i write stuff

Kai toyed with a leaf. He’d found it trailing him after a gust of wind had blown his hair into his face. He couldn’t quite focus on it, but it kept his hands busy and that was all he needed.

He couldn’t get himself to sit still. It had only been a few days since he’d heard from the—what had they called it? The coven. The tall boy with the confident smile had approached him one day in the library. Kai had only been studying. He hadn’t meant to tap his fingertips on the wooden table beneath him. He hadn’t meant to let the fire flow out of them as he was used to doing in the privacy of his own home. Sooner than he could realize, he looked at the spot where his hand had been to see it charred. He covered the burned prints with the flat of his palm and dashed his eyes around to see if anyone had noticed. No one was near him, but the tall boy had been pulling a book in the stacks when he saw him.

Kai had flushed red and focused his gaze back on his textbook when a shadow had fallen on him. The boy pulled out the chair in front of him and sat down, flashing him his confident smile. “You’re not alone,” he’d said.

He had explained that he was like him too. That he could do things he couldn’t explain. That there were others. An older boy who could charm. A boy who could make people like him without trying. A small boy who could see the future. He told Kai they had a house. That they were a group—a coven. The boy had said his name was Soobin and given him an invitation to join them.

Kai had worried over Soobin’s words for days. For a while, it didn’t seem possible. He felt like he needed to prove to himself that he hadn’t imagined all those times when he’d forced a wave away from him at the beach or blown a gust of wind to help him walk faster to school or burned little fingerprint marks into his dining room table.

So there he was, standing in front of a small house, tucked away into the corner of a not-so-busy street. He pulsed a shot of flame out of his palm and the leaf withered and turned to ash. The ash dripped from between his fingers onto the ground and he opened his palm to let the rest blow away with the wind.

A deer darted its head out of a thicket of trees that ensconced the house in on one side and made its way slowly over to Kai. Kai’s eyes widened as it bowed its head and its body expanded and retracted. Its back limbs stretched and reshaped while its front limbs widened and lengthened into tapered fingers. Its snout flattened and its fur shortened and recolored. Kai watched as Soobin stood before him, his antlers disappearing into his hair until there was nothing but the memory of a horned boy standing expectantly in front of his house.

Yoongi considered himself lucky to be with you. It was a quiet pride, something he kept close to his chest. That wasn’t to say he wasn’t verbal about how much he loved you, but there was an undercurrent of communication that no one else could sense but you. It was constant, and it was one of the best things about your relationship.

It was so powerful, in fact, that you could almost feel what he was thinking even as he prepped to perform miles away.

You sat on the couch in your living room, tucked away in the outskirts of the city where the noise of cars racing to reach Christmas parties and the brilliant glowing lights of a thousand restaurants, bars, and shops lit up for the holidays could not reach you.

A meow drew your attention and you unsheathed yourself from your couch cocoon to feed your cat. Azu only bothered with you when Yoongi wasn’t home. Otherwise, you might as well have not existed. Azu followed Yoongi around as if he held some secret he could only absorb from being near him. He crouched near the door whenever Yoongi stepped away to go to the bathroom, and he hovered near his toes when he was in his studio until he finally opened up his arms and let Azu settle in his lap.

Even Azu’s name was a sign of his connection to Yoongi. Azu’s full name was Azucar, the Spanish word for Sugar. You’d suggested it as a joke—and because Azu’s back had a dusting of white that looked like spilled sugar—but Yoongi had taken to it.

Azu was all the company you would have tonight. Yoongi wouldn’t return home until the morning. His concert would run late, and the team had gotten a hotel near the venue.

You didn’t want to wallow in your loneliness, and you couldn’t remember the last time you’d actually gone to bed before midnight—Yoongi’s sleep schedule was nothing if not erratic—so you bid goodnight to Azu, who was too busy eating to care, and slumped off to bed.

The first thing you noticed was the piano. It was difficult to miss. The park you were in was an innocuous one, with a sad-looking swing set, a few benches, and the fluorescent lighting of a convenience store tucked away just on the edge. That was what made the piano all the more odd.

Yoongi sat on one of the benches. His beanie was pulled down low over his hair and he had a coat that made him look much smaller than he was but protected him from the frigid cold. You trekked over the snow, marking a path along the way, and sat down next to him.

You held out a hand and he seamlessly handed over a warm cup of hot cocoa. “What do I owe you?”

You knew it was a dream when the corner of his lip didn’t lift up in a smile. Instead, he shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

You looked out at the piano. “Play me a song.”

Yoongi got up and you followed him over, sitting down next to him and taking his cup.

He played a soft song. Something sweet and lyric-less that he’d written a few months into your relationship. He’d told you it wasn’t quite about you. Not really. It was more like a feeling. He’d just thought about you and this song had come out.

You’d heard it almost a million times, but in the dream, it sounded like you were hearing it for the first time again. You felt the mystery and the thrill of wondering which note would come next and the swell of pride at knowing this was a masterpiece he would only ever share with you.

When the song finished, you were back in your living room and the piano had transformed into your couch. Yoongi reached under your Christmas tree while Azu circled his ankles. You snuggled into your blankets and waited for him to come to you, present in hand.

He sat down beside you and placed a box in your lap. You laid your head on his shoulder and breathed in the scent of him, fainter than usual because this wasn’t really him, just the memory of him.

You saw his hand grip your leg though you couldn’t really feel it. Azu pawed for a space on his lap, and you yearned for this moment so much you could feel your heart ache. It was the pain in your chest—your real chest—that blurred the lines between dream and reality. Then, as quickly as it had come, your dream was gone.

The sun hadn’t yet risen when you finally managed to shake the sleep off. Azu glanced up at you from Yoongi’s pillow, where he had burrowed himself for the night, and then promptly fell back asleep. You rubbed at your eyelids and willed yourself to not feel lonely, to accept that Christmas had come and gone but there would be many more. You willed yourself not to feel the pang from your dream, but the ghost of the ache was sticking around.

Your phone buzzed from the nightstand and you shot a hand out to grab it, startling Azu in the process.

“Hello?” You said, your voice still groggy.

“Morning,” Yoongi’s voice was rough and deep like he hadn’t really fallen asleep so much as lingered at the edge of sleep all night.

You smiled. “Morning.”

“I’ll be home soon.”

You relaxed back into your sheets and coaxed Azu back to sleep. “Good.”

“Can we have a late Christmas?” He asked, and you wished there was no distance between you so you could kiss the lips of the boy who’d spoken so tentatively and sweetly as if it was the most important question in the world.

“I would love that,” you said, already picturing him coming through your front door.

“Good,” he mimicked, then his voice softened. “Merry Christmas.”

Namjoon did not panic. He did not panic when the woman strolled up to their table at the club. He had no reason to. When she leaned on their table and flipped her hair and passed them each a card of hers, he did not panic as he took it out of courtesy. He did not panic when the darkness set in and he felt himself go limp. He did not panic when he felt his body lift of its own accord and move toward the door. He didn’t even panic when he saw his brothers, the boys he’d chosen to raise and live with, follow along beside him in the same state of stupor.

He had been taught calmness.

When he’d met her, he had kept a constant flame burning between his fingertips. He would let himself feel the burning of it until his body stopped him. His body self-regulated just as anyone’s did. When the flame on his skin burned too bright, his body would blow it out. When he took in too much water, his body drained it out. Once he’d even tried going into one of the labs at the university and tried to blow out all the air in his body. He had anticipated an explosion but the reality of It had been a lot less dramatic. He’d tried for half an hour but the air had never fully left him.

So he knew his boundaries. He knew what limits he could push himself to.

She was different in every way. She was guarded. The day he met her, she was rifling through her bookbag for a folder. Once she’d found it, she pulled it out, checked the papers inside, and then replaced it in her bag. Namjoon watched her perform the ritual three times before he walked over to her. With a distance between them, he had bent to speak to her. “Is this your first year?”

She had startled and her back had straightened only enough for Namjoon to notice. She’d tucked one side of her hair behind her ear and then immediately reached for the other side, double checked that each side was even, then rolled her shoulders before looking at him. “Yes.”

He smiled, gently. “Welcome then.”

She’d attempted a smile but it had been awkward. But that had been enough. After that, Namjoon had been determined to find out more about her, to wedge himself into her life in a way that seemed almost unobtrusive. He wanted her to wake up and live her life with him a part of it. He wanted to be the air around her—so natural she couldn’t imagine life without him.

For weeks he’d simply asked her a question or two when he saw her. He was a teacher, after all. The only time he showed up to the university campus was when he was going to have lunch with Seokjin or trying to find a book in the library.

After a month, he’d noticed her looking for him in the courtyard. He’d had a real conversation with her then. He hadn’t expected anything to become of it, but she had seemed truly calm in his presence.

He’d tried to keep it to himself, to hold back his judgment so as not to scare her away. But he couldn’t. “I’m glad I can make you feel comfortable.”

She’d narrowed her eyes at him but it was playful. “How do you know I’m comfortable?”

“Something in the set of your shoulders,” he’d noted, his voice pondering. He looked away from her as he spoke, “something in the curve of your smile.”

She’d glanced at him and breathed out a sigh, the corners of her lips lifted in pleasure. “You do make me very comfortable.”

Two months later, he had shown up to her apartment to bring her soup and medicine after she had gotten sick and she had invited him in. He had only made it as far as her living room, but it was enough for him.

She had sunk into her couch, her legs cloaked in a woven blanket that she informed him was made by her grandmother. For the first time, he’d seen her face bare and he’d felt the moment his breath had left him. There was something about the glow of her skin, the faint flush on her cheeks. Even with a fever, she looked stunning.

He’d used the fire trick to stop himself from reaching out to touch her. He’d kept the flame light enough for her not to notice and held it steady until the lull in the conversation had afforded him a moment to leave.

At the door, she’d reached out a hand to his wrist and he’d stared at her with lips parted in shock. She had never touched him. He had only brushed her skin once on accident and then never again.

“Will you come by tomorrow?” She had asked, her voice tentative with a line of thrill that only he would hear.

He popped his jaw shut and forced himself to stay still. “Of course.”

She smiled that soft smile, only the corners of her mouth tilted up. “Good.” She stretched up on her tiptoes and used her hold on his wrist to tilt him down to her.

It was just a peck, but it felt like every moment he had felt fire on his skin, every drop of water that had ever flowed through his body, every breath he’d drawn, every grain of earth he’d moved at his will. He wanted to hold all of the elements in his body to commemorate this moment, to give it weight. Instead, he let out a breath as she pulled away and made his best effort to not point out the significance of the moment. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He pulled that moment out like a picture in a box and held it playing before him as his body moved him. He thought of her and how quickly she would notice his absence. He’d worked so hard to make himself indispensable but he’d all done was made it harder for her with his loss.

He couldn’t think of that. He couldn’t let himself think of her pain or it would break him. He would take responsibility for her pain when he returned but now he needed to protect his brothers.