#cwcfff

--

minghao remembers the day you died. remembers it too well, almost. he remembers the ringing in his ears and a hollowness inside his chest. he remembers the way he couldn’t cry. the way he couldn’t feel sad. he remembers hearing that you had died and thinking there was no way in hell he’d let it stay like that. minghao knew, from the moment he heard, that he’d come and find you.

minghao hasn’t cried. but right now, staring at the face of someone who’s been dead for too long, he feels like he just might.

--

“you made a deal with a demon.” you repeat, voice still void of anything sounding remotely like you.

“yeah.” he says, picking at a spot below his chin, faking nonchalance in the same way he would’ve when he first met you. the same nonchalance that you used to poke his side and tease him for. but when he does it right now, you barely seem to register the words let alone the tone of them. “for you. i made a deal for you.”

you nod. “what is it?”

“you get to come with me back to the real world...”

“...but?”

“but you have to walk behind me the entire time. and I can’t look back. not once, not until we’re back up above.”

“and what happens if you do?”

“you die.” he waits a beat. “again.” 

you utter something incomprehensible, a small croak that sounds faintly like a scoff. “kind of like eurydice.”

minghao leans forward. “what?”

you meet his eyes suddenly, as if only now realizing he’s been next to you this entire time. you blink. “nevermind.”

you don’t make a sound after that, don’t even move a muscle. minghao didn’t expect you to be elated, but he did expect you to at least be surprised. and your lack of shock, your lack of… you, creates a knee-deep river of doubt in his mind. “you don’t have to come with me.” he says with what he hopes is reassurance. “i didn’t come here to force you back. i came here to ask.” 

and the silence that comes after he says it stretches into eternity. an infinite eternity that ends the second your mouth twitches, just barely, into what minghao swears is a smile. “you came.” 

he inhales, and the air tastes faintly like hope. “i couldn’t let you go.”

“okay.” you accept, fiddling with something minghao can’t make out in your hand. and the admission, makes him release a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. minghao knew coming down here was a shot in the dark. literally. his friends had made sure he knew. even the guide had made it clear: sometimes the dead don’t want to return. so, yeah, minghao knew there was no guarantee you’d want to follow him back to the real world and no guarantee you’d agree to the demon’s terms. but all that doubt, all those voices telling him no seem so insignificant when he hears you say: “i’ll come with you.” 

you meet his eyes again, and this time they look a little more like yours.

--

throughout his relationship with you, minghao grew fond of the way you cracked your knuckles and joints. it’s stress relief you’d tell him popping your neck for the fifth time that morning. he’d found it odd at first, concerning even. but now days, minghao can’t seem to find the way you crack your back every time you get up as anything but endearing. 

even now, as you pace around the small, tattered couch that you had bought off of the old apothecary owner, cracking your knuckles anxiously, minghao feels nothing more than a small, comforting pang of affection for the way you worry about tomorrow’s work at the plant. 

“it’s a really big shipment,” you tell him, coming around the couch for what he counts as the sixteenth time, “and i’m gonna be running it alone.” 

“you’ve done solo shipments before.”

“not one like this.”

“i think,” minghao says, patting the spot next to him on the couch, “you’ll be fine.” you slump into the couch, the green cloth almost swallowing you whole. 

“yeah,” you nod, leaning into his side, “you’re probably right.” 

“and also,” minghao begins, reaching over to retrieve a piece of folded paper from his coat pocket, “soonyoung gave this to me today.” 

he hands you the ad for a ticket to center circle. tickets to center circle are hard to come by and expensive to buy. but minghao figures if he pitches some money in, you’ll have just enough for a one-way ticket there.

you study the ad for a while, running your finger against the crease in the paper. minghao shifts uncomfortably in his seat while you do. 

wordlessly, you fold the paper back up and toss it on the coffee table. 

minghao gulps. “you don’t want it?”

“i don’t need it anymore.” you shrug. 

“but it’s your dream.” he insists, hoping his face doesn’t give away how happy he is that you want to stay in ironport. 

burying your face against his body, you murmur, “dreams change.” 

this time, minghao doesn’t hide his elation at the news.

--

the walk to the real world begins quietly. 

“do you remember the myth of orpheus and eurydice?” you say from somewhere behind minghao, voice quiet and yet far. and yes, it must be far because the words sound like they’ve been echoing off the rocks and stones for years. 

“remind me.” 

“from what i can remember, they were in love.” you wait a moment, and minghao could bet that if he turned around right now, he’d find you somewhere far behind him, cracking your knuckles. “and when eurydice died, orpheus convinced hades to let her go on the same terms as your deal with the demon. or something like that.” 

“i see,” minghao whispers. “so what happened when they made it back to earth?” 

“that’s the thing,” you say, this time nearly yelling the words, “they didn’t. orpheus looked back at the last second.” 

minghao stops walking. “well, that’s not going to be us.” 

he hears you sigh. “i know.” 

minghao starts walking again, holding up the lantern that emits just enough light to see his feet and nothing else. “so why’d he look back?” 

“i don’t think the myth really says. some say he got impatient. others say orpheus began to doubt that eurydice was actually behind him and then also doubt that hades would ever let her go. but I think they’re all wrong. maybe he looked back because eurydice asked him to.” 

the implication makes minghao gulp. “why would she do that?” 

you don’t answer the question. “why do you think orpheus turned?”

“i don’t know.” 

“turn around and you will.”

“that’s not funny.”

quietly, you say: “it wasn’t a joke.” 

minghao pretends to not hear. 

--

when minghao realized he loved you, it wasn’t something big or spectacular. it wasn’t a tidal wave of emotion that crashed and dragged him below the tide. rather, it was a small wave of adoration that lapped by his feet, a cool and calm sensation that made him want to dig his heels in the sand and wade further into the water. 

when minghao realizes he loves you, you’re sitting on his kitchen counter, complaining about work. 

“i love you.” he admits, walking towards where you sit. he doesn’t miss the way you still and the way you refuse to look anywhere but at your own hands. and minghao knows it’s too soon, too fast. it’s only been two months since he’s known you. one month since you started dating. he knows it’s too soon to have fallen in love. but that doesn’t really change the fact that he has. he repeats it, feeling a deep need to cement this moment further into his memory and another to memorize the image of you sitting on his kitchen counter smiling at your hands. 

“for real?” you mutter, biting back either a smile or a laugh, minghao can’t be sure which one. he nods, wrapping his arms around your waist. you crack a lone knuckle. “well that makes this awkward, and i really hadn’t planned on telling you liked this but,” you hold up your left hand, the ring that’s usually on your middle finger now fitted around your ring finger, “i’m actually married.” 

“really?” he leans back. you give him a sympathetic nod. “to who?” 

you switch the ring back. “oh well to the music of course.” 

“yeah,” minghao laughs, leaning forward until his forehead is pressed against yours, “i’m definitely in love with you.” 

you don’t hide the smile this time. instead you take his face between his palms and press your lips to his. 

it’s three weeks after that moment in his kitchen, that you return the statement, although you don’t return it with the words themself. 

he meets you on one of the benches outside the warehouse after work. when you see him approaching, something seems to visibly soften throughout your entire body. you pull him down to sit next to you on the bench, wrap your arms around his torso under his heavy coat, and bury your face into the space between his shoulder and his chest. 

minghao’s surprised by the gesture. you were never one to initiate affectionate and even less likely in public. he places a kiss on your temple. “you okay?” 

“i had the worst day at the plant.” you mumble into his coat. 

“do you wanna talk about it?” 

“no,” you hesitate as if deciding what it is that you do want. after a moment you answer: “i just want you near.”

--

“do you feel that?” minghao hears you ask. 

“feel what?” 

“the rain?” 

he holds out his palm and stares at the darkness above. how could it possibly rain in a place like this, minghao wonders to himself. 

“no.” he finally answers. “i don’t feel anything.” 

“it’s pouring!” he can’t tell. he doesn’t hear the rain, doesn’t hear the thunder you claim to have heard. but he hears your voice, and it sounds warbled as if coming from behind curtains and curtains of pounding rain. he can tell you’re yelling to be heard over it. “you still don’t feel it?”

“no!” he yells back.

“i’m tired.” 

“we’re almost there.” he says to the darkness that stretches before him, praying that it bounces off the emptiness of this world and finds you. “we just have to make it through the night.”

“no, minghao, i’m tired.” you repeat frustrated. and with the way you say it, minghao isn’t sure what exactly you’re tired of.

“do you remember your first storm in ironport?” he asks, a desperate attempt to take your mind off the current storm, and another, more hopeless try to make you miss home. 

“yeah,” you murmur, voice no longer a desperate yell. and yet somehow, minghao hears you better now than he did before. “how could i forget?”

--

the day of your first ironport strom is also the day of you and minghao’s first kiss.

in all transparency, minghao hadn’t noticed the dark clouds gathering above and the distant rumbling coming from the farmlands in the west. he’d been too distracted with watching you nod off during the trolley ride back from the warehouse, too distracted trying to make sure your head stayed perfectly balanced on his shoulder. 

but by the time the trolley does squeak and stutter to your stop, it’s pouring. you slowly get up and hover by the exit, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “i bet you hadn’t insisted on taking me home now.” you say between a yawn.

minghao shakes his head and joins you by the exit, wearing a smile that feels too bright against the weather outside. “make a run for it?” he suggests. 

you scrunch your nose and crack your knuckles. “yeah, okay.” you find his hand, and fit it against your own. “ready?” 

minghao swallows the fluttering in his stomach. “ready.” 

despite the running and shocked yelps, you’re drenched before you even make it to the end of the street. and it’s sometime after the second turn that you both give up entirely, jumping into puddles at the corner of rosebud and kicking water at each other. 

“look,” you exclaim, pointing at the sky, “there’s a break in the clouds.” minghao looks up at where you point. ironport is known for its ferocious storms with dark grey and angry clouds that tumble across the sky and linger there for days on end. minghao, living in ironport his whole life, has seen his fair share of the town’s storms, but this, minghao has never seen. over the farmlands, the clouds part across the sky and a golden light comes pouring over the grassy hills. and for a small moment, gazing upon the sky’s golden spotlight, minghao lets himself believe that the heavens are real. your voice comes out low. “it’s beautiful isn’t it?”

his eyes land on you. “yeah, it is.”

and minghao’s so lost, mindlessly staring at you that he almost doesn’t register the way you stare back at him with a lopsided smile, grab his color, and pull him towards you until his lips meet yours. 

almost.

--

“still raining?” minghao asks, just to check if you’re still behind.

“yeah.” 

“you must be drenched.” 

“i am.” you pause. “and cold.” it must be a test, minghao thinks. or a trial of some sort, because how is he supposed to not turn around right at this moment and give you something to make you warm. with a sinking feeling that never seems to diminish in the underworld, minghao trudges on through the dark. he’s pulled out of his thoughts when you ask: “how do you know you’ve made a mistake?” 

he tilts his head at the question. it’s an odd question, yes. but something to pass the time he assumes. “you know the sensation you get on the air lift right before the drop by the watchtower.” he waits for some affirmation that you’ve heard. it never comes. “it feels like that for me. like a rock in my gut. i know i’ve made a mistake because i feel the wrongness of it.” 

you let out a small cough. “do you feel that right now?”

“no.” something akin to fear settles underneath his tongue. “do you?”

--

it’s after you’ve been in town for a month that soonyoung asks if you and minghao are friends. minghao doesn’t think to mention the way you two have been hanging out at the warehouse every day after work or how much he enjoys talking with you. it doesn’t phase minghao to describe the lack of air in his lungs each time you’re so much as mentioned or the smile that appears whenever you’re near. instead, he shrugs, and says, “yeah, i guess we’ve gotten close.”

--

“it stopped raining,” you murmur softly, sounding close. so close minghao thinks he can smell the rainwater dripping from your clothes and hear your arms flailing in the darkness. it takes a moment for him to realize, you actually are. 

“when did you get so close?” 

“oh, minghao,” you smile, or at least he imagines you do, “i’ve never been far.” 

--

the second time minghao sees you is not a coincidence. he’s been spending every evening at the warehouse since your first conversation together, hoping at some point in the night you’ll walk in with the other plant workers. until finally one night you do. 

“small world.” he begins, meeting you at the bar. 

“yeah,” you reply, and a sudden warmth fills minghao when you purse your lips, as if there’s a private joke hiding behind your teeth. “we’re all closer than we think.”

--

the first thing minghao thinks when a sort of warmth fills his body, is that there’s a fire growing in the dark abyss that is the road between the underworld and the real one. 

it’s only when he hears you say, “minghao is that the…?” does he realize that the warmth lingering in his fingertips is from the sun. the world around him is still entirely dark, the only light being from the lantern still. but before minghao sees the light of the sun, he can feel the sunlight and taste it on his tongue. 

“it’s almost over,” he says to the new warmth in his knees and to you who’s now so close behind him.

you don’t respond. and some small part of minghao that’s buried under oceans of grief and love, knows what the silence means. a miniscule, almost negligible, part of minghao knows how to interpret your lack of response. 

but the larger, more intruding part of minghao that can’t bear the idea of letting you go, selfishly asks, “what about your dream? what about center circle?”

you sigh, and it’s the first sound you’ve made since noticing the sun. “oh minghao, i stopped caring about center circle the day i met you.”

--

the first time minghao sees you is at the warehouse. and as soon as you enter with the other plant workers, minghao knows you’re new. he can tell by the way you talk, with an accent that sounds too western to be from around here, and from the way your face is the only one he doesn’t know. curiosity is what he tells himself and soonyoung when asked later that week. minghao approaches you at the warehouse bar because he’s curious. although, curiosity doesn’t begin to explain the churning in his gut and the chill running down his spine as he does. 

“hey,” he greets, resting his elbows against the bar. “i’m minghao.” 

you study him before answering, as if determining whether you should even bother with giving him your name. lucky for him, you do. 

“you new around here?” he asks, despite knowing you are. the polite thing to do, he figures. 

“what gave me away?” you snort.

“ironport’s a small town.” he shrugs, with a degree of nonchalance that doesn’t at all match the current pace of his heart. “the people that are born here tend to die here as well.” 

“not me.” you mutter, shaking your head. “i’m certainly not dying in ironport.” 

minghao seats himself on the barstool next to you. “is there a preferred place of death then?”

“center circle.” you tell him, as the barkeep slides you your drink. “it’s been my dream since forever. i’ve worked my way up from the wallows to the plains and now finally to ironport. if i die before getting to the center circle, i’ll walk there from hell myself.”

“that’s a bold dream.” he responds half-teasing, half-not.

you take a long sip from your drink. “i know.” 

“and yet?”

you meet his eyes steadily. “and yet i can’t let it go.” 

at the bottom of his gut minghao again feels curiosity tug.

--

“minghao,” you breathe, so close he can feel it on his shoulder. “come back to me.” he doesn’t respond, acts like he doesn’t even hear the words. instead, he steps forward, feels the warmth of the sun on his cheek, and then sinks back into the cool sensation of your forehead knocking against his neck. 

“come back to me, okay?” you repeat into his back. “but don’t come back too soon.” 

“and you’ll wait for me?” he asks, yearning for nothing more than to turn around and kiss your eyelids and nose and cheeks and lips. wanting nothing more than to turn around and memorize your face in all the ways he forgot to do while you were alive and on earth. 

“well yeah,” you smile against his shirt, “what else is a dead person supposed to do?”

and for a small second, relishing in the sensation of your chest shaking with laughter against his back, minghao feels at peace.

“so have you figured it out yet?” you start, lifting your chin from his shoulder, and interlocking your fingers with his. “have you figured out why orpheus turned?” 

“no.” he returns, with a squeeze. 

“but i’m about to find out.” 

--

You set the bag of peaches down to reach into the tote hanging on your shoulder, pulling out the amount you owe and a little bit extra. You’ve worn Joshua down into accepting the few more bills you always give him a long time ago and he knows not to argue with you. “Well I’ll be going then, can’t be taking up too much of your time.” You say as you tuck the peaches into your tote and slip it back on your shoulder. Your eyes flit to Vernon, who’s been silently watching your exchange with his friend. “It was very nice to meet you, again. Take care.” The sweet smile returns for a moment before you turn to walk away, disappearing into the crowd. 

“You don’t usually chat up people like that.” The twinkle is back in the older man’s eyes and Vernon can’t help but roll his. “Don’t roll your eyes at me, I”m serious! I saw the hand-holding Mr. Chwe.” “It wasn’t hand-holding.” Vernon replies, bumping Joshua’s shoulder with his own. “Well whatever it was it seemed pretty intimate to me.” The coy look on the strawberry blonde’s face is nothing short of irritating but Vernon just sighs and pulls the apron he’s wearing off. “Goodbye Joshua.” 

The next time Vernon sees you is on the docks, his ship just coming in from a long morning but a successful catch. Once they anchor and he ties the ship up the rest of the crew unloads, taking the morning’s haul to the market. “Good work today gentlemen.” The booming voice of his captain, Choi Seungcheol, exclaims. “Wonwoo, Mingyu, and Vernon, you’re free to go. Rest up, I’ll see you three next week.” The men exchange farewells, and as he turns to make his way back into town he sees you. You’re crouched enticing one of the dock kittens to play by waving your shoelaces at it, the small animal pounces back and forth trying to swat at them. Your tinkling laughter and the joy in your eyes pulls at his heartstrings. 

“What brings you here?” He manages to walk up to you without startling you or the kitten playing at your feet. Your eyes snap up to meet his, and a smile blooms on your face at the sight of him, he wants to live in that smile he thinks. “Hello yourself sailor Vernon.” You reply, patting the kitten on its small head before standing. “Spying on me now, are you?” He teases, taking in you in your striped shirt and patterned socks that aren’t quite a pair. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” you tease him right back, and he grins. “Actually, I was harvesting,” you continue, motioning to the purple flowers sticking out of your ever present tote, “but my curiosity got the best of me so here I am.” 

“Are you a florist?” Vernon asks, trying to match the flowers you’re carrying to a name. You shake your head, “I wish. I’m an herbalist, nothing as elegant as a florist.” He nods, “Well what did you manage to pick today? I don’t think I know what plant that is.” You pluck one of them out of your bag and lay it flat in your palms. “It’s sea lavender, I’m using it to treat this little girl. She gets terrible mouth ulcers, and I can’t get this where I live so I have to come down here.” Vernon drinks your words up like a man thirsty, he might truly be enamored with you. 

At some point in your conversation the two of you take a seat on the docks, kicking your feet above the surface water below. Vernon tells you about his ship crew, his captain Seungcheol is a fierce and compassionate leader. Second mate Wonwoo, a navigational specialist, can direct the correct path even in the most ruthless of sea storms. Mingyu, who can cook a mean meal, oversees the ship’s supplies and maintenance. 

“I think you’ve talked about just everyone on your crew except yourself. What’s your specialty, sailor Vernon?” Your eyes twinkle, and his ears redden at the nickname. “I wouldn’t say I have a specialty, but I’m in charge of the ropes and sails.” He says, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck. You listen intently as Vernon explains the details of his role, and he itches to hold your face in his hands. 

“I should probably get going.” You sigh as you glance at the sun and how far it has sunken in the sky. “Me too.” Vernon agrees, standing and holds his hands out for you to take. Your fingers wrap around his as he gently pulls you to your feet. Smiling, you give his hands a thankful squeeze before releasing them. “I-I could walk you home? If you want me to, that is.” His sincerity is enough to make you swoon. “Well, I don’t know if Joshua told you, but I actually live in the next town over. You can walk me to the trolley though, if you don’t mind.” Vernon nods eagerly at your suggestion which pulls a giggle out of you. He really was too cute for his own good. 

The trolley hasn’t left yet, thankfully. It seems you and Vernon had arrived just on time. “This is me,” You motion to the vehicle, “thanks for the wonderful conversation and everything that followed. You’re very kind, sailor Vernon.” He gives you a boyish grin. “You’re welcome. Stay safe on your way home.” 

There are dates with Vernon after that. He brings you to the ocean and splashes you with seawater, as if you’re two children without a care in the world. You take him to the forest, teaching him about plants and their healing abilities. There’s hand-holding and shy laughter. Cheek kisses and two people brimming with joy and fondness. 

“He has eyes like a doe, they’re so gentle and filled with kindness.” You practically coo to Jun, who merely listens as the two of you enjoy the sunlight on the stone steps of your small cottage home. “I’ve never heard you talk about anyone like this before.” Jun muses in response. You offer hima grinin response. “Vernon isn’t like anyone I’ve ever met before.” The man next to you shrugs. “Will you tell him?” The question makes a shiver go down your spine and you look away. “I don’t know.” “Well if you do decide to, just,” Jun pauses, “be careful. There are still people out there who would pay a pretty penny for fairy wings.” 

Jun’s words throb inside your head hours after your conversation with him. He’s right, of course, there could be disastrous not to mention dangerous consequences to telling Vernon the truth about yourself. You have to see your mother. 

The museum of fairy wings is a peculiar building, white with gothic style architecture. It sits on a hill and overlooks the sea. You take a seat on one of the small benches scattered throughout the building, facing the wall in which the wings are displayed. Your eyes search before finding the pair of wings you’re looking for.

The wings encased are rounded at the tips, orange fades into yellow, top to bottom. Their translucent shine brightens under the fluorescents and gardenias surround them half-circled. The little plaque under the glass frame reads ‘Gardenia’ etched into bronze. The smaller text is a name, Hong Jiyu, the procurer. 

Hong Jiyu is Joshua’s paternal grandmother, the procurer of the fairy wings behind the glass, the wings that were once attached to a wife and a mother. Your mother. 

The first time you saw Joshua hate rushed through you so red-hot you thought your skin was burning. You watched him for days, wondering how you would hurt him. How you’d cause his family the same pain and suffering they’d caused you. But Joshua wasn’t his grandmother. 

He was softhearted and good-natured. A farmer with broad shoulders and strawberry blonde hair. He knows everything there is to know about peaches and children revel in his presence. He has a smile that makes the butterflies in your stomach frenzy. 

So you forgave. Your mother wasn’t coming back, and hurting Joshua wouldn’t change that. You went to his stall in the market one day and bought a peach, took it home and sliced it up. You ate it outside, in the grass of your yard and cried like the day you were born. You never stopped buying peaches from Joshua after that. 

Vernon didn’t know why you wanted to meet him inside the museum. He also didn’t expect it to be a place you frequented. The only experience he had with it really was when Joshua’s grandma would take them when they were little, showing them her 'trophies’. He shudders at the memory. 

You were seated, on a bench, staring at the green-yellow wings Joshua’s grandma loved to show off. Her favorite. 

Vernon quietly made his way behind you, careful not to alert you of his presence. Hands slide in front of your eyes effectively obscuring your vision, and your lips curl into a smile. "Well hello to you too.” You say, your fingers hooking around his to pull them from your face. “Hi.”

He takes the spot next to you, hand taking yours to link your fingers. “One of your regular haunts?” You let out a chuckle. “Something like that.” The two of you sit in comfortable silence and Vernon’s thumb traces the back of your hand. 

“Why are you really here?” If Vernon is one thing it is observant. You sigh before training your eyes on your mother’s wings. “Do you ever think about the people these wings were attached to?” You shift your gaze to his face. “Were they mothers? Daughters? Brothers? Uncles? Did they like to dance or sing? Maybe their favorite color was blue because it matched the ocean in their lover’s eyes?" 

Vernon’s free hand comes up to cup your cheek and you lean into his touch. "Are you okay?” He asks, voice soft. You shake your head slightly. “I think I need some air." 

The air outside is cool and crisp, and your lungs breath it in gratefully. Vernon’s thumb is still rubbing circles on the back of your hand, keeping you grounded. "I’m alright.” You assure him when you see the unsure glaze his hazel eyes carry. “I promise, I’m okay.” He nods, squeezing your hand gently. His other hand reaches into his front pocket, fingers grazing the worn photo tucked there. “I was gonna wait a bit to give this to you, but I’m going to sea tomorrow. There’s an area Seungcheol wants to explore and it’s quite aways away. We’ll probably be gone for 10 days or more. So, I wanted you to have this.” He pulls the photo out, and presents it to you. 

You release his hand to take the photograph from him, turning it over in your hands gingerly. The subject of the picture is Vernon himself, and it was probably taken a few years ago. He looks a little younger, but there’s that same boyish grin of his. His black hair is in his eyes and the ocean sparkles behind him. The back reads 'Yours, for better or for worse - Vernon Chwe’ And tears brim in your eyes. 

“Wouldn’t want you to forget my face while I’m away.” He says with a chuckle. You don’t respond and instead wrap your arms around him, pressing your face into his neck. Vernon smiles as his arms encircle you, content to hold you. You pull away to look at him after a few moments, your eyes tracing his features. “As if I could ever forget a face like yours.” You say, holding his jaw in your hand, your thumb tracing it’s line. 

Vernon walks you down to the trolley, like he did all those weeks ago when the relationship between the two of you was just blooming.

“So I suppose I’ll see you when you get back, sailor Vernon.” You jest, your smile not really reaching your eyes. “You will.” He assures with a smile of his own. “Don’t go falling in love with any mermaids while you’re gone. They may be pretty at first glance, but they’re really quite ruthless.” Vernon laughs, and leans down to press a kiss against the smooth skin of your cheek. “I’ll try my very hardest.”

“We’re due west a little more.” Wonwoo says, staring at the pieces of parchment in his hands. He always hand drew his charts and maps, citing that they just helped him navigate better. Vernon complies with Wonwoo’s concern and shits the sails so the wind can catch them and steer the ship in the right direction. 

After a sufficient amount of sailing, six hours give or take, the crew was released. Dinner was still warm in his stomach while he got ready to sleep. Mingyu was brushing his teeth in the adjacent bathroom, the sound of the sink running filling the silence of the lower deck. Vernon is folding his pants when he finds it. Tucked in his back pocket is a photograph. At first he thinks you slipped the one he gave you back to him, not wanting to take it, but it’s you in the picture. Your pretty eyes and shy smile. On the back in crooked writing it says 'Keep this safe for me until you return’, a small heart is drawn just under the words. He imagines you drawing it, that sparkle in your eyes. 

Vernon has been gone for a few days, and you think now would be the perfect time. Jun usually helps you, but you’ve done it enough times alone as well. You shuffle through your kitchen, searching for one of your knives, the one with the knotted handle. Jun had sharpened it for you earlier that week, the sunlight filtering through your home makes the white blade gleam. Experience leads you quietly to the mirror hung on the wall of your living room. You had stuck the photo Vernon gave you between the frame and the glass, so you could see his grin before you left and when you arrived home. You wonder what he’d think if he could see you now as you shed your shirt. There are short stubs protruding out of your back where you once had full-grown fluttering wings. They used to be such a vibrant red-violet, now the short pieces were a dull maroon, the life had drained from them a long time ago. Every time seems to hurt less than the last. You remember the first time you cut them yourself, before you had Jun’s help. The pain was so excruciating, you felt like some had twisted a blade into your heart. You cried yourself to sleep that night and didn’t move at all in the days following. Now you feel like you’d gotten used to the pain, what used to be unbearable now felt like a mildly uncomfortable pinch. 

Not many people knew that a fairy’s wings grew back, like the skin of a wound. You kill the fairy, you kill the wings. You and Jun, and all the other fairies you knew had been cutting your wings off as a protective measure ever since your mother had died. Having no wings seemed to be a fair trade for living in peace. 

The blade slides cleanly between your wing stump and the skin of your back, and you grimace at the feeling of the hot blood sliding down your skin. The pain was bearable though, and you moved on to the other one, giving it the same treatment. Your eyes meet the photo of Vernon once again, and as your blood drips down to the wooden floor you feel a sick sense of relief. 

Your sunkissed sailor returns even more sunkissed than the last time you saw him. You’re awaiting his arrival when his ship anchors and the crew files off, chatter and laughter filling the air as the men set foot on the docks. Vernon’s grin widens as he spots you, and you can’t help but give him one in return. It’s much too crowded to offer him the affection you want to, so instead you take his hand and follow the path into town.

Convincing Vernon to ride the trolley with you back to your cottage takes no effort at all, he even seems a bit excited to be invited. He tells you all about the places he’d seen on the expedition and the beautiful coves the crew got to swim in when they weren’t on the job. “Sounds like it was more of a vacation than a work trip.” You tease, a bit envious. “I think that might’ve been Seungcheol’s plan from the beginning.” 

Getting Vernon acquainted to your small home is ridiculously easy. It’s like he belonged there in your living area, sitting comfortably on the bronze corduroy chair as he sipped on some of the cold tea you’d brewed earlier. 

“What did you occupy yourself with while I was away. Can’t imagine you’d be sitting still for long.” His eyes are curious and you shrug. “Jun kept me company and of course Joshua & I had pleasant conversation whenever I would see him at the market. I mostly worked, it’s getting closer to autumn so I’ve had a lot of people to treat.” You muse as you tap your fingers against your chin. “I was surprised to find this as I was getting ready to sleep my first night on the ship.” He pulls out the picture of yourself you’d slipped into his pocket that day you’d said goodbye to him. Your face flushes with heat. “Well I see you’ve held onto it.” “Just like you’ve held onto mine.” He teases, pointing at his own picture tucked in your mirror. 

As the afternoon winds on the desire to tell Vernon your true nature gnaws at you. You call his name softly and suck in a breath when his eyes meet yours. “I have to tell you something.” He raises his brows and offers you a look you can’t quite decipher. “Okay.” You move to sit next to him and take his hands in yours. “You remember that day you met me at the museum? And I was sitting in front of those wings with the gardenias, the yellow green ones?” He nods in response to your questions, not wanting to interrupt. “Those wings,” you pause collecting yourself, “they belonged to someone I knew. Someone who took care of me and loved me, my mother.” Your voice is shaky as you finish and your admission feels like a punch to the gut. Suddenly Vernon is overcome with a feeling of dread. “You mean- All this time-” He struggles to make a complete sentence but after a bit of silence he finally says; “Joshua’s grandma did that to your mom?” There’s sadness and guilt swimming in his eyes, and you can barely bring yourself to speak so you just shake your head in confirmation, hot tears staining your cheeks.

“I had them too,” you rasp, “wings. But we couldn’t have them anymore because people like Joshua’s grandma still wanted them.” You stand, sliding your hands from his grasp, and turn your back to him. Slowly, surely, you slide your top over your head. Jun had healed your open wounds with the bit of healing magic he knew, so they were closed up. “So, we do this.” You can’t see Vernon, but you can imagine the disgust on his face. You tense when you feel his presence behind you, and shiver when he lays his head against your neck. “I’m sorry,” his voice is shaky, “I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with this all alone.” His fingers brush the scarred skin delicately. “I’ll protect you.” His voice is more sure now and he presses a soft kiss to your nape. “I promise I’ll protect you.”

When Seungcheol’s Facebook invite said “Halloween Party!! - costumes optional” you didn’t think everyone would take the optional part so seriously.

Meticulous planning began the two weeks before, trying to coerce anyone you knew was going into dressing up with you. Honestly, it was like pulling teeth, at least with how the year had gone. You thought at least Soonyoung could be persuaded!

You’re waiting at the bustling cafe across from the uni campus, the lifeline of students and lecturers alike. Rowdy and warm, you badger Soonyoung about Seungcheol’s party.

He screws his nose up as he passes you your caffeine-free chocolate frappe. “Not really feeling like it this year. I mean, I have that tiger stripe sweater?”

You pout around your straw. “Nawww, Soonie! Come on! Not even a pair of matching ears?”

“Nice try. I’m not getting hassled anymore than I already will be, thanks. Tiger agenda or not, I draw the line at getting called a furry in any capacity.”

That sounded way too fancy to be coming from his brain, even as smart as he was. You cross your arms at the traffic lights, leaning on the pedestrian button.

“Wonwoo already talked you out of it, didn’t he.” You say flatly.

Soonyoung screws his face up, guilty. “He said he was bringing that chilli craft beer from July. Promised me my own slab.”

You knock him as the two of you cross, almost bumping him into some fellow students. Bribery! You both sit yourselves down inside by the glass wall of the open study space, flooded with natural light. The echo of the tall foyer around the corner isn’t as much of a deterrent to you as it is to others, and you push your work out over the bright tomato red table.

“Fine then.” You grumble.

“Awww, don’t be like that!” He whines, eyes wide and shiny. “I’m sure someone will dress up with you. Next year?”

You hmph, but nod. “Next year.”

So, after going through everyone you thought you could persuade in your close friends’ list, you resolved to just do it anyway. Who cares if your friends had no Halloween spirit? You’d bring enough for the lot of them! Costume and all! And no, you would not be sharing your alcohol - this is not The Little Red Hen’s bread party.

Then you get swamped with work and classes and family. You forget to get your *talented, brilliant, incredible, show-stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique* costume together. So after all you hyping and nagging, you end up dressing as you normally would for one of Cheollie’s get-togethers, hooning off to a department store and buying a five-dollar sandwich board costume. You’re pretty disappointed in yourself, to be honest, as you glare in your rear-view mirror at the plastic bag holding your “costume”.

Pulling up down the street, you rummage around in the back, pulling the tag off and chucking it over your head. You giggle and smooth down the foam-filled fabric, jamming your phone in your back pocket and your drinks bag over your arm. A press of the doorbell has Seungcheol greeting you at the door in a striped button-up and jeans. No trace of spooky get-up anywhere. Not even fake fangs. You wilt a little.

“Hey! Y/N!”

You step in the doorway and squeeze him in a tight hug - he’s always very reciprocal to hugs and very good at them. The hallway is dim apart from a few electric tea candles and a plastic jack-o-lantern on the hall table from the dollar store.

“Cheollie! Uh, fridge?”

He tugs you along to the garage around the corner. “Put it in the one just in here. I think there’s still a free shelf.” As you pile your wine and spirits in, he shifts on his feet, his socks plain. “I, uh, what are you dressed as?”

The hesitation makes you pause to turn. He sits his hands in his pockets, hulking figure shrinking in the muted entry. You pat down the front.

“I, thought it was obvious? A fre sha voca do? Like the vine? An avocado?” Your voice gets higher and higher with nerves until you’re squeaking at him.

He smiles and nods. “Oh! That makes sense! But, um, Y/N. You’re the only one in a costume.”

You rush up to him, eyes wide despite your dark makeup. “Pardon? But the title said -” You sigh. “Everyone took the optional, didn’t they? Even you. Oh my god, I’m so embarrassed!”

You shuck off the avocado shaped fabric and roll it up into your cooler bag. At least you had the sense to dress better underneath.

He laughs, tucking you under his arm and against his side, walking with you out to the patio. “That’s okay! Thanks for trying though. Oh, Jihoon, anything but this song! ‘Kwan’s killed it as it is.”

Seungkwan whines from his perch on the edge of Seokmin’s chair, protesting loudly as Jihoon pics up his phone with his free hand, setting a shuffle of his playlist. You can’t believe Jihoon had the gall to show up in a tee and slides, as if this was another uni lecture and not a friendly drink-up.

Wonwoo, Soonyoung and Mingyu are crowded around the fire pit, so wedge yourself between Soon and Gyu, the resident warm bodies to catch up. You nurse your drinks, always have - which pisses Mingyu off to no end, seeing as he likes to cut to the chase and just damn well drink - so when the doorbell rings again, you’re only halfway through your first. There’s so many of you already, so who else could possibly be coming? You ask Wonwoo as much.

“Oh, just Jun and Minghao. ‘Hao was doing a drinks run.”

There is a cluster of frantic giggles and you swivel your head around eagerly at the familiar voice - Jun. A high shout of complaint reveals Minghao as well. Must have picked him up on the way, then.

“What the hell are you dressed as!” Cries out Chan between howling laughter.

You almost fall off your seat at the sight. Jun parades in with his six-pack of drinks, in bright orange. He grins, preening.

“I’m a carrot! Jihoon got it for me for my birthday.” He chirps, dumping his drinks on the outdoor table amongst everyone else’s and a stray ashtray.

“I didn’t think you’d actually wear it!” Jihoon cackles, flailing about and slapping anybody in the general vicinity.

It was obvious. Of course, Jun would be the only one of the boys with enough good humour to bother dressing up. He looks through the lot of you, searching for something. You think you’re imagining it when he lingers a little longer on you, his grin perking up as his gaze passes. Then the carrot droops.

“Am I the only one who bothered to dress up?” He mumbles. “The title said…”

Seungcheol opens his mouth at his other side, but you beat him to the mark, shooting up to stand.

“Wait! I-I -”

You dash off back to the garage, slinging your food-themed costume on and skidding back over the house’s wooden floors to bump into Jun’s side. He leans back to take you in, slowly perking up to beam down at you. There is another smattering of laughter from everyone as they take the two of you in.

“Y/N! An avocado!” He cries out, slinging his long arms around you to squeeze tight.

You giggle against his chest and nod. “Yeah. We kind of match.” The pretty young man tilts his head at you, his wide eyes dark against the warm firelight. “We’re both the only ones in costume.”

I quickly smooth out my black dress, feeling exposed due to its tightness and my unfamiliarity in these types of outfits. I adjust my black, sparkly mask that sat over my eyes, concealing my identity to a point as it shone in the moonlight. I finally reach the double doors that were adorned in gold, towering over any other building in the city. If I wasn’t so focused on my task at hand I would’ve gawked more at the fine details, but I had no such time.

The guards that stood firmly at the door greeted me with a bow to which I returned. One held out his hand, silently asking me for my entry pass. I retrieve the invite from my small clutch, seeing the gold detailing decorating the smooth, thick paper. The guards inspect my invite, nodding as they hand it back to me, stepping back to let me enter the palace.

I enter the palace, all of my senses immediately being bombarded from every angle. The smell of Lilacs flood into my nose, a sense of calm falling over me. The sound of loud chatter and laughter reach my ears, giving my brain some discomfort due to the shrill noises. The rush of cool air reaches my skin, goosebumps rising over my exposed skin that the dress seemed to show a lot of. I see the giant entryway, filled to the brim with marble statues and expensive paintings, each priced over the worth of the palace itself. Even in the dimly lit room I can see the marble floors stretch out across the whole room, even reaching out into the other rooms from what I could see of them. The gold detailing that furnished the door continued their way into the entryway and on the staircase that lead to the upper levels. I knew that the Xu family was rich, but seeing these things with my own eyes really puts their wealth into perspective. I take notes of all these things, filing them to memory as I make my towards the room where all the commotion was coming from. The lights continue to brighten as I make my way through the heavily decorated halls, scanning the areas for anything I needed to remember. I reach the ballroom, my senses being overloaded once again. The crystal chandlers light up the whole room, leaving no dark places in the giant room. Many people were on the ballroom floor, dancing to the soft music that could barley be heard of the laughter from the lords and ladies. Each person’s identity covered by their masks, making it impossible to distinguish who was of royalty and who was not. I suddenly became hyper aware of how much I didn’t fit in with these noble entities that occupied the room. I let out a shaky breath, refocusing on my job. I pull an envelope from my clutch, opening it gently across the seam. A small note was nested at the bottom. I open it gently, reading the cursive handwriting that flowed across the paper.

‘When the clock strikes 12…’

I raise my head, finding the massive clock the hung on the far wall. The diamond hands showing the time to be ‘10:30’. I nod tin acknowledgment, tucking the note back into the envelope and then back into my clutch. I adjust my back, feeling the cold steel press against my skin under my dress. I survey the area spotting a crow’s nest in the rafters, picking that as my spot.

I begin my descent down the staircase, using the railing as support as I walk down the steps carefully in my heels that I wasn't used to. They clicked against the floor, making my approach evident. I reach the floor, trying my best to walk gracefully against the expanse of the room, reaching the platform where the royal family did all of their speeches and announcements. It stood below the large clock, having it’s own diamond accents to match the hands.

As I was running my fingers along the diamond features, a soft voice catches my attention.

“It’s intricate.” The voice states calmly as I twist my body to face him.

A young man stood before me with his hands behind his back as he took in the details of my appearance. His black suit was blacker than any suit I had ever seen, his tie matching the dark suit. His white button down shirt was a crisp white, contrasting against the black nicely and making it enjoyable to look at. In his pocket sat a red and gold pocket square, giving his outfit a pop of color that it didn’t really need but just added to the whole concept. His mask matched his pocket square, the gold mask lay over his eyes being embellished by ruby jewels that were tastefully placed across the mask, disguising his identity effectively. His dark hair was styled nicely, seeming professional but still having fluff to it.

“Indeed it is.” I agree with the man as he steps forward, standing next to me.

“I feel so sorry for the prince.” He mentions suddenly as he looks at the podium.

The prince was being installed upon the throne tonight. His family had suffered tragedy and he is all that’s left of the royal bloodline. He is quite young to become king, having just turned 18 this year he would be the youngest king to rule this kingdom.

“I feel he may not have such a hard time.” I comment, being vague in my response, but having full confidence that my plan would destroy the royal bloodline tonight.

“Why do you say so?” The masked man asks, his body turned towards me.

“I think the prince will take a much needed rest.” I reply, watching the seconds tick away on the clock.

“You’re quite intriguing.” The man notes, facing forward again.

We stand in silence, both of us watching the clock in comfort.

“When will the prince appear?” I ask suddenly, curiosity getting the better of me.

“He is supposed to make an announcement at midnight.” The man tells me. “Are you perhaps looking to court the young royal?”

I laugh obnoxiously, my head falling back at the force of my laughter. “As tempting as that offer is I will pass this time.”

The man smiles at my response, nodding in acknowledgment before facing the clock once more.

The music’s demeanor takes a change, it’s fast paced rhythm slowing to a calm. Everyone begins to pair up, entering the dance floor for the slow dance.

The man looks over to me, his movement catching my attention. He smiles through his mask, out stretching his hand towards me.

“Would you like to dance?”

I stare at his hand for a moment, debating whether or not to accept his offer. After weighing the pros and cons, I decided it would be good to participate in some party activities so as not to draw attention to myself.

“I would.” I smile at him, reaching my hand out to touch his which he grabs mine gently as he leads me to the middle of the room.

He wraps his arm around my waist respectfully, not making me uncomfortable by his touch. His hand keeps a firm grip over mine as I reach my other hand to rest on his shoulder. He smiles down at me as he makes his first movements, moving us gracefully across the floor.

I smile brightly, basking in the feeling of being whisked around across the floor, genuinely enjoying the dance. It felt as if we were being watched by the guests of the party, but my curiosity over this matter was drowned out by the music that was playing softly through the room.

The song comes to an end, our swaying ending with it. The man and I detach ourselves from each other, giving a quick bow to each other.

“I must say, you’re an interesting woman.” He states with a half smile gracing his lips.

“Likewise.” I smile at him mischievously, rather enjoying his company.

I hear the toll of the clock alerting the guests of the part that it was now 11:00. My eyes widen, realizing I didnt have much time left.

“I must get going.” I tell them man quickly, bowing in farewell.

“Take care, my lady.” He bows back.

I past him quickly,  towards the stairs that lead back up towards the entryway. I reach the top just as a microphone’s feedback screeches through the room, alerting the room of the man that stood behind the podium that sat atop the large platform.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.” The man greets, prompting everyone to rush to the platform to crowd around the man as close as they could. I blow out a breath of air, feeling relief that no eyes would be on me fore awhile. I quickly exit the room, hugging the wall as I travel through the halls towards the entryway. I could still hear the man’s voice travel through the rooms.

“Thank you all so much for coming tonight.” The man continues. “As you know, tonight is a special night for me as I know take over the title of King.” Cheer and claps erupt from the masses at The Prince’s words.

“The circumstances under which I am receiving this title so early are not pleasant as we all know.” He voice continues as I reach the entryway, saying in the shadows as I ascend up the staircase in the middle of the entryway. “But, as my father before me ran this kingdom with compassion, I vow to do the same.” More cheers erupt, some whistles carrying through the house as well.

I reach the top of the stairs, a long dark hallway greets me there, which at the end, holds my destination.

“At 12 the ceremony will begin, until then, please help yourself to more wine and enjoy the company of one another.” The crowds clap, cheering more at the mention of wine. I continue my path, walking straight to the end of the hall where a window sat. The moon was bright overhead, illuminating the small corner of the hallway I stood in. I walk up to the window, reaching my hands out to open the locks, pushing the window doors outward, letting the cool breeze reach inside the palace. I sigh at the feeling of the cold air against my skin, appreciating the fresh air after being in the suffocating presence of the royals just a floor below me.

I quickly take off my shoes, knowing they would hinder my performance because of their discomfort. I also grab my dress, ripping it at the slit to give me more mobility, the slit now reaching just below indecency. I leave my shoes behind the vase that sat on a table next to the door at the end of the hallway. I knew it wasn’t smart leaving evidence behind, but by the time they realize what has happened and find the shoes, I will be halfway across the world living out my days in hiding.

I kick my leg over the ledge of the window, reaching into my clutch to pull out my hand held grappling hook. It wasn’t the most ideal hook, but in this tight situation, it is going to have to do. I shoot the hook towards the window above, effectively grasping the ledge. I pull it a couple times to check it’s support before I completely push away from the window, my bare feet touching the cold stone that made up the outside of the palace. I gently slide down the side, approaching the window below feeling blinded by the chandeliers brights illumination. I peak through the window, seeing all the previous guests drinking and being merry. I look right below the window, seeing the crow’s nest I had seen from the floor, making me smile at my serendipitous. I wrap the rope around my hand tightly, supporting a majority of my weight on that arm, the rest of it on my leg that had a small grip on the tiny ledge that rested just outside the window. I pull the clip from my hair, twisting and bending it to use it as a pick to break into the lock. I hear the satisfying click, making me smile. I clip the wrecked pin back into my hair, keeping it just in case. I swing my body to the window, carefully balancing on the ledge as I open the window, jumping into the crow’s nest. I sigh out heavily, feeling relief I had made it. I look to the giant clock on the wall, reading the time to be 11:47, making me panic at how long it took me to get to my spot. I reach behind me, grasping the aluminum that was tucked into my dress as I unsheathe the sniper rifle I had, miraculously, hid in my tight dress. I breathe out as I hold the piece in my hands, feeling comfortable with my weapon in my hands after so many hours of discomfort. I take my masquerade mask off my face, the skin around my eyes feeling the cool air begin to dry the sweat that had accumulated over the hours I had worn it. I open my clutch, swapping my mask for the silencer that had waited all night to be revealed. I twist it onto the tip of the gun just before beginning to set up the aim.

I anxiously wait for the final minutes to tick away, for 12 to finally strike so I could take my shot. I watch the Prince emerge from the crowd, stepping up to the podium as the clock reads ’11:58’. The grip on my trigger tightens, my breathing controlled so I could line up the perfect shot.

’11:59’

My finger presses aging the trigger, only needing one small push to send the bullet through the barrel.

“You do stick out like a sore thumb.” A voice startles me just as the clock tolls, announcing 12:00.

I jerk my head towards the voice, seeing the man I had danced with towering over me. I growl in frustration, going back to my scope quickly, trying to get the bullet out of the chamber. The man kicks the gun away, forcing the scope to hit my eye, making me cry out in pain.

“I’m afraid you have the wrong target.” The man speaks again.

I stand quickly, getting defensive just in case.

The man reaches for his his gold mask, his fingers gripping the edges gently as he pulls it from his face, revealing his whole identity to me. My eyes widen as I look into his brown eyes that were barley seen through the light from the moon. I recognized his face immediately.

“You’re the Prince.” I whisper, watching as his lips turn into a smile.

“Please, call me Minghao.” He asks before gesturing to the man who was on stage at this very moment, giving a speech on how thrilled he was to become king. “He is not your target.”

“How?” I ask him, glaring at him, realizing my plan had been foiled before I entered the palace.

“It’s not on you at all.” Minghao tells me, watching my movements closely. “Your “employer” has some dishonest men amongst him.”

“Of course, leaving me to go to jail for it.” I roll my eyes, crossing my arms as I stare at the prince. “You knew when I entered the room.”

Minghao chuckles, his voice bringing comfort in this high stress situation. “I had suspicions.” He takes a step closer to me, his body heat radiating onto mine from his proximity. “Did you really think I wouldn’t feel the sniper under your dress?”

I glare at him, anger seething through me as I watched amusement dance in his eyes. “You think you’ve won, but I will kill you next time.”

“There won’t be a need.” He comments. “Your employer will be jailed for his hit request, there’s no money in it for you anymore.”

“But there’s redemption.” I snarl at him, pushing him with both of my hands as I sweep my leg, effectively causing him to stumble back from me. I jump from the window, grabbing the rope and sliding down it quickly, my hands being burned by friction. I reach the bottom, pulling the hook off the ledge as it falls into my hand. I see Prince Minghao lean over the edge of the window, watching me as I made my exit. I only stare for a moment before running towards the city, traveling through the darkness to hide from any eyes. This was not the last time Minghao and I would meet and I promised to myself that our next meeting, would end with his death.