After acquainting yourself with the area, you quickly get to work.  The messenger bag slides off your shoulder and falls to the ground, disturbing the pristine grass beneath you.  You pull out the aged tome that you had stolen from the widower’s home.  With his wife gone and him not having the Ability, he had no use for it.  You, however, do.  You open the book, flipping through pages carelessly as you find the passages you were looking for.  It didn’t matter to you if the pages around it fell apart or ripped; when you finally got what you desired, you could fix it.  If that was something you chose to do.

“Heh,” you murmur in victory, finding the passages you had marked.  You hold the book on either side and bend it backwards, breaking its spine so it would lay flat in the dirt.  You place it on the ground and press a palm into the middle, pushing down just in case.  When you pull your hand back, the pages lie open.  Ignoring it for the moment, you kneel and pull out a menagerie of glass containers.  They ranged in size, shape, and color.  On each container, your rushed handwriting told you what was inside.  A sprig of hawthorn, containing both flowers and berries, resides in a long, skinny, light green bottle.  The blood of a stone sloshed around in a vial the size of your thumb, closed off by a cork.  The laughter of a swine, the sneeze of a worm, food stolen from a left-handed woman in her third trimester while she sang.  All of those ingredients and more were in the glass surrounding you.

Finally, you pull out a mortar and pestle.  The summoning required that you chose the stone it was made from, but not that you had to make it.  Something you were greatly appreciative of.  You decided on a black stone, rough and speckled with gray and blue throughout.  The mason’s son, Sangyeon, had crafted it into a beautiful set.  It was such a shame that it would only be used this one time.

You half-turn and drag the book back to yourself.  You set it against the now empty messenger bag, and find yourself surprised at the way you can still read every word clearly.  Despite the moon’s brightness, you had thought it would be more difficult.  You shrug it off, looking at the steps you were to follow.  Each step had several ingredients that were to be combined with the amount of times you were to crush it with the pestle.  You separate your glasses into groups for each step, figuring it would be easier in the long run.

Sand from a cloud, fire caught in sea glass, the brain of a blood minnow.  One by one, you opened the containers and tilted them over the mortar.  You kept a careful eye on the ingredients as you did, not wanting to have any spill or tumble away from the bowl.  The tome says that you need to crush them together for twenty times.  You let out a small sigh; the rest of the steps never get easier with regard to the crushing amount.  But to get what you desired, you would have to sacrifice.

The next minutes are filled with this, and the pile of empty glass containers gradually started to outnumber the full ones.  When you reach the final step, you feel like you understand why the widower didn’t use this, regardless of his having the Ability or not.  The precision and structure kind of sucked.  Especially as the forest only grew colder around you, seeping into your clothes.  You read the instructions thrice more before you complete it; if you fucked it up here, you would have to wait another year before you could do this again.  The amount of time it took to find the ingredients was more than waiting for another full moon.

Wind whirled around you, pushing you back several feet.  You shielded your eyes from it, head bending into the invisible force.  A noise fills your ears, like a shriek but multiplied over itself tenfold.  You felt like your ears were going to bleed.  For the first time since you stepped into the forest itself, you felt fear.  It sat solid like a stone in your stomach.  Despite the wind making the frost disappear on the grass, your clammy hands didn’t change.  You were pushed back another few inches, and you leaned into the breeze more in attempt to fight against it.

And then, as if the wind itself knew your intentions, the direction changed suddenly.  You drop to your knees, a gasp tearing out of your throat.  You dig your fingers into the cold, damp earth as an anchor.  The shrill noise intensifies and your knuckles turn white, the bones underneath pushing up against your skin as you tighten your grasp on the earth.

Everything stops.

You don’t realize at first; your body and mind were still dealing with the attempt to not be blown further away than you were already.  When you no longer feel your hair whipping around your face and neck, cutting into the soft skin like the ends were well sharpened knives, you realize something has changed.  Your ears ring in the sudden silence.  Opening your eyes just enough to see clearly, you force your fingers to straighten, hands pushing into the grass and dirt beneath you.  Dark brown dirt, almost black in the light of the moon, sticks to your skin.  It looks like you were trying to crawl out of a grave.  The wind had thrown grass fragments and loose dirt onto any part of your body it could find.  Your ragged breaths finally register, cutting through the ringing in your ears.  Something drips onto your hand and you look.  Whatever liquid it was, it was clear, cutting through the mess on the back of your hand.

Another drop, this time on your other hand.  Your eyes dart to it, and widen at the deep, rich red there.  Both of your hands come up to your face, and you put your fingers carefully onto your skin.  Pulling back, your fingertips are covered in blood and tears.  You hadn’t thought you would cry from this summoning attempt, but it appears you were gravely mistaken.  Your hands are shaking in front of you.  You don’t know if it was just your hands that shook, or if it was your whole being.

“I- no,” he says.  You watch as he grows fidgety.  “Okay, yes.  Are you not going because of Growly McWhines?”

You snort at the newest sobriquet he’s gifted your friend and his partner for a different class project.  “Why you don’t just tell them that you’re interested rather than furthering the animosity between you two is something I’ll never understand.”  You shake your head slightly and continue, “But yes, I’m not going to Carat Cloud because of Growly McWhines.  I would appreciate just one day when I don’t have to hear one of you complain about the other.”  It’s so obvious that you guys are into each other anyways is something you decide can stay in your head.

“I would,” he says, “honestly, I would.” You give him a flat stare, not believing him in the slightest. “We can talk about it later.”

You nod and assume that that's the end of it, turning back to your notes. You were wrong.

“Ni Hao, wo Ming!” You don't need to look up to see the stupid grin on Mingyu's face. You do look up anyways, because this greeting can only mean one thing.  Xu Minghao was approaching.

It wasn’t like it was a new thing, him hanging out with you and Mingyu.  After all, the two of them have known each other since high school; Gyu’s family was Minghao’s host family when he came over from Liáoníng to study.  They are, for all intents and purposes, brothers in everything but blood.  So yes, you know Minghao.

… You like Minghao.  And honestly… what about him isn’t to like?  You like that he is generally calm and collected, a contrast to Mingyu’s energetic puppy aura, but he also knows how to let loose.  You’ve seen him go from zero to a hundred during some go-cart competition that his dance team was having.  And on-stage… in those performances and competitions?  God, it’s like he’s possessed by some other entity.  It’s as if Terpsichore herself has descended from the cosmos and made Minghao her vessel to humanity.  (Or, well, everyone who fits in the auditorium that the competition is held in.)

He is immeasurably kind and has hosted finals cram parties (wherein all you do is study with what feels like several dozen non-alcoholic drinks and snacks like carrots and apple slice bunnies within easy reach) for your group of friends.  Sometimes, if he knows someone in one of his classes is really struggling, he’ll invite them as well.  And he’s just so worldly.  He memorizes poems and historical anecdotes and recites them at the drop of a hat.  He stays up to date on so many different topics.  He is endlessly interesting to talk to, and you know you could spend all night staying up with him, just… just talking about anything and everything, if you let yourself.

“That joke was barely funny the first time, and it gets less funny as time goes on,”  Minghao says, though the smile he wears belies his true amusement.  “How are end-of-semester things going?”  He shifts the strap of his backpack, pulling the hood of his coat out from underneath it.

“They could be better,” Mingyu allows, a tiredness he hadn’t shown before seeping into his voice.  You and Minghao glance at each other; the both of you have a fairly decent idea as to what could be better.

“I agree,” you say, joining the conversation officially, “this group project is slowly sucking the life out of me.  Like, don’t get me wrong, I love Joshua, and he’s been my lifeline for this class.  But…”  You lower your voice, glancing around to see if anyone else was listening.  “Okay, is it necessary to bring a color-coded spreadsheet for the second actual out-of-class meeting we’ve had?  We just decided on what topic we’re going to cover.  How does he have a spreadsheet already?”

Minghao huffs out a laugh at your complaints.  Mingyu snorts and then slaps a hand over the lower half of his face as if it would prevent anyone from having heard it.

“So you’re both showing up to the cram parties then, I take it?”  He asks rhetorically.  “I talked with the owners of Carat Cloud, and they said we could hang out there to study.”

“Sounds good.  Message me the rest later?  I gotta jet,” Mingyu pulls out his phone, checking the time.

“I will,” Minghao says, “I’ll probably just send a message into the group chat.”

Mingyu nods, pockets his phone, and then ruffles your hair again before walking quickly out of the library.

You scowl after him, and then shake your head with a small smile.  You don’t bother to fix your hair again.  You turn your gaze to Minghao, taking in his outfit, well, the parts of it not covered by his coat.  He has on his so-called “grandma glasses”, chain and everything, and you can see the ends of his hair peeking out from under his speckled gray knit beanie.  It’s been permed and colored for his competition this weekend, a bluey-purple mix that you’re definitely interested in seeing more of.

Minghao pushes his glasses up from where they were sliding down his nose.  “So, um.”  He pauses.

You frown at the odd behavior, not really ever knowing him to not be confident in what he was saying.  “Is everything okay?”

He blinks a few times, as if getting his bearings after suddenly being woken up.  “No, it’s fine.  I’m fine.  I just.”  Another pause.  “So you know how I have the competition this weekend?”

You smile, more of an amused uptick of the corners of your mouth than anything else, but reply, “Yes.  And even if I didn’t, the hair sort of gives away that you’re going to be doing something soon.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he jokes back.  The small exchange seemed to help, and you can see him become himself again.  “I was wondering if you would also help me record a solo tape?  There are some dance troupes who have shown some interest and I want to make sure I have something prepared for when, or if, they ask for more.”

You flip open your cartoon frog planner and check your schedule.  “When were you wanting to do this?”

“I was thinking after the competition would probably work best since the building where we’re going to perform at has a few dance studios the next floor up from the auditorium.”  He says, sketching a rough diagram in the air.

“Yeah, I can totally help with that!”  You agree.  “Let me write it down, make it all official and everything,” you tease, pulling out the blue gel pen you use for personal events in your planner.

“I was also thinking that maybe we could get dinner after,” he says, and his voice sounds forcibly casual.

Your hand freezes, the tip of the gel pen still pressed into the paper, the ink pooling slowly around it.  “As a,” your voice cracks, and you shut your eyes in embarrassment.  You swallow and try again.  “Are we meeting up with everyone after we finish recording?  Mingyu or Chan or?”

“I was thinking of dinner as a date.  Personally, I think inviting my not-brother and my co-captain might ruin that atmosphere.”  You open your eyes and see the little quirk up at the corner of his mouth.

You make a noise between a scoff and a snort, “Yeah, I think that would just about do it.”  You bite your lip, looking down at the box for Saturday, where “Minghao Dance Comp” and “Help MH Record After” were written next to little bullet points.  “Are you serious about this?”

You really, really hope he is.  He doesn’t seem like someone who would ask you out and not mean it.  But your anxieties eat at your perceptions anyway.

His voice is gentler than before, but firm in its intent.  “I do.  I am, I mean.  Honestly, I’ve been trying to figure out how I wanted to ask you out now for a while.”

You feel your heart flutter at that.  “Oh?”  A smile you didn’t even realize had started appears on your face.  “Well, we can’t put all your planning to waste then, can we?”

Minghao watches as you write into the planner, right under the previous two notes, “Date with Minghao <3”.

“Yo,” Mark says when you pick up, “how was work?”

“Work was fine,” you say, your tone falling flat.  You step off to the side, next to a lamppost, to take your call.  “Pretty much the same as it always is.”

“Ah, dude, that sucks,” Mark says sympathetically.  You like Mark.  He was very good at making you feel less shitty because of his very golden retriever constitution.  “You okay?”

You hesitate, the standard “I’m fine” not being able to pass your lips.  “He didn’t pick me up.  Again.”  Your words come out choppy.

“Do you need me to come get you,” he asks immediately.  You can hear the sound of his old, wood-framed couch creaking as he sits up.

A small smile breaks across your face, touched at how Mark didn’t even have to think about it.  But the smile, as soon as it’s there, it’s gone.  “Nah… I’m walking back.  It’s not raining yet, so it’s fine.”

Mark hums an affirmative.  “If you’re sure.”

“I am,” you say.  You take another look at the sky and step into the stream of people.     It’s better to keep moving to be as close to your apartment as you can before the rain starts.  You want to talk to Mark, tell him what’s been bugging you this whole day, but you can’t find the words.  He seems to get it, and stays quiet on the other side of the line, waiting for you to get your thoughts worded out right.

“It’s just,” you start, taking a sharp inhale.  “It’s just that he always does this, you know?  He goes on and on about how he’s sorry for forgetting and that he’ll definitely get me next time, and then I’m left walking back.  Or catching a ride with you, which is unfair to both of us.”  You pause, waiting to see if Mark is going to comment.  When he doesn’t, you continue.

“Like, in everything else about our relationship, he’s perfect!  Or, well, most everything else, I suppose.  Doyoung is good at planning and organizing a calendar.  Which is something I needed after my breakup with Taeyong.  Doyoung’s structured lifestyle gave me an anchor to hold onto when I felt like I was just floating aimlessly through it, you know?”

“I remember,” Mark says.  He sounds sad, and you know he’s thinking about all the times he would crash at your previous apartment just so that he knew you were eating more than Ben and Jerry’s.

You come to a stop with a small group of people at a crosswalk, the light having just turned to a ‘DON’T CROSS’ right as you got there.  You shift your phone to your other ear.  “He was good for me, I think.  At least, he was in the beginning?  You helped me, so much, but he did, too.”  ‘CROSS’ appears, and you hear the steady chirping sound for the visually impaired start up.  “He got me out of that selfish-”

“Not selfish,” Mark interrupts.  You two have had this talk many times.  He maintains that you weren’t being selfish by taking care of yourself after your breakup.  You think that the way you were able to call off work for a week was selfish; in a lot of industries, you wouldn’t be able to.  It helps that your boss was also one of your best friends.  And that the two of you sort of worked for yourselves.  Johnny had come up with the bespoke fashion, but you were in charge of sourcing material.  Luckily, the week that Taeyong broke up with you, you and Johnny were up to your eyeballs in tulle and crinoline for a wedding dress.  The dress had been the only project that you were working on for that month, so a week off wasn’t going to do too much damage to Johnny.  He was probably the better person for the bride to speak to anyway.

“He got me out of that slump I was in,” you correct yourself, leaving the crosswalk behind you.  “And for a while, it was good between us.  Doyoung was what I wanted, what I needed, in a partner at the time.  And I was surprised at how well we clicked!”

“Not as surprised as me and Johnny when you told us you were moving in with him just two months into your relationship,” Mark says.

“That’s fair,” you say, “I did kind of just… spring it on you guys.”  You sidestep a pair of moms with one of those strollers for twins.  “But I’m thinking I’m going to start packing up my shit when I get back to my apartment.”

“Oh?”  Mark sounds shocked.  “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” you say, suddenly tired.  “It’s just that, like, recently he’s never not just present with me?  I guess?  He always seems like he’s on the phone with someone else, and I don’t think a Valerie or Jolene work in his office.  I’m almost ninety percent certain that those are two of his exes.”

“What makes you say that?”

You think about it for a few seconds, recalling the look on his face, in his eyes, when you asked who he was talking to.  You were never accusatory when you asked, but the way he reacted told you everything you needed to know.  “He always looked like a startled rabbit when I asked.”

“Fair play,” Mark agrees.

“But also,” you say, going back to the previous topic, “I know what it feels like when it’s time to go.  Someone always leaves first, you know?  I guess this time it’s me.”

“Do you,” Mark starts, then cuts himself off.  “Are you going to be able to pack your things and leave him behind before he gets back from work tonight?”

You wave away his worried question, forgetting for a minute he can’t actually see you.  “It’s chill.  He’s leaving for the weekend on some business trip.”

“Business trip or business trip?”  You know him well enough to know he was waggling his eyebrows at the question.  It cheered you up slightly, knowing that he could tell you were alright enough for him to make that joke.  As soon as you decided you were going to pack your things up, you were already one foot out of the door in your relationship.

“Honestly?  I’m not totally positive,” you reply.  You let out a small, frustrated groan at being stalled by a crosswalk sign again.  “But like I said, it’s chill.  He’s supposed to be coming back tonight and leave in the morning.  And with the way he is, everything he’s bringing with him except his toothbrush and stuff are already packed.  He’s not going to be looking through the drawers and closet for any clothes.  I’m probably not even going to start with clothes anyways.  Those will be the easiest, so I can leave them to be last.”

“You want help,” Mark offers.  “John and I can swing by tomorrow.  We could probably get you all packed up and out of there before Saturday night even begins if Doyoung’s leaving early.”

“His flight is at seven, I think,” you say.  “Thank you.”  You ignore the lump in your throat forming from the care your friends have for you.  Especially with this being the second most messy breakup you’ve had that they’ve helped you through.

A comfortable silence falls between the two of you as you continue your walk home.  It isn’t an incredibly long walk, but twenty minutes is twenty minutes, you know?  It’s nice that it’s rather cool out because of the waiting storm.

You break the silence again.  “Sometimes, you know, I feel so… so dumb for getting into this kind of mess.  Like, it feels like I have a flashing, neon sign pointing at me that says “Hi!  Look at me!  World’s Best 21st Century Fool for Your Entertainment Right Here!”  I shouldn’t be getting into these messes constantly.”

Mark scoffs.  “First of all, you do have that sign pointing at you, but not because of your relationship history.  It’s because you almost twisted your ankle, even though you were literally just standing still.  Secondly, it’s not your fault that Doyoung has been cruel to you.”

You interrupt Mark quickly.  “He hasn’t been cruel!”  You defend Doyoung.

“What do you call blatantly talking with one’s exes in front of their current partner with no remorse, then?”  Mark fires back just as fast.

“… shut up.”

“Listen, YN,” Mark says, tone suddenly serious again.  You break off from the crowd again, leaning up on the brick wall of some hotel or restaurant or office building.  With a measured voice, he says, “You are not beholden to the decisions he makes for himself.  You have so many possibilities ahead of you, with or without him.  And you have friends that care about you and want to help.  What he chooses to do in this relationship, the ways he disrespects you, are not a reflection on who you are as a person.  They’re a reflection of him.  You don’t have to put up with this just because you love him.  If someone truly, actually loves you, they wouldn’t put you through this shit.”

You sniff, holding back the tears that started sometime during his speech.  “Mark Lee, when did you get so worldly,” you joke.  Both of you ignore how watery your voice sounds.

As if sensing you needed one last push for a proper emotional breakthrough, he says haughtily, “I feel like the possibility of all those possibilities of being possible is just another possibility that can possibly happen.”

You snort, and the dam breaks.  “Shut up, oh my god,” you say through the mix of laughter and tears.  “I’m banning you and Johnny from hanging out together.”

“You can’t do that!”  Mark protests, and you can hear the relief and smile in his voice.

“I can and I will!”  You drag the end of your jacket against your jeans to create a little sweater paw, so you can wipe your face.  “You’ve been banned!  No more Johnny for you!”

You and Mark joke around like that for those remaining last minutes of your walk to your apartment.  You step out of the elevator and walk up to your apartment.  The bright lemons on the welcome mat feel like such a juxtaposition to what will come to pass in the morning.  “Hey,” you say, fishing your keys out of your pocket and unlocking the door, “thanks for this.”

Mark’s voice softens.  “You know I always have your back, YN.  Me and Johnny both do.”  There’s the sound of a door opening and plastic bags rustling faintly from the other side of the line.  “I gotta go.  Renjun just got back with today’s dinner.  I gotta get my share before the others swarm like locusts.  John and I will see you in the morning!  Bye, YN, love you!”  Mark says.  He waits just long enough for you to reply, “Love you, too, Markily.  See you soon!” before he hangs up.

You bite down on the inner corner of your lips and lean back in your chair.  Tzuyu nods in agreement, her eyes wide.

“I mean… I mean, I guess I maybe might have misheard something,” your voice trails off, uncertainty making your statement sound like a question.

“Well, what was it that you heard?”  Yongha turns in his chair to face you more, Yohan following his lead.  “Was it from San directly?”

“Uhh,” you look away from your friends and at your drink, the little café logo printed on the side of the cup suddenly becomes the most interesting thing in the world to you.  “Yes and no?”

Silence.

After none of your friends make a move to say anything more, you continue.  “Like, okay, so he didn’t tell me face-to-face, but he was across the hall talking with some of his friends, or his classmates I guess.  They were waiting outside a classroom, and none of the people that I saw were anyone that he normally hangs out with.”  You straighten up and take a sip of your drink.  “And they were talking about some party that Nu Kappa Tau held over the weekend and from what I understood, somehow a drunken game of seven minutes started and he, like, got placed with… what was it that he said again?”

Your eyebrows scrunch in concentration as you stare at the lid of your drink, trying to remember San’s words exactly.  The wind chimes tied to the handle of the café door jingle merrily as it opens, overlapping voices following.  You barely hear them, though, as you search your brain for any memories of that morning.  “San said something like, “I’m thankful I was picked because the person I like is here” I think.  So that’s that, then.  It’s settled.”  Your voice holds a tone of finality as you slouch back into the chair.  You turn the cup in your hands, the sound of the bottom twirling haltingly across the wood surface of the table helped to soothe you the slightest bit.

You assume that your friends were silent still as they processed the information when San appears at the end of your table.

“Speak of the devil,” Yongha mutters, hiding his laugh successfully.

Yohan was much worse at hiding his snickering, but you didn’t pay either of them any mind as your eyes slowly travel up San’s body to his face, your head tilts back slightly to meet his eye as horror and embarrassment descend into your bones.

To your confusion, he looks just as embarrassed as you, and a little nervous, too.  His eyes darted around, blinking rapidly, as he opened his mouth and closed it again several times in failed succession to say anything.  The flush across his cheeks started to match the washed-out pink of his hair.

Tzuyu decides to take control of the interaction and says, as if nothing is out of the ordinary and this was a completely normal time for the five of you, “Hi San, how are you?”

“Seonghwa sent me over here.”  San blurts out, ripping through the very thin veil of illusion, that you guys were getting an A-plus in social interaction, something that is completely normal to want and possible to achieve.  He points across his body at the older boy who was standing with his datemate in line, both of them wearing matching purple sweaters.

“O-kay,” Tzuyu says, clearly wishing that this part of the interaction was over, so she didn’t have to play mouthpiece for the group.

“He, um,” San pauses and licks his lips nervously, “He, um, said that you heard what I said this morning in the hall?”

“Oh,” Yongha starts, a mischievous smirk settling on his face, “you mean when you said that you went to the Nu Kappa Tau party, got drunk, and hooked up with the person of your dreams in Doyoung’s room?”  Clearly, he had picked up the thread on what was happening, or rather, going to happen.

“He didn’t say anything about Doyoung,” Yohan says, missing the point of what Yongha was trying to do: rile San and you up.

“I didn’t-” he cuts himself off, shaking his head, “Never mind.  Anyway, what I came over here for was to say that I never said that.”

You feel more horrified embarrassment making its way from your bones and into your very blood cells and wonder if human combustion was not only possible, but about to occur here in this little café on campus right now.

San looks at you expectantly, and it takes Yongha elbowing you not-so-gently in the side to get you to say, “You didn’t?”  Your voice comes out strangled and a little breathy.

San seems to take your response as a good thing and says more confidently, “No, I didn’t.  I said “I’m thankful I wasn’t picked because the person I like isn’t here.””

“O-oh?”  You begin to feel a slight shred of hope burn through the negative emotions.  “They weren’t?”

He meets your eyes again, his small smile that makes his eyes crinkle just the slightest and makes the butterflies in your stomach go crazy appearing.  “No, you weren’t.”  His hand reaches towards yours, still holding the drink you completely forgot about, and his fingertips graze the delicate skin on the back of your hand.  Shivers run through your body at the touch.

The embarrassment and horror disappear as giddy excitement takes their place.  You can feel your cheeks and the tips of your ears getting warmer.

San moves his hand so his fingers rest on the side of your wrist, much more intent with his touch this time.  “Would you like to join me for lunch tomorrow?  We both get out of class around the same time.”

You try, and fail, to fight the smile making its way on your face.  “I would like nothing more, San.”

You finally reach him, annoyance littered all over your person.  “Jeong Wooyoung,” you hiss.  He stumbles back a step, but apparently forgot the table behind him.  He collapses on it, San and Seonghwa backing up from you with more awareness of the outdoor furniture.

“YN,” San greets, trying to sound like nothing was wrong.  His teeth look sharper than normal, and you remember the full moon is coming soon.  Reflexively, you glance at the ring he wears.  Nickel-plated silver with a moonstone sitting inside red jasper, a family heirloom stretching back several generations.

“Choi San,” you reply, not caring how it comes out.  You switch your focus back to Wooyoung.  He is just staring up at you with a slightly open mouth and wide eyes.  A smirk starts to grow on your face.

Before you can do anything else, Seonghwa says, “How are you?”  He winces at the question, both San and Wooyoung turning to look at him with a “What the hell are you doing?” expression on their faces.  The shape-shifter’s hair turns pink with embarrassment.

“Stop trying to distract me,” you say, smirk disappearing.  “Wooyoung needs to know that his actions have consequences.”  You can feel the silent tension in the quad, no one daring to speak.  What could the fae have done to upset a wielder?

“I’m sorry!”  Wooyoung pleads, pouting at you.  “I was in a rush!  I didn’t mean to!  You were asleep.”

You take another step closer, and you bring your thumb and forefinger to his chin to hold him in place.  Unlike you, who burns hot with fire in their veins, Wooyoung runs cool as a river, the feeling of stepping into a shadow on a hot day, just as the rest of the fair folk do.  To you, the contrast was addicting.  Your voice drops in volume, “You could have woken me up.”

The last bit of panic leaves him, and he deflates like a balloon.  His hand comes up to grip yours, slowly pulling it away from his face just to twine his hand with yours.  “You were tired last night.  Hongjoong said you spent the day working through elemental metamorphosis.”  Worry enters his eyes.  “Why didn’t you tell me?  I had to hear it from Hongjoong, not you?”

“I didn’t want you to worry,” you reply softly.  “I know you were working on the huge greenhouse project with Yeosang, and I figured that you would need all the rest you could get.  It’s not as if fae magic and plant magic are too far apart.  You needed to rest after dealing with all the concentration you had to use.”

“We’re both kind of dumb, aren’t we?”  Wooyoung asks rhetorically, a smile starting to grow on his face.  You like the way his smile curls up at the edges, as if he knew a secret and wouldn’t tell you.

“Yeah, you are,” San agrees.  He scratched behind his ear before sitting on the table.

“So all of the dramatics that were performed in the last five minutes were because of a lover’s spat?”  You and Wooyoung both glare at Seonghwa.  “Hey,” he says, holding his hands up, “I just wanted to check.”

“I’m going to kiss my boyfriend now,” you announce to your friends.  Both of them roll their eyes and groan, but turn aside slightly to give you and Wooyoung some semblance of privacy.

“Sounds good to me,” Wooyoung jokes.  He leans up as you lean down, your lips meeting in the middle.  For the first time since you woke up, you finally felt settled.

After you part, you sit down next to Wooyoung and set your head on his shoulder.  “Routine is important.”

“Yes, dear,” he says.  San and Seonghwa sit down on the opposite side of the table.

“So did you hear what happened when the werewolf walked into the astronomy tower?”  San asks.

You didn't mean to mess with the fair folk; you didn't mean to step into their field, to break their circle, but you did. Chasing your spell book as it flew tens of feet above you, Seokmin behind you, asking why the damned thing had escaped once again from the fortified boundary of your lintel.  And because he was following you so closely, he broke the circle with you.

The fair folk decided that retribution, their specialty, was to be removing every memory of you from his mind.  After all, he's just a human.  Barely a spark of Other in him; no more than the average, of course.

You hadn't realized he collapsed until you finally caught your book and turned to face him excitedly.  You saw him there, barely visible in the tall, swaying grasses, lying unmoving. Running to him, using your Otherness to levitate him to your small house a hop, skip, and a jump away from the field, anxiety racing through your veins.  The flickering light flowing through the leaves gave him an unnatural look, like he was nearly close to death.

You had set him on your bed and immediately contacted your mentor, Jeonghan, with the hope that he had any idea on how to fix this.

"Unfortunately, the fair folks' Otherness is too wild, too quick to change like the winds, for me to be able to make any assessments, sweeping though they would be."

You had stared at him blankly, not believing what he told you. Anger, despair, regret, guilt, and fear swirled around inside you, a cocktail of negative emotion, and your Other sparked out of your fingertips, nearly burning your small table next to you.  "What then, pray tell," you hissed, eyes blazing, "am I supposed to do to fix this?"

Jeonghan had stayed quiet.  He didn't have answers to your question.  Or if he did, they weren’t ones that you wanted to hear.  He faded away, the visage dissolving in front of you like embers dying in the air above a fire.

That was nearly a month ago and Seokmin was no better, tough though he was. You didn't have the heart to tell him all of the truth—that you were lovers and have been for nearly a year. But you told him the rest of it—that you lived together, that you trusted him with your life, and he did the same, how you had met at the village's autumnal equinox festival, all of it.  He rolled with it all, apologizing for not remembering as if it were his fault that he was cursed by your (literal) misstep.

Bazil brought up his idea again one night, towards the final hours of the month. Seokmin had tired before you, as usual, and left you and your fox familiar to your work in front of the now-dying fireplace.

"All I suggest," Bazil says, barely flicking his eyes at you while he cleans his front claws, "is that you take him back to the field to beg forgiveness."

You barely look at him as you continue to twist damp reed fibers into a thin string. "And I told you that if I do that, the fair folk may take a harsher response and do something worse to him."

If foxes could raise an eyebrow, you're sure Bazil's would be with how his voice dripped in skepticism. "How would they make him worse, pray? Turn your lover into a vegetable of a human, only able to breathe and blink?"

"They could turn him into a literal vegetable, you mutt," you mutter, tying off another string of reed fibers.

"I think I should do it." Seokmin's voice suddenly behind you makes you jump, the basket of reeds whispering from the movement.

"See, even the soon-to-be radish agrees with me."  Bazil licks his chops and sets his head down on his folded paws, clearly done with the conversation.

I’ll turn you into a radish, you think, glaring at your familiar.  A twitch of his ear was the only thing to let you know your thought reached him.  You set aside your fibers, twisting in your chair to look at the man behind you.  The low light of the fire softened him, as though you were looking at him through misted glass or in a dream.

You sigh, your eyes flickering down his body, and you talk to the ring on his pinky rather than look him in the eye.  “Seokmin, no, I cannot let you do that.  It is much too dangerous for an Other to walk into a fair folks’ circle, much less a human.”

“But if this is the only way to restore my memory in its fullest…”  He pauses, weighing his next words carefully, “If this is the only way to restore that whom you knew me as.  I feel guilty for taking him away from you, as silly as that sounds.”

“No, Seokmin, I promise it is not your fault.  You have no need or obligation to feel guilty, nor do you have any obligation towards me from what I know of our past together.”  You can’t help but say his name as you have before, love tripping through the syllables.

“You should have your lover back, and I am sure that I was happier then than I am now,” he argues, stepping closer.

You know that this back-and-forth could go on forever.  You were both stubborn in general, but even more so when it came to the other’s happiness.  Still, you fire back, “I do not know for certain how their Otherness will affect you!  They could do so much more damage to you than they already have.  I do not want to risk you for something that may come back on its own.  The chance that the fair folk decide to be benevolent is too small for me to put you into that situation just because I miss my lover!”  You feel your eyes begin to water slightly at the thought of losing Seokmin for good because of your selfishness.

“And I promised I would never make you cry!”  He says frustrated, his voice louder than a minute ago.  Or maybe it was the darkness that enhanced your senses.

You let out a soft gasp when your mind processed what he just said.  In the month that he’s been with you since the Incident, he made several promises.  Most of them weren’t serious.  They were things like “I promise that I won’t ask you to make another dragon out of flames in the fireplace again” only for him to ask you ten minutes later to make another dragon out of flames in the fireplace.  But he never promised something as serious as that.

“Do you remember?”  Your question comes out hesitantly, as if the words themselves don’t wish to leave your lips.  Seokmin had promised that he would never make you cry in the aftermath of your first big argument, something you can’t even remember what you disagreed on any more anyway.

“I don’t,” he starts to say, but pauses.  His eyes close and his face is peaceful for a moment before it scrunches in pain.  He stumbles forwards into the arm of your chair and doubles over, his head barely missing your nose.  On instinct, you gently but sturdily put his head into the crook of your neck and start running one hand through his hair soothingly, the other resting on the side of his neck.  He wraps his arms around you, his fingers digging in to the sweater you wore as he rides the waves of memory that are hitting him out of the blue.

You stay like that for who knows how long, the fireplace going dark.  The only light came from the window in the ceiling you put in to look at the moon.  It shone brightly enough for you to just make out what was around you.

“When I met you that first time at the festival, you were wearing a crown of red-golden leaves and holly berries.  I told you I thought you were an elf at first glance because you were all elegance and grace as you joined the villagers dancing around the bonfire,” he whispers against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.  “Our first kiss was on the winter solstice, and you made the evergreens around us shake the snow off their branches to try to impress me.  I laughed when a bunch of snow fell on you, giving you a little mound of white powder on the top of your head.  You glared at me before I pulled you closer to brush it off.

“When I finished, my hand came down to the side of your face, and you complained about how cold my hands were.  I interrupted you to ask if it was okay to kiss you in that moment because I couldn’t believe that you were actually in my arms.  I didn’t even fully finish my question before you pulled me closer by my coat collar.  Bazil saw us and started talking about how long it took for us to get to that moment.”

You were reeling with emotions as Seokmin recounted the earlier moments in your love story together.  Your hand had gone still the moment he talked about the festival crown, your fingers buried in his hair.