making Amortentia in Potions?” Soonyoung asks, slurping up half a serving of black bean noodles in one go.
Eyes going wide, Mingyu pauses mid-bite. “Love potion? Is that even safe?”
“I hope so.” The weight in his pocket, the moonstone, makes itself known again, and Seungcheol clears his throat. “Once it’s finished, it smells like the three things you love the most. Master Song said something about realizing secret affections too.”
“Wait, wait, let me guess what you’ll smell.” Soonyoung’s hand flies forward to count off. “Cherry tart or melon tart, one of the two. Sweet potatoes. And chicken cutlet—”
“Pork cutlet,” Mingyu corrects quietly. “He likes pork cutlet.”
“Yah, do you two think I’m so shallow that my top three most loved things are food?” Seungcheol protests, but Soonyoung is now naming all the things he likes eating when they’re allowed into the Muggle town nearby.
Sighing, he finishes his soup with an eye on a particularly golden-looking drumstick. The kitchen rarely fries chicken for them, but it’s the end of the month and the start of a new season.
Campus gets to be exceedingly beautiful in the early weeks of spring.
When the last drop of bone broth is gone, he looks over, only to witness his chicken snatched from the top of the pile. The culprit, one Kim Mingyu, now rubs grease from his fingers with a scrunched nose.
While he’s distracted, Seungcheol reaches over and reclaims his drumstick. He has it for all about three seconds before being tackled.
“Hey, that’s mine!” Mingyu wrenches it back violently, lips knotting into a line. “Thief.”
Seungcheol draws an offended breath. “I had an eye on it!”
“I don’t care. It was on my plate.”
“It would have been on mine in a few seconds!”
“Well,” Soonyoung says, blindly cheerful above it all. “I can tell that Seungcheol hyung won’t be realizing any secret affections for Mingyu.”
“Well that’s perfect with me! I don’t want his love anyway.” Mingyu cuts himself off to take a bite of chicken, chewing so fast that Seungcheol is afraid he’ll choke. “Actually, I want something else entirely. I want—I want…”
Mingyu meets his eyes for a heavy second, then shifts them down to his roasted potatoes. His form slumps with lost fervor. “Whatever.”
The moonstone lies heavily in Seungcheol’s pocket, a heart in the open cavity of the chest. He lets Mingyu have the rest of the drumstick.
~
Day 2: Uncover, stir seven times anti-clockwise
Transfiguration usually takes place near the caves of Geumganggul, where the slanted, browning rock walls bear their explosions with rigid patience. Today though, Professor Kim takes the other fork in the path.
Green-sprigged trees arch gracefully over them, clasping at each other with fragile branches. Glimpses of bright blue prevail through their gaps.
Trying to blot out the sky is as futile as holding water in your fists.
The woods smell faintly of cinnamon. Mingyu swings his arms as they walk, taking long, easy steps. Seungcheol has to jog to keep up with him, especially when he gets distracted and starts really going.
Distracting Mingyu isn’t a difficult task. A pretty flower, an odd leaf, anything will do the trick.
“Look at those,” he breathes now, pointing at a pair of birds with red heads and mottled wings. “White backed woodpeckers. They’re rare around here.”
He could have been a Ravenclaw, a winding stream of information, eager to learn and fascinated with everything. Seungcheol peels off from the group to watch Mingyu watch the woodpeckers, shoving his hands into his pockets.
His fingers knock into something smooth. The moonstone.
“They’re in love,” Mingyu declares, after a moment of rapt staring. “They’re lovebirds.”
One woodpecker stabs at the other with its beak, and they hop away from each other while chirping violently.
Pleased, Seungcheol chuckles. “Yeah, for sure. That’s how they show their love, isn’t it? Trying to kill each other. That’s romance if I’ve ever seen it. ”
Mingyu throws his chin up defiantly. “You don’t know. Maybe bickering is their love language.” He looks back up and draws in an excited breath. “See? See? They’re kissing each other now!”
Seungcheol follows his gaze and finds, to his utter dismay, that they are kissing each other, long beaks brushing. What the hell. Crazy birds. What kind of idiot fights so much with someone only to kiss them two seconds later?
Triumphant, Mingyu saunters towards him, shoving into his shoulder with his own. “I know love when I see it,” he sings.
“That’s not kissing,” Seungcheol scoffs. “They’re just trying to peck each other again.”
A glance away from Mingyu reveals that they’ve been left behind.
“Hexes,” he curses. “See? We lost them, no thanks to your birdwatching. Professor Kim is going to murder us and leave us to be eaten by your Red-Footed Birdpeckers.”
“White-backed Woodpeckers,” Mingyu corrects, and then cries for him to wait, because Seungcheol is already sprinting away.
~
Their class settles on a white-pebbled riverside at the base of Biseondae Rock.
“So far, we have been learning how to alter inanimate objects.” Professor Kim strides around in long steps, coolly ignoring the way Mingyu is wheezing. “That was the easy part. We called it advanced transfiguration, but you weren’t even scratching the surface.”
“There are two things in this world which are the most stubborn of them all.” He lifts his wand and draws a bright leaf in midair. “Life.” A heart follows, glowing red. “Love.”
They hold their breaths, eyes naturally drawn to the heart. Seungcheol’s own heart catches like an inhaled breath.
Transfiguring love. This sounds something like their Amortentia lesson, except Amortentia doesn’t produce real love.
The heart disappears with a poof.
“Life is the one we will focus on,” Professor Kim says sharply, and the class slumps. “If life has taken one form, it is very difficult to persuade it into another. You will be hard-pressed to even spell a patch of moss into grass. This is why potions which change your appearance are so finicky to brew. The life inside of you has molded itself into you.It doesn’t want to change.”
He summons a fish from the stream in a swoop, suspending it in midair. “Look at this minnow. It’s silver and pale. If any of you succeed in turning it orange, just for one second, I’ll exempt you from your finals.”
Seungcheol grabs at his wand, only to be flicked by Mingyu.
“Ow!” he hisses. “What?”
“Isn't it obvious? You’ll embarrass yourself,” Mingyu replies, matter-of-fact. “Wait for someone else to try, and you’ll see.”
Seungcheol finds himself sinking back, despite the way his pride smarts.
And someone else does try, raising their wrist to cast a blue streak of light at the fish. It’s a first-year spell, as easy as snoring in your sleep.
To their utter surprise, it bounces off the fish like rubber and strikes a boulder instead. Moments later, a rich, late-sunset orange bleeds into the rock.
Oh.
The class dissolves into mocking laughter, and the blushing volunteer returns to his position.
Seungcheol avoids Mingyu’s triumphant glance with steady determination.
“We’ll get it eventually,” the professor says lightly, maneuvering the fish back into the river current. “This is the foundation for alchemical studies, which is the next course in this pathway. Let’s do something simple today. Leaves.” He flicks his wand again, and sparks come flying out, drifting towards the wooded area.
Seungcheol stands, and then helps Mingyu up.
“He mentioned love too,” he recalls, as they follow the sparks to their assigned leaf. “I wonder if you can transfigure love.”
“Why would you want to alter love like that?” Mingyu asks, rolling up the sleeves of his robe. “People understand it better than any magic could. Oh wait, I forgot. Everyone except you.”
There is a third thing in this world which is the most stubborn, and that is Kim Mingyu. Life, love, and Kim Mingyu. It’s a better trinity than most he can think of.
“You’re lucky I haven’t figured out this transfiguration thing yet,” He threatens, brandishing his wand like a dagger. “Just you wait, master of love. I’ll turn you neon orange.”
Mingyu grins, the sharp edge of his canine cutting through his smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll wait for you.”
Seungcheol pretends that doesn’t set his chest on fire.
~
For the next seven days, he has to make his way to the potions classroom at sundown to stir his Amortentia exactly seven times anticlockwise, before covering it back up.
Today, the potion is the same color as those two woodpeckers, simmering above its stove.
He pulls out his stirring stick and dries it off with a towel. Can bickering really be a love language? Because, in that case, he’d be head over heels for—
The liquid bubbles up, and Seungcheol slams a lid on top of the cauldron.
~
“What’s the Amortentia looking like?” Soonyoung asks, between two bites of roasted beef. “Smell like something yet?”
Seungcheol watches Mingyu break a bar of mint chocolate into two jagged pieces, far out of earshot.
Love, love, love. It’s only been two days, but it feels like all he hears about anymore.
“Nothing yet.”
~
Day 3: Uncover, stir seven times anti-clockwise
History and Cultivation of Magic is an interesting class. Mostly, they write long essays on wizarding wars Seungcheol forgets about the next day.
Sometimes though, the teacher hands them a map and allows them to take trips around the grounds. All they have to do is explain the historical significance of the place they visited. Which is fine.
He’s pretty sure he could explain the historical significance of a twig as long as nobody asked him to write an essay about it.
“Wonwoo and I are going to find a waterfall and finish our work,” Jihoon offers, shaking a heap of hair out of his forehead. “You could come along.”
He doesn’t have any better ideas. This way, he can ask one of the two Ravenclaws for help on his Geomancy diagram.
Then, Seungcheol catches Mingyu’s eye, and finds himself shaking his head. “That’s alright, you guys go ahead. We’ll let you have your peace.”
Jihoon’s lips curve up and a glint appears in his sharp eyes. “Okay,” is all he says, before turning around to catch up with Wonwoo.
Seungcheol watches them shrink into the forest before spinning around. “What did you have in mind?” he asks, hoisting his textbook bag over his back. It’s a mild strain, but keeping it magically levitated drains more energy than he’s willing to sacrifice.
Mingyu lets his bottom lip, chewed raw and pink, fall from his teeth. “There’s a Divination class I missed out on. Madam says I’ve still got to do it on my own.”
He frowns, stepping closer. “Divination? Alright. You could have done it near the waterfall too though. Wonwoo might be a skeptic, but I doubt he’d mind.”
The meadow is emptying, people breaking off in clusters to explore the grounds. Most of them have studied here for four or five years, but it’s near impossible to lay foot on every inch of the park.
The mountains, the woods, the valley, the sea. They’re inevitable.
“Ggyu,” he repeats, and Mingyu breaks.
“We’ve got to do it on top of Ulsanbawi. It's palm reading, and apparently ancient palm readers believed that place was, I don’t know, auspicious or something. The assignment is due tomorrow. It’s a lot of points. Hyung.”
Ah.
Ulsanbawi is a granite mountain peak on the north side, famous for its steep climb. The summit of the rock is paper-white and boasts dizzying heights.
The thing is, Mingyu doesn’t like heights.
Courage is the central trait of all Gryffindors. Some people think this means having no fears at all. Seungcheol thinks it means having the gall to face the fears you have.
And Mingyu asked him. This is the oxygen which swells his lungs.
“Let’s go,” he decides. “I’ve always wanted my palm read anyway.”
~
Some classes can be kilometres away from each other, but apparition is banned on university grounds. No administration has the caliber to deal with the limbs left behind by instant magical travel.
They do, however, have an extensive network of charmed cable cars, which take them wherever they need to go.
Finding the nearest one doesn’t take long. It’s dangling halfway down a line that stretches across a ravine.
“Acciocable car,” he says, pointing his wand forward. The metal box surges towards them, halting against the grassy edge of the cliff.
By now Seungcheol knows that the doors are almost always a little rusty, and take an extra push to slide open.
He also knows to climb in first and offer a hand to Mingyu. When all he gets are a few blinks, he frowns, shaking his arm. “Come on. Get in.”
Mingyu puffs out his chest. “I’m not scared of heights anymore. I just needed someone’s palm to read.”
“Oh.” Seungcheol starts pulling away, suppressing a sudden prick of disappointment.
As if struck, Mingyu surges forward. It hits him like a blow. Seungcheol topples back, slamming painfully into the aft wall, and the car teeters with their abrupt weight, side to side, unstable from its suspension.
Something grips his hand tightly.
The rattling door slides shut, triggering a fresh round of oscillations. On cue, a thin, mechanical voice seeps out from the charmed speakers. “Destination?”
The car is cramped and low on the inside, and Mingyu has to draw in his head so he won’t bump it. They keep swinging. The floor shrinks from Seungcheol’s feet, his free palm sliding on the support railing.
Someone is screaming. Maybe both of them.
Back and forth, back and forth. A wide glass window invites white sunlight into the small box. The distant mountains teeter with them, smudging green into blue. Solid ground is many meters below. At that point, neither of them will be very solid.
Blessedly, the shaking begins to slow. Colors fly into their lines again, and shapes peel themselves apart.
“What are you doing?” Seungcheol yells, once his organs seem to be sinking back into their proper places. “I thought you weren’t afraid of heights anymore?”
“I’m not.”
“Destination?"
Mingyu’s head flies up, and immediately crashes into the ceiling. “Ow! Ulsan—ow, ow—Ulsanbawi Summit. Please.”
They lurch back one last time, and then the view outside the window blurs into a melody of colors.
Now that they’re safe, Seungcheol tries to pull his hand away. Mingyu, however, only tightens his grip.
“We can still hold hands,” he insists. “I just wanted to tell you that…that I’m not scared anymore.” He straightens proudly, and proceeds to bump his head again. “Ah!”
Not scared anymore. As if.
Despite himself, Seungcheol reaches up to ruffle his hair and soothe the sting. Mingyu tries shaking him off, groaning. “Hyung.”
His voice betrays him though, curling up with the lilt of a bashful smile, and he hides his face behind his free palm.
He can’t help but smile too, when Mingyu’s head drops onto his shoulder. They slump against the wall and watch the world graze past them like a curse narrowly avoided.
~
“Alright,” Mingyu starts, setting down his divination textbook with a thunk. After a few moments of rapid flipping, he seems to find the page he’s looking for, creasing it with his thumbnail. “Give me your hand.”
He puts his own out expectantly.
“Again?” Seungcheol jokes, but obeys anyway, presenting his palm.
Their knees press into each other, as if they are boulders which haven’t moved for generations. Mingyu throws him a dirty look which is just a sulk.
They’ve settled on one of the many viewing points up the trail. It’s close enough to the summit that Mingyu thinks it counts anyway. Maybe this is a facet of his “nonexisting” fear of heights.
Still, Seungcheol, who isn’t particularly afraid of heights himself, finds himself relieved. Ulsanbawi Peak is a sickening experience, stick-narrow and dizzying, zig-zagged like a paper fan.
This sturdy balcony with safety railings is a welcome alternative.
He jolts when a finger brushes down his hand. Mingyu latches onto his wrist before it can be wrenched away. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
Seungcheol’s palm is still tingling, trembling. “Nothing.” He sucks in his cheeks and wills the ghostly touch to disappear. “Your—Your hands are cold.”
“Oh, sorry.” One warming spell later, Mingyu is reaching for his hand again. Seungcheol is dismayed to find that this doesn’t make anything better, that Mingyu’s touch still turns his heart into a flitting hummingbird.
The world wraps around them, a blur. Now, it’s just the top of Mingyu’s head, the round arch of his nose as he peers at the lines on Seungcheol’s palm.
He examines them like there’s something definite to be found, fingers tracing over each ridge, every stem-like branch.
There is something very meticulous about how Mingyu does things. If he declared right now that Seungcheol’s real name was Kim Merlin and he was an old, dead man with a long white beard, Seungcheol would look down at his palm and expect to see it etched in his skin.
“Your sun line and your fate line aren’t parallel.”
He startles out of his daze at the eager diagnosis. “My what and my...my what?”
The eagerness quickly morphs into irritation. “Your sun line and your fate line.” Mingyu stresses each syllable pointedly, alternating them with sharp gestures to the book. “They tell you about your legacy and outside influences. Since yours aren’t parallel, it means you’ll make your own future.”
Struck with interest, Seungcheol leans in. “What else does it say?”
“Shh.” Mingyu raises his hands like he’s placating a child. “Let me work.”
He uses two fingers this time, winding gently down a deeper crease while peering at his book.
Impatiently, Seungcheol swipes his tongue across his lip. His skin is prickling and flushed all over. Must be the warming spell.
“So this is your head line. It’s kind of between wavy and straight, I guess, so you’re a moderate thinker. Pretty balanced.”
The fingers pause at a break, where pale skin meets pale skin like a land bridge. “This gap here represents inner strife.” Brow low, Mingyu meets his eyes through a curtain of fringe. “Hyung, are you unsure about something?”
No. He shakes his head, first hesitant, then confident.
Looking unconvinced, Mingyu returns his attention to palmistry. “Alright. There’s not much here about your life line. So the only one left is your—”
Then, he gives a derisive snort.
Seungcheol scowls, sensing a tease and not liking it. “What?”
When they make eye contact, Mingyu is grinning. “It’s your love line. This is going to be sad. I’m surprised there even is one at a—”
Alright. He retaliates before the sentence has a chance to finish itself, grabbing Mingyu’s shoulders and tackling him onto his back. The world spins like a marble. The slam of his knee against the ground is a belated sting.
It’s noon. The sun is a heavenly eye, slipping behind the clouds with lazy blinks. Mingyu’s face is golden, except for where Seungcheol’s shadow colors it grey. Where there should be triumph, Seungcheol feels a tepid sort of tension.
“Since what?” he croaks, less forceful than he meant to be.
A breeze weaves through the thinning space between them, splaying its fingers through Mingyu’s hair.
He shifts up, until Mingyu’s face is fully shadowed, and all the sun can beat at is the bend of his neck. “Since what?”
Mingyu squirms until his fingers coil around the wrists pressing him down. But he doesn’t push them away. His face is a strange, conflicted, perfect reflection of all the things brewing in Seungcheol’s chest.
“Since you’re old,” he replies, finally. But even this familiar retort rings halfhearted to Seungcheol’s ears. Mingyu’s ears must register it too, judging by the way he scrambles to continue. “And arrogant. You’re really so embarrassing, hyung. What—what idiot would like you?”
The lump in his throat refuses to be swallowed down. There must be someone out there, idiot or genius, magical or muggle, who will love him. If not today, then tomorrow. Someday. That’s all he wants, anyway.
The certainty of a someday.
“What does my palm say?” he asks, instead of arguing. The curiosity is cloying, like satiation just within reach. The taste of apple blossoms in the breeze, collecting on the tip of his tongue.
There is a weighty pause.
Mingyu’s leg flies up in a fleeting blur. A hard sole digs into the bone of his skin. Seungcheol’s grip fails just long enough for his captive to scramble away.
The pain quickly distracts him from this loss. “Hexes,” he grunts, grinding his teeth together and crushing his hand into the radiating pain. “Did you have to use your heel?”
Across from him, Mingyu has settled back in front of his textbook. He’s ruddy red all over, the color of Gryffindor ties and phoenix feathers. “It can’t hurt that much,” he mumbles. “You’re just whin—”
“What does my love line say?” he asks again, rocking back and forth to distract himself.
Mingyu’s eyes flick to his palm, lingering for an infuriating moment.
“Come on, Ggyu. You saw it already.”
“Just because there’s a love line doesn’t mean you’ll find someone,” Mingyu snaps, crossing his arms. “It just means that there might be love in your life. It’s possible that you’ll never find anyone at all.”
His bottom lip is puffy with stubbornness.
“Kim Mingyu.”
“Fine!” Mingyu grabs his wrist with none of the gentleness from before, stabbing at a random line with a hooked finger. “This means that your love life will be hard-achieved. You’ll be devoted and receive loyalty in return. You’re someone who naturally gives attention and affection. The line starts from the edge of your palm. So, I don’t know, something about being always together.”
Seungcheol absorbs it all like a sponge cake. The last part doesn’t quite rub him the right way though. “Like, forever?” he repeats, doubtful. “Is that possible?”
“Probably not.” Mingyu shuts his book with a resounding snap. “Palmistry is pretty fishy magic, hyung. There’s got to be some mistake in here.”
“Hey, what mistakes?” Seungcheol gasps, skepticism disappearing in one fell swoop. “You were so confident in it just a minute ago, but when it comes to my romantic life, suddenly it’s all unreliable? You’re the fishy one here, not my eternal happiness. ”
They stand in unison, limbs awash with pins.
“That’s exactly the point,” Mingyu counters, handing Seungcheol his bag. “Just think about it. Eternal romantic happiness? It’s so rare in the first place, so it must be reserved for extremely likable people. And I can’t imagine anyone but me dealing with you for the rest of their lives.”
“Like you’re some saint,” he splutters back, picking pine needles off of Mingyu’s back. “I can’t imagine anyone but me dealing with you for the rest of their lives.”
“Hey, you’re rumpling up my robe!” Mingyu complains, batting away his fingers, and that’s the end of that.
People flock to Ulsanbawi for its immense height and majestic views. But the best part is the descent, when the world becomes level again.
Humanity wasn’t ever meant to fly, after all.
The trail slopes down like the back of a dragon. They are the orange sun, which scales the mountainous clouds in its arched descent. They are the black birds, swooping and sinking into the shadowed treetops.
Their cable car is parked in the distance, lines stretching into the rising fog. Seungcheol feels like those black ropes too—as if he has delved into something he has yet to comprehend.
Then Mingyu takes his hand again, and the fog clears.
~
Midnight nears, a silver promise through the high windows. He’d almost forgotten to tend to his Amortentia today.
It’s a good thing Master Song sees only the worst in them, and leaves the door to the potions workshop open at all times.
Seungcheol peers into the cauldron on the seventh turn. The contents are cloudy, but there isn’t any Mingyu here to fix that this time.
The stirring rod clinks loudly against the glass plate. Everything is a shadow except the moon.
~
Day 4: Uncover, stir seven times anti-clockwise
Transfiguration classes drag on like sluggish mops. Many painstaking attempts later, Seungcheol gets his leaf ruby red.
Professor Kim is heartily impressed, summoning his leaf from its tree to show the rest of the class. Mingyu’s applause sounds the sweetest.
“Show me too,” he demands after, gesturing to his own leaf. To his credit, it’s an odd mix of all the colors, like it can’t decide which one to be. That is to say, it’s brown.
“There’s really nothing to show,” Seungcheol says, shifting closer even as he speaks. “It’s an elementary spell. Just requires some more willpower, because the leaf is still alive. Here.” The grass is still damp, and when he pulls his palm from it, soil cakes thickly on his skin.
Mingyu wrinkles his nose, casting a cleaning spell on Seungcheol’s hands. “Sure. If it were that easy, we’d all have gotten it by now.”
The breeze is gentle in their little meadow by the stream. Professor Kim is demonstrating to an attentive group, but everyone else seems to have given up.
Between Advanced Spell Modifications and Defensive Warding classes, not being able to change the color of a leaf must be discouraging.
He’s a firsthand witness to this.
“Colovaria. Colovaria!” Mingyu’s skin goes from tan to white in an instant. “Colovaria?”
Seungcheol sits forward, struck with a bout of inspiration. “Here, maybe it’s your wand movement.” He wraps himself around Mingyu, winding fingers around his wrist.
“It’s an infinity symbol. Double swishes. See?” His arm sticks to Mingyu’s as he moves it side to side. “Back and forth. Yeah, just like that.”
Their closeness is a delayed realization. When he exhales, Mingyu’s bangs rustle. A pulsepoint beats beneath his skin. The certainty of a heartbeat is irreplicable—maybe even magic can’t create something so steady.
The heartbeat, the arrival of spring. Love and life, the two most stubborn things in the world.
Except, how could he forget the third?
Mingyu’s grip tightens around his wand, and his movements become more pronounced. Seungcheol feels warmth unfurl in him like an apple blossom.
“Good job. Make sure to finish the figure eight, or else the incantation won’t be completed. It’s more picky with live things.”
“Colovaria,” Mingyu recites, and a zap of blue light erupts from the tip of his wand. It only makes halfway through the air though before fizzling out.
“That’s better. Try again.”
He doesn’t need to say it. Of course he doesn’t. Mingyu pursues everything with narrow-eyed determination, like the apple blossom prevailing over the early frost, like the sun pushing at the hills in its quest to rise. Both of these things inevitably succeed.
So will Mingyu.
“Colovaria,” he repeats, voice colored with steel. This time, the bolt of blue is stronger, longer, brighter as it arces away. It cuts through the patch of air where its predecessor faded.
Seungcheol's breath catches. Mingyu’s back presses against his chest, curled in so he fits.
Instead of bouncing off the leaf, the light absorbs into it. They squint impatiently, jostling for a view.
The leaf turns an unmistakable orange. They have overcome the seasons and spelled spring into fall.
Mingyu seems caught in a tangle of shock, so Seungcheol whoops. Then, they’re both making loud noises, batting each other and pointing to the leaf as if anyone could have missed it.
Mingyu twists around to grab onto his arm, grinning. That one sharp tooth glints boyishly at the edge of his lips, the entirety of his face so breathtaking that Seungcheol suddenly feels dizzy.
Again, the Amortentia comes to mind, swirling in snakelike ripples.
Woodpeckers, clouds, ripples. These things are the parts of a potion not yet put together.
“Having fun?”
They look up so fast that their heads smash into each other. Seungcheol’s mouth forms a silent groan as he grasps his temple.
Professor Kim looms above them, face obscured by a dark gray shadow. His eyes flick between the two of them keenly. Conscious, they peel apart, limbs sluggish and reluctant.
“Mingyu got his leaf orange,” he explains, pointing to the tree the leaf is attached to.
“Remarkable,” the professor replies, and the tension simmers away easily. “But then, you’ve had a good tutor too.”
He half expects Mingyu to deny it, to make some offhand remark that’ll get them fighting again. His mind races, conditioned to form retorts for insults not yet made.
Instead, Mingyu meets his eyes. “I did.”
His heart skips a beat.
Not so stubborn then. The heart is just like the leaf after all, malleable in the end.
~
The Amortentia is changing colors every day. The end result is supposed to be pearlescent, with only the mist’s colors hinting at the things you love.
Seungcheol’s potion looks a little too green for comfort though, the shade of peppermint stems. So he does what any good potioneer would do—he adds more peppermint stems.
The brew hesitates at the new addition before swallowing it down. Frothy remnants of bubbles marr its smooth surface.
Satisfied with this, he begins to pack up again.
Master Song is sitting behind his desk, quieter than a cricket at noon. The flicker of his eyes is a sharp motion in the stillness.
“Is your love potion coming along well?”
Startled, Seungcheol comes to a halt. “I—yeah. Yes, sir.” He means to leave after that, but finds a question slipping out of his mouth instead. “But, you said it wasn’t love potion, didn’t you? That what it induced wasn’t love?”
An expression filters across Master Song’s face which is hard-wrought: satisfaction. “It can be a love potion,” he replies. “For some people.”
Joshua’s quip about philosophy slides back into his mind. Philosophy, unfortunately, has never been his subject. Mingyu, who loves a good puzzle with an existential crisis on the side, prefers it a good deal more.
Maybe Seungcheol should recommend advanced potions to him.
“Thank you,” is all he says now, walking out of class with the distinct bubbling of uncertainty in his stomach. The door slides shut behind. When he turns around, its outline is untraceable in the wall of rock. These are the charms meant to hide them from the eyes of a non-magical world.
What is he hiding from himself?
Seungcheol’s thumb drifts to trace the lines of his inner palm. Life line. Love line. Head line. It pauses where there’s a gap in the crease.
Inner strife. He had shaken his head so surely when confronted with the possibility of it.
What was there to plague his mind except exams and the distant future? What could possibly be so important as to break the very lines of his fate?
Now, as he steps into the forest, Seungcheol isn’t so sure.
~
He has no future in divination, especially not with dreams. Most of his dreams touch his temples and wither away as soon as day breaks into his eyes.
Except the ones with Mingyu in them.
Lately, there have been a lot more of those.
Strange ones, where Mingyu wades in blue rivers. In these, the sunlight is shabby and the pebbles soft beneath his bare feet. Mingyu’s shoulders are broad and gentle, and his voice echoes off the sky in murky waves. He’s inviting him for a swim. But Seungcheol never quite gets to the river in his haste.
There’s others as well—swinging hammocks and the balmy layer of summer heat he can’t scrub off his face in the morning. Flowers, thornless roses. Pumpkin pie and simmering bonfires.
Are these past lives?
How else could they be so vivid? How else could Mingyu’s hair be so tangible in his fingers, his skin like velvet against Seungcheol’s cheek?
Wizards have longer lifespans than those born without magic. For the first time, Seungcheol wonders if this means that they spend less time living.
~
Day 5: Uncover, stir seven times anti-clockwise
Seoraksan’s government pathway emphasizes education on foreign magical customs as well as local ones. Learning about others from an early age makes you more willing to tolerate them.
And toleration is something the magical world desperately needs.
The last formidable Dark leader was Voldemort, who came to power in Britain. It’s been a few decades since his downfall, but the memory of him is burnt into their minds.
They can’t have another. The first step towards this is ensuring that any fresh blood funneled into the Ministry of Magic is indoctrinated against hate.
So they learn about Ilvermorny, in America, and Durmstrang, in Norway. Mahoutokoro, in Japan, and Beauxbatons, in France.
And then, of course, there’s their sister school: Hogwarts.
“Hogwarts was one of the first sources of magical education in the world,” Seungkwan reads, once they’ve been sorted into small groups. “So the castle has a lot of magical anomalies in it for students to explore.”
“Secret passageways,” Minghao adds, adjusting his green-striped tie. “Talking paintings, underground chambers…” He trails off wistfully.
“It’s infested with termites now,” Seungcheol cuts in, and Minghao blanches.
“I remember something else.” Jisoo frowns, and then snaps his fingers. “Oh, that’s right! It’s called the Room of Requirement. If a student ever needs something, all they have to do is find the right floor and pace around for a while. Then, a magical room pops up with whatever you require.”
Minghao says something snappish, but Seungcheol doesn’t quite hear it.
A room of requirement. That sounds like exactly what he needs right now. Something to help him unpuzzle this abrupt confusion he’s been thrust into.
There’s only one question. Does Seoraksan have something like it?
~
“Wonu. Wonwoo! Jeon Wonwoo!”
Poor Wonwoo has just enough time to sweep his papers away before Seungcheol slides into the chair across from him.
“You had Magical Government III class today too, right?” he demands, dragging himself closer and dimming his voice to a whisper.
Wonwoo nods, quill going still in his hands. “Yeah.”
“Okay.” He pauses to catch his breath. “Do you know if we have a Room of Requirement here? At Seoraksan?”
“Wait, I’ll check.” Wonwoo leans over to unshelve a textbook that’s fatter than a flobberworm. “ Secrets of Seorak. Should be here.”
Seungcheol takes a moment to thank the magical gods for putting him in the same pathway as Jeon Wonwoo, who could probably take over the country if he wasn’t so occupied with the fifty different classes he’s enrolled himself in.
“What are you doing?”
Oh hell.
He looks up. Mingyu towers beside the table, clutching two blue textbooks to his chest.
“You never come to the library,” he says, before shifting his scrutiny to Wonwoo. “Are—are you two studying together or something?”
Please say yes, please say yes, for once in your life Jeon Won—
“No.” Wonwoo adjusts his glasses innocently. “He was wondering if we had a Room of Requirement.”
Seungcheol groans loudly, and Mingyu’s gaze shifts back to him amidst a chorus of shushing.
“Room of Requirement?” he repeats, mouth quirking up into something smug. “What do you need that for, your grades? But I don’t think any magic could fix those, hyung.”
He seems proud enough of his insults to ask any further questions. For once in his life, Seungcheol is thankful for the teasing. “So?” he repeats, more hushed this time. “Do we have A Room of Requirement?”
Wonwoo frowns into the book. “No. But we do have a Room of Retirement.”
Well. If there’s a Room of Retirement, perhaps some other rhyme will work too. He scratches his ear. “How about a Room of Desirement?”
Mingyu’s scoff blows a wall between them. “Desirement isn’t even a word.”
“Yeah it is,” Seungcheol snaps, watching Wonwoo thumb through the pages. “It means the state of being desired.”
“ No, ” Mingyu insists. “That’s just called being desired.”
“You—”
“There’s no Room of Desirement either,” Wonwoo interrupts. “But we do have a Room of Fire Vents. And,” He raises his hand with all the wisdom of a university student who knows exactly none of the secrets of the world. “Desirement isn’t a word.”
“See?” Mingyu puts his hands on his hips triumphantly. “You’re so stupid. Desirement. As if.”
“Well. Well fine.” Thoroughly insulted, Seungcheol draws himself up and shoves his chair in with his knee. “Goodbye.”
Just because he’s not a class topper doesn’t mean he’s brainless. For that matter, Mingyu isn’t the class topper either, but he acts as if he’s been instilled with Merlin’s wisdom. Riddikulus.
Who cares if you’re the most physically stunning wizard to ever be born? That says nothing about your mental capacity, or else Mingyu would have become Korea’s Minister of Magic by now.
It’s another second before he hears the harried footsteps.
“Wait! Hey, wait!”
Despite himself, Seungcheol can’t help but slow down. They share their next class anyway, and there’s only one way to get to the riverbank.
Soon enough, Mingyu falls into step beside him, textbooks tucked under arm. “So you two weren’t studying together?” he demands again.
It’s an absurd thought. “No. I could never keep up with Wonwoo.”
“Oh.” Mingyu sounds pleased. “Study with me instead?”
Seungcheol twists his head so fast that his neck cramps. Mingyu casts a pain-numbing spell before he can even groan.
“I got advanced potions books too,” he adds, dropping his wand back into the pocket of his robes. “Just in case you need to practice for your essay. There should be mock questions included.”
“Advanced potions books?” Seungcheol echoes, rubbing his tingling neck. “Those were unavailable when I checked.”
“They were, but I put them on hold. That’s why I had to stop by the library.” Mingyu grins as he extricates one of the textbooks to show. “Nice, right?”
Seungcheol’s gaze flicks up to the sparkle in Mingyu’s eyes, then the book he’s holding out. He knows how long it had been checked out.
Even Jeonghan and Joshua hadn't been able to get a hold of it, and they’d once manipulated the headmaster into canceling an entire round of exams.
“Yeah. It’s very nice, Ggyu.” He accepts the offering and cradles it against his chest. “Thank you.”
Mingyu goes cherry red. “So the riverbank then? We’ll have some time to read before class starts if we hurry. Maybe we can even swim after.”
“Let’s hurry, then,” Seungcheol declares, grabbing the hem of Mingyu’s robe. This time, there are no complaints about rumples or wrinkles.
~
Day 6: Uncover, stir seven times anti-clockwise
In one of the few breaks they all share, they set up a large picnic blanket near the herbology forests. It’s a common place for students to gather with their friends, basking in the gentle shade of the hawthorn trees.
Chan practices his intermediate charms. Seungkwan is tutoring Seokmin on the differences between a common minnow and a camouflaging flitterfish, for the freshwater unit of Magical Creatures.
Near the corner, Mingyu and Minghao are doing something which involves lots of bursts of green smoke.
Seungcheol likes this, laying back and watching the leaves sway. He reaches his arm far back, beyond the rim of the blanket, letting a curtain of grass brush his wrist.
Tonight, in Astronomy, they’ll be comparing the movement of Venus with ancient sorcerers’ predictions. It’s best that he catches up on his sleep now, rather than during Professor Moon’s lecture.
He did that once, and got Saturn and Jupiter mixed up for the rest of the semester.
What are Mingyu and Minghao doing? The smoke from their wands is beginning to waft up to the clouds in spiraling, intoxicated rings.
Clouds. Sky. The edge of Hansol’s pencil, titillating in rapid scribbles. A flash of movement—Wonwoo’s hand flying up to block out the sun.
As if summoned by a spell, Seungcheol’s eyes drift back. Mingyu has shifted, and the edges of his eyelashes form a dark shadow past the curve of his cheek.
He gives his wand a little flick, like the swift flap of a bird’s wing.
Here is something Seungcheol has realized: Mingyu’s movements are either tiny or immense. Not normal. Never normal. But always utterly endearing, even when the movement is diving over a table to wrestle him to the ground.
They fight often, but not long. Seungcheol gets angry quickly, but can’t sustain it. Not when it’s directed at Mingyu.
A smattering of excited applause follows, and he shuts his eyes tight, content with listening to the jostled rambling of Mingyu’s voice.
This day, it’s wonderful.
A ray of sun erupts from the sky to shroud his face in golden warmth.
A few minutes pass.
Then, Jun’s voice from the side, dryly amused. “Look at that.”
Curious, he peels his eyes open.
Someone is standing near Minghao and Mingyu. The three of them are talking. Well, not all three of them.
Actually, it seems to just be Mingyu and the new guy.
Seungcheol sits up properly, trampling pits into the grass with his palms. The stranger’s tie is red and gold. A Gryffindor then.
Does Mingyu know him? What could they be talking about? Are they friends or something?
Minghao has gotten to his feet, making his way between the obstacle course of twisted bodies to take a seat next to them instead.
“Who is that?” Jun asks immediately, eyes sparkling.
Yeah. Who is that?
All three of them twist their heads to watch, with differing expressions on their faces. Seungcheol isn’t sure if the one on his is very pleasant.
“I don’t know his name,” Minghao says, leaning back so he can slouch against the tree trunk. “But he was asking if Mingyu wanted to have a study date with him. They must share a class or something.”
“A study date?” He crosses his arms. “But he always studies with us.” With me.
“Hyung. I think it’s less about the studying and more about the date.” Minghao looks back at him, eyes swooping up in a dramatic roll until they’re almost all white. “Typical confession. I mean, people are usually more straightforward with Mingyu, they always think he’ll say yes. But this will probably build up to the actual thing soon enough.”
Seungcheol’s eyebrows fly up until they hurt. His hands are hurting too, nails digging into them like ragged beaks. “Typical confession? Does this happen often?”
The breeze is picking up, phantoms tickling the back of his neck. Minghao’s face creases. “You two are always together. Haven’t you ever seen it?”
No. No , he’s never seen it. Understood it, figured it out maybe, from all the longing looks Mingyu is sent across classrooms, the favors everyone seems too-keen to perform for him.
But it’s never happened in front of his eyes. Maybe that’s a good thing.
Because now that it is, Seungcheol’s arm is tensing up, ready to throw a punch. Or uproot a tree and throw it across the field. Whatever is easier.
“You two are always together,” Jun interrupts, shifting his weight and straightening. “All the time. You should have seen something by now.” He blinks his lazy eyes until they’re not so lazy anymore.
And when Wen Junhui isn’t half-asleep, he can knock the breath out of you faster than any curse.
“Unless—” he continues, voice hitching on the hook of his theory. “Unless people think you two are dating, and they’re too scared of Cheol hyung to say anything. Are you guys dating?”
Seungcheol opens his mouth and closes it. Now, every fiber of his body is tense.
They’re always together. So attached that even outsiders think they might be boyfriends. His eyes flick to Mingyu again, the cascades of his hair like sheets of water from a waterfall. Mingyu had said he’d wait for him, with those eyes.
Those eyes.
Maybe it wasn’t just about the transfiguration.
Maybe—
“No they aren’t!” Minghao laughs, before his mind can catch up with the lines on his palm. “Don’t you see them? They fight all the time, about everything. Classwork, food, I once saw them start wrestling because they couldn’t agree if a potion was blue-green or green-blue. That’s not what love is. Cheol hyung would rather lose his magic than date Ggyu.”
Jun balks. “Really?”
Then, both of them are looking at him, wide-eyed and expectant.
Seungcheol doesn’t know what to say. Minghao is right. Him and Mingyu, they fight all the time. And they fight about everything, about the silliest things. That’s not what love is.
Of course it isn’t. Love is about sweet things. Love is patience, acceptance, and agreement. Study dates, not swatting matches.
How can they survive a relationship if they can't even survive a dinner without bickering?
He swallows down a pit, but it feels like a bristle has embedded itself into his throat. Besides, who even came up with the idea of him and Mingyu together? It sounds like the setup to an absurdist joke.
So he treats it just like that: a joke.
“You’re really so funny, Junnie.” He tries for a smile, even though it feels like his lungs have been replaced with ice. “As if.”
Far from appeasem*nt, Jun’s face settles into concern. “Is something wrong?”
Minghao’s fingers touch his wrist like flower petals, a preliminary apology. What is there to apologize for?
“Nothing,” he forces out, pulling his hand away and grabbing at the splayed pages of his homework. “I’m going to—I’m going to go now. I just remembered that I’ve got to do something.”
Mostly, he feels angry. That’s the reason he and Mingyu will never work out. They both get angry so often, so fast. Two short tempers, two heads colored red by fire.
Two shadows, printed into his skin as he zips the last pocket of his bookbag. When he looks up, Jeonghan and Joshua tower over him.
Apparition, and any other form of instant travel, is banned on grounds, but Seungcheol doubts it sometimes with these two.
“Are you heading to the potions room?” Joshua asks, eyes crinkling at the edge. “We’ll come with.”
Jeonghan juggles a bright red apple between his hands, dreamy smile playing on his lips.
Yes, the potions room. That’s where he needs to go. The impossible boredom from stirring Amortentia will easily cancel out whatever this afternoon has been.
“Let’s go,” he booms, flying to his feet.
He hasn’t ever been this excited about potions. He will conquer that Amortentia. He will stir it so well that Master Song will be forced to bow down to him. Jeonghan and Shua will never torment him again.
The Slytherins will fear him. His love potion will be documented in the history books, and maybe that’ll make up for the fact that he’s got no semblance of love in real life.
He has just taken his first three strides towards greatness, Jeonghan and Joshua at his flanks.
“Hey!”
Seungcheol freezes mid-step. The voice had been from behind.
“Hey to you too,” Joshua says, spinning back without any such hesitation. Jeonghan even waves.
Slowly, carefully, he turns around. To his relief, the admirer has disappeared. Mingyu, however, is sitting ridiculously straight, like a phoenix called to attention.
“What are you doing?” he calls, tripping twice in his urgent bid to stand up. “Break period isn’t over for another hour, you know.”
“We were going to stir some Amortentia,” Joshua says. “You know, the elixir of love?” He links one arm through Seungcheol’s elbow.
“We’re potions partners with Cheollie,” Jeonghan continues, voice going sickly sweet. He tosses his apple to his right hand, and takes the other arm, poising his fingers over Seungcheol’s bicep. “Just the three of us for ninety minutes.”
“What are you two doing?” Seungcheol mutters. His ears feel hot, but maybe that’s the sunlight after so long beneath the trees.
“Shh.” Jeonghan’s innocent smile has begun to glint with mischief, and Yoon Jeonghan’s idea of mischief isn’t exactly safe for school. It’s obvious—they’ve planned something.
Mingyu plods beyond the shade of the hawthorns, eyes going squinty as he peers at the three of them. A frown dips into his features. “The potions classroom is the other way.”
Joshua acquires a matching smile, dropping his head onto Seungcheol’s shoulder. “Yes, thank you. We’re taking the long route.”
Mingyu’s shoulders go rigid. “Why?”
Nine pairs of eyes raptly watch from behind. Seungcheol has no idea why this is so enrapturing, why Vernon has to clamp a hand over his mouth to muffle his laughter.
For that matter, Seokmin is doubling over too, and Soonyoung is smiling so hard that his eyes have effectively disappeared.
Even Wonwoo has set down his homework to regard the spectacle with muted amusem*nt.
“You’ll understand when you’re older,” Jeonghan sings, hand slipping down to grasp Seungcheol’s wrist, and then they’re running, all three of them, laughs like drumsticks beating against the sky, thrumming, pounding, bursting.
The world opens up before them, an easy embrace. And just this once, Seungcheol doesn’t imagine Mingyu next to him.
~
At the side, Jeonghan and Joshua take turns stirring. Seungcheol counts his own carefully. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.
The ripples in the liquid, when he pulls away his stick, remind him of the low bend of Mingyu’s mouth. Swallowing, he slides the glass lid back over the Amortentia. “Do you think he’s that angry?” he asks. “Mingyu?”
Jeonghan and Joshua exchange a look.
He worries his lip. “What?”
“It’s just,” Joshua begins, gentle and exasperated at the same time. “We thought that after having so many fights, you two would at least have learned how to make up.”
~
Seungcheol gets back to the tree faster than he ran away. Jeonghan and Joshua had pretended to linger back in the Potions Room, but he figures they’re somewhere behind him.
As he nears, his heart leaps. The picnic blanket—checkered red gingham—is still laid out, and the blanket belongs to Mingyu.
Mingyu isn’t the type to leave his things lying around, which means he’s still around here somewhere.
Then he spots him, half-hidden behind the dipping branches.
“Mingyu!” he yells, throwing up his arm.
Mingyu’s head snaps up from where he’s been staring into his lap. A second passes.
Then, he reaches over and grabs his satchel. Seungcheol slows down to watch the blanket being swept up in a messy knot. Mingyu’s movements are furious, desperate blurs.
Once everything is picked up and stuffed into his bag, he spins around and walks the other way.
Seungcheol calls after him again. But Mingyu disappears into the woods without looking back.
~
He has no chance to see Mingyu after that. One class weaves into the next, and when he grabs dinner, he’s running too late for Astronomy to search the common rooms thoroughly.
Astronomy classes take place right atop Daecheongbong Peak, which is the highest point on school grounds, and the third highest in the country.
Professor Moon seems to think that the closer they are to the stars, the better they will be able to tell them apart.
On a good day, Seungcheol is able to differentiate a planet from a star. On a bad one, everything is Proxima Capricornus. If that’s even a star. Today is a bad day.
A bad night, if he’s being technical. The sky above is sullen and blue, casting down a thin chill. Chan, at his side, is carefully setting out his lunascope. The silver, web-like constellations on his star charts glow in the dipping darkness.
You can see the distant sea from Daecheongbong. Plenty of couples flock to the peak for Valentine’s Day, to bask in the glow of love and kiss beneath the pink sunsets.
This evening though, the sunset had been muddy, like the old painter had lost his temper and smudged all his colors into a watery blot. They watch raptly for Venus, the white dot which is supposed to crest in the sky sometime soon, but to Seungcheol, everything is a white dot.
Could Mingyu be upset with him? It’s hard to tell.
On one hand, no matter how much he wracks his brain, he can’t think of anything to be mad at. On the other, Mingyu had looked far too grumpy for a regular afternoon.
They aren’t seeing each other tomorrow, either. This is a nauseating thought. Something about it must be evident on his face, because Chan sends him a sidelong glance.
“Did you have a fight with Mingyu hyung?” he asks quietly, unscrewing the lid of the lunascope and setting it aside.
Seungcheol laughs humorlessly, pressing a palm to his eyes. “Yeah.” The tawny owls hoot their sad symphonies. Something sticks to the side of his throat. “Was it that obvious?”
“It was my best guess. You both are always fighting, so there was a ninety percent chance of being right.” Even Chan’s bright-eyed smile can’t suppress Seungcheol’s grimace. The smile quickly disappears. “Oh no. I didn’t think it was that bad. You two never—I’ll be quiet now.”
He returns to his maps awkwardly, smoothing out the creases and weighing them down with stones. Painted constellations twinkle up at the sky, finding their mirror images in the parting clouds.
Seungcheol folds his knees close to his heart, to muffle its vulnerable beating, to protect it against the owl songs and the accusations of the moon.
“Chan-ah,” he whispers. “I wish there was a spell which could fix fights for you too.”
Chan freezes, seeming to measure his words. “It’s like what Mingyu hyung says,” he ventures slowly. “There shouldn't be a spell for everything. If we have magic even for mending our relationships, then what makes us human anymore?”
The life within them, stubborn and fickle. It pretends to be indomitable, yet takes offense at every little thing. But isn’t it human nature to be childish?
“For all you fight, you two know each other pretty well too,” Chan continues. “You’re only ever this upset if you fight with him. And I don’t like seeing you upset, so try fixing it. You’ve got to appeal to him. What does Mingyu hyung like? What will make him forgive you?”
“I don’t even know why he’s angry in the first place,” Seungcheol protests. “Everyone is acting like it’s so obvious too. But I can’t apologize if I have no idea what I’m supposed to feel sorry for.”
“ You don’t kn—”
“The Sunrise Pavillion is opening up again this week,” Professor Moon says, pacing between clusters of students. He pushes up his circular spectacles, and the moon swims in each lens. “It’s a wonderful view, so just let me know. I’ll hand out portkeys on a first come first serve basis.”
A wonderful view? Enough to get Mingyu to forgive him?
Before Chan can complete his thought, Seungcheol lunges forward.
~
Rousing Mingyu is enough trouble as it is—the first few seconds, he’s just sleepy, but then he outrightly refuses to come. When he finally agrees to it, Seungcheol has to carry him to the common room.
It’s a good thing that most Gryffindors are heavy sleepers. Otherwise, he’d have to bring the entire house along.
The fireplace detects their presence and roars alive. Red flags dangle from the ceiling, their wraithlike ends reaching out.
“Isn’t this against the rules?” Mingyu whispers, eyes like swirling gold. “You’ll get in trouble.”
“I have Professor Moon’s permission.” He holds the twig forward. “Grab on. It’s a portkey.”
Mingyu obeys. “Where are we going?” he asks, as they wait for the magic to activate. The shadows of his eyelashes flutter down his cheekbone.
Seungcheol grins. “Just wait. You’ll like it.”
He holds out his free hand, and Mingyu takes that too.
~
Yeonggeumjeong kisses the sea, and the sea kisses back, white froth bleeding into the rocky shore. For now, everything is blue and pale, clinging onto the waning night. For now, everything is silent.
Mingyu’s eyes go wide. The twig falls from his grasp, quickly swept away by the waves.
Seungcheol follows him across the rocks, casting drying spells on their submerged ankles as they move along.
The seagulls still sleep. So do the stars. The moon contents itself with the sight of them, sinking as they search for themselves in the ruddy sand.
Hushed, Mingyu reaches down to press his palm against the weathered rock.
Many spells could shatter a boulder into pieces. There is little magic which could smoothen it out like this, slowly, over thousands of years.
Eons worth of waves have made their mark on this beach. Now Mingyu is too, scattering the pebbles with his feet.
Again, Seungcheol is reminded of the moonstone. It’s still in his pocket. Perhaps, if he tossed it into the beach, Mingyu might find it before the sea did.
“Hyung!” Mingyu yells, pointing. Seungcheol follows the line of his finger to an eruption of orange that has elbowed its way into the sky. This, somehow, is like the fireplace in the common room. As if detecting their presence, the day comes to life, not a roar but a whisper.
The day is so much more immense than a little fire. But the greatest things begin slowly, lest the world collapse beneath their weight.
“Come on,” he says, squeezing Mingyu’s arm. “There’s a place.”
~
The Sunrise Pavillion is a small balcony at the end of a long bridge. When they reach the pavilion, the edge of the sun has already crested.
Mingyu’s face is flush with colors—coral pink, wispy violet, the insistent shades of orange which follow them faithfully. The sun simmers, impossibly vivid as it extricates itself from the horizon. It’s so close, he can almost summon it with a spell.
The iron railing presses against his waist. If it didn’t push them back, Seungcheol thinks they might just run into the sea trying to chase the sunrise.
“You like it?” he asks between this, even though he knows the answer.
“I like it.” Mingyu’s voice is breathlessly certain. “Why did you bring me here, though?”
He hadn't been expecting the abrupt confrontation. In truth, he’d been hoping that just the sunrise would be enough to smooth over their argument.
“That’s—” Seungcheol stammers, and then shuts his eyes to steady his voice. “Chan says that we fight all the time. Myungho made a joke about how we disagree about the smallest things. But we’ve never had something so serious before.” He pauses. “I wanted you to know that I don’t like having big fights with you. Even if we argue all the time, you’re important to me.”
He needs nothing to know that Mingyu is pleased. Not a sound, not an expression.
It’s more of a sensation in the air, as if Mingyu’s every emotion might change the weather.
As if his happiness could make the flowers bloom and his sadness could reroute the monsoon.
“I’ve never come here before,” Mingyu confesses. “It’s weird.”
The stars are already melting away. Seungcheol chews the inside of his cheek. “Why?”
“I always wanted to visit the sea when I was younger, but we were never close enough, never had enough time.”
The gulls are waking now, beckoning each other into the sky.
“Then, once I came here, Seoraksan itself was so huge that I never thought beyond it.” Mingyu looks down at his hands, poised over the railing, and then looks at him. “Maybe I was meant to see it with you, hyung.”
The sun glows, freed from the fishnet of the horizon. But Mingyu beams so brightly that even this is rendered irrelevant.
Seungcheol's exhale becomes the east wind, weaving away in joyous sweeps. It pokes holes into the sky before dipping down to taste the sea.
~
Day 7: Uncover, stir seven times anti-clockwise
Master Song’s shoes click familiarly as he makes his way around. Whenever there’s a pause, Seungcheol makes a prayer for whoever is being chewed out.
The classroom is damp in the worst possible way. It’s too dark to write his essay without being failed for bad handwriting, and too bright to take a nap.
Jeonghan and Joshua take turns making fun of his Amortentia with increasingly creative similes. All in all, it’s a normal session of Advanced Potions.
The shoes go silent again.
“I wonder who it is this time,” Seungcheol mutters, trying to come up with counterarguments for bezoar use in a poisoning incident.
Actually, he’s becoming increasingly convinced that there are no counterarguments. Centuries’ worth of potions masters agree with him.
When he peeks to the side, Joshua has listed about five.
Well, damn it.
“Uh, Cheollie? You might want to look up.” Jeonghan’s voice is strained.
This is such an uncommon occurrence that Seungcheol looks up from pure shock, without even registering the words.
Master Song is peering down at him, the way a falcon scowls down at its prey before ripping it apart. “Your potion,” he begins, in that familiar musing tone.
Under the table, Seungcheol clasps his hands together so he won’t be tempted to throw a punch.
“May need more rose thorns. Otherwise, quite adequate.”
The professor’s retreating form is met with three dropped jaws. It feels as if the classroom, no, the world has frozen.
“Hey Shua,” Seungcheol hisses, rising to his feet as his heart thunders. “Get me some rose thorns.”
It is a testament to his own potioneering abilities that Joshua doesn’t squeeze his bicep and tell him to do it himself.
~
“Get into partners!” Professor Kim demands. “Today we’ll be transfiguring gifts for each other. A little experiment, if you will.”
He points his wand to a singular weed, stretching high above the rest of the green meadow. Upon a flick, it becomes a fragile, many-petaled lavender. “This is what I want you to do today. Give it to your partner and have them plant it in a pot.”
His eyes twinkle. “We’ll see how long the flowers last. Whoever’s is still alive by the end of the year will be exempt from final exams, and I do mean it this time. This is a test of the transfiguration lessons you’ve been having this semester. Though I think it might be the gardening which trips you up.”
As he walks away, Seungcheol plucks the lavender and tucks it behind Mingyu’s ear. The trees swish their branches in the mossy breeze.
“You know this won’t count as your gift, right?” Mingyu asks, reaching up to touch it.
Seungcheol smarts. “Yah! I can do nice things just because, alright?”
“I know.” Mingyu hands him a blade of grass, mouth bending softly. “I know that.”
“Proceed with your transfigurations!” Professor Kim declares, crossing his arms. “Let’s see if any of you even manage to do that, let alone figure out how to keep them alive.”
Reassuring, as always. It’s terrifying how this man is his favorite professor. Then again, his partner is equally as ridiculous.
“So this is it, huh? Trying to transfigure one of the two most stubborn things in the universe.” Mingyu lifts the grass to his eyes, as if trying to analyze its every molecule. “Fundamentally altering its existence, defying life’s very purpose.”
“Shut up,” Seungcheol barks. “We’re turning a piece of grass into a flower. That’s all this is.”
“I did it! I did it!”
A few meters away, a Hufflepuff is waving around a daisy as her partner applauds. Professor Kim sweeps it away from her fingers to present to the class.
“Yes, very well done Jihye. Being able to transfigure a blade of grass into a flower isn’t merely a demonstration of magical ability. It shows your devotion to your partner as well, and your willingness to accept the state of the universe while wishing to change it.”
What…does that even mean?
As the class devolves back into failure, Mingyu twists back to him with a satisfied expression. “See? This isn’t just transfiguration. This shows how important I am to you as a person. How much you love me. And, also all that other stuff.”
Frowning, Seungcheol contemplates his grass again.
The state of the universe.
The state of this blade of grass.
It’s impossibly green, dewy on his skin. The edge tapers off, dagger-like, but bends when he presses his thumb into it, unwilling to make him bleed.
Then, he imagines it becoming darker, rough, more rigid in his grasp. He imagines the sharp point expanding into a larger flower, twisting around itself.
He thinks of giving it to Mingyu. The color of it—vivid, uninterrupted by blemishes of any kind, just like the flush of his skin in the brilliant sunrise.
“Choi Seungcheol.”
When he opens his eyes, his wand is on the ground, and he is holding something which is definitely not a blade of grass.
Mingyu’s mouth has parted, ever slightly, and he seems permanently robbed of breath.
Meanwhile, the expression on the Professor’s face is queer, hesitant.
“That,” he begins carefully. “Is a rose.” He reaches out, but halts himself before he can pluck it from his grasp. “It’s a huge rose. Quite masterful, I’ll admit.” The rose bends obediently, crimson petals cupping each other gently. “There’s something more strange about it though. Mingyu? I think you know.”
Mingyu’s eyes bore into his own. “It doesn’t have thorns,” he replies, finally. “The rose doesn’t have thorns.”
Thorns. Rose thorns. Amortentia.
Swallowing, he hands the rose to Mingyu.
~
As their head of house, Professor Kim also is in charge of scheduling their classes for next year. Seungcheol eyes the jar of caramels on his desk, wondering when might be the best time to bring it up.
“Take one.”
“Thanks, professor.” He grabs one, and then, when he thinks he isn’t being watched, quickly tucks another into his fist.
“Mingyu already had one, if that makes you feel better.” The professor doesn’t look up from his papers but smiles all the same. Sheets of magic slide away from him in knowing waves. “He was in here a few sessions before you.”
Sheepish, Seungcheol tries putting the caramel back.
Again, he is interrupted. “No, no, don’t bother. He took an extra for you too, so it’s hardly fair for me to scold you for doing the same thing.”
Another awkward minute passes. Each professor has their own room, but they’re kind of hard to keep track of, since they’re drizzled around the park. Sometimes, he wishes that Seoraksan’s founders had built a castle where everything could be in one place.
This room is warm brown, with heavy Gryffindor tapestries bearing down from the low ceiling. Whatever space is unclaimed by house-related memorabilia is lined with—oh, no wait, that’s an old Gryffindor shield, nevermind.
Professor Kim sets down his quill, letting out a deep sigh as he trains his gaze away from the parchment. “So. Choi Seungcheol. Tell me, are you planning to take the next class in the pathway with me? I know you skipped Transfiguration the first two years, so it might not be your priority.”
“The next class is alchemy, right?”
“That’s right.” The professor smiles widely. “The art of transforming basic materials into an elixir. It requires the mastery of life and love as substances, both which you have accomplished.”
“I mean,” he laughs. “My rose is probably dead.”
Professor Kim shakes his head. “That’s magical mastery. You don’t need a magical mastery of life, because no one can defy death with a spell. Nor love, because even Amortentia doesn’t allow for that. You just need an innate understanding of it. And you have that.”
When Seungcheol looks flabbergasted, he clasps his hands together. “Let me put it this way. Mingyu is taking Alchemy, but before he decided, he asked me if you were taking it as well. I told him yes, you were. Because you will , after knowing that he’s going to be with you.” His smile becomes softer, thinner.
“You have an innate understanding of love. A longing for it too.”
The sunlight through the window broadens, brushing Seungcheol’s shoulder. He sees Mingyu in the caramels and the tipped umbrella holder, the flower vase and the crumpled up chocolate wrappers. To him, Mingyu’s shadow lingers even when the dust he dispersed has long settled.
“Just not the ability to recognize it.”
~
Day 8: Dissolve three Ashwinder eggs into your potion over a low heat, stirring. Remove from flame as steam begins to rise. Your Amortentia is finished.
Professor Song allows them to levitate their cauldrons out of class, instead of hauling them down to the river. Apparently, it’s to make sure that they dump out the Amortentia instead of sneaking any out to dose people with.
“Is it okay to just dump it out?” Seungcheol asks skeptically. “Will the fish be okay?”
“It’s just a love potion. The fish will be fine.” Jeonghan replies, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “We’ll be bringing back an endangered population, if anything.”
Joshua groans, accepting their portion of Ashwinder eggs from the professor. The eggs are frozen, emitting a frosty mist which quickly condenses in the riverside breeze. “Three eggs, one at a time,” he repeats, nudging him purposefully. “You’re the Gryffindor right? You go first.”
“Give him some distance,” Jeonghan adds, shifting back. “Who knows what’s wrong with it?”
For once, Seungcheol doesn’t mind the instigation. From the moment they started brewing the Amortentia, his life has been entirely upended. Everyone seems to believe he’s in love with Mingyu, and Mingyu is in love with him. This potion will be able to confirm at least one of those things.
It’s up to him to ensure the other.
He picks up an Ashwinder egg, wincing as his skin goes white from the cold. Under Joshua and Jeonghan’s eager gazes, he gently slides the egg into his cauldron, stirring with his other hand. It’s quick to dissolve, a sugarcube in a cup of tea.
Two more, one after the other.
The Amortentia goes pearlescent at once. He holds his breath.
Then, a thick, foggy mist begins to rise from it.
Jeonghan whoops. Joshua hugs his shoulder and gives him two resound pats. Even Professor Song might be applauding in the distance. Seungcheol, for his part, can hardly believe it.
“Go on. Smell it!” Jeonghan pushes him forward until he half falls into the cauldron.
What’s it going to be? Mingyu doesn’t wear cologne. What if he smells someone else entirely? What if Soonyoung was right, and his favorite things are all food?
Seungcheol breathes in, abrupt, sharp.
The scents aren’t a rampant jumble, as he’d expected. For once, there is no puzzle to solve.
First, there is pork cutlet, warm and overwhelming. It’s strange in its comfort, and claims a believable place amongst his favorites.
This fades, and then there is the almond-like smell of the hawthorn trees where they gather, all thirteen of them. He shuts his eyes tightly, and nearly hears Chan’s laughter, shaking the clouds out of their places in the sky. The calm drone of Seungkwan’s tutoring, and the brilliant burst of Jun’s hands clapping together. Yes, he believes this too.
And then—he smells roses.
Roses.
( Mingyu takes the rose, watching Professor Kim walk away before drawing it closer. “Do you like roses or somethin’?” he asks softly, fingers white around the stem.
“Uh, yeah. Sure.” Seungcheol bunches his hands in the grass. “Roses, lilies—” His eyes catch on the flower still in Mingyu’s hair. “Lavenders. All flowers are great. I mean, it’s only wizards who commit sins, not flowers.”
The birds are motionless in their ragged nests. “So you randomly chose a rose?” Mingyu’s mouth presses into an unconscious smile.
This is an obvious opening. A way for him to pick a fight about ungratefulness and nagging, a way for him to escape this conversation before it veers into dangerous territory. It’s fitting that despite everything, Mingyu is still the one offering him an easy out.
“No.” It bursts out before he has a chance to consider it. “It wasn’t random.” Then he knows it, as sure as anything. “If you were a flower,” Seungcheol says. “you would be a rose.” )
“It’s not working for me,” Jeonghan sighs. “All I’m getting is the sweet smell of victory.” Joshua smacks him and they both dissolve into cackles.
Seungcheol tips the cauldron into the stream and sprints into the forest.
“Hey! Cheol!” Joshua shouts. “Come back! The joke wasn’t that bad.”
~
All he needs to do is trace that familiar route, take the leftward path when the trail forks, and listen for an insistent pecking sound.
It turns out that he doesn’t even need to do that. Mingyu sees him first, crashing through the delicate woods. They meet each other at some invisible tangent, where the air is thick with magnetic pull.
“Look,” he breathes, easily winding his arm through Seungcheol’s elbow. “The woodpeckers have eggs!”
Which, of course they do. Of course the two stubborn idiots have been in love with each other this whole time. Apparently that’s how the world works. You fight, you bicker, and then you lose your mind because suddenly you’re crazy about each other in every possible way.
The three most stubborn things in the world: life, love, and Kim Mingyu. Or, perhaps, just Kim Mingyu. Life and love reside within him.
“I see that.” Seungcheol combs the hair away from those brown eyes. Then, before he can reconsider it, he tips up to kiss the corner of Mingyu’s cheek.
Immediately, Mingyu’s head crashes into his.
OW.
“Stop doing that,” Seungcheol shouts, staggering back and squeezing his eyes shut. The little white dots dancing in his vision are panicked stars. “You’re going to give me brain damage!”
“Why is your skull so hard?” Mingyu yells back. “My head hurts more!”
There’s some chaotic crunching, which he takes to mean that they’ve both collapsed on the dry forest floor. Ow, ow, ow.He reaches for his wand and misaims a few numbing spells before finally finding his mark.
When he manages to peel his eyes back open, Mingyu is crawling towards him with a determined look. Before Seungcheol can back away, his arm is being pressed into the grass. “What are you doing?” he shrieks.
“You kissed me,” is the scathing accusation. Swift justice is delivered in the form of Kim Mingyu sweeping down to kiss the corner of his mouth.
Again, the world is spinning. It’s not because of a head injury this time. Mingyu is an angel hovering over him, hair mussed, eyes wide with his reflection. A curious sun gapes through the hole in the clouds.
The skin of his lips is tingling.
“When Professor Song first talked about Amortentia, I thought about you,” Seungcheol blurts, the second he can speak again. “I asked about the Room of Requirement, because I wanted to figure out why you were in my dreams every night.”
“Was it the Amortentia?” Mingyu demands.
Seungcheol lets his head roll back between the wildflowers, a smile kissed into his lips. “It wasn’t the smell of roses that made me realize it.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the moonstone. “I stole this for you, the first day. It was one of the ingredients we needed.”
It’s plucked from his fingers and lifted it to the sunlight. Mingyu’s face is asunder with mottled shadows, and rays of light cascade from his silhouette like a crown. If love had a face, it would be his. Perhaps it is so beautiful because Mingyu loves so much, and so easily. He loves the woodpeckers and the sea, and everything he sets his eyes upon. What could the universe do but love him back in response?
Seungcheol breathes, feeling the two hands on his chest move up and down with him.
“I love you because you’re so warm,” Mingyu says. The moonstone is still in his fist, but his eyes are looking at Seungcheol instead. “You eat with me in the caves even though you like picnics. You carry my textbooks when I get tired. Even when you yell, your face is soft, and when you laugh, it makes me happy too.”
“Yeah?” he mumbles, voice nothing but a rasp.
“Yeah.” After a moment, Mingyu sinks down to lay his head on his shoulder. “I want to love you like those waves you took me to see, not some love potion that can be erased in seconds. I want to love you like the sunrise every day, for many, many years.”
Seungcheol feels as if he is carrying the world, if the world were weightless. If the world were Mingyu. This is magic too—the spots of birdsong in the woodland symphony. The spots of them in the eternal expanse of the world.
“You already do.”
~
The hawthorns are heavy with dying blooms, their almond scents fading.
“Have you heard?” Seokmin says, chewing the inside of his lip. “Someone stole a batch of Amortentia from Advanced Potions.”
“Oh yeah? No wonder these two have been so lovey-dovey recently,” Chan deadpans, pointing at where Mingyu is casting heart-shaped bubbles into the breeze for Seungcheol to pop. “The only question is, which one dosed the other?”
“Hey!”
“My bet’s on Seungcheol hyung.” Soonyoung’s eyes go squinty with mischief. “Too cool to confess.”
“ Hey.”
“Jokes aside,” Seungkwan keeps filing his nails, ignoring Soonyoung’s pleading shrieks. “You know they’re actually dating, right?”
Minghao promptly faints.
“Brew me a little love darling, and I’ll let you spoon it into my chest and cure all my fevers.
You ask me as the world ends, if I loved you as the stars love, burning themselves away in crimson passions. You ask me if I loved you in every way, the way quarreling birds love, the way the monsoon loves the pavement even when it dies against it, the way the sun and the moon love each other though they have never met.
And I’ll tell you, crushed by your lips and the crumbling sky, that I do, I do, I do.”
