#podi

Lucille hadn't necessarily aske where you had been, but her withheld smiles and knowing stare said more than her words needed to. Every time she gave you that look, heat rushed to your cheeks as you scrambled to come up with an answer that wouldn’t seem suspicious, but that feat was nearly impossible without just telling her about who Hoseok was.

It was your last day in the Doeidyads before your boat was to depart that evening, and you weren’t going to spend it defending yourself from Lucille. But her stares only became harder to shake when Hoseok was adamant he join the two of you on your excursion around the city. And gods, he was everywhere.

Everywhere you turned, he was there, somehow always close enough for you to accidentally run into. If you looked at something for a bit too long at a stall, he was behind you, chest nearly pressed to your back to run his hand over it, pretending the proximity wasn’t strange. Like he was supposed to be that close.

And when you had boarded the boat just before the sun was due to set, he walked in step with you, the backs of his knuckles just ghosting against yours. It was driving you crazy.

You had felt him. Felt the touch of his hands on your skin, your hips, your waist, your mouth–and now it was like he couldn’t stop forcing the memory of him into your mind at every passing second. It sent you reeling, how so abruptly he had gone from awkward hovering to nonchalant and overbearing. A line had been crossed on this trip, a line neither of you had the guts to acknowledge; because doing so would mean admitting that perhaps what had happened last night on the shore or his balcony had meant more than it was supposed to.

Being near him was stifling, yet you couldn’t get enough of it. Your mind constantly pushing and pulling you in two different directions, wanting be as close to him as possible and wanting to get as far away as you could. The tension was becoming unbearable and you hadn’t been the one to build it. You just couldn’t figure out the reason as to why he would change. There must be something in it for him, a reason you hadn’t been made aware of yet or benefit you weren’t seeing.

The sun was nothing but a fading streak of orange against the oncoming navy, and you watched its retreat from the comfort of the deck that was mostly empty, for most guests had gone below to partake in the provided meal. Not you, for your stomach was too twisted to eat anything at the moment. You weren’t even sure what you wanted: privacy? To grab Hoseok by the collar and demand he tell you what kind of game he was up to? To kiss him?

Shuddering at the thought, you buried your face in your hands, inhaling the smell of salt water and wet wood like it would calm the endless flow of thoughts.

“Are you not going to eat?”

Great. Just the man who was the catalyst for your mental breakdown.

You kept your face hidden behind your palms, worried that looking at him might betray your inner thoughts. After all, you hadn’t the slightest idea as to how his divine powers worked. “I am not hungry at the moment. But you and Lucille are more than welcome to go enjoy yourselves without me.”

“I do not need to eat,” Hoseok said it like he was scolding you for forgetting something obvious, coming to stand beside you. “And Lucille is resting.”

You dragged your hands down your face with an exasperated sigh. “Then I guess you are free to do whatever it is you do when no one is around.”

Hoseok didn’t make any moves to leave, if anything he made himself more comfortable, grabbing onto the railing and taping two of his fingers against the wood.

Stealing a peek through the cracks of your fingers was a bad idea, and yet you still did it; tracing over his profile that had your heart clenching in a way that made you frightened. His tongue ran over his lower lip, just a quick subconscious act to stave off the dry winter air, but that simple move had your temperature rising enough to have sweat accumulating on the back of your neck.

Your mind must have escaped you, because for a few horrifying seconds the only thing you could think of was kissing him. Staring at him hadn’t been intentional, but you simply couldn’t look away, your thoughts repeating like some cursed prayer I want to kiss you over and over again.

Hoseok’s fingers moved faster against the wooden railing–like if he could he would pummel straight through it. The noise was getting under your skin, the tension becoming so strained it would surely snap at any second.

Just as you were about to shout at him, he spun to face you, stopping anything you had to say in its tracks.

“I want to try something.”

You jerked your head back, startled. “What do you...What is it you want to try?”

Hoseok looked at you like you were the one to make such an unexpected confession, honing his attention in on your face. “If you could just…” He took a slow step closer, then another. And another. Until your back hit the wall of one of the cabins and he was so close you could almost taste him. “Just hold still.”

His hand shook as he brought it up to rest on your cheek, studying every little twitch, the quick intake of breath, a nervous flutter of your lashes–nothing had gone unnoticed by him. He brushed his nose against yours, and your hand shot up to fist in his sleeve, an embarrassing quiver in your voice betraying just how affected you were by his proximity.

“What are you doing?”

He scoffed. “What do you think?”

That was the problem. You couldn’t think of anything.

Especially not when he brushed his lips over yours, so soft it could barely be considered a touch at all. Your body betrayed you next, chasing after his mouth for something real. Something deeper. And when he gave it to you, you couldn’t help but sigh, your free hand coming up to threat through the hair on the back of his head, bringing him closer even though there was no where else for him to go. It was messy, but not because of the intensity–but because you were both out of practice. A clash of lip and teeth with no plan, just a conquest toconquer the other.

Hoseok pulled away first with a wince, as though what he had to say pained him. “You should go.”

“What?” You opened yours, unsure if you had misheard him.

“You should go eat,” He clarified, though the hand that came up to hold your chin still like he was going to dive in again said the opposite.

“I already said I’m not-”

“Go. Eat.” Hoseok finally opened his eyes, narrowing them in on you with a warning. “Now.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest at his command, and you slipped out from under his arm and hurried down the rickety steps to the dining area in a daze. As you ate, you couldn’t even begin to reckon with what had just occurred, the memory of his lips on yours making you dizzy with need. Surely tonight you would ask him what it meant–what everything this past weekend had meant. What you staying in his house for almost two months meant.

But that answer never came.

Not when you returned back to his home. Not in the day after that. Not in the week after it either.

He gave you nothing.

During the day, he would go to the butcher shop and you would wander down to Treseyna’s Vale and hover around the shop like a ghost, and when the sun would set he would have dinner prepared, a plate for you and a plate for the cat that he so vehemently denied had grown on him, even though you knew he had. (If how many times you had caught Wes curled up in Hoseok’s lap or the sudden increase in fresh chicken he scooped onto his small plate was anything to go by). He spoke very little since the incident, and the silence killed you.

But that pain was child’s play when held up against the absolute madness you felt about the other times he had kissed you.

Each time it happened it was quick. Quick enough for you to convince yourself that it might not have even happened at all. And every stolen kiss happened during the night: a hurried peck of your cheek when you padded past him to your room; a wispy press of his mouth to yours when he stood up from beside you on one of your late night porch visits; a brush of his lips on the back of your knuckles when you weren’t looking. Each one occurring just when doubt would start forming in your mind, like he could sense when you were beginning to come to the conclusion that it wasn’t real and felt the need to spin you off course again, leaving you completely lost yet starved for more at the same time. And of course he never spoke of it, putting on this stoic facade of ignorance like he didn’t notice your quickened breath or sweaty palms. Like he hadn’t been the one to touch you.

You distracted yourself from his mixed signals by planning your father’s service, which took more effort than you had initially anticipated. There was a rapid influx of people reaching out to you requesting information about when and where it was to be, some of which you had never even heard the names of until their letters showed up on your doorstep. You were at your wits end with just how big of an event this was becoming–and so was your empty wallet. The money from the city was beginning to trickle out, and planning a gathering as big as this one was becoming would take a lot more than you could afford.

The first week of march had thrust itself upon you as you paced about the guest room, marking the count down of the final days until your lack of a funeral service started to look less like grieving and more like a failure on your part. And that poor guest room had suffered your wrath–your belongings scattered on every surface, clothes discarded on whatever knob or ledge could hold them, and a pile of wood chips from your late night coffin etchings swept into one corner that you kept making note to toss when you passed by but never got around to actually doing it.

Looking at that damn pile yet again, you kicked yourself for letting it sit there for so long. If Hoseok were to see this place he would surely kick you and Wes to the curb. Well, perhaps not Wes. Wes was getting much too comfortable slinking in and out of Hoseok’s room at night instead of yours, looking back at you haughtily as he did so with apathetic flicks of his tail while you begged for him to come lay on your bed.

“Traitor…” You muttered to yourself bitterly, shaking your head at the memory of it.

Suddenly an idea was born from the thoughts of Hoseok and Wes curled up together, more so from the image of Hoseok than the cat.

You could ask Hoseok for help with the cost.

Instantly you panicked, clenching your hands into fists at your sides until the nails dug into your palms. Not once outside of your paycheck have you even considered asking him for money. While he had so readily given you plenty of it, the thought of walking downstairs and just shaking him for a large sum felt forbidden. If not by him, by your own moral compass and shame. Your father’s funeral was your responsibility, not his. But what other options did you have?

So you hatched a plan, pacing frantically in front of Wes from his cushioned throne on the freshly washed sofa, his eyes tracking you lazily, blatant boredom written all over his stretched out limbs and exposed belly.

“If I just offer to work for him–say for a year perhaps? No. What if he doesn’t need my help for that long?” You spun on your feet, speeding back towards the right side of the room. “Maybe I will give him the chance to choose how long I work. Yes, that sounds better. He likes when he makes the final decision...” Biting your lower lip, you circled back to the left again, pointing to Wes like a victorious politician. Halfway back around you froze, hands coming up to drag down the sides of your face with a garbled groan. “Oh, but what if he thinks I’m insulting him again?!” You whirled around, dropping to your knees and slumping your upper body over Wes to squeeze him to your chest. “Why must this be so stressful?”

Wes struggled his front legs free, using them to spring board off your arms and launch himself across the room, putting as much distance between you and him as possible. Without so much as a second look, he stalked off into the kitchen in search of a pre-dinner snack, aloof and not even remotely apologetic. You let your forehead drop onto the couch with a frustrated groan. Not even your cat wanted to listen to your troubles anymore, all he wanted was his dinner.

Right. Dinner.

Hoseok should be returning from the butcher shop in less than an hour, where he would find you making a mess of yourself on the living room floor.

You closed your eyes, pressing your palms into them until you saw vibrant bursts of color, siphoning in a few measured breaths. “The worst he could say is no,” You reassured yourself.

That was a lie. You knew first hand that he could say a lot worse if he wanted to. While unlikely, it wasn’t impossible to think that he could surprise you; accept your offer and give you the helping hand you needed–that is, if he decided to speak to you at all. And the only way to find out would be to ask him.

There was no way you were going to let this eat you up inside, nor were you going to settle for his sudden silent demeanor when he returned for dinner. You wanted answers from him, if not for everything then at least for this.

You leapt to your feet with determination, telling yourself all the while that it was just a question about your father’s funeral and nothing more. Taking the short path in stride, you were at the door to the butcher shop before you knew it, hand gripping the handle so tightly that the skin of your knuckles stretched thin over the bone.

Just one question, nothing more, nothing less. Giving yourself one final nod, you wrenched open the door and stepped inside, feeling the confidence you had built slowly crumble into dust when you found the counter empty.

“Hello?” You called out, taking a few trepid steps towards the counter. The lights were harsh and unflattering to the gray lifeless room, and you scanned the front for any sign of him. With no response, you swallowed the nerves that had begun to rise and walked forwards to press your palm against swinging door to the abattoir. This room was strictly off limits, and you knew that. Having no interest in potentially setting him off before you even started, you stood just in front of it, calling for him again.

“Hoseok? Are you in there?”

There was a dainty metallic clinking sound. The rustle of some kind fabric. A creak of a floor board. The squeak of a leather shoe. Sounds so soft you could almost explain them away as a trick of the mind.

“You can come in.” Came his response.

Your heart jumped to your throat as you pushed the door open.

The abattoir much dimmer than the store front, a square room with concrete floors, some parts of it stained more than others. Two identical metal tables ran parallel in the center, one of them spotless and untouched, the other strewn with fat trimmings and a splatter of animals blood that Hoseok was currently sopping up with rags.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” You shuffled in, keeping close to the door. “But I wanted to...I needed to ask you something.”

Hoseok didn’t look up from his work, tossing the soiled rag on the floor and plucking up a new one. “And what was so important that you could not wait the thirty minutes until I returned home?”

Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. Fear was getting the best of you, stealing your voice and your breath, taking your resolve and stomping it out on the abattoir floor.

At your silence, Hoseok finally looked at you, scanning over each of your features carefully. “Is something the matter?”

“Not quite...I...I wanted to…Wanted to….” You wanted to punch yourself in the face for sounding so stupid after all of your preparation. A simple question. You just needed to ask him one question. Yet the person inside of you that had spent so long relying on only yourself was resisting the vulnerability it would take to lay your troubles out to him. Perhaps you should have just prayed…

Hoseok’s sniffed, his head ticking to the side as a sign of his dwindling patience. But instead of saying something sharp, he dropped the rag and folded his arms over his chest, rounding the table to lean against the clean one before you. “If praying would make this go faster, feel free to do so.”

Your mouth dropped open slightly. Had he heard you? Was just the mere thought of praying to him something he could sense?

“Yes,” He answered as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It is.”

The world might as well have disappeared from beneath your feet right there and then. “H-how?”

Hoseok sighed, chewing on his cheek as he debated whether or not answering your question was worth his time. “It is the intention of it. When you think of something with the intention or wish of me hearing it, I will. Whether or not the intention is conscious or subconscious is mute.”

Your mouth ran dry. Just how many things has he heard you think? Shaking your head, you steeled yourself with a deep breath. Panicking now would only make your situation worse. But saying what you needed from him was too horrifying–so you took his suggestion and ran with it.

While watching him closely, you made a request in your mind, opening your thoughts up to him for just a moment.

I need help.

“With?” He cocked his head to the side–and if you had the time to think about it, he almost looked worried.

“Money,” The word leaked from your mouth like a secret. And the second it did, you felt the overwhelming urge to flee and pretend it hadn’t.

Hoseok’s expression pinched downwards, a crease forming between his brows as he started to stand.

“I will pay you back,” You blurted out, trying to cover up your hasty delivery and save the spiraling direction the discussion was headed. “I can work here again for free. Or if time is not a concern, I can start repaying you once the shop is back up and running. Whatever you would need me to do, I’ll do it. It is for-”

“I’ll give it to you,” Hoseok’s countenance smoothed over once more, and he settled back against the table. “There will be no need to pay me back, and I care not what you use it for.” He surveyed your wide eyes and slack jaw, gesturing for you to continue with a wave of his hand. “Is that all this was about?”

You didn’t know whether or not you wanted to slap the attitude off his face or kiss him until you couldn’t breathe. And he wasn’t making the decision any easier when he looked at you like that. Jaw tight. Hair messy. White shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows, hidden behind the leather apron tied around his waist that you envisioned pulling undone with your teeth. A challenge behind his eyes that you craved taking.

Your eyes trailed down his forearms, stopping at his hands that flexed under the harsh lighting, and you gulped when you could feel them on your throat, slipping over your jaw. Feel his thumb prod at your lip. Gods what you’d do to feel it right now.

No.

That is not what you had come to ask him about.

“That is all.”

Looking at him was making your blood boil and your knees shake. Irritation, lust, hunger, gratitude–you couldn’t tell what you felt anymore and it pissed you off. Turning on your heel you started back towards the swinging door, tasting freedom the farther you got from him.

“Wait.”

Your shoulders scrunched up to your ears and you stopped in your tracks at one word from his stupid mouth. The same stupid mouth you wanted to feel again. Hoseok glided right past you, shoulder brushing against yours as he escaped to the store front, the sound of running water enough to tell you he was washing his hands. Why were you waiting for him? Were you that desperate and weak to just listen to him so easily?

There was no time to change your plans, for he was already stalking back into the room, wiping his hands dry on the apron he had crumpled, tossing it onto the pile of rags behind you. Again with his goddamn silence that hooked into your nerves and ripped right through them.

You were at your wits end with him, whirling around to find him using a clean rag to wipe down the already spotless table closest to you without making any move to explain himself. That sent you over the edge. “What?! Are you really making me waste my time here for you to not say anything at all? If so, I will be taking my leave.”

Hoseok tensed, looking up from table with narrowed eyes pointed straight at you. Running his tongue along the inside of his cheek, he balled the rag in his fists and hurled it onto the floor, stepping over it to stalk closer to you at an unbearably slow pace. Your breath hitched when his nose ran over yours, hovering there just out of reach.

He sighed, the sound sudden and sharp, breath fanning over your cheeks and collar bones. His lips grazed over your mouth once. Then twice. Never letting them fully touch. “Use that tone with me again, and I won’t help you.”

You swallowed, the sound slicing through the deafening silence. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“No?” He gave a coy tilt of his head, nudging your nose with his to force you to look at him. Hands skimmed over the outside of your thighs, stopping to play about with the seam of your pants near your hips for what felt like an eternity. “Do not play dumb with me. I can hear you.”

Every bone in your body ached to give in to whatever it was he’d give you, but you resisted, fighting to save what dignity you had left. You would not be the one to break. “That is quite funny, because I haven’t said a word.”

The movement of his hands ceased, his thumb just starting to dip into the waistband near your stomach. He pulled back, muscles of his jaw ticking as he looked down at you like you were both a nuisance and something he couldn’t look away from; one moment away from bursting.

He retreated quickly, taking a stand in front of the barren table and gesturing to it with his chin, speaking to you with such indisputable authority. “Sit.”

You felt like you were going to faint; head spinning while sucking in hasty shallow breaths, the want to listen to him growing harder to ignore. “No.”

And when he looked at you this time, like he could see through your petulant games, unraveling your resolve with a purposeful run of his tongue over his lips. “Do you want to try that again?”

“Fine,” You huffed, stepping up to the metal table and hopping up to settle atop it. “Is this what you wanted?”

The corner of Hoseok’s mouth twitched upwards, a subtle display of satisfaction that told you he had expected you to listen, that he was pleased with himself. It made your skin hot to the touch.

He closed the distance, hands planting themselves on either one of your knees and using little force to tip them open wide enough for him to stand between if he would just take one more step. But he didn’t. He just held them like he might, looked at the space with subdued pride. He gave one of your thighs a sudden squeeze, a surprised gasp escaping your chest against your will.

“Is this what you wanted?” He repeated your question back to you.

You were at a loss for an answer. A weak shake was all you had to give him–not because you didn’t want him to touch you, but because you wanted more than this.

“Then what is it that you want from me?” The hand on your thigh inched upwards, digging deeper into the soft flesh, a tentative brush of his thumb on your inner thigh leaving you a shuddering mess.

You pressed your lips in a thin line to keep any embarrassing noises inside. “Nothing.”

Hoseok hummed thoughtfully, drawing his hand even higher, pinching at the apex of your thigh hard enough to make you jump. “Liar.” He soothed the residual sting with his fingertips, running them in gentle circles over the tender spot. “Tell me what you want.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you tried to think of anything but him. Anything but the warmth that flowed straight downwards at the littlest touch of his hands. The smell of him standing just out of reach. The radiating heat from his body hovering along the inside of your knees.

You definitely didn’t mean to think of his hand sliding up your hips and guiding your pants down your legs. His finger on your lips. His touch on your waist. The way it might feel if he buried his fingers inside of you. It was terrifying and thrilling all at the same time. The ropes tying you back from what you wanted starting to fall away, leaving you defenseless and squirming on the table top.

He took up the empty space between your thighs, hands following the very same imaginary path you had envisioned. Up the curve of your hips, down to the button of your pants and running his index finger over it, letting the action linger–giving you enough time to change your mind.

You wouldn’t dare.

Not now.

Not when he was so fucking close.

You tipped your head to the side with the intention of capturing his mouth with yours, but he jerked his to the side with a condescending click of his tongue, your kiss landing messily on the side of his chin. His free hand came up to grab the base of your jaw, keeping it at a centimeters distance from his.

“No. You don’t get to kiss me with the mouth you just disrespected me with.” He flicked your the button undone, not once breaking eye contact with you, a pathetic whimper trickling through your slight pout. He shook his head, lightly smacking your mouth. “None of that. This is what you get when you choose to run your mouth. You will take what I give you and you will not complain. Now,” He angled your face upwards so he could look down at you, “I am going to touch you however you want me to, but you will not touch me. The moment you disobey, I will stop and leave you here to clean up after yourself. Is that understood?”

The anticipation was killing you, your thighs going to squeeze around his hips but stopping with one warning look from him.

“Is. That. Understood?” He asked again, letting each syllable roll off his tongue like a threat.

You nodded, and he released your face with a pleased grunt. “Good.”

Just like you had imagined, he shimmied your pants down your thighs and let them fall to the floor at your feet, keeping your underwear in place. He dragged his index finger over the hem, your hips jerking up to meet each slow circle. “Take these off.”

Swallowing the sound you almost made, you hesitantly pulled at the fabric, nerves starting to get the best of you when you pushed it just below your pubic bone. He spotted your pause from a mile away, fingers brushing yours aside so his could hook his in their place and drag them down the rest of the way, monitoring your expression carefully.

A rush of cold air smacked against the sticky mess that was now exposed to him, and on instinct your hands rushed to hide yourself from him.

“Stop that,” He chided, slapping at the back of your hands with two fingers. “Do you want me to touch you or not?”

“I do,” You stuttered out.

“Then move.” Despite the harsh delivery, he was quite gentle as he pried your hands away, a juxtaposition of soft and rough that had heat pooling onto the table below. “Better.”

He took two of his fingers and ran them over your folds, the slick that already built up offering him little resistance. And he didn’t wait, dipping them in to start tortuously slow circles over your clit, his touch cold against your heat.

You gasped, hands shooting up to grab for his forearms so you wouldn’t fall back, but that only caused him to freeze, his fingers stilling.

“What did I say about touching me?”

You trembled, hips shifting closer to the edge of the table in a chase for friction. “I’m sorry. Please-”

He scoffed, pinching the collar of your shirt and pulling it back nice and taut before letting it snap back to your chest. “If you want to put your hands to good use, get rid of this.”

Your hands struggled for the edge of your shirt and started to pull it up to your ribs, getting distracted about halfway through when his fingers picked up speed. You got it up to your shoulders when you caught sight of his expression: mouth partially open and eyes glazed over as he ravished your exposed skin, scouring over every inch of it like he was starved for you.

An idea struck you, and you began to gradually lower your shirt back down, letting the hem skim the bottom of your breasts. His fingers moved even faster when he looked up at your smug expression, his eyes going dark with disapproval.

“What do you think you are doing?”

“I am testing something.”

Hoseok slowed his pace again, and you had to force your hips to keep still, breathing going ragged. “What is it you are trying to test?”

“How long I can leave it like this before you will take it off. It looked to me like you were enjoying yourself.”

He closed his eyes, exhaling shakily with the remains of his tattered patience. He ripped his fingers from you and yanked the shirt off with one swift movement. Your inflated ego lasted only seconds before you cried out in pleasure, his hand skipping straight over your clit to plunge two fingers right into your aching hole, keeping them still.

“Try something like that again,” He brought the seem of your sleeve up to his mouth and tore it clean off with his teeth, snatching up the long piece of fabric before it could flutter to the ground to dangle over your face. “And I’ll use this so you can’t use those wandering eyes and cunning mind to conjure up anymore ideas.”

You should be mad that he had just shredded one of your favorite blouses, but all your desperate mind could think of was him tying it around your eyes just like he had promised. The threat landing more like a challenge.

Grinding your hips onto his hand you whimpered, the pressure so deliciously sweet but his lack of movement driving you mad. Then leaning as close as you could without touching him, you looked up to him through your lashes, whispering the words directly into his mouth.

“Is that a promise?”

His dragged the pads of his fingers against your walls up until only the tips of them remained, skimming around the rim of your entrance with gradually increased pressure, a blissful stretch that set your nerves on fire.

You tested the waters, images of him tying the flimsy fabric over your eyes before fucking his fingers deeper than before, eyes boring straight into his to see what he would do about it.

“Fine. If that is what you wish.”

In seconds, he took his hand away again and threw the cotton sleeve over your eyes, tying it tight enough to dig into the apples of your cheeks. All you could see was the faintest outline of his shadow, and the vague glow from the light, but nothing else.

You core fluttered in anticipation, for with every passing second, your mind began to run wild with what he would do next–the inability to see him doing away with the last of that little self-conscious voice in the back of your head. It was freeing, being so constricted. Unable to let your mind wander and search for the control it craved. You had no idea what was coming, and for once you relished in that.

Something warm and wet laved over the space where his hands had been, swirling circles around the bundle of nerves at the top in a way that made you ache for more. A broken moan peeled from your throat, hands splaying out on the table behind you to keep you upright. He hummed in approval, the sound vibrating against your clit. His chin dropped lower, giving him enough space to press his tongue into you, the action rough and unforgiving, coasting the muscle around the entrance much like how his fingers had done, stretching it wide but never feeding into your desire.

Every sound was heightened; wet, filthy and obscene, alternating between the squelch of his tongue against your entrance and his hungry gasps for air. You couldn’t decide which one you liked more, the suction of his mouth locking around your clit or the way the sensation burned a path up your spine and made the muscles in your abdomen spasm. Your hands gave out, falling back to lay flat on the table at his mercy.

Pressure was building fast, winding tighter and tighter until your arms flailed aimlessly across the table in search of something to hold onto–running over your bare chest, up your neck to grasp at the roots of your hair, wandering down to the tops of your thighs to dig into the skin with enough force to bruise.

Everything stopped, his mouth gone and his hands slipping from the backs of your thighs. You nearly sobbed at the lack of contact, clenching around nothing like the action would call him back if you begged for him enough.

He shushed you, hand clamping down over your mouth, body hovering over yours. “I’m going to need you to be quiet for a minute. I’ll be quick.”

You made a sound against his palm, some kind of confused and desperate plea or perhaps a curse against his lineage, you couldn’t tell.

It was then that the bell above the storefront door jingled, signaling the arrival of a customer in the next room over. You froze, whine lodged in your throat.

“Don’t move. If you do, I won’t let you finish.”

There was a sound of rustling fabric and running water, followed by his quick steps out of the abattoir and the door closing behind him.

You could hear his muffled voice through the wall, faint and oh so frustrating. You felt ashamed that just the sound of his voice had you craving him even more. Hating the way that knowing he would come back to you and bring warmth to your cooling skin had wetness trickling down onto the table.

If he was going to make you suffer here by yourself, you might as well play with him too.

The darkness from the blindfold gave you all the space you needed to imagine more. Your hand traveling down your stomach and slipping two fingers inside of yourself. Your mouth on his, teeth nipping at his bottom lip. Taking his fingers into your mouth when he finished with you. Wrapping your legs around his waist and sneaking your hands up his shirt, lifting it off his head to lick a stripe down his chest. Kissing him like he deserved to be kissed–like he deserved to be ravished.

Through the wall his tone grew shorter, his words clipped. You smiled, thighs rubbing together at the thought of how angry he’d be when he came back.

You heard the bell jingle again, signaling the customer’s departure. The click of the door locking. The twist of the lamp being turned off. The door to the abattoir opening again.

He was on you instantly, tugging you forward by the backs of your legs until you were flush against him. His hand found the column your throat snug against the base of your jaw, not tight enough to constrict your airways, but enough to tell you he was in control again.

“Get up,” He barked, guiding you up with his grip, caging you against the table with his body. “You just can’t control yourself can you? Always have to get under my skin?”

“Always,” You sighed, barely getting it out before he added more pressure to your throat. Your eyes rolled back, his hold just enough to make each breath a bit tighter, but nowhere near painful. It was divine. “Please,” a hand hovering just over his forearm. “Please touch me.”

“Or what?” He challenged, bringing his face closer to yours.

Your lips slipped into a syrupy grin, drunk on the energy of him. “I’ll do it myself. I have no need for you if you won’t.”

You thought that would surely piss him off, perhaps even make him punish you with the retraction of his touch; make him force you to prove you would. And you would–you would do anything at this point to sooth the throb between your legs whether it was his doing or yours.

“No,” he hissed, tearing his hand from your throat to seize both your thighs, dragging your body forward until you body was flush to his front. “Only I can do that.”

His right hand forced its way between your bodies, finding your soaking center and thrusting three fingers in, knuckles disappearing with them. His pace was brutal, curving just so, hitting the spot that weeped for his attention. You let out a high-pitched cry that bordered on a scream, the pitch dying down further and further until it was nothing more than a guttural groan.

Your legs shook. Everything shook. Your body writhed against him an effort both to run from how good it felt and to press more of him against the cold surface of your skin, his warmth addicting.

Your hands hovered over his shoulders, fists clenching with the effort it took not to grab him. “Can I…” You broke with a gasp, his fingers going deeper until it ached in a way that had your toes curling. “Can I please hold on?”

He yanked the makeshift blindfold off and let it hang on his wrist, momentarily blinding you from the sudden influx of light. “Hold your hands out.”

You did as you were told, and he wound the ring of fabric expertly around your wrists so they couldn’t budge.

“Go ahead.”

Hoseok ducked as you hooked your arms over his neck, hands trapped together behind his head unable to wander anywhere else. He was so close that all you could feel was him, the cold metal table long forgotten when his hips began to roll in gentle circles, nudging his palm against your clit in a manner much too light for your liking. Your orgasm was already building again, faster and more powerful than before, but still you needed more.

“More,” You said through a breathy moan, becoming delirious from the pressure. “I need more please!”

“I thought you didn’t have any need for me, hm?” He brought his mouth just over yours. “Told me you could handle it yourself. But is that what you really wanted? To make a mess of yourself instead of just being patient? Instead of simply listening to me?”

“I want you, I’m sorry” You cried helplessly into his shoulder, your forehead falling forward as tears brimmed your eyes. “Please–I just want you.”

“Look at you, finally behaving.” He sneered. “Head up. Look at me.”

The muscles of your neck protested the action, but you listened to his command, picking your head off his shoulder and locking eyes with him. He dipped down from view to trail open-mouthed kisses over your collarbones and shoulder, finding the softest spot to sink his teeth into, a dull ache pulsating from the spot that he eased with another handful of kisses. Stars dotted your vision as your sounds grew more desperate, more unrestrained and careless. Then Hoseok’s grip was back on your throat, bringing your lips so close to his you could taste him.

“Who takes care of you?” His index finger slipped to rest above your pulse point, your heart beat growing erratic beneath his touch. “To whom does this body and soul belong to?”

“Y-you,” Your vision was starting to blur, the pleasure on the brink of exploding, and you clenched around his fingers like that would slow down the inevitable crash. “Only you.”

“Good girl.” His hand crept off your neck to cup the back of your head crashing your mouth onto his so he could devour anything else you tried to say. Not that you were coherent enough to say much else. His thumb moved to press in time with the thrust of his fingers and you screamed into his mouth, fingers fisting the back of his shirt and hips moving frantically to follow his movements.

The tension burst in a flash of overwhelming heat and bliss, your body convulsing against his, kisses melting into a messy dance of tongue and lip. He slackened his pace, following the thrum of your fluttering walls to bring you down from the high that dripped down into his palm.

Everything felt weak and brittle from the aftershocks, your upper body folding against his. Your moment of reprieve was brief, for he was already slipping his hand from between your thighs and untangling himself from your embrace.

“I am going to get you something to wear,” his voice was low as he spoke. “Your shirt is ruined.”

Before you could protest, he had ducked out from beneath your arms and strode out of the abattoir, leaving you alone with your thoughts, still bare and vulnerable on the table.

Reality set in, the weight of what had transpired tumbling down on you, leading the way for fear and shame to settle low in your stomach. What if he pretended this didn’t happen just like the first time he had kissed you? What if whatever this was would be over the second you were back home, and you would be left to deal with it alone?

What if he didn’t come back at all?

A ball wound itself tight in your throat, mind running a mile a minute in search of something to cling to, a hope or a mindless thought that would stop the build up of salt in your lashline. Oxygen was getting more difficult to find, unsteady hands finding purchase on the tops of your thighs and digging into the skin there like the sting would bring you back down.

You blinked, and there he was again–hair a mess, face flushed, and slightly out of breath. A new shirt folded over his arm that he offered out to you. He took one look at your face and seemed to panic. “What happened? Shall I get you water?”

Latching onto the arm closest to you, dragging him close, throwing your arms around him. “Don’t go!” You pleaded with him, your voice breaking and your hands clawing at his shoulders. “Please stay! For just a minute, please.”

Hoseok stilled, his breath hitching. Arms hovered awkwardly over you, unsure what he should do like he wasn’t just knuckle deep inside of you.

You hooked your leg around his waist to bring him in closer, flattening your cheek on his shoulder. “If you could just...hold me for a minute.”

His movements were robotic, arms circling your waist to cradle you to his chest. This felt more intimate than anything the two of you had just done. Your breath flowing naturally, your eyes dried, hands fiddling with the hair along the back of his neck; this was soft. This was vulnerable.

“You’re cold,” He observed, fingers drawing a gentle path along your bare back. Without asking, he threw the shirt over your head, guiding it down your torso and pulling your arms through the holes one at a time. It touch was tender. Careful. Deliberate. Like helping to clothe you was an act of reverence.

You giggled to yourself at the sight of him crouched before you, focused intently on doing up the button of your pants.

He stole a quick glance up at you, frowning. “What has you laughing all of the sudden?”

“Nothing.” You shook your head, a shy smile stretched out over your lips. “You’re just being sweet.”

“Would you prefer I be mean?”

“No,” You shook your head. “Well-I suppose sometimes…” Your face flushed with heat at the admittance, one of your hands coming up to comb through his hair. “Though I like this version of you too.”

His face didn’t give you much to go off of, but he didn’t shove your hand off or push you away from him, instead letting it drop naturally when he rose back to his full height, gaze flickering to the door a few times. “We should go home. It’s well past that wretched cat’s dinner time and I’d prefer to keep my sofa intact.”

“Right,” you curled inwards once more, nervously playing with the ties on the side of your shirt while he turned out the lights of the shop, dreading the possibility of him going silent again. His hand came to rest over yours, pulling it from the strings to run his thumb over the back of your knuckles.

“Come on. Do not think that I will let you skip dinner tonight just because you are tired.”

_________________________________________ 

To say things in the house were better would be partially inaccurate. While he acknowledged his affections more than before–a quick look after his lips met your cheek, an arm spread out behind the sofa when you sat besides him and Wes, the way he’d almost hold your hand when he walked you to work–he still refused to say anything about it. To say what it all meant out loud.

Not that you really needed him to, but it would definitely lift the tension off your shoulders; the voice in your head quite loud about its hesitations towards him. After being so alone for so long, letting him in felt dangerous. There always seemed to be some kind of catch to everything that kept you scared of letting your walls down entirely. Everyday you woke up in his bed, but alone. When you thought of kissing him, he made the first move, but only when you asked him to. He spent part of his nights with you, tucked into the sofa while you finally got back to that book Jimin had given you, or reclined on his porch with a candle–but only when you lit the candle with the request for his company.

Each morning you held your breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop for this whole arrangement.

Today heightened that sense of foreboding, your father’s funeral had been set up and paid for with a rather hefty sum, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it meant something different. For while you wanted to say it was because he cared for you, he never said those words–never said why. And the answer never felt more important to you now, then when looking at all of the extravagant decorations, the excess of guests, and the overflowing banquet table of food to feed all of them. Because this felt far too grand for someone like you.

You told yourself it was all for your father, and that helped ease the worry for most of the service. Every flower, every candle, every plate was for him. Not you. The hundreds of guests–some devout customers or kind neighbors, others long lost acquaintances from his many adventures–strolled in and out of the city’s cemetery hall to pay their respects and celebrate his life with shared stories, or to add a flower to his offering table. The sight of everyone coming together on such short notice to honor him making your heart swell.

When it came time to climb the stacked vaults to his designated space, the cheers of well wishes in the after life as you slipped it into place next to your mother’s brought a smile to your lips, not tears.

Hoseok helped herd guests about the event even if it looked like he wanted to be doing anything other than chaperoning elderly women around the towering halls of coffins, listening to them lament about their passed on loved ones and blow their noses into delicate handkerchiefs.

“Do you even know any of these people?” Hoseok grumbled, fixing the sleeve of his black dress shirt.

“No,” You shrugged. “But they seemed to know him. And that’s all that mattered.”

He muttered through gritted teeth at your honesty. “That seems dangerous. A hoard of strangers being welcomed into your space.”

“They are just old friends of his,” You rolled your eyes, giving his shoulders a stiff shove towards a small family that was holding up the line at the banquet table. “Can you handle that one? You are much better at it than I am.”

“That is because you are too nice.” Hoseok cut back, starting towards them with a bit too much pep in his step. “I will handle it.”

“That was not me giving you permission to be rude!” You called after his retreating figure.

Hoseok pretended he hadn’t heard you, elbowing his way through the crowd to the poor family in question.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “He is going to tear that family to shreds, I know it.”

“Pardon me–Are you Y/n?”

You lifted your head up, greeting the next guest with a polite smile and an extended hand. “I am–a friend of my father’s I presume?”

The man before you blinked down at your hand, looking caught off guard by the motion. “I knew of his work.” Your hand remained suspended between you, and he furrowed his thick brows down at it, prodding over it like a puzzle meant to be solved and tugging with the collar of his thin blue tunic. One that looked far too thin for the early spring chill.

“You are supposed to shake it, like this,” Jimin’s sweet voice swept in from your left, palm meeting yours and giving it a firm shake. “Apologies for my friend, he does not get out of his house nearly enough.” He shot a pointed glare at his “friend” who seemed anything but.

You shook your head, nodding to the stranger. “It is no worry, really.”

The lull in conversation was awkward, strung high like a rope about to fray. Jimin planted himself beside you, his usual kind smile crinkled at the edge with too much tension. Opened wide to show too much teeth. The other man couldn’t be bothered to continue the discussion he had started, too busy running a finger over his lip and watching you shrivel under his stare. An unsuspecting mouse cornered by a slinking cat.

The walls began to close in, eyes darting in all directions for any place to escape to. “Well if you’ll excuse me, I have something I must-”

“Your dance was impressive,” The mystery man commented, his tone flat and anything but impressed.

Your smile faltered. “Excuse me?”

“I bore witness to it on the beach. You put on quite a spectacular show.” He fixed his eyes on yours, and for the first time you noticed their color, one of them a deep indigo like the ocean after sundown, the other a milky white. “I have not seen him dance with someone like that in near centuries.”

“Stop talking,” Jimin coughed into his fist over the latter half of his companion’s words, the sound loud and sudden, but not nearly loud enough, no covert enough for you not to hear what had been said.

“Who are you?” You couldn’t figure out who to look at, Jimin or the strange being before you. “Do you know him?”

“Namjoon,” A deep, lilting drawl ground out behind you, the words dragged upwards at the ends with an accent unfamiliar. “Pleasure to see you out and about as always.”

“Yoongi? Never would have guest it’d be you I see today.” The man before you–Namjoon–grinned, the curve of his mouth devoid of any warmth as he addressed the new stranger. His teeth sharp. Too sharp.

“Let’s not do this here,” Jimin hissed, tugging you further away from the two men.

You finally got a look at the second man referred to as Yoongi; shorter than the first with hair that waved down to his chin, tucked behind one ear. He was much better dressed for the occasion if just a bit untidy, a thick fur-lined cape draped over his shoulders, boots scuffed and worn, his dress shirt tucked messily into his trousers that were buttoned wrong, much like how a young boy would when wearing for the first time. If he wasn’t making your skin crawl at the moment, you could almost say the look was endearing.

“I am not doing anything but accompanying my wife to a service.” Yoongi gave a pointed look towards Namjoon. “As for him, I do not know.”

Namjoon shrugged. “I am doing my job.”

“Since when did you care about any of that?” Yoongi challenged.

Jimin pointed an accusing finger at him. “Don’t you start. Not here, and not now. I said enough–both of you.”

Never before have you seen your friend so volatile. His anger radiating off his body in tangible waves, spreading out into the room and making it spin. Your instincts kicked in, goosebumps prickling the skin of your arms and your hands starting to quiver. Reflexivity, you scoured the room in search of any sign of Hoseok, a hushed prayer of his name falling out between shallow breaths.

“I meant no harm,” Namjoon slid his eyes back to you, gesturing to you with his chin. “I simply wanted to pay my respects. The same as each of you.”

This time when your eyes met, your body seized.

You knew what this felt like. You knew what they all felt like.

Never before had you been so sure that you needed to run.

With one twitch of his jaw, he pilfered the air from your lungs entirely–and for a few unbearably long seconds, they wouldn’t inflate at all. Their interior burning, itching, screaming out for air with no relief. When you did manage to choke in a breath, it did nothing. If anything the oxygen rushed in like water, sinking like a weight in your chest that kept expanding to take in more of it.

You clawed at your throat, stumbling back from Jimin–back from the group of men that seemed to tilt the earth out from beneath your feet. Jimin tried to reach out for you, but you wrenched your hand free of him, no longer sure if you could trust him either.

Stumbling back towards the main room of the cemetery hall, the intricate patterns on the marble floor no longer looked beautiful, but like churning seas of color and shapes that pounded around the insides of your skull to mush. You heart started to slow. Limbs growing weak. You felt like you were going to die.

“In here, quickly!” Clammy hands grabbed your forearms, lugging you away from the lights, the colors and the commotion of the service into the solitude of one of the bathrooms.

You recognized the cool toned skin and dark flowing skirts to belong to Safiya, her melodic voice guiding you to lean over the edge of one of the toilets, the heal of her palm whacking the tender spot between your shoulder blades. Something rattled in your lungs with each hit, and after another three thumps of her hand you were gripped the edge of the toilet, hacking up salt water and everything you had gotten the chance to eat that day.

You heaved your first real breath, throat raw and sore. Her palm switched to soothing circled over your back, cooing whispered words of encouragement into your ear. The black clouds crowding your vision dissipated, and you fell back against the wooden stall.

“T-thank you,” You wheezed, wiping at your mouth with the back of your hand.

Safiya gave your knee a reassuring squeeze. “Friends help each other, remember?”

You nodded, only vaguely listening to her, still reeling and frightened. All you wanted was Hoseok. You had a hundred questions to ask him.

The first one being Where are you? And why didn’t you come help me?

“Is something the matter?” Safiya read your shift in demeanor quickly.

“Can you find someone for me?” You asked weakly. “I was looking for him...I just want him here.”

She nodded earnestly. “Of course! Who is it​?”

“Jung Hoseok,” You brought your arm up to cough into your elbow. “The butcher.”

“Oh….” Safiya’s entire body seemed to deflate, taking on a pettish yet aloof demeanor of a child with something to hide as she fiddled with the edge of her skirts.

You eyed her curiously. “Is there a problem?”

“Not at all!” She rushed to assure you, wide eyes avoiding your face. “It is just…”

Dread grabbed hold of your earlier doubt and squeezed it with an iron fist, letting seep through its fingers and into your voice. “What is it?”

“I don’t know if he will come.”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Your voice grew defensive. Small.

“Well I am sure with this whole celebration that his debts have been paid.” She snorted to herself. “That and all of those payments to the city. I imagine those will stop soon too.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach. “What debts?”

Her face scrunched up in bewilderment. “You don’t know?”

“Don’t know what?”

“Oh dear...Just as I feared….” Safiya retracted her hand from your knee to play with her own fingers. “Do you know that he is a...a…”

“A god?” You took the chance, not caring anymore if she didn’t already know.

“Yes,” She answered. “Well, gods have obligations. A duty to their worshipers. If a family, or an individual gives and never takes–well that debt builds. It hangs over the god’s head like a thorn in their side until they pay them back. If they don’t, the other gods up on Kalios must get involved. It’s like an obligation. They can not say no if you ask for something.”

Your ears began to ring, your mouth going dry. “How do you know this?”

“Because I used to worship him too. And he did the same thing to me. Strung me along until his obligations were fulfilled. Then he left me–ruined me.”

Hot tears burned the back of your eyes. “No…”

She gave you an apologetic frown, leaning forward to capture both of your hands in hers. “I know it is hard to hear, but you must believe me. Look I can prove it–” Upon her hands grew bubbling mushroom caps, bouncing up and down her forearms, he skin taking on a deeper shade of blue. “Look what he did to me…”

Slats of mushrooms, mold, and fungus emerged from her flesh, splitting it open until they bloomed to their full size. Everything, her cheeks, her chin, her fingers–all of it mottled and rippled with gills and caps.

“Saprorro…” Her name was but a gasp from your mouth, and you pressed your back further into the stall.

“I did not mean to lie to you,” her eyes glistened with tears, “but you had danced so beautifully for me, I just wanted to meet you. To save you from my fate.”

“But you...you wanted this…” You whispered, a fresh tear falling from your cheek.

“I wanted eternal life, not eternal punishment.”

“In the myths–you are friends. Allies-”

“The myths are just that. Stories told in favor of whoever they want to make look like the victor.” Her frown twisted into a snarl. “I spent my life devoted to him, and when I needed him the most, he made me beg like a dog for what I rightfully deserved. He let my mind melt out from my nose, my bones snap, my eyes bleed–let my body fail me. Then with all of that, he made me dance for him, knowing I could never win in the state I was in.” Safiya stuck her chin high in the sky, eyes shinning with pride. “But I won. And he couldn’t stand it.”

You shook your head in a weak protest. “He...He wouldn’t…” But your confidence was already cracked. Because you knew he could. You had known him before; cruel and selfish, with a ruthless tongue he wielded like a sword to cut down anyone he thought unworthy. Which was everyone. The change in him had been too quick. Too sudden. You thought back to that night on his porch when he had said how your father had never asked for anything. How after your father died, his kindness increased tenfold–like you had inherited his karmic wealth. Your chest started to implode in on itself with how many emotions tried to claw for the top spot of your mind, your limbs going cold and numb.

“I know it is hard to believe, but I am trying to save you. To help you.” A black tear ran down her cheek, and she leaned forward to caress the side of your face. “If he had really cared for you, why hadn’t he come when you called? When Namjoon was filling your lungs with the sea–where was he?” She dragged her index finger down your cheek, saying your thoughts allowed as they came. “And where is he now?”

A sob tore through you, callous and thoughtless for the pain it left in its wake. How had you been so stupid? The job. The dancing. Walking you home. Letting you live with him. The gifts, the trips–touching you. All of it was merely an obligation. A chore. Something he only did when you asked him to.

“I need to go…” You scrambled to your feet, unable to bear being in the same building as him. Hear vague reply urging you to reach out if you needed to garbled in your ears. Each decoration you passed, each piece of cheese or fruit scarfed down by an oblivious guest, every candle that burned–all paid for by the man you never wanted to see again.

And he had told you. He had tried to tell you when he was helping you at Treseyna’s Vale and you were too naive and ignorant to know what he was trying to say. He had warned you of what this all was and you still played into the palm of his hand, asking yourself day in and day out what all of it meant.

You were halfway across the hall when one of the men from before–Yoongi you think–was in front of you, stopping your retreat.

“There you are, Jimin has been searching-”

“Get away from me!” You took a trembling step back, hands held up between you. “I respect what you are and I am sorry if I have offended you in anyway, but I am not interested in getting involved in any other god’s games.”

Yoongi ignored your outburst in favor of giving a quick inspection of your form, the puffy face, dry lips, shuddering bones; and grew visibly concerned. “You look unwell. My wife is a talented healer, shall I take you to her?”

You dragged your palms down your cheeks with an exasperated groan, their surfaces coming back wet. “Have you not heard a word I’ve said? Leave me alone!”

Then you felt him behind you. The scent of cinnamon, chamomile and citrus that once used to comfort you curdled in your nose, acid churning in your stomach and bile rising to tickle the back of your throat. His hand curled around your forearm, thrusting himself between you and Yoongi, teeth bared and hackles raised.

“Do not get near her beast. Leave, before I skin you of your pelt and hang it above my fireplace!”

Yoongi let Hoseok get in his face, keeping calm in the face of wrath. “I am allowed to be here. I was invited. Forgive me for feeling quite apprehensive towards letting my wife come near you alone.”

Hoseok laughed, a cynical sound that scraped against your eardrums. “ I care not why you are here. If you choose to stay in her presence after what you have doneI will have to choose to rip your head from your shoulders. Or you and your wife can leave unscathed. The choice is yours.”

“I will make the choice easy then,” You hissed, ripping free from his grasp. “I am leaving.”

You sped around them, streaking across the headache-inducing tile and out the door. Rage seemed to be winning the internal battle, second to only humiliation and shame. Hot tears flowed freely down your cheeks, only growing more frequent when your embarrassment flared high whenever an onlooker paused to watch you walk by.

Vision blurred and legs still weak from whatever had happened with Namjoon, you only made it a couple blocks before you collapsed in an alley, hands splayed on the brick like it was the only thing keeping you from unraveling into shriveled threads on the cobblestone.

Hands gripped your shoulders, forcing your to turn around and face the one person you never wanted to see again.

“What happened? What has he done to you?” His eyes blazed with unrestrained fury, voice dropping dangerously low. “Did he hurt you?”

That shouldn’t have hurt as much as it had. Because you wanted his concern to be real. Wanted everything to be real. You hated how quickly another sob broke through. “Don’t touch me!”

He jerked back when you smacked his hands away, but not far enough. “What is this? Tell me, and I will fix it!”

“Of course you will,” You jeered. “Always in time to fix, but never really there!”

His nostrils flared, eyes going darker than you’d ever seen them. “What did he say to you?”

“He said nothing! He did nothing! He didn’t have to.” You gave his shoulders a stiff shove. “This is all you.”

Hoseok stared for you again, hands outstretched to gather you close but you wouldn’t have it. Couldn’t stand the thought of him touching you again. All of your rage poured into your hand as it met his cheek, hard enough to leave a red mark blooming in the shape of it.

“I told you, do not touch me!”

His eyes blew wide, hand coming up to soothe the sting. “How dare you?”

“There you are,” You laughed, delirious and cold, bending forward at the waist when it nearly knocked you off your feet. “Angry, merciless and cruel. I never would have thought I could have missed this, but I would rather have that than a liar.”

Hoseok was breathing heavily now. “I am no liar.”

“But you are! Where were you when I called for you? When I prayed for you to come help me?”

“I was being called-”

“And when I was near death, begging for you to come to my aid? Where were you then?”

Hoseok had never looked so dangerous. “I couldn’t find you. I couldn’t hear you. They had done something–all of them–they are working against me. I couldn’t see where you were!”

“Typical for a man, blaming everyone but himself. Was as it that you could no longer hear me, or did it just not benefit you anymore to listen?” A nearby trash bin felt the heat of your rage, a swift kick to its side knocking it on its side. “That’s what this was all about, Gods I’m so naive. I knew this entire time that something was wrong. That there was something off about the way you seemed to change in ways that were too good to be true. That out of all of your thousands of patrons, you would choose me–a simple coffin builder wading through poverty and so painfully ordinary. Drowning under the pressure of it all. Another scuttling roach beneath your shoe. A nobody…” Your voice broke, cracking through your ribs. “But it was nothing more than a job. A chore to tick off your endless to-do list. Some pitiful thing to save so you could give yourself a pat on the back and then dust your hands of the responsibility after your awards were won.”

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you are screaming about!” Hoseok shouted back. “Whatever he told you was a-”

“The debts Hoseok!” You threw your hands up in indignation. “What you owed me? Does that not ring a bell?”

His argument died with his rage, breaths growing erratic, eyes daring to glisten. “That isn’t-” he broke off, shaking his head slowly. “That does not mean what you think it does…”

“It doesn’t? So you miraculously hiring me after my first prayer. All those times you walked me home while hating every goddamn second of it. Showering me with gifts and bringing me on trips. Doing my laundry. Letting me live with you after I begged the heavens for someplace to go.” You fell back against the wall, hands coming up to wrap around your middle and fist at your shirt like it would soothe the ravenous ache that ate through your ribs. “When you kissed me for the first time after I had stupidly thought of doing it. When you...when you touched me after I had imagined it–just like I had imagined it.” You tasted your wrath, chewed it up where it simmer on your tongue and spit it out with a scream, your body shuddering and unsteady. “It wasn’t because you wanted to or because you cared. It was because you had to. It was a job. Something you were getting paid for. And I just let you use me like that.”

That seemed to wake him up from his stupor, his fists clenching at his sides until they shook. “That is not true. None of this is true.”

“Is that so?” Stepping closer to him, hoping to convey as much of your hatred in the twist of your mouth and the glower you set upon him as you could. “Then say it. Say that it meant something else. Tell me right now what it all meant to you if it was not this.”

Hoseok opened and closed his mouth, his defense melting down into the spineless man he was. “I...I can’t.”

There is was. The other shoe had finally dropped, and with it it took whatever sanity you had left.

“I thought as much.”

You left him there. Left him standing alone in the alley way to deal with all that had transpired. And you couldn’t deny that a small part of you relished in getting to make him feel a fraction of how he had made you feel: small and betrayed.

_________________________________________ 

The word home could not have been a more terrible descriptor for the room you entered. Home felt faraway. A mythical place in some far off land that you weren’t meant to find.

Most of the night was spent sopping wet from a cold shower, curled on the bathroom floor to wallow in the endless pit carved through your chest.

Not only had you lost...whatever he was to you–you had lost a friend. A religion. A family. A tradition.

A purpose.

What loneliness you had thought you felt before held no weight against the beast of total isolation that towered over you, breathing over your shoulder and spearing you with its talons.

There was no god to pray to to ease the pain. No candle to light. You couldn’t even find solace at your father’s altar knowing just who was waiting for you on the other side. Even Wes was still probably curled up in his living room where you had left him, content and undoubtedly happier than he had ever been with you.

The world was ending in the worst possibly way–by spinning onward like some sick joke while you withered to nothing, forgotten about and left behind. Your biggest fear come to life.

Days ticked on like seconds on a clock, fast and easily misplaced.

You worked–because of course you did–hands nicked and splintered more than they usually would. Designs rougher, and harder to find in the grain. A dropped treseyn. A snapped plank. Checks from the city piled on your bedside table, left to rot now that you knew who that money was really coming from.

When you walked the streets, you only went to the market and home, no longer as bothered by the gathered protesters in the square or the marches through the streets to argue against the beginning of Harvest celebrations. You couldn’t find it in you to argue with them, simply turning a blind eye as you pushed your way through their lines to get to where you needed to be.

Unrest was growing, and you had thought you would have been the final defense against it, but now, you didn’t know if you could dare defend what had been done to you.

Taehyung’s visits never picked up again, and when you stopped in to see him, his workshop was empty, a layer of dust accumulating on the tables and tools. You kept Lucille at arm’s length, having no idea how to even begin to explain to her what had happened. Jimin tried to reach you through notes taped to your door that you didn’t bother reading before throwing in your fire place, small gifts wrapped in twine and brown paper that you tossed in a closet unopened, or a shadow outside your front window when the sun was setting, hands cupped on the glass and fist tapping urgently.

When that didn’t get your attention, they switched gears.

Birds diving head first into you windows. Foxes screeching wildly in the alley behind your house. Dreams plagued by frenzied hunters, galloping wolves, grazing cows; vast open worlds with starry lakes and milky way clouds.

And worst of them all was him.

The checks doubled in frequency. All of the Incense smoke that haunted empty rooms with no explanation for how it arrived. A note attached to Wes’s shiny new collar that you tore into thousand pieces and burned with one of the candles from the altar just so you would know he’d see it.

But nothing would have prepared you for tonight.

Your day had been awful–the city was a mess, impossible to travel through due to the spring equinox celebrations so you had arrived to the market too late, empty handed without the ingredients needed for your dinner. And then when you had finally gotten back to the shop, someone had come to complain that their treseyn wasn’t the correct shade. Your final straw was when you were sanding an order and your hand slipped, cutting the side of your hand on the nearby table saw.

Blood pooled from the gash that was no more than an inch long, but it seemed intent on ruining both your day, your clothes and the coffin your blood splattered onto.

While bandaging the wound, you heard it: a soft chuffing from the window that looked out to the alley.

“Not now,” You muttered to yourself. “Now is not the time.”

The sound paused if only for a second, before returning louder than before.

“I said,” You smacked your hands down to the sink’s edge. “Not. Now.”

Its shadow loomed just beyond the frosted window, lurking. Searching.

It pissed you off.

Without thinking, you flung the window open, coming face to face with a massive buck, much to tall and burly to be anything other than a divine message–that and it had no business being a such a cramped and damp alley.

You glowered at him. “Go. Away.”

The deer sniffed, a gentle prod of curiosity that felt nothing like you would have expected from Hoseok.

“Where have your creepy eyes gone? Have you finally had the sense to stop looking so frightening, or is this just to try and win me over?”

He blinked, ear’s fluttering when you spoke.

You dug your fingers into the window ledge until it stung. “After all of this, you still choose to say nothing…”

The creature huffed, head shaking off your anger. Then it leaned forward, snout just crossing the threshold to tickle the skin of your cheek.

Red. All you saw was red.

“Fine. Then I imagine you will not have anything to say about any of this.”

It may have been an overreaction to someone else, but to you it was the only appropriate way to react–to scream.

You screamed until your throat hurt, shouting curses at yourself, at the world, at Hoseok; tossing the stained coffin to the floor and swiping your tools to the ground. Next came the candles. You picked up the one you had used to burn his note and snapped it down the middle, letting it roll from your hands and clatter to the floor. Then the next. And the one after that until the only one left was the one for Rey.

The beads you had won in the Doeidyads were your next victim, scattered across the floor or flung over your shoulder to land who knows where.

While you were completely deranged in your fury, you still couldn’t bring yourself to ruin the altar your father, and the generations before him had built–but that didn’t mean you had to see it anymore.

You opened your father’s old closet, still stuffed with his clothes and old boots, and crammed the entire thing in it, closing the door and putting a chair in front of it for good measure.

Tears moved embarrassingly fast, dripping down your chin and flinging off your face with every harsh grab and shove. You raced back to the window, throwing yourself over the ledge to come face to face with the buck.

“Do you have anything you want to say now? Or have I made myself clear?”

It grunted low in its belly, indifferent and unphased by your show, then floated out towards the mouth of the alley, its steps light and measured. In a blink, its shadow shifted to that of a man, cloak thick and heavy drowning out most of his shape. You couldn’t see his face–nor did you care to–but you still shouted at him.

“Saint Hickory and Oak can you just leave me alone?”

He didn’t budge.

You bent down, scooping up a handful of beads and candle shards, and hurled them at him to emphasize each word. “Leave. Me. ALONE!”

They clambered at his feet, and when he bent to pick one up his hand caught in the light from the window, wider and more pallid than you remembered.

But seeing that was enough to send you over the edge again, and with one more frustrated groan, you slammed the window shut, locking it for good measure. With the passing of your rage came the sadness. That same desolate darkness you couldn’t find an escape from.

You crumpled back on the bathroom floor beneath the window, the place you spent most of your time anymore, and cried.

Cried for so long that your tears ran dry, but your throat still gargled and whimpered, face stuck in a permanent frown.

And that’s where you fell asleep, cheek pressed to the tile, eyes swollen shut, listening to the frantic beat of birds wings and the relentless badgering from the foxes all vying for the attention you couldn’t care to give.

You didn’t have anything left to give anyone anymore.

Dreams were far and few in between. Gray churning masses of nothing. Distant screams, the smell of smoke. Voices that toed the line between real and imaginary.

“Wake up!”

You stirred, licking your lips that had grown too dry.

Another shake.

“Hurry! You must wake!”

Swatting at his hands with a groan, you rolled over onto your other side, waving away the smoke that had crowded around your face.

“I command you to wake!”

Trying to yell at him felt like raking your vocal chords over shards of glass, and your hands coming up to claw at your throat, finding it soaked with sweat. In his hand was a crystal blue vial, empty with its cork tossed to the side. Some kind of healing potion you could vageuly recognize. You looked up to him again and saw that it wasn’t dirt on his face, it was soot.

And wasn’t the lamplight that reflected in his eyes–it was fire.

“Y/n, you need to move!” He smacked at your cheeks drawing your eyes back to his. “Now!”

You launched into action, letting him pull you to your feet and shove a soaked rag to your mouth, guiding your hand to keep it in place.

“Hold it like this okay? We are going to get you out of here.”

Nodding frantically, your eyes stung from the smoke that billowed in clouds, the room unrecognizable.

“Whatever you hear, whatever you see–you must not leave our sight. Do you understand?”

Your response was muffled by the rag, but he didn’t stop to decipher it, nimble fingers making quick work of the latch on the window and shouldering it open.

“Are you ready for her?”

There was a guttural roar from the other side in response, and Jimin offered you his hand.

“You first.”

He helped your shaky legs to straddle the window, guiding you over the lip and down the few feet drop to the ground below to where a hulking shadowy mass waited for you. A bear, no shorter than seven feet, swayed impatiently on his haunches, egging you forward with a nudge of its snout. Awestruck yet terrified, you started to listen, trudging away from the window with the creature as your guard for only a few feet.

Reality set in, your voice making its hoarse return with the help of the potion. “W-wait! Wes!”

Jimin poked his head from the window. “What?”

“My cat!”

He swung one of his legs over the edge. “He is already out.”

You grabbed his arm, still mentally foggy from the smoke inhalation. “My mom! Her treseyn…it’s in my room! So is my father’s!”

Jimin shouted out in frustration, falling back into the room and pointing to the bear. “Get her away from the house, I will be right back.”

“I’m coming with you!” You cried, already halfway over the window.

The bear dropped a heavy paw on your back, stopping you in your tracks.

“No you will not! Go!” Jimin’s demand echoed into the sky, rattling your soul to attention.

With its long snout hooked under your arm, the bear herded you through the narrow alley, letting you lean your weight on his neck as you shuffled besides him. Upon approaching the mouth of the alley, you saw just what you were up against.

A wall of flames ate at your walls and crumbled the storefront inwards, devouring everything inside of it. The glass was shattered, scattered over the roads and sprayed into the streets where a large crowd had gathered, chanting in unison in front of the blaze. Each one of them holding up signs with scripture you didn’t recognize, their eyes nothing but fiery pits of malice and hatred as they scorned the ashes of your home.

A wail of despair ripped through you, tears of rage and horror blurring your vision. You started forwards, ready to claw their eyes out with your bare hands and rip their throats out with your teeth. Your cry alerted them of your presence, their voices now directing their mindless incantation to you; slinking towards you in mass.

With a bone rattling roar, the bear leapt ahead of you, drool dripping from pointed teeth and curling lips, the hair on its back standing straight into the air.

“See? This is what we must end!” A woman shrieked, pointing at you wildly. “She is fraternizing with devils!”

The crowd grew to near hysterics, closing in on you and the bear with mouths hungry to eat. One took a step too close, swung a string of beads to near to your head–and you snatched it straight from his fist and shred the string holding it together with your canines, pelting his face with what was left of it.

“Fuck you!” You seethed.

His mouth set in a hard line, hands shaking with rage as he lunged for your throat.

He never quite made it, fingers just ghosting your neck before his arm crunched between the cavernous jaws of the beast besides you. The bear snarled, ripping the limb from his torso with an effortless twist of his neck and tossing it aside in a mangled piece of flesh, teeth and jaws stained crimson that he snapped in warning at the rest of the crowd. A promise for what he will do if they come any closer.

Hands grabbed your shoulders from behind, turning you towards them. Jimin looked at you with wet eyes, skin streaked with soot. “I’m so sorry Y/n–I could not find them.”

You broke into a blubbering mess, hands clawing for his shoulders while you screamed out incoherent curses into the night sky,

“I know, but we need to get you out of here. We need to-”

One of the windows exploded, raining glass down from the sky onto the protesters, any onlookers ducking back into the doors and windows to hide.

One of the protesters let out a gurgling scream, blood pooling in in her mouth and dripping down her chin in rivulets, and then she collapsed, convulsing on the ground at your feet. A man followed next, falling to his knees and digging his hands into his chest with agonizing screams before falling lifeless on his side.

A shape emerged from the broken window, a figure shrouded in black robes that singed at the edges, the skin of his face and arms burnt and blistered, still sizzling from the licking flames. He took the ground by storm, demanding respect with each step, instilling fear in the hearts of all that dared look upon him. The fire still feasted on his skin, the smell putrid and winding up from a trail of smoke he left behind, but he did not slow. It did not effect him at all.

It never would.

He stalked right up to the woman who had shouted at you before, black leather gloves grasping her jaw.

“You can not harm me! I am protected by-”

A swift jerk of her head and she was gone, buckling at his feet.

The streets broke into a frenzy, onlookers and protesters alike trampling in all directions to flee from the figure, a few stopping to fall to their knees with their hands held up to the god that stood before them, in awe of his ferocity. He looked upon everyone, nothing but flaming embers and bone, sacred beads untouched by flame; a display of holy horror.

He splayed his hands out to his side, palms to the ground and arms sweeping wide in a smooth arc. On their command, the last of the remaining protesters skin bloomed with welts and blisters, wounds bleeding out into gaping holes of flesh that revealed muscle and bone. He held them there, letting them suffer, letting the wounds ache and their lungs spasm for breath; then he brought his hands down, fast and merciless, their screams cut short and bodies dropping like flies.

An eerie silence rang through the streets, no one daring utter a word over the crackle of burning flame.

The god spun in a slow circle, surveying whoever was brave enough to remain. He brushed his hands over the heads of his worshipers, slipping past them to stop before you. From his pocket he unveiled two tiny orbs, one purple, one an ethereal swirling blue. Both of them safe and untouched by flame.

He said nothing as he dropped them in your awaiting palm.

You looked at his face, the features unrecognizable, yet so unbelievably familiar.

“Thank you,” you croaked.

His glove hovered over your wrist for a beat too long, then with a growl he spun on his heal, stalking after those that had run from him, a promised threat he intended to keep.

Jimin’s hand circled your wrist, tugging you softly away. “Come on, we must go.”

You nodded, turning to follow him when you noticed the bear had frozen, peering off into the growing crowd of panicked townsfolk with wise watchful eyes. Following his line if sight, a chill ran up your spine, the taste of salt and sea washing over your taste buds with the memory of him, brought forth by the sharp-toothed smile he offered the bear before vanishing into the bustling bodies without a trace.

Like he had never been there at all.

_________________________________________ 

Hoseok’s house hadn’t changed since you had left it those two weeks prior.

The same mug you had used the day of your father’s service left on the kitchen table, untouched, stained with the remnants of your morning tea. Your breakfast plate tossed haphazardly in the sink, still caked with dried honey and moldy fruit you had eaten.

“This way,” Jimin led you up the stairs to Hoseok’s door, pushing it open with his foot, just missing Wes who was circling the base of the door and meowing up at you.

You burst into tears at the sight of him, wrestling him to your chest and pressing a hundred little kisses to his tiny forehead, each one making him more irritated than the last. “Okay, I shall let you go…” You laughed pathetically at yourself, letting him jump to the floor with a loud thump.

Jimin smiled softly at the sight, herding your further into the room towards Hoseok’s bathroom, holding the door open for you. “The tincture should work by morning, but I still suggest you wash up tonight and prioritize resting. We will be waiting for you downstairs when you are finished.”

You nodded, feeling gratitude for him swell in your chest. “Wait! Jimin…”

“Yes?” He stuck his head back through the crack in the door.

“Was this what...was this what all of that pestering was for?”

He frowned. “I tried to warn you, but it is not your fault you had no interest in listening. I can’t say I would not do the same if I was in your place.”

“Thank you,” You sighed, the urge to cry returning. “For not giving up on me.”

Jimin’s eyes twinkled in the low light. “Always, my friend.”

Being in Hoseok’s bathroom stung, but not enough to stop you from jumping right into the hot shower and letting the warmth wash you of the soot and ash, the water mixing with the tears of what you had lost, what was to come.

Were you safe anywhere in town? Had Hoseok’s wrath made things worse? What did that Namjoon guy have to do with all of this?

You switched the water to run cold when it felt like too much, the heat too close to the sensations of being trapped in a stifling bathroom. It felt like ice on your skin but it was a welcomed burn.

When finished and dressed in the night clothes left for you on the sink, your skin was still cool to the touch, your airways much clearer, and your voice almost back to normal. The loss of adrenaline left you exhausted though, dragging your feet across his burgundy rug to the bedroom door pulling it open to find Hoseok already on the other side.

“I’m s-sorry,” you stuttered, taken aback by his presence. “Did I keep you waiting?”

“Not at all,” He whispered with a shake of his head, keeping his eyes locked on your face.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke.

Apprehensively, as though scared to break this moment of serenity, you lifted one hand to ghost over one of the remaining sores on his cheek, the skin still not fully healed from the fires he had trekked through. You followed the singed edge, trailing up his cheek bone, then down to sweep over the edge of his jaw, the skin soft and lightly scarred. When you closed in on the edge of his mouth you dropped your hand back to your side, heat flushing back up your neck and cheeks.

You should hate him still, not feel safe being back in his home; back in his bedroom like it was yours. Like you actually belonged there.

“Jimin said he would be waiting for me downstairs.” You brushed past him, ignoring the tingle of electricity that twirled up the arm that touched him and taking the stairs one at a time, legs wobbly at the knees. His bedroom door shut and you felt like you could breathe again, hurrying towards the hushed voices that congregated in the living room.

Yoongi, the man from the service, sat perched on one of the living room chairs with Wes stretched over his lap purring loud enough for you to hear from the entrance, soaking up the soft run of his fingers through his fur. Jimin was on the sofa, one leg crossed over the other, a cup of freshly brewed tea held up to his lips, clothes fresh and skin clean.

They both looked to you as you entered, Jimin hastily placing his cup back on the end table to pull you over to the sofa next to him. “How are you feeling? Better?”

“Much,” You beamed up to him. “Thank you again.”

“Do not just thank me,” He chuckled, nodding to Yoongi. “Thank his wife. She brewed it for you.”

You turned your smile to him. “Please extend my thanks to her.”

Yoongi nodded once, a flat almost-smile on his face and his chest puffed out with pride. “Of course.”

Turning back to Jimin, your smile turned sheepish. “So I gather that you are not the witch I thought you were.”

“No,” Jimin’s eyes tucked into sweet little crescents. “I am not.”

“Who…” You started, unsure whether or not it was appropriate to ask.

Jimin tapped his index finger to his temple. “I trust in your intelligence to figure that out.”

Furrowing your brows, you tried to wrack your brain for what you knew of the other deities, names and long woven tales filtering through one after the other. “That book you got me wasn’t just a solstice gift, was it?” You quirked a brow up at him.

His shrug was coy, and he lifted up his mug again to take a sip, words echoing in the cup. “Care to put that to the test?”

You sighed, deciding to switch gears and think of what you knew of Jimin more than what you had read from the pages of a book. Mysterious. Cunning. Persistent. Kind. Involved in the occult.

Magical.

A god of magic and mysticism came to mind; a man of the night sky, ruler of the stars and oh so involved in human affairs. Nosy and a bit mischievous, often finding a way to write himself into almost every myth, whether as a footnote or a main character it didn’t matter. A man who danced on windowsills, blanketed the sky and twinkled down with whispers of what was to come.

“Musyatim?” You gave the name a try.

His face lit up with unbridled glee, tipping his head in a grand bow. “At your service~”

You flitted your eyes over to Yoongi, the answer growing increasingly obvious. “Were you perhaps that Bear?”

He nodded, eyes glimmering back to you with the light from the hearth. “I was.”

“Then you must be-” You paused, eyes going wide and voice dropping to a whisper “-Am I allowed to say it?”

“Be my guest.”

“Fenlyn,” You breathed out in awe. “God of the forests and the trees.”

He hummed, like the sound of his name was a wine he was mulling over on his tongue, hand smoothing a stripe over Wes’s back. “Most that know me choose to call me Yoongi, but I will answer to either.”

Footsteps cascaded down the stairs and came to a stop just at the entrance to the living room, Hoseok hovering back, hair damp and skin still glistening. The two of them shared a look leaden with words unsaid, tensions forming and snapping with each slow exhale.

“You surprised me today,” Hoseok spoke first. “I wasn’t sure whether or not you would have it in you to draw blood if the need arose.”

Yoongi scoffed. “I am a forgiving god, but I am no pacifist. Lest I need remind you of what I have done.”

“Forgive me for having doubts, you have gone quite soft as of late.”

Yoongi narrowed his eyes on him, casting a pointed look in your direction. “As have you.”

Hoseok took up the chair opposite of Yoongi, leaving the couch free for you and Jimin. You pretended not to be disappointed.

“As we were retreating,” Yoongi began, voice a low grumbling sound that came up from his chest. “I managed to catch a glimpse of Namjoon. I could see not who he was with.”

“My personal guess is Saprorro,” Jimin offered, hugging his tea to his chest as he lowered himself besides you. “After her lovely visit to our friend a couple weeks ago, I can not think of who else it would be.”

Arms encircled themselves around your waist. “How do you know about that?”

“I had a feeling after the event. Her energy was strong enough for me to return for a reading after she had fled.”

Hoseok’s nose twitched, a sign he was holding back a scowl and something harsher than what was coming out of his mouth. “Yet you can you not see it now?”

Jimin exhaled sharply through his nose. “Need I remind you two of all people that I am forbidden from engaging in godly disagreements.”

“War,” Yoongi corrected him. “You are forbidden from engaging in war.”

“Those are one in the same,” Jimin muttered, hiding behind his teacup.

Yoongi’s chair creaked beneath his weight as he leaned forward to address Jimin, head cocking to the side slightly. “Is there something you would care to share with us, soothsayer?”

Jimin shakily lowered his cup back the saucer, the base clinking against the plate. “Take my answer as you please. I am forbidden from saying otherwise.”

“Then what are you still here for?” Hoseok cut in.

“If all of you would just have a shred of patience,” Jimin rolled his eyes, taking a few calming deep breaths, “I would be able to finish my tea and you could have the answers you seek.”

“Is that allowed?” You piped in, shrinking under everyone’s attention. “Reading the tea leaves to us regarding what has transpired.”

Jimin hummed. “To them? Technically no. But I am quite good at tiptoeing around rules when I want to get my way.”

“Blessed be, we have found something we can all agree on.” Hoseok fell back into his chair, voice dripping with sarcasm.

You refused to give him the satisfaction of you laughing at his jab, but your chuckle caught a second too late, his eyes finding you instantly, drinking up our laughter with his hungry gaze.

In accordance to his request, the room fell quiet enough to let Jimin finish his tea, the crackling of the fire and the security being in a room full of otherworldly beings who appeared (for at least tonight) to have your best interests in mind only increasing the speed in which you melted into the couch.

“Here we are~” Jimin’s voice startled you back to life, jumping to his feet to precariously place his cup on the coffee table. “Now if we just…” Jimin surveyed the room, eyes pacing between you and Wes. “Perhaps the cat would work. But If Y/n wouldn’t mind-”

“Absolutely not,” Hoseok was on his feet next, hovering far too close to Jimin. “I am sure reading my tea leaves is not forbidden.”

“With the question I brewed it with–yes, it is.”

“I am sure I can handle whatever it is you need assistance with,” you shook the sleep from your eyes. “If it will help you, I will do it.” You didn’t dare look at Hoseok. “I owe you for saving me.”

Jimin clapped his hands together. “Perfect! Come here,” He beckoned you over with his hands, guiding you onto the floor before the cup. “Now I just need you to close your eyes and hold the cup. I will read it.”

“Should I think of anything in particular?”

“There is no need, I already asked the question for you.”

Hoseok grunted, displeased. “Of course you have.”

Jimin smiled up to him, sweet enough to give anyone in a ten mile radius a terrible stomach ache. “It is almost like I knew who I was going to ask, and who was going to say yes.”

“Meddling imp.” Hoseok hissed down at him.

“Cantankerous thief.”

“I am trying to think,” You scolded the two of them. “If you would please…”

Hoseok huffed, dropping unceremoniously back into his chair. Jimin placed his palms over where yours cupped the mug, staring down into the mouth of it with a sudden intensity that startled you.

“Close your eyes,” He ordered, “Whatever I say from here on out, take it as you will. Only Y/n may ask me for clarifying questions.”

You did as you were told, eyes falling closed, fighting to keep the memories of your eventful evening at bay and out of the way.

“I see…” Jimin’s voice layered over itself, a haunting flow of many voiced weaved into one, so powerful it made your teeth buzz and your breath catch. “Two women. One vengeful and bitter. A reality twisted. A traitor. The other wild and untamed, a collision of forces. Struck match meeting slick oil. A chain wound tight, a chain broken. A chess board with no order, colors traded for the other…” He trailed off, syllable slipping from quivering lips. “Another has come, stiff a rigid. A pen to paper, a flick of the wrist. A departure most important.”

Hoseok crouched behind you, breath fanning over the shell of your ear as he whispered into it. You kicked yourself for squirming in your seat.

“Ask him of the departure.”

“And…” You swallowed down the shakiness from your voice. “And what of the departure?”

“A mortal. A trade. An ending and a beginning.”

Hoseok’s whisper grew more urgent. “Is it you?”

“Is it me?” You parroted him instantly.

A pause.

“Not yet.”

Hoseok’s sigh roared in your ear, chest coming so close to your back it almost touched. “The chess board. Ask him.”

You floundered over your words for a moment, flustered.

“Today if possible.” Hoseok chided, tutting down at you softly.

“A-And what of the chess board?”

“A fight for freedom.”

Yoongi piped in next, tone bordering desperate. “A baby–please, ask him if he can see a baby.”

“A child–a baby–do you see them?”

Jimin clicked his tongue, voice started to dip back into is normal one. “I did not drink with that in mind” He dragged out the last word like he was singing, “That would have been useful information had it been shared... ”

“Do not act like you did not already know,” Yoongi grew more frustrated, that same overwhelming energy from your father’s service returning, except this time your body was too weak to handle it all.

Your hands started to shake, exhaustion crashing over you harder than before. Your head swayed, arms growing tired of holding onto the cup, body teetering to the left.

“Enough,” Hoseok stole the cup from your hands, your eyes fluttering open to meet Jimin’s.

“Did I do a good enough job?” You asked him, words beginning to slur together.

Jimin pat your cheek lovingly. “More than enough, thank you.”

It took everything in you to not let yourself lean back onto Hoseok and succumb the droop of your lids, his warmth so tempting and familiar. But every time you thought of doing so, you remembered your argument in the alley, the pain, the betrayal, the despair–and now here he was–trying to stake claim over you once more with whispered words and ghostly touches. Offering you nothing in exchange for everything.

You stood, pushing yourself away from him.

“I am tired.” Your voice cracked as you tracked over to the stairs, the path now second nature. “Goodnight to you all, and thank you again for tonight.”

“Of course,” Jimin bowed slightly. “We have time to discuss more of this later, that I am sure of. Please, rest. We will be back when we need to be.”

You nodded to each of them except for Hoseok, his face far too painful to look at. “I will be waiting.”

_________________________________________ 

Your dreams were clouded with smoke and soot. Stalked by flames with hungry laving tongues and howling cries, preaching of your demise and worshiping your bones that they sucked clean of flesh. Swallowing all of you.

Waking with a scream that wouldn’t stop, a heat that wouldn’t leave, you stumbled blindly from the guest room in search of the bathroom, resisting the nagging thought of crawling to Hoseok’s door and begging him to let you in–to let you be naive and oblivious for one more night.

Finding the little tab for the bathroom lamp, you twisted it on, fingers slippery from sweat. One look at yourself in the mirror brought forth a pitiful sob that you caught in your fist. You couldn’t recognize yourself anymore.

The self-sufficient, hardworking, strong person you had fought so hard to be nowhere to be found. All you saw was someone broken and lost, in a bathroom they shouldn’t be in.

You peeled off your clothes at lighting speed, tossing them off like they were what seared your skin. Yanking on the faucet to run as cold as it possibly could, you stepped under the flow, muscles contracting and gasping for air from the shocking temperature change.

The sweat was washed away, but the ache stayed. Only exasperated by the cold that chilled you to the bone. You just wanted rest. You wanted to feel whole again. To have something special that was only yours.

You wanted him.

Wanted him so badly it hurt.

Because while he was anyone’s god, he was yours. A secret you kept. A connection others could only dream of.

You screamed again, bringing your fists down on the tiled wall until the cut reopened, and the edges of your palm bruised. Sliding down to fold into yourself at the bottom of the tub, you hugged your knees to your chest, the cold starting to hurt. Your shoulders shook, the first prayer you had said since wriggling free in a way that was far too easier than it should be.

“Where are you?”

You waited.

A footstep beyond the door. A creak of the floorboards under his weight. His hand curled around the knob.

The door swinging open.

There was no embarrassment to be found when he looked down at you, dressed in fanciful robes that covered almost every inch of his skin–you shivering and naked on the floor of his bath.

“Fix it.” Your teeth chattered, eyes narrowed on him. “Please.”

He looped his arms under yours, helping you to your feet with little care for his soiled clothes; wrapped you in one of his towels that was too luxurious for its own good, walked you back to his room, one hand holding the door open, the other ushering you in. Fixing it like he always did.

Wes circled your feet in small figure eights, like he had been waiting for you to join him again.

You didn’t bother with clothes. Curling up on his silk sheets with your towel held closed with clenched fists felt much better. Less permanent. A visit with no commitment to stay.

He took his time to peel off the layers of beads and draped cloth, each movement controlled and methodical.

Ritualistic.

“Is that purposeful?” Your question sounded small in your own ears.

Hoseok didn’t need you to clarify, he had probably heard the thoughts you sent his way. “It is.”

“How so?”

He sighed. “I put them on and remove them in a specific order. Those that have worshiped me the longest go on first and are the last to be removed.”

“And the robes?”

“An end and a beginning,” He recited, unraveling the sash around his waist. “Grief.” He tugged off the criss-crossed vest-like piece over his chest. “Hope to hold on to.” A second belt, a woven rope of gold and black that held the satchel upon it. “The unknown.” His hood slipped of his shoulders.

He turned, hands closing and opening, gloves still on. “To give and to take. Mercy and condemnation.”

It was then that you noticed the leather was singed, charred around the fingertips and the base of his wrist.

You sat up, brows furrowed and hands outstretched. “May I see them?”

For a moment he didn’t move. A timid tread across the carpet to stand in front of you, hands splayed out for you to inspect.

Your brain switched from wallowing to work in seconds, sizing up the damage, surveying the stitches, stilling over the embroidered lettering along the bottom. For Eternity, R.H.

Swallowing down sympathy you didn’t want to give him, you spoke. “I can fix these, if you’d let me.”

He recoiled. “I do not need them-”

“They are broken and tattered because of me. I may still want to rip my own eyes out of my skull when I see you, but am not heartless. I know how important these are to you.” You grabbed his wrist, stopping his retreat. “I have worked with leather before. I can do it.”

His eyes closed. A shaky exhale through parted lips. “Okay.”

“Okay,” You whispered, pinching the tip of his gloves and gliding it down, exposing the healed skin beneath it. “I will take good care of them, I promise.” Freezing mid movement, you fell back on to the bed, another wave of grief crashing over you just when you thought you had felt it all. “My tools…”

“I will get you new ones,” Hoseok answered softly.

You glared up at him. “No you will not.”

“Then I will give you the money and you can go purchase them yourself.”

“No. I don’t want that either.”

The two of you were at a standstill, jaws clenched and eyes narrowed.

“It is no problem-”

“I don’t care about how much it costs, or how much of a problem it is.” You cut him off. “I care about why.”

“You know why.”

“I do. That is the problem.”

Hoseok ran his hands through his hair, falling besides you on the bed with his head in his hands. “No. You do not.”

“Please do not treat me like I’m stupid. I already know. Saprorro told me-”

“Saprorro is not under any circumstances to be trusted.” He groaned into his palms. “She is not a victim. She is not a woman scorned. She is a god that clawed her way into divinity through sheer will power. I warned her what her life would look like. That there was no telling what her dominion would be, especially with the mind she had.”

You grit your teeth. “And you let her suffer for it? Spent up her worship and left her dry?”

“Everyone suffers!” He exploded, huffing to his feet. “I am death. I can not save everyone that just because they have asked. I have reaped the souls of innocent children slain by their fathers and mothers. Waded through churning seas to heave the dead from sunken ships, bodies crushed by pressure and shredded by predators. Newborns with only minutes of life lived. Old women with no wits about them, a shell of who they once were, their lives forgotten by those around them who couldn’t care enough to listen. Victims of violence and hatred.”

He was pacing now, growing more volatile by the second. “And she was no exception! She was sick, but she wanted power, not life. She craved a control I couldn’t give her. It is not just my choice to make when a soul gets venerated. Every god in Kalios must agree to it. It is never to be taken lightly. Never to be given freely.

She stopped worshiping me when I wasn’t going to give her the power she wanted. Her perseverance was admiral, if even aggravating at times, and I gave her a chance. We can not venerate a living soul. They must be on the verge of death, finished with their mortal life before stepping into the next. I wasn’t making her suffer because I wanted to, that is how things work.” His steps halted in place with a shuddering groan. “Do you think if it had been up to me, that he wouldn’t be here with us, right now?” You followed the direction his finger pointed, the tall dresser where Rey’s treseyn was kept on its stand.

You soaked in his words, turning each one over like stones by a brook, looking for cracks or inconsistencies with what you had learned from your book. “But what of your debts? You have not denied those.”

“They are mute.” He waved away your question with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Not to me they aren’t,” You shook your head with indignation. “Not when you had hated me so. Not when you used me.”

“I have done many things, but I have never used you,” He pointed an accusation finger your way. “Never.”

“Then why will you not just tell me what is going on? What it all means?”

“Because I am scared!” His voice boomed over the room, his mask finally falling off in jagged pieces, leaving the mess of a man it had once shrouded. Eyes glistening, uncertain. Frightened.

You scoffed in disbelief. “Of what?”

“Of you!” He seethed, anger rolling of him in shaking waves. "I hated the idea of having to make room for you. Every time I looked at you I knew I was doomed; my hands tied between loving you and loving him. I waited. I watched. I hunted for anything that would give me the excuse to despise you. But you never gave me one.” He fell to his knees at your feet, collapsing in on himself, hands grasping for your knees.

“You-you taught me that there is space for more. You never once asked me to throw him away for your sake. Instead, you hung his memory in your home. Worshipped him. Loved him as I do. And when I handed you to him after we danced, you spoke to him in ways I couldn't–held him like he was sacred. " Hoseok's breathing was ragged, each breath scraping the lining of his throat as it entered his mouth. His hand came up to grip at the back of your head, bringing your foreheads to bump together. 

"No matter how hard I have tried to fight it–how violently I shove you away; I can't seem to stop myself from coming back to you. My responsibilities? Have only been to you. Every day spent at your shop, every candle I came to, and every prayer I answered–was because it was your lips the request had fallen from, not some… some transaction!" The word fell like poison from his tongue, a vile condemnation for the word. "I have let the debts I owe you grow to insurmountable heights, because after the second night I had to watch you stumble home drunk, I had realized that if given the choice, I would follow you to the ends of the earth if it meant keeping you by my side. Let this debt form a mountain over my shoulders to have a reason to be near you. And it terrified me. Horrified me in ways I can’t explain with words as to what it would mean to have something so beautiful again when I know how it ends. I know how it always ends.” His eyes were blossoming with unshed tears, a few falling so thick they skipped his cheek and landed straight on your thighs.

“Even here with you now, I can feel the heart I don't need, beating like it might fail me-"  

He grabbed your hand and guided it to rest over his chest, letting the erratic beat of his heart vibrate your palm, "-so tell me now: tell me now what you want from me. If you want me to leave you forever than I have no choice but to obey your command. But if you have any ounce of mercy left in you to offer me, you will let me stay. Use me. Hate me. Let me be whatever it is you need. A friend, a foe, a..." his voice cracked "A lover. Live your life as you wish, but please–I beg of you–just let me be in it." 

Tears brimmed your eyes, your labored breath mingling with his, and you ran your tongue over your chapped lips as you fought to speak. 

"This debt," you began shakily, "What would happen if I renounce it? If I ask you to forget it entirely?"

Hoseok looked pained, brows furrowed and jaw tight. "It would disappear."

Taking in a slow, haggard breath; you spoke. " then I hereby free you from your debts. It is my wish for you to owe me nothing.”

His shoulders sagged, a sigh worth a hundred pounds leaking from his body "It is done then."

"And what do you owe me now?"

His response was slow. "Nothing."

"Good. For I have something I want to ask of you," you responded, letting your words hang suspended between you. Lifting your other hand from your lap, you brought it up to slide over the side up his face, holding it still. "Kiss me."

There was no hesitation this time, a sudden surge forward, lips molding together like they were meant to. Hands traveling down his throat, coasting over his chest and dipping beneath the collar, his body reacting so readily to your touch. Muscles constricting, mouth desperate and hungry.

He crawled up from the floor, pressing you back onto the bed and hovering over you, as low as he could without laying all of his weight on your body. Your hands free to roam over his shoulders, his arms, his stomach, the sliver of exposed skin above his hips. His gasps were short, a testament to his sensitivity for you, bending and pressing to every touch you gave him.

Your towel was gone before you had realized, his mouth dragging reluctantly from your mouth to its next place of worship, one of your nipples sucked in between swollen lips. You sighed, carting through his hair with tender care, back arching into him not fore more, but for what was. Him. His closeness. His body. Everything given to you so eagerly.

Clothes didn’t last long; pants half off the bed, shirt caught on the corner of his nightstand, towel laid out beneath your hips to catch what was to come.

This wasn’t sex. This wasn’t a give and take.

This was surrendering.

No more running. No more fighting. Breaths of relief swallowed up by starved adoration. A need for one another to be. Where you went he did, your head thrown back with a cry was chased by a kiss and a swipe of his tongue down the column of your throat. When you sighed, he moaned, low and proud.

Your hips met each other’s in unhurried rolls. Stalling. Dragging on how long you could partake in the fullness of being one. The bliss of freedom.

He came first, biting into the meat of your shoulder, brows furrowed and eyes squeezed shut; your touch cascading down his back, trailing kisses and whispers of praise into the damp skin. But he made up for it, thumb pressed down on your tongue to keep your gaze on him, index finger slick with his own spit, writing letters in the shape of his name over your clit while still inside of you until your eyes rolled back, coming undone below him as he thanked you for it.

And there was not a sliver of doubt in your mind when he peppered your cheeks with kisses, floating down your stomach and taking you in his mouth that when he finished with you, he would still be there. That when you woke the next morning he would be near, arm thrown over your waist or thumb caressing your cheek, rousing you for a breakfast he prepared.

That when tomorrow comes he will help you carve your own path forward, build a new store all your own and ask you about it over a dinner he served, Wes wound about his shins and begging for more.

It wasn’t clear. It wasn’t perfect. But it was yours.

And you would defend it to the death.

_________________________________________ 

Epilogue

Fall blew in with blustering winds and crisp leaves, the city streets overwhelmed with totems of bone and arches of flowers, carried by the mile long parade that swept through the streets from dawn until dusk. Tents of all colors propped up, doors held open for anyone who dared enter and ask of their own fate.

Of course they were there–picket signs held high and mouths foaming with hatred–but people were changing.

A god had shown himself in these streets, unfettered and bright, holy and terrifying; defending his city and his people against the violence of outsiders. An inarguable sighting previously unheard of in recent centuries. Sending a message so clear you would have to have your eyes closed and your ears covered to miss it: the gods were here, and they were listening.

Crops were overflowing. Winds cried. Trees bent and curved with warning snarls and distant hummed melodies. Seas thrashed with violent storms. Stars fell and crashed to earth. The earth humming with unrest and foreboding, a prayer to rest for what was to come.

Because they were coming.

And the people were ready to greet them, heads held high, unabashed and unafraid in their devotion, sneering at their new enemies with skull wrapped faces and bear pelt hoods.

You sat with them, grinning from ear to ear, tossing hoards of handmade jewelry and dried flowers from Hoseok’s garden’s on the hill down onto those passing by, their arms held up in earnest to take it from you. A champion. A fighter. A symbol of rebellion and community. Living evidence that devotion and determination mean something.

The shop had been rebuilt, not just with the help of Hoseok–but of them. Your neighbors. Lucille and the other bakers down the street. Taehyung. Your father’s friends from across the seas. The dancers you had met at the Doeidyads. Strangers who worshiped Abyios, come to offer their labor for free. Masks of cloth tied around their faces and skirts and boots drawn high to trump through the remains, ripping down her old bones and laying down the foundation for her new ones; taller then before, and stretched wider to accommodate the growing demand and your festering ideas.

You tossed another set of beads from the balcony of Treseyna’s vale, letting it catch on the horns of a ram’s head of an elderly man who stopped to wink at you, and then another into the hands of small girl carried on the hip of one off her father’s, her gleeful giggles still heard as they waded through the parade.

Hoards of cloaked figures watched them pass by; a sea of red, black, and white churning with excitement to catch a glimpse of Abyios, said to wander these very streets.

Too bad for them, for they were looking in the wrong spot.

But luckily for you, you knew exactly where to find him.

With your baskets empty, you retired from the celebration, walking the back alley’s and climbing the hill to your home–not without making a pit stop of course–your last set tangled around the handle of your father’s vault, and a thin threaded rope of black and gold tucked into your pocket. This little thread had been carried to you from a nearby small village where someone special was said to have been born, dropped in your basked in a hushed alley. A secret.

A gift.

Shoving open the door, Wes greeted you as per usual, trailed after by a kitten no longer than the length of your hand whom Hoseok had spotted digging through a pile of empty butcher crates behind his shop a few weeks prior, his name still argued about over shared desserts at the tavern and spilled drinks.

You were insistent on Chuck. Hoseok hated it.

“Hello you two,” you cooed softly, attempting to scoop both up into your arms but Wes had little interest in submitting. You pouted. Well at least you had Chuck.

Chuck let you cart him around in your arms, but he was more content when snuggled into a deep sleep on your lap while you worked, peaceful and laid-back. The exact opposite of how you felt, rushing to finish what you were up to before he came home. The sun was setting low, the rays of sun glowing gold and slanted when you stood to beam at your work. Signaling that it was time to set everything up.

You laid out eight burgundy place mats, dotting them with golden plates and matching silverware. Drowned the table with floral arrangements and beads you yourself had tried to string with the help of an older woman from Cheym who had come to visit your shop–and while a bit messy and uneven, you knew he wouldn’t mind. Your mental checklist was almost complete: set the table? Check. Incense lit in every room? Finished with spares at the ready. Setting up a plate for Rey?

Oops.

You all but ran to the kitchen, snatching up the extra plate and dashing back to the altar in the living room just in time to see Hoseok standing over it, palm rubbing over the snout of Rey’s bony nose pensively.

“Saint Hickory and Oak!” You cursed, stamping one of your feet. “I was sure I had timed everything perfectly.”

Hoseok hummed, his disapproval feigned. “I suppose you need to get better at counting.”

Settling the plate in the center of the altar you sidled between him and the table, linking your arms around his waist. “And I think you should get better at using doors.”

The edges of his mouth quirked upwards. “I have no need for them.”

“Right,” You rolled your eyes. “My apologies, oh holy one. I forgot you were too magnificent for something so mundane as doors.”

His sarcastic quip died on his tongue, eyes pouring over something over your shoulder. “What is this?”

You panicked, snatching up the gift from the tables edge and hiding it behind your back. “It is nothing.”

“Nothing?” Hoseok probed further. “Then why must you hide it?”

“Because it isn’t time to give it to you yet. Can you not let me have one surprise?”

He deadpanned. “No.”

You relented with a sigh, pulling your hands out in front of you to display the fruits of your labor. “Happy Birthday…?”

His gloves sat in your hands, a beautiful swirl of dual toned leather that you had hand woven, using the scraps of salvageable fabric from his old set. The rope you had gotten your hands on today threaded through the wrist opening just like you had seen from you dream.

You swallowed audibly, growing nervous in the presence of his silence. “There was no possible way to keep them an exact replica, but this leather here-” you pointed to the darker shade, “-is the original fabric. And this is one I had Jungkook help me select. I went for a nice warm brown to even out the dark and tie in the ribbon. And this…” You flipped them over, running your index finger over the embroidered lettering. “Is the exact same. It took me a while, but I was able to cut around the edges and sew it in the same spot. It is still the original thread sewn by the original artist. I just moved it…..”

Hoseok hadn’t breathed once through your anxious explanation.

Your fear became palpable. Had you gone too far? Had you made the wrong decision?

“If you hate it, I can try and undo-”

Hoseok cut you off by slotting his mouth over yours, hands running over your waist to pull you closer to him, gloves dropped back on the altar.

“They are perfect,” he whispered, pecking at the corner of your mouth. “Thank you.”

“They are scheduled to be blessed this evening,” You rubbed your noses together, smiling with relief. “A certain witch who is coming over for dinner tonight agreed to make them fire proof. Just in case.”

“Wonderful,” He grunted, leaning back enough to pick up one of the gloves by the string, shaking it for emphasis. “Now how on earth did you find out about this?”

“A dream,” You answered.

“Of course you did,” Hoseok’s tone flattened.

“Hey! Jimin was very helpful with this whole surprise. Set up plenty of distractions for you when I needed more time.” You giggled, brushing the hair from his forehead while he looked at you dubiously.

“Did these distractions involve small creatures gnawing at my leftovers after a particularly grueling shift, or was that simply a coincidence?”

You pursed your lips. “Would you believe me if I said Chuck-”

“-Short flank.” He corrected.

“-if I said Chuck…” You ignored his interruption, emphasizing his proper name, “Was a coincidence?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then you know me too well.” You kissed him again, tilting your head to deepen it, letting yourself be pressed against the wall nearby. His hands didn’t get very far, interrupted by a gentle knock on the door.

You broke free to catch your breath, lovingly bumping your forehead to his in warning when he tried to chase after you.

“There are guests at the door”

“It is my birthday, let them wait.” Hoseok shrugged, diving back in to capture your lips.

“Oh no!” You ducked out from under him, dashing to the archway between the living room and the foyer “I slipped.”

Hoseok sighed, a real smile taking up his features–a sight that was still quite rare and rather small, was growing increasingly frequent. “You are well aware that I don’t need doors. I need not even walk. Wherever you run I will catch you.”

“You need doors though,” You cocked your head innocently to the side. “For without the one behind me, would I be able to do this?” You hooked a finger around the waist band of your skirts and tugged it down revealing nothing beneath it, letting the sight before him shock him still. The guests knocked again, more persistent this time.

Hoseok narrowed his eyes in on the exposed skin. “It is my birthday.”

“And it will be your birthday until midnight.” You chirped, situating your bottoms in place and taking the last few steps to the door, pulling it open with the widest grin on your face. “Happy Abyiosia!”

You took Taehyung in your arms first, then Lucille, guiding them both past a still malfunctioning Hoseok into the kitchen to drop off the wine they had brought (Taehyung’s procured from who knows where). Jungkook arrived shortly after, a small gift box tucked under his arm and a basket of freshly picked grapes slung over his forearm, patting Hoseok hard enough on the back t knock the air from his lungs.

Yoongi and his wife took their time, but that was to be expected when she was so heavily pregnant, assuring her a hundred times you didn’t mind waiting. You never minded waiting.

The only person that had yet to arrive was Jimin.

And Jimin was never late.

You kept your nerves in check, doing your best to distract yourself by keeping the glasses full and the incense burning. But when an hour ticked by and he had yet to arrive, everyone in the room could feel it.

Something was wrong.

You were mid exchange with the sweet witch, her eyes all aglow while explaining just how she made that tincture to you when Hoseok asserted himself into the room from his place by the door, countenance serious.

“There is work that needs to be done. And I think it best you come with me.”

_________________________________________ 

Most of your guests understood, Jungkook immediately taking control of the room and leading the group to the living room to play a some sort of game with rounded tear drop shaped pieces on what looked to be a chess board, but the colors were different. You were grateful for how understanding everyone was. Because you were terrified of what was to come.

Hoseok walked, wordless and concentrated on the road ahead, hands in his pockets to hide his gloves. Your arm had looped itself through his elbow at one point or another, both to ground yourself and fend off the chill of the night air.

The stars above shined a bit too bright, their sizes too different–some massive, inspiring the kind of awe of the universe that both terrified and excited you, others small and wispy, barely visible next to their counterparts.

You had no idea where you were going, but you had a feeling it had something to do with why Jimin was late.

The edge of town was littered with more trees, the spindly finish line bidding farewell to empty streets and brick homes, saying hello to thick forests and rolling hills, winding trails leading off into the west woods of the Fenlands.

Taking a sharp right turn down a dirt trail, you stepped through a canopy of trees out into an open clearing, a carpet of dirt leading you down towards the rickety porch of a deserted home.

Your heart stopped.

An elderly couple swayed together out in the grass, the man doing most of the heavy lifting, the woman’s body too frail to hold itself upright. Beneath the stars, they looked picture perfect; an ideal love of ages that outlives old bones and changing faces.

Hoseok held his hand out for you to stop. To wait. And suddenly he was dressed for the occasion, gloves tied tight on his wrists, beads on and robes thick and heavy, pulled over his face to hide in the cavernous darkness.

They swayed still, slowing to a stop. Words shared you couldn’t hear. A kiss you couldn’t see.

Then the man lowered her to the ground, helping her lay on her back to look up at the sky, following after her with his ear pressed to her chest.

Hoseok moved.

A slow pad of feet on damp earth.

You followed, your footsteps much louder.

Hoseok knelt by their side, hand over the woman’s chest.

She was gone when her soul floated up into his hand, a vibrant lavender that pulsed like a supernova. You came to her side, hand caressing down her pillowy cheek, catching the lone tear that had slipped from her lash line.

The man was inconsolable. Face contorted with anguish, leaving puddles on her shoulder.

Then he too left.

But he did not die.

His wrinkles waved and melted down, smoothing his forehead and plumping his sunken cheeks. His lips thickened, his hair grew longer and of a shinier silver.

Jimin had never looked so defeated.

He clung to her, words a weeping croak. “I couldn’t stop it.”

“I know,” You soothed a hand over his forehead, brushing the loose strands from his nose that had begun to run. Sharing a knowing look with Hoseok, you grabbed for the woman’s other hand, holding it gingerly. “We will take care of it. I promise you.”

“No, you don’t understand!” He grasped at your wrist, clutching so tightly it stung. “I couldn’t stop it. It never mattered. No matter what I did–I never would have been able to stop it."

"I was always destined to fail.”

_________________________________________ 

_________________________________________ 

Want more?

In reality, Hoseok was still insufferable, but being near him no longer made you want to rip your ears off the side of your head within the first few minutes, so there was definitely some improvement in that regard. Perhaps Jimin’s countless attempts to drag you both to the tavern were to blame.

That wasn’t to say the two of you didn’t butt heads, him with his infuriating badgering, and you with your polite yet stubborn nature, it just didn’t ruin your day like it used to.

And there was no way it could ruin today.

Hoseok had already promised that you could leave early for the day to celebrate Vantymi’s day of Peace with your father and Lucille, something you had to rip from him after weeks of pestering. The plans were already set: the three of you, a large cut of meat you and Lucille had split the cost of roasting in your oven since the early morning, and a bottle of sweet wine given to you as a gift from Jimin. And you couldn’t wait.

Business was slow, most of the town off playing games in the streets or doting over the preparations for their evening feasts. Hoseok was gone in the back again doing who knows what, leaving you to your own devices until the hour you could excuse yourself. You were sat on the counter with your legs dangling low, a book on the myths propped open on your thighs (another one of Jimin’s many gifts). You had your ears trained for any sign of Hoseok’s entry, knowing full well that if he found you in your current position, he might combust on the spot.

The bell above the door rang, and you greeted your guest with a wide grin. “Taehyung! What a pleasant surprise.”

“And a surprise I bring~” Taehyung held his arms out wide in a dramatically low bow, holding up the newspaper for you to take like it was a crown jewel.

You swung your legs to the other side of the counter, stretching down to grab it from him with a laugh that died at the headline. “MISSING MAN FOUND DEAD IN HIS HOME AFTER THREE MONTHS”. The name splattered through the article was one that made you sick to your stomach. Arthur Lee.

“How did he…” You flipped to the next page, breezing through the lines. “How did he pass?”

Taehyung grew all the more impish, stuffing both hands in his pockets with a coy shrug. “Who knows. Rumor has it that his skin was covered in seared lesions like he had been burned. They found his...what do they call it again…his bibble open next to him, completely untouched.”

“Really?” You murmured, running your finger over the page. “Did it say anything of interest?”

Taehyung hummed, snatching the paper back from your hands and skimming the third page, creasing down the middle and sounding out a words strange to your ears. “Levi...Lev-ee-ti-kiss. Something about fire. Those protesters are whispering that it was a punishment from their god. I guess the chapter left behind meant something to them.”

“Strange,” You tutted, struggling to find an ounce of sympathy for him.

“How poetic, on your day of peace,” Taehyung joked, hoisting himself up to sit besides you on the counter and pulling out a small folded satchel tied together by twine. Upon unraveling the thread, he revealed a block of soft cheese, already sliced and ready to eat. “I bought this to celebrate.”

“I do not know the moral implications of celebrating someone’s death with cheese.” Placing the paper down on your other side, you eyed him dubiously. “ And this is good cheese, Taehyung. Did you buy it, or did you acquire it by other means?”

“Does it matter?” He asked, popping a slice in his mouth and groaning at the flavor. “Oh yeah, the flavor is definitely enhanced by the celebration of a rather deserved death.”

You shook your head at his antics, grabbing the slice he offered you and chewing it slowly, savoring the taste. “I hate to say it, but you’re right.”

“Always am,” he winked at you, placing another piece in your hand and holding his own up in the air. “To a Day of Peace.”

“To a Day of Peace,” You giggled, tapping your piece of cheese against his and dropping it on your tongue.

“What do the two of you think you are doing?” Hoseok demanded from behind, the doors to the abattoir swinging shut behind him.

You cursed, jumping down from the counter and dusting off the back of your skirts. “Taehyung had just stopped in to visit, that is all.”

“I can clearly see that,” Hoseok narrowed his eyes at the younger man that slipped down form the counter, looking like he wanted to melt into the floor. “I am more interested in why the two of you were sitting on my counters. I process food on those.”

“We were…I was…” You felt heat rush to your cheeks, and unable to find a believable excuse you resigned yourself to your fate with a bowed head, already moving around him to the storage closet. “I will clean them again.”

“A miracle is upon us this day,” Hoseok’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “You have finally developed some self awareness.”

You kept any comments tucked behind your teeth, being sure to wipe the counters twice just to appease him. He was already letting you go home early, and you didn’t want to give him any reason to back out of the offer. Giving Taehyung an apologetic look, you tossed the used rags on a heap behind the counter and propped your elbows on its surface, stifling a yawn with your palm.

“Actually sir,” Taehyung piped up from the other side of the counter, wringing his hands in front of him and ignoring your warning look. “I came to ask for Y/n’s assistance, and I was hoping you would be so kind as to let her take an early leave.”

Hoseok opened the register, scanning its contents. “She has already been granted an early leave-” he glanced at the clock, “-in two hours.”

“What would two more hours off do? I have not seen a single soul venture up this hill all day.” Taehyung tried again, wearing a smile to hid the shake in his voice.

Hoseok stopped, bringing his gaze up to Taehyung in a slow drag. “Are you the one behind the counter?”

“No sir,” Taehyung replied quickly.

“Then what are you to know about what is good for this place,” Hoseok started to sort through the coins in the register, organizing them into like piles.

Swallowing down your apprehension, you dared join in the discussion. “Well it would save you money, would it not? There hasn’t been a single customer all morning, and I am doubtful any will show at all. You are just spending money to keep me here without reaping any reward.”

Hoseok sighed, resting his hands on the counter. “Are the two of you always this nettlesome? I should ban him from my shop if he is always going to be such a bad influence on my employees.” He snapped the register closed, folding his arms over his chest to look at the two of you. His attention was stolen for a moment by the paper you had discarded, skimming over the headlines and running his tongue over his lower lip in thought. A ghost of a smile curled at the edge of his lips. “Well if you insist, I suppose it would be a loss to keep you here if it truly has been that slow.”

You had to use your hand to stop your jaw from dropping, meeting Taehyung’s bewildered expression with your own.

Hoseok pointed a finger at you in warning. “But I want to see you here all the earlier tomorrow. No excuses.”

“That is no problem si-” -He glared at you “-no problem...Hoseok. I will be here, I promise.” You threw off your apron and tucked your unfinished book beneath the counter for later use, every inch of you buzzing with excitement.

“Just get out of here before I change my mind.”

He didn’t have to tell you twice, taking Taehyung’s hand and scuttling down the path into town, leaving the dull shop air behind for lively streets, the two of you giggling like school children all the way back to his workshop. He kept your hands busy sanding the bars to a highchair and your heart full with laughter up until you were due back home. You couldn’t thank him enough for his part in getting you out of there even early than you had anticipated, for you were practically floating on your walk home, riding the high of your escape and the glee of getting to walk through the celebrations; some more religiously sound than others, but everyone of them made with the purpose to share in the joy. To celebrate unity, and whatever else each home looked to as the most important part of the day.

When you arrived outside your door, there was someone already encroaching upon it from the opposite side, their expression cloudy and unreadable as they lugged a box in their hands to your door.

“Hoseok?” you called out for him, slowing your gait as the distance closed.

When he looked up from his shoes, a range of emotion passed over his features: startled, almost frightened, before slipping on his usual display that told everyone around him that they were nothing but a nuisance by the set of his brow and the curl of his lip.

“What are you-”

“You forgot this,” He cut you off, loading the box into your arms before you could prepare for its weight.

You furrowed your brow upon examining it, unsure what he meant. “This can’t be right. I already took home my cut yesterday?”

Hoseok looked irritated, as though you were the reason for the mix up. “That isn’t possible. This is your order. It has your name on it.”

“I understand that, but my order is currently stewing in a bed of potatoes, sir.” You were poking the bear with your response, and you knew it.

He tilted his head like he hadn’t heard you correctly, squinting at you. “I thought I told you not to-”

“Y/n?” Your front door opened, and Lucille popped her head through the gap, wide eyes scanning both you and your…acquaintance. “Oh dear, how nice of you to join us!”

Hoseok looked like a deer caught in the cross roads, stiff as a board and just as lifeless.

“Lucille, Hoseok was just dropping by to discuss something about my shift tomorrow.” You rushed in to cover up the argument, putting trust in someone you had no business doing so with to follow suite. “He really should be going.”

“Nonsense,” Lucille beamed at him, taking the box from your hands and bumping the door open wider with his hip. “I’m sure your father would just love to have him for dinner.”

“Have who over for dinner?” Your father’s voice inquired from within the kitchen.

Lucille hollered back, “Hoseok! He is at our door–and he brought us a gift! Can you believe that?”

It would have been a more welcome experience if the ground were to open up and drag you into the pits of the underworld right about now instead of leaving you stranded and floundering for another excuse. If your dad got a hold of Hoseok thinking he was this kind and misunderstood hermit from the hill, that reality would be shattered in seconds, forcing you to come clean about the realities of your day to day–crushing him.

In a moment of panic, you grabbed onto Hoseok’s arm and tugged on it, making him look at you with wide eyes as you whispered “Say no!”

Before Hoseok could shut down Lucille’s offer, your father hobbled into the doorway, smiling brightly with a hand held out for him to shake. “It would be a great honor to serve you, if you’d let me.”

Hoseok’s eye twitched. He stared down at your father’s hand like it personally offended him. Then he turned that look to you, swallowing thickly and shaking his head once, a subtle movement only you were able to see, mouthing out words that made you more confused than before.

I can’t.

He grasped your fathers hand, giving it a firm shake that matched the quiver in his voice that only you would notice, because you heard his voice every day in all of its many forms: harsh, bitter scrapes of tongue against teeth. But right now he looked like he did on the day you had met Jimin, eyes just a bit too wide like a cornered animal.

Like he was scared.

“The pleasure would be all mine.” Hoseok was full of surprises today.

From the moment he shook your father’s hand it was like someone else had taken over his body and paraded him around your living room wearing his smile–a smile of all things–in your kitchen. This must be how it felt to see a ghost or witness some divine specter, because you were absolutely besides yourself at his change in behavior, your jaw dropping every few minutes.

When your father made a joke, he laughed.

When Lucille tried to carry the trays of food to the table, he brushed her hands aside and did it for her.

He wasn’t some overly joyous guest by any means, but he was...pleasant. Which meant to you he might as well be screaming at the top of his lungs and standing on the table it was so absurd.

The only time you saw his character break was when he hesitated to take up the seat next to you at the cramped table, but again, there was no venom in the way he looked at you. It would have been more comforting if there was. No, he looked at you like he was begging you to say something. Pleading with you to say anything–but you hadn’t the slightest idea what it was.

Having him look at you like that made bile rise to the back of your throat. He should be angry–furious even–for wasting his time prattling on about weather and customer etiquette with Lucille. Not looking at you like you held some key in the palm of your hand that you dangled in front of him. You had quite literally told him to say no. What else did he want you do to? Ruin potentially your father’s last Day of Peace celebration by exposing his crude ways?

“Has Y/n been causing you much trouble at the shop?” Your father directed his question to Hoseok as he lowered himself into his chair slowly, having spent to much of his energy carving the roast and serving it to each person.

“Dad,” You groaned, pressing the heel of your palm to your forehead.

“It is a fair question,” The older man defended himself with a chuckle. “You run this place like a tornado runs through the valley. I’m sure there was an adjustment period.”

You sank in your seat, heat flooding your face and neck in embarrassment. “There was not! I can be neat when that is what is expected of me!” Shoving a forkful of whatever was closest to your mouth on the plate, you effectively escaped the conversation.

“She does great work,” Hoseok remarked like it was a normal thing for him to say, “I am not one to hire just anyone unless I am certain they can uphold the standard with which I run my shop.”

You inhaled a chunk of potato straight into your airways, desperately grasping for your glass of wine to dislodge it. Something was definitely wrong with him. A compliment? You weren’t entirely convinced that you hadn’t hit your head at Taehyung’s workshop and passed out in some sleep deprived hallucination. When the burn was soothed by the lave of your wine, you looked at him like he had grown a second head right between his shoulder blades.

Lucille seemed pleased with his response, bringing her own glass to her lips. “I never doubted her for a second.”

“Neither did I,” Your father added, winking at you. The two of them laughed, a weak chuckle escaping your mouth, stealing another glance at the man next to you. He looked onto the two of them with gentleness, spinning the stem of his wine glass, laughing quietly to himself. Something about him felt faraway, lost behind the reflection of the setting sun in his eyes; burrowed down deep below the surface where no one could find it.

And now you were the scared one.

What had happened to the man you had spend the previous six months with?

Tipping your glass towards yourself, you ogled the purplish liquid with skepticism, humoring the idea that your drink had been tampered with.

Your father made a noise like he had just remembered something, rushing to swallow his bite. “Oh, shall we give a plate to Rey?”

_________________________________________ 

“Oh, shall we give a plate to Rey?”

Hoseok couldn’t stop the way his knuckles turned white around his fork. The name so easily uttered from your father’s mouth striking between his ribs and rupturing his lungs. He hadn’t been able to say the name out loud in far too long.

“I can do it” You volunteered, taking no time to scoot your chair back and pad into the kitchen with your glass of wine poised between your fingers like it was no big deal. Like it was natural for you to scoop a large portion of meat, assorted root vegetables and potatoes onto a the golden platter for a dead man you had no relations to.

Hoseok couldn’t look away from you. Tracking each movement you made around the counter, following your path to a room just over your father’s shoulder, leaving the door open behind you so he could see. His throat constricted in on itself, and he felt the plastered smile on his face falter.

You positioned the plate on a massive altar decorated for him, but the plate wasn’t offered in his name. He heard you utter Rey’s name again, observed the gentle way in which you smoothed your palm over the bony ridges of a deer’s snout mounted above the table, the tips of its antlers beginning to yellow with age.

It was the same one he had helped Reyan drag here all those years ago, he was sure of it. The notch in one of the antler’s digits was made when he had dropped it on their way into town, the memory beautiful in its ache. They had sat in this dining room together before.

And he guessed they were sitting there together now, just not in the way they should be.

But here you were, whispering to the bones of his lover’s hunt with sweet words of compassion. Keeping him alive above the place made for him. Keeping them together when he couldn’t.

Icy hot pricks of something he couldn’t place stabbed through him. Envy. Rage. Defensiveness.

Gratitude.

His restraint wavered, the urge to send the table flying away from him so he could rip the skull down from the wall and hold it close, hiding it away from everyone else but himself was overwhelming. It was then that he looked into the eyes of the dead creature, and he saw him.

He was in there, watching him sit at a dinner table with a woman fate was trying to tie him to and a family that wasn’t his. And the worst part of it? Rayen didn’t look angry. He looked content. His bony teeth stretched into a grin that stole Hoseok’s breath away.

Has he been here this whole time? Hiding in your home and waiting for him to return? Had it been another one of Jimin’s antics?

The rest of dinner was a blur of forced niceties and food that tasted better than it should have, with conversation that shouldn’t have flowed so easily as it had. He jumped at the moment to make his escape, some lie falling out of his mouth like second nature, bidding farewell to the hosts and slipping out the door.

Hoseok stood there for a moment, breathing in the night air at your doorstep. Fate had a cruel way of toying with him, hiding his spirit in the place he would’ve never dared look. Fire burned inside of him, gnawing at his heart with a vengeance. He didn’t want to forget him, nor did he want to move on, but being anywhere near where his memory lingered hurt. Was there no compromise?

“Hoseok, wait,” Your voice cut through the dark, coming up behind him and sending a trill up his spine. And he tried to tell himself it was the bad kind.

“You should take this with you,” You held out the box he had brought with him. “I don’t have the money to pay for it, so I assume it’d be best I return it.”

You presence shouldn’t have been as calming as it was, nor should the way you talked to him dulled the ache within. It made him react before he could stop himself. “Of course you don’t. I’m surprised you have anything at all with your terrible spending habits.”

The way you deflated doesn’t bother him, it just adds fuel to the fire. “Look, I don’t want to fight. I’m exhausted, and I really just want to enjoy the holiday with my family.” You dropped the box on the front step, your voice taking on a more strained tone. “Either take this back or leave it here. But do not charge me for it.” You turned on your heel to enter back through the door, but Hoseok’s hand had a mind of its own, coming out to circle your wrist.

“Keep it.”

“I can’t afford-”

“Keep it,” Hoseok repeated, his thumb running along the inside of your wrist gently. The touch of your skin both invigorated him and sent him reeling. He ripped his hand away at the first realization of what he had done, shaking off the ghost of your warmth. “I can’t resell it anyway. Please, just keep it.”

You tilted your head down at him, worry flashing across your features. “Are you sick? You seem unwell.”

Hoseok’s hackles raised, the gentleness you exuded feeling too vulnerable. “I just had to waste my holiday trapped with you, of course I am unwell.”

That one landed, crooked and jagged, just as brutal as intended. “I said I wished not to fight.”

“I am not fighting,” He hissed, begging himself internally to stop. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t know how else to handle how talking to you made him feel. “You asked a question, and I answered. I presumed you would have liked an honest answer. Tonight was a miserable excuse of a celebration.”

You crumpled inwards, but like him you tried to hide it–you just weren’t as good at that as you thought you were. Finally, you raised your eyes to meet his, their surfaces glistening. “Are you serious? We open our home to you, offer you our food, treat you as a friend–and this is how you are treating me?” You sniffed, wiping at the back of your nose like doing so would hide the sound. Snatching up the box at your feet, you shoved it into his hands with enough force to send him stumbling back. “Take this back to the shop. Throw it on the street for the strays. Dump it in the first trash can you see. I do not care what you do with it, but I do not want it here.” You started down the step, creating distance between you and the front door. “I don’t care how miserably lonely you are, I am done just sitting here and taking it. I quit.”

Hoseok felt nothing. The fire in his chest fizzled out, leaving a cavernous empty hole where it once was. “What?”

“I said I quit! I quit!” You threw your hands up in defeat. “Is that what you wanted? To drive me out so you didn’t have to man up for the two seconds it would take to fire me?”

“That’s…” He trailed off, beginning to feel trapped in this puny human body.

“You can treat me however you like when we are in your home; behind your counter. Not in mine. Not when-” Your voice gave out, and your hands came up to cover your mouth to try and shove the poor sound back in, stealing your expression. “Not when this could’ve been his last holiday, and he spent it putting food on your plate. I would rather have to work until my hands bleed than spend another day feeling like I am nothing but another pig hanging from one of your hooks, awaiting its turn to be slaughtered!”

Your words stung. Why did it sting for you to tell him the truth? Why was he angry again? “You are right about one thing,” he leveled you with one of the dirtiest looks he could muster. “You are nothing. You are nothing to me but a nagging, irksome creature that I can not wait to be rid of.”

You winced, spine curling inwards until you looked small. “Then I guess we are done here.”

“And I couldn’t be happier.” Hoseok steered himself into the night, breathing heavily and stepping along the ground as though each step could tunnel him right through the earth and bury him in her embrace. Your front door clicked closed somewhere off in the distance, snapping the corded rope of tension that coiled around his throat, and all he wanted to do was scream–to grovel on his knees, clawing for the frayed ends and wrapping them around his throat so the tightness would stay. Begging the rope to finish the job. Begging for that delicious ache that he couldn’t seem to escape.

He moved through the streets like a rampant beast, heaving breaths so furious they rained spit down like hell-fire, his human form meeting its match.

“Turn around.”

“Who said that?” Hoseok clenched his fists at his side. “If it is some loathsome spirit, I am not interested in helping you. And if it is Jimin, it better not be.”

“Turn around.”

He whirled around like a snake coiled to strike, gnashing his teeth. “What? What could you possibly want?”

“Turn around. Can you see it?”

“See what?” Hoseok lifted his head from his work, the sharp blade stilling beneath the skin of the deer at his feet.

“Over there, just above the hill…” Rayen guided Hoseok’s attention to the Elk that crested over the hill, elegant and smooth in its travels through the ancient wood. “It is quite beautiful.”

Hoseok pulled the blade out from the creature and wiped his hands on his cloak. “Do you want me to get it for you?”

‘No,” Rayen shook his head. “We have enough. We shall let her be. She is on her own journey, as are we.”

“Need you not more to sell?” Hoseok inquired, confused. “Her death will serve you.”

“Her life will serve me,” Rayen corrected softly, laying one of his hands on Hoseok’s forearm. “She will go on to live, to breed, to feed. A full life for her means a full life for me.” He gave his lover a gentle shove with his shoulder, a sweet chuckle escaping him. “You should know that by now, my dear Abyios.”

“I know that keeping you fed and alive is my intention,” Hoseok smiled down at him, running his thumb over his chin tenderly.

“And sometimes, you need not kill to accomplish such. Sometimes, contrary to how you think, the best way to keep your love alive is to simply let things live on. How will I make it in the following rotation if she does not live on to see a hundred sunsets, or breathe a thousand breaths?”

Hoseok regarded the elk carefully. “And what were to happen to you if someone else finds her tomorrow, ripping her of her flesh and your chances of survival?”

“Then let them,” Rayen shrugged like the thought didn’t squeeze at Hoseok’s insides with an iron fist. “There is always more. There will always be more. Things do not not cease to be just because of one death, am I not mistaken?”

“I suppose not,” The god replied, crouching back down to their most recent catch to continue his business. “But if she journeys any nearer, I will take it as a sign. We can not risk not having enough.”

“No, please.” Rayen moved a hand to rest over his, stopping the knife’s motions. “It makes me happy to see her, do not take that away from me.”

Hoseok swallowed, sensing the ardency within his gaze and flushing beneath its intensity, the heart in his chest beating erratically. “If it is what makes you happy…”

“It does,” Rayen smiled softly, a sight more beautiful to Hoseok than the setting sun, or any other creature that could ever crest the hilltop. A sight he would fight to see every day until the world stopped turning, and every day after that. “Does it not bring you peace to know that?”

“It does,” Hoseok imitated his softness, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead.

“Then see? Your peace is my joy; and my joy her happiness.”

A cool sensation that had pressed itself to his forehead retracted, his body crumpling to the damp earth below him. He shuddered and slunk deeper, eyes ravenous in their hunt to see more of the vision before him. To see Rayen again.

But the vision had faded, the place where the creature once stood nothing but a dark storefront he had no interest in seeing ever again.

His hands trembled as they touched his forehead where the cold touch once was, the skin still clammy there. “Get out of my head,” His whispered threat a cold front that grew unbearably hot as the seconds passed. “Get out of my head!” He was shouting at the sky now, repeating his demands to senseless stars that did nothing but mock him with their twinkling faces.

The air changed, and he was back in his home, safe from prying eyes and pestering stars. Without thinking, his fingers latched onto the cracked leather of his gloves upon his mantle, crumpling them in his fist and holding them to his eyes that itched and burned. Like if he held them tight enough, Rayen’s hands would slip inside them and hold his face in his hands like he used to.

But nothing happened.

The god of death cracked and crumbled on his floor, a pile of sniveling sobs and pitiful gasps for air he didn’t need; crying into the leather, begging the stars above him to leave him alone with his grief. The hurt was all he had left of his lover, and if he lost that to make room for you, he would have nothing left of him. He would be truly gone.

“I’m not ready yet,” He pleaded to his empty room, bargaining with a fate that had no mercy, slotting his fingers through the empty gaps of the gloves and clutching it close. “I’m not ready yet.”

_________________________________________ 

“When will Hoseok be back for dinner?” Your father asked, his question not more than a croak.

You lowed your angled carving tool down and plucked up one with a rounded edge, keeping your focus locked on the Coffin box you were decorating. “I’m not sure. I will have to ask him.”

“Will you? It was nice having him over…” His voice trailed off, and his expression grew distant. “When is your next shift?”

“Tomorrow.” You lied.

“Right. I think you mentioned that.”

You had. Yesterday. Using the same exact excuse. Whenever he asked you always simply answered ‘Tomorrow’. Not that he knew any different anymore.

Months had passed since you had quit. At first it was difficult to lie about what had happened: always on edge; always nervous that he would over hear one of your customers asking why you weren’t working the butcher counter anymore; or running around trying to find somewhere you could stay for a few hours, only to come home pretending like you were tired from a long days work.

Now it did not matter.

Your father hadn’t the slightest idea what day it was anymore.

Still to be safe, you would escape to Taehyung’s for an hour or two at a time, lugging down your current wooden cube design and engraving it in his shop. And ever since your confrontation with Arthur, you and Lucille have been keeping his current condition secret–not word was spoken to Taehyung about other than a tight-lipped smile and a vague answer.

He was dying, and you had no one to talk to about it. You couldn’t blame Lucille for not wanting to harp on it, for she too was bearing witness to the death of someone she loved, and she was not as familiar with death as you were to handle it as well.

So you talked to Abyios.

Sometimes in the night when you felt like you were about to explode, you would invite him to dance with you in the front, to guide you through the wild motions he had done with you the night of Saprorym Meuloutyp. The only time you really let yourself feel anything was when you were drenched in your own sweat, the beat of your heart drowning on the thoughts of what your future held.

Other nights you lit one of your father’s extra candles and placed it upon an empty seat, letting it burn while you just...talked. You spoke to him like a friend about anything that came to mind. Most of the time it was you rambling about who it was you were working on and the stories their loved ones had told you or your theories about their lives, or on occasion memories of you and your father. But those ones always made the room feel smaller, and your throat tighter, though you weren’t sure why. It was inevitable. It was normal. You could handle it.

To fix that, you fumed about your former boss. His eyes that you couldn’t ever believe you had dared to think were beautiful. His voice. His condescending comments or his hermit tendencies. You spent more time complaining about him than you’d like to, but for some reason you couldn’t get rid of the thought of him. It was as though every moment of silence had to be taken up by him, like his cantankerous energy had been foul enough to stick to you long after you had attempted to wash yourself of it.

That, and the fact that you just kept running into him.

At the market, he would be there palming through fresh produce and inspecting the summers fresh berries. At the lavender festivals, he was there, brooding in the corner of the tavern you, Jimin, and Taehyung were celebrating at. In the early mornings sometimes you’d see him meandering the streets–never yours though, just the ones surrounding it–rolling in with the morning fog beneath the first rays of golden sun before climbing back up to his lonely hilltop residence. Standing on the sidelines of the Abyios procession or the fall harvest festivals, far enough to leave you wondering if it was a coincidence.

And when you’d try to pretend not to notice him, he’d do the same. Until the one time each run in where he would look at you, and you could feel it. Feel the rake of his dark, unreadable eyes over your figure, tracing over the edges of your smiles and flinching whenever you’d laugh.

You never looked at him though. Why should you? You had seen enough of him.

Like right now, the boisterous atmosphere of the tavern like heaven to your weary bones compared to the lonely store front, your energy started to regenerate just being surrounded by people, all laughter and drunken smiles.

And there he was, like he always was. Spine curved over the bar, huddled into the last seat and pressed as far into the wall as he could, spinning his cup in aimless circles with long fingers, pretending he wasn’t just looking at you.

“I need ‘nother drink,” Taehyung mumbled, pressing up from the table only to fall back into his seat with a grunt. “Second try is a charm~”

“You sit, you goof,” You laughed, something foreign to you these days, probably nurtured by the drinks that sloshed in your empty stomach. “I will grab it for you.”

“Have I ever told you how grateful I am for you?” Taehyung dramatically grabbed for your hand, bowing his head to you.

Jimin snorted into his drink. “I assume nowhere near enough.”

Shaking him off of you, you stumbled up to the bar, leaning onto the surface like you owned the place. “May I have another Chamomile shot?” You beckoned the bar tender closer with a finger, checking over your shoulder in case Taehyung should over hear you. “Cut it with water, please? My friend over there is already up in Kalios at this point.”

The bartender, a woman your age with a disarmingly charming smile and a voice like sweet wine sent you a wink. “You got it, sweetheart.”

You flushed, biting your lip to keep from smiling like a schoolgirl. Whenever someone tried to flirt with you on a normal day ended in you being a flustered mess, but when you were drunk it was only worse. Being locked up in the shop meant you didn’t have many chances to get used to such interactions–no one in their right mind would be keen on asking you out to dinner while you nailed their parent’s coffin together.

You took the drink from her hand with another lopsided grin from her that made your stomach do flips. “Is there anything else I could do the honor of making you?”

Opening your mouth to say no, you paused. You felt him looking at you again, this time with barely feet between you. You smiled. “Actually yes. Can I have the Harvest’s special?”

“That one?” The woman rubbed the tip of her nose with her thumb, eyes glinting. “That one takes a bit of time to put together. You okay sticking around that long?”

“Take all the time you need,” you sunk onto the nearest bar stool. “I am all yours.”

You were completely out of your element, but Tara didn’t seem to care. She was witty enough for the both of you, had a dazzling smile and deeply invested in the process of forging Treseyn you blathered about. She poured drinks as heavy as she laid on her compliments, your tolerance long passed probably two drinks ago, and fogging up your brain enough to think of asking her if she would be there again tomorrow. But not enough to rid you of Hoseok’s gaze.

When she slipped into the back to help one of the other bartenders restock the rum, you found yourself alone, grinning to yourself like an idiot and feeling lighter than ever.

That was until something cold enough to suck the air from your lungs poured down your shoulder and pooled in your lap, sobering you enough to jump to your feet with a shout.

“I’m terr’bly sorry, miss.” A man with a hopelessly intoxicated grin tipped his hat down at you, seeming far too happy for someone apologizing. “May I buy you somethin’ to make up for it?”

“N-no,” You shook some of the droplets off your arms and tried to wring the front of your clothes, eye twitching. “I think it would probably be best for me to return home for the evening.”

“Is that an invitation?”

You scoffed. “Excuse me?”

He ignored your obvious disinterest, pressing forwards. “You could at least stay for another drink, you know, since you are wearing mine.” He was getting closer, too close. It made your skin crawl.

“You can take mine,” Someone behind you slid a glass across the bar, the sound of his voice making it hard not to groan. “I have no use for it anyways.”

The drunkard furrowed his brow, puffing up his chest. “That isn’t the point of asking someone for a drink, is it?”

You didn’t stay to hear Hoseok’s response, turning on your heel and squeezing through the attendees to free yourself from the prying eyes that had turned to watch the interaction unfold, and the humiliation of being soaked to the bone in a public space. The night air was chilled with the coming of fall, exacerbated by the spilled drink, goosebumps rising on your skin that you tried to rub away with your hands. You had left your cloak with Jimin and Taehyung, not having expected to need a quick exit.

The tavern door opened up behind you and you braced yourself for your incessant pursuer, dreading the drunken man enough to start planning the quickest route back to Taehyung and Jimin you could find.

“Are you doing okay?” Jimin placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, leveling his gaze with yours.

You nodded, sagging with relief. “I am. I think it might be time for me to call it anyway. I don’t like leaving my father alone for too long.”

Jimin noted the way you shivered, his eyes lighting with realization. “Of course! Wait here, I shall grab your cloak and close our tab.” With that, he slid back into the bustling restaurant.

You waited for him, counting the seconds in your head until he showed. Just as you were beginning to toy with the idea of starting home alone the door opened again.

“Oh thank gods, I was beginning to think you had gotten lost in there.”

“I can’t imagine how I could have.”

You stilled, meeting Hoseok’s apathetic survey of your shivering form.

“My apologies,” your voice fell flat. “I was expecting someone else.”

“As was I.”

The conversation died, but Hoseok didn’t move; loitering in front of the door twirling a loose coin in his fingers. Now you wanted to leave more than ever, but you were too nervous to show your face back inside lest that bumbling oaf caught sight of you again. You bit your cheek, taking a chance.

“Did you happen to see Jimin on your way out?”

Hoseok blinked, slow and languid. “Jimin?”

“Yes,” You fought to keep your tone level. “He told me to wait for him out here. He was just closing our tab.”

“He is not in there.”

“Pardon?” You tilted your head.

“You can go look for yourself if you choose, but I haven’t seen him since they had started serving dinner.”

“That’s not possible,” You shook your head in disbelief. “He was here but a moment ago.”

Something about what you made Hoseok bristle, and he closed his eyes for a moment to take a deep breath. “Of course he was.”

“He has my cloak...” You groaned to yourself, wrapping your arms around yourself to preserve your warmth. Casting a sidelong to the door, you decided that if Jimin had truly gotten distracted and left, there was no use waiting for him. Not when another pest had decided to make an appearance.

Without a word you took off down the road to your home, feeling a strange sense of familiarity like you had been here before.

Steps followed after you. “What do you think you are doing?”

“Going home.” You muttered, curling further into yourself to stave off the autumn chill.

A heavy weight dropped unceremoniously on your shoulders, warm and rich with the scent of cinnamon and chamomile. At first you melted into it, wrapping yourself up with a contented sigh Then upon registering its dark color, you debated tossing it on the cobblestone roads and stomping it into the crevices. But it was quite warm, and you were quite drunk. Something you had to stop being when he was around.

“I am only accepting this because I am cold. Not for any other reason.” You glared at him.

Hoseok made a face. “Is that not the reason I gave it to you?”

“I was just making sure you knew that.”

“For what other reason would I do such a thing?” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, speaking in a lazy drawl.

“How should I know?” You rebuked, “It is you that has been following me around all these months. I was beginning to think you missed me.”

“Now that is unthinkable.”

You were halfway home, and it was a miracle you hadn’t found yourself wanting to claw your own eyes at at him being there. If anything, it was almost...bearable. You nuzzled deeper into the cloth, covering the lower half of your face that had started to tingle from the wind.

“You smell nice.” Another amazing observation you would have never intended to share out loud if it wasn’t for the influence of your poor decsions.

Hoseok made a sound that sounded close to a choke. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Not as much as last time.” You answered honestly. “And not nearly enough.”

“You have a terrible habit of drinking more than enough,” He rolled his eyes. “I have much better ways to spend my evenings than escorting you home.”

“And yet you keep doing it,” You clicked your tongue. “How troublesome, it appears you may like me more than you think.”

Hoseok grimaced, taking a half step to the side to create more space for emphasis. “I could never even dream of such a thing. Your intolerable company makes that an unachievable endeavor.”

“I am more than pleased to hear that the feeling is mutual.”

You could see your tattered shop sign grow nearer, slowing your pace to a crawl. With reluctance, you unraveled yourself from the confines of his cloak and held it out to him. “This is my stop.”

“I am not blind,” He let the fabric drape over his arm. “Make haste. I’m tired.”

You fumbled with the key, your bold fingers and hindered coordination doing nothing to help. With a small cheer, you managed to finagle it open, stepping inside and spinning to offer him a stiff nod. “I suppose I should...thank you. For tonight.”

Hoseok shifted, rolling his shoulders out as though your manners landed sharply between his shoulder blades and made them ache. “I gave my drink to a man in need. There is nothing to thank me for.”

“A man in need of a good kick to the jaw,” You grumbled to yourself.

Hoseok–to your ever-growing surprise–laughed. He tried to hide the garbled sound behind a cough, but you had heard the start of it. You hated the way the sound warmed your chest more than liquor you drank. You told yourself it was hatred eating at you, or the need to throw up at the sight of him, not anything else unthinkable.

“Well if you won’t accept my gratitude, then that is all I have to say to you.” You nudged the door closed, but a hand came up to stop it, splaying its long fingers across the wood. Hoseok looked just as surprised as you did at his own action, his eyes wide.

“Yes…?” You looked from his hand to his face.

“I hadn’t lied that day,” he choked out. “You really were a...tolerable employee.”

“Careful now, butcher,” You whispered, noting the lack of normal distance this position put the two of you in. “If I’m not mistaken, it almost sounds like you are trying to apologize.”

“I am not,” he scowled.

“Then what was the point of saying this? Are you trying to ask me to come back?” You took a small step closer, close enough to smell the floral undertones coming off his skin.

His fingers wrapped around the edge of the door, gripping so tightly his knuckles turned white. “I would never.”

“Good,” You swallowed, inching closer. “Because I would never come back.”

“Good,” Hoseok stared down at your face as though calculating something. A risk. An insult maybe. Whatever it was he decided against it, stepping back down from the stoop and letting the lowlit streets absorb his retreat.

You had to stop drinking so much, because long after the door had closed and you were cozied up under the thin blankets, you felt a dull throb in your chest every time you thought of him: the kind that had you reckoning with the fact that you could have–and only slightly so–missed him. You snorted, rolling over in your bed to gaze up out the window, melting deeper into the covers.

As if you could ever miss him.

_________________________________________ 

Winter had returned, and it was just as bleak as the last, frosting your windows and increasing the amount of money you spent on hot water enchantments and firewood. Only this year you did not have the added pressure of navigating a new job, just alternating between changing your fathers sheets and caring for the shop.

You had spent the day at Taehyung’s helping him put together a new redwood dresser that the buyer had specifically requested be whittled with intricate nature inspired scenery, which you did not hesitate taking up Taehyung on the offer to do. It gave you the little extra drunes in your pocket you needed to stop at the market for a special treat on your way home, ducking into the little sweet shop that overwhelmed you with the smell of cocoa and warm sugar.

The crowd was sparse, which was to be expected at the darkened hour. Your path was followed by the store clerk, the weight of their attention suffocating. Or at least you assumed it was them, though you couldn’t shake the way it felt like you were being watched long before you ever meandered into the store. Before you even clambered out of bed this morning even.

But that would be nonsensical. To believe that someone could be following your every move? Hovering over you like a ghost? There was only one person with such a strong ability to unnerve you, and he was nowhere near you at the moment,

You cast a cursory look up to the counter, the older gentleman and his young daughter Nora talking amongst themselves, with no sign they were ever remotely interested in your lazy inspection of chocolates and hand pulled candies.

“Interesting,” You mumbled to yourself, surfing your palm over the dark chocolate bars, pausing when one with rose and citrus caught your eye. “Now I’m going mad.” You plucked it up with a dark chuckle, inspecting the price.

In the reflection of the golden wrapping paper, you saw a shadow hovering over your shoulder, with a thin sloped nose and instantly irritating eyes. Your tongue was laced with venom, charged for your attack as you spun around to lay it on the butcher for following you again–but there was nothing but shelves of peppermints and honey drops.

Unease bubbled in your abdomen, and you decided this bar would have to do–crossing the room in a few hurried steps and smacking it on the counter. The younger woman greeted you kindly, inspecting your purchase with sweet small talk you could barely hear. The shadow lingered over your shoulder, his proximity drowning out your senses and leaving you with nothing but a sense of urgency that had no specified source.

“Go home.”

Your neck snapped up to the store clerk, her voice much deeper than you remembered. “Excuse me?”

“Go. Home.” Her eyes were dull, not like the kind glow they held moments before. She held out the bar of chocolate to you, her hand dead weight to her arm.

Taking a hesitant step back, you gripped the edge of your cloak for comfort. “Is-is something wrong?”

She looked pointedly out the shop window, and you followed her lead to the creature that stood just on the other side. A deer stood with its nose mere inches away from the glass, its breath fogging up the cold window to the outside. Its fur a brilliant rust, speckled with white that cascaded down its back and outlines its fluttering tail. In the place where its eyes should be were just two, empty sockets of bone that tunneled onward with no end in sight.

Your breath hitched, body rigid and unable to decide if it wanted to jump behind the counter and hide or make a run for home. Everything about the animal was telling you to move.

“That will be five drunes please.” Nora winked at you. “A discount from one small business owner to another.”

You jumped, the clerks normal cheery voice bringing you back to her. “What are you-” Cutting yourself off, you looked to her from the window to find it void of any creature, then back to her–bright and chipper, without a sign of the version of her you had just seen. She just looked confused. Fumbling for your wallet, your hands shook as you tossed the coins onto the counter, shoving the sweet in your bag with stuttered gratitude.

The walk home was uneventful. There was no man-shaped shadows or spectral deer clomping after you–not that you could see anyways. Just the gentle fall of winter snow and air that bit straight through your many layers.

Making it to the final stretch of your street, you felt dread grab you by the hands and pull you forward to a suspiciously Hoseok shaped shadow looming on your doorstep. He didn’t seem to notice your arrival yet, peering this way and that through your windows, hood drawn up over his head to hide his face that he kept tucked away in the shadows of the night. But you had spent many months agonizing over that outline, and you would be able to recognize him no matter how far he inched away from the light.

“Hoseok!” You called out to him, your nostrils flaring. “What do you think you are doing here?”

The cloaked figure seemed startled at the sound of your voice, looking to you with his face shrouded in darkness, so much so that you found yourself doubting to yourself if it was even Hoseok at all. But it had to be, for if it wasn’t, why had he responded to his name?

Your anger grew hotter, stomping down the last of the distance between you. “I mean it Hoseok, get out of here before I-”

He was gone again, vanquished by the subtle blink of your eye.

Your stoop was empty.

Now you must really be going mad, you shook your head to yourself, giving the empty street a once over. Your neighbors windows were all lit, signifying their return home. But there was no one walking around the street. Not even a set of footprints were left in the snow upon your front steps.

“Sleep. I just need more sleep.” Ignoring the chill that ran down your spine, you unlocked the front door, letting the glow of home wash away the unsettling events of your errands.

Wes greeted you as per usual, pawing at your shins until you lifted him in your arms, planting soft kisses to his forehead. “I got treats today,” You lilted, fishing in your satchel and pulling out the bar of chocolate, and a small hand sewn mouse Taehyung had gifted you. Wes stretched his paws out to grab for the chocolate, and you tutted down at him, pressing yet another kiss face. “Not that one. This one is for you.” You plopped him on the floor and threw the mouse across the shop, watching the way he scrambled after it with a laugh.

Shrugging off your bag, you dropped it on your stool, calling out to your father. “Dad, I’m home.”

You heard his bed creak in response, for he probably had just woken up.

“I stopped at the market today on my way home from work.” You pulled the strings of your cloak loose, letting it fall to the floor in a heap. “I snagged us a bar of chocolate from Nora, she was kind enough to offer me a discount.”

Stepping into the living quarters, you approached his bed, his head lifted to greet you. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been better.” He sounded like it. Each breath sounded tiresome, and rattled as it escaped his lips. “I might want to stay in here tonight. I am quite tired.”

“That is no worry,” You reassured him, tugging the blanket down over his feet. “I am just going to run a quick bath before dinner, I will be right back.”

“Take your time,” he waved you away with his hand, letting it fall back to the bed. “It is not like I am to go anywhere.”

You chuckled, padding into the bathroom and running yourself a cold bath, not wanting to waste the hot water on yourself. If anything the shock helped to forget what had occurred. It was still warmer than it was outside, and for that you were grateful. The tips of your fingers were numb as you fiddled with the hem of your nightgown, slipping it on over your head after managing to get it open. It wasn’t thick enough to keep the cold night air from erupting goosebumps over your limbs.

You poked your head into your fathers room just to check on him as he slept, intending to slip out unnoticed when he spoke.

“When will Hoseok be joining us for dinner again?”

You pursed your lips. “I am not sure. I will ask him tomorrow.”

“Please do. I was almost certain he was coming tonight. Perhaps I am mistaken.”

Another chill ran up your spine, nestling with a tingling sensation in the back of your head, covering up your reaction with a simple “Perhaps. We will see.” Before you made your way to the kitchen to start the preparations for your meal, the soup now second nature as it was all your father could seem to stomach. It was a moment of peace, watching the concoction of herbs and cabbage bubble while Wes ran in between the chairs and table legs, spinning himself about in circles as though chasing a live mouse. He was your entertainment as you waited, tossing his toy back and forth until it was time to ladle the stew into two bowls.

Holding both of them in your hand you frowned, unsure where your father would like to eat this evening. Usually he found it more comfortable to eat in bed, but sometimes he would make the trek to the table, missing the sense of normalcy it brought. Deciding it’d be best just to ask him, you placed them both on the table, startling Wes who had stopped to rest, spreading himself out in front of your father’s door with wide, unblinking eyes.

“Out of the way,” You nudged him with your foot. “We can not have him tripping over you again.”

You opened the door. “Would you prefer to eat in here, or at the table?”

Your father didn’t answer.

“Dad,” you took a few steps closer, letting the door hang open to spill the warm light from the kitchen. You placed a hand on his arm, giving it a soft shake. “Dinner is ready.”

The light from the kitchen cast him in an unfavorable light, catching on the thin sheen of sweat upon his brow and deepening his sunken eyes. His breathing was shallow. Too shallow.

Your insides moved first, coiling in on themselves until bile rose in your throat. You swallowed it down, shaking him again. “I can bring it in here if you’d like?”

His eyes opened, distant and faded in their blind search for something you could not see. “Is he here?”

You blinked rapidly, unsure what he was talking about. “Who?”

A serene smile stretched across his lips, his breath floating from it with a soft sigh. “He is. I see him now, at the door.”

Your lungs went next, clamping down on themselves and getting stuck there, refusing to inflate. Smoothing on hand down the side of his face, your voice cracked. “No one is at the door. It is just me.”

His fingers circled your wrist bringing it up to his lips. “Do not worry. It will only take a moment. Light my candle for me won’t you, so he can see?”

A knock sounded from the door, the sound like shattering glass to your ears. You weren’t expecting any visitors, nor would anyone bother coming over at such an hour.

“Hurry,” Your father pushed your hand away, ushering you to the door. “Let him in!”

You raced to the door, ready to tell who ever it was to leave, ripping it open with words of urgency poised to fall off onto whoever it was on the other side. They evaded you, only one word finding purchase there.

“H-Hoseok? What are you-” you pressed the heel of your shaking hand to your forehead, not having the energy to deal with him at the moment. “Now is not the time. I really can’t be bothered to-”

Wordlessly he moved, like gliding like smoke, stepping over your threshold and closing the door gently behind him.

You saw red. “I mean it, Hoseok. Get out of my house.”

When he faced you again, he held a gloved finger up to his lips, expression unreadable.

It was then that you saw what he was wearing. Lavish robes of black draped over his shoulders and spilled down his chest, waist lined with more beads than you could count, one of ruby red nearly identical to the one draped across a golden plate in your fathers room. A heavy bottomed cloth pouch notched securely below it, and from its mouth glowed a memorizing blue. From him wafted all the scents of home; cinnamon, rose, chamomile, citrus–all of the ones that circled your fathers altar.

Something horrid dawned on you, and you shook your head instantly, voice but a pitiful shudder. “No…”

“It is him that wishes to see me like this, and as it seems that I can no longer hide from you, there is no point in trying to disguise myself.” Hoseok stepped around you, his steps laggard and purposeful. And he was headed straight for your father. “I have a job to do. Stand back.”

“You can’t!” Latching onto his forearm you pulled him back, forcing him to look at you again. “You can’t. It isn’t time. I just finished dinner-he hasn’t-”

“I must.” He laid a hand wrapped in leather over yours, guiding its release from his arm. “It is time.”

You didn’t let yourself breathe yet, racing to keep in front of him and falling on your knees on your father’s bedside, feeling like you might throw up at the color his face had taken.

“Here he comes,” He clasped your hand tightly in his own, beaming up to you with an unbridled wonder you hadn’t seen in years. “He is just as magnificent as I had imagined.” His eyes strayed to the door and the shadow that loomed behind you, brimming with unshed tears and a hope so bright it blinded you.

And then they faded.

Empty.

You managed to take the first breath, and it hurt. It burned so horribly that you tried to suck in the next one to soothe it. Then another.

His hand slumped from yours, and you clambered to catch it, crushing it in both of yours. “But you have to-you have to eat dinner! I bought us some chocolate today, don’t you want to share it with me?”

He didn’t answer.

This couldn’t be happening. You had prepared yourself for this moment for years, told yourself just how it would go. Practiced how you would react. You were strong, a stone ready to hold his fall and ease him gently to the afterlife. A beautiful moment of release.

And it was nothing like this.

This was terrible.

This was violent. It tore through you with the strength of a raging river, spilling out your eyes and dribbling from your nose. It was disgusting the way it carved through you and left you so utterly empty it ached.

You held his limp knuckles to your mouth and left a wet kiss on them, holding it there. Savoring the warmth that would soon leave him.

It wasn’t beautiful. It wasn’t comforting. It left you reckoning with the reality you fought tooth and nail to deny.

You weren’t ready. And you were never going to be.

And so you broke, a thousand pieces and a crumpled heap on the floor at his bedside, clawing for his hand to stay still–to stop falling whenever you let it go. It wasn’t supposed to do that, it was to supposed to stay there where it belonged.

The shadow loomed closer, settling beside you, surrounding you with its presence.

His presence.

You turned to Hoseok–if that was even what you should be calling him–face twisted in a sob you hadn’t let out since you were a child, shaking your head desperately. “I’m not ready.” You whimpered, a wretched wet sound. “Please.”

His hand enveloped yours, fingers curling around both you and your father’s, his other coming to rest on the dead’s chest, beckoning out the little glittering blue manifestation of his soul into his palm and offering it to you. A real treseyn, delicate and unrestrained in its beauty.

You cupped your hands out for it, letting it roll over your fingers, lighting up your face with its beauty. It thumped with the speed of your fathers heart, flickering against you in greeting. You squeezed your eyes shut, the tears flowing faster than you could catch them. You felt humiliated.

You felt alone.

Both of Hoseok’s hands came up around yours, holding them steady, his face outlined in blue light. “You can hold it.” Fro a moment he looked conflicted, like the words burned his tongue. “It…It can help when it hurts.”

Looking up from your father’s soul, you met his eyes–soft and brown. Not speck of his stubbornness or pride. He was just there, raw and uncomfortable.

“This can’t be happening.” You felt denial inflate within you. “You can’t be-you couldn’t possibly-” You broke off, you mind flying through the memories of the past year. His argument with Arthur and the way it felt to be near him after; the eve of the solstice, when he had stood near you to listen to the family play–the job offer he had taped to your door the morning after your first real prayer.

A thousand emotions passed by you all at once. None of them pleasant.

No one had technically lied, but still you felt betrayed.

“I need to go.”

You rose to your feet lifelessly, as though you were the one that had died, staring vacantly ahead to a destination you hadn’t the slightest idea of. Dragging your feet across the wooden floors. Then the icy cold stone.

Snow numbed your feet in your blind path to nowhere, your father’s Treseyn clutched tightly near your heart. Blurred faces stopped to look at you, but you couldn’t be bothered to blink enough to see them. You just had to go.

It was moments later when you felt warmth surround you, arms wound around your waist from behind to lug you backwards, tearing your from your path,

“Stop,” You weakly shuddered, pushing at the forearms of your captor. “I need to go.”

“There is no where for you to go right now!” Hoseok hissed in your ear, dragging the two of you backwards towards your home.

“I need to….” What did you need to do again? The little ball fluttered in your fist, reminding you. “I need to get to the crematorium. That’s the first step.” You struggled against him, using your elbows to wriggle yourself free.

He fought back with just as much fervor, arms clamped down around you. “Just hold still! Let me take care of it!”

“No!” You whirled on him. “I need to take care of him! It’s my job! Not yours.”

“And you will! Just not right now,” He wriggled you to a stop, forcing you to look at him as he spoke. “You have no shoes. You are not dressed to be out here. You will freeze to death before you even make it to the end of the street!” Hoseok was breathing heavily, casting dirty looks over your shoulder at whatever sorry soul dared ogle the scene. “And there are people here...”

You wanted to fight him, but he was right. But you couldn’t go back in there. His body was just laying there, all alone and empty. The image made your pulse skyrocket, and your breath even more scarce than before. You were hyperventilating in the street like a child who had just lost their parents at a festival, and all you had was Hoseok.

Or you guess you should call him Abyios, but that felt wrong too. That name was saved for special moments of reverence in the dark. Not this.

His robes were gone, shed for the normal gloomy ensemble Hoseok was so fond of. But he still smelt like him. And he smelt like a hundred nights spent cross legged in front of the altar. Like cool fall days and warm winters nights. He smelt like the closest thing you had to home.

And you hated how quickly it unraveled you.

You collapsed forward into him, digging your fists into his cloak and breathing deeply to savor the scent that wafted up from it. It wasn’t sterile or dull, but warm and floral. He caught you swiftly, struggling to keep the two of you upright on the slippery streets. It was only then that you realized how cold you were, the tears turning tacky on your skin from the frigid temperature.

“I don’t know what to do,” You whispered into his shoulder. “I can’t go back in there...” Picturing him in the dark robes made it easier to pray. Easier to let your eyes close and pretend they were still two separate people while you begged Abyios to guide you–to offer you a place of refuge while you got your head on straight.

The hand at the small of your back twitched, and Hoseok let out a deep breath through his nose, sharp and lodged somewhere between anguished and tired. An acceptance of defeat.

“Go get your shoes. You will freeze without them, and I have no interest in witnessing the end of your bloodline tonight.”

_________________________________________ 

His home was nothing like you had expected it to be.

Save for the fact that it was unbearably quiet, but that was a give-in when it came to anything that belonged to him.

The exterior was familiar, a house made of stone and wood that looked unremarkable to the eye. Nothing flashy around it to signify the wealth that lined his pockets or the high-quality fabrics he always wore. Just a barren garden and an empty porch.

Inside, it was the kind of quiet that didn’t creep behind you like a threat, but settled low like a soft blanket. The walls were cream colored, paneled about half-way up with rich oak slats that led away from the door down a wide hall to a darkened kitchen. Immediately to your left was the living space, looking equally untouched and uncharacteristically messy. The furniture layered with a thick coat of dust, and the fireplace caked with soot from the last fire that had burned, having never been shoveled or scrubbed clean in what looked to be decades.

The walls of every room and hall were dotted with small makeshift shelves, and all of them empty. A blank canvas of a home barely lived in. Still it was quaint and bright, two things you would never use to describe what you assumed his taste would be.

“Follow me,” Hoseok shrugged off his cloak, hanging it on the hook near the door and moving towards the stair case straight ahead of you, keeping his attention straight ahead.

You didn’t even think to take yours off. Your skin still felt too numb.

Wes squirmed against your chest where you caged him close, holding onto his soft fur like a lifeline. His quickened heartbeat against your chest, and you told yourself you needed to warm his little feet to get your legs moving after Hoseok before he wrenched himself free and hid in some crevice of the unknown home, for you would have no energy to search for him if he did. The stairs creaked and your boots squelched on the wood, making your breath quicken again at the stains they left behind.

“I f-forgot to take these o-off,” You trembled, pausing on the next step, worried you would anger him for such a mistake.

His knuckles turned white against the railing and his body went rigid, a sharp exhale sliding through clenched teeth. “Don’t worry about it.”

“But it’s-”

“Leave it be.” He made it to the second floor, eyes locked on one of the four doors ahead of you. “You know I don’t like repeating myself.” He twisted the knob and pushed it open, looking anywhere but you or the room. “You can stay in here. I will send word to the crematorium about your father first thing in the morning. You can meet them there.”

You felt stuck in place before the door, gripping Wes so desperately that he whined. “What if I don’t wake up in time?”

“I will make sure you do.” He answered quickly, nodding his head into the room still with no interest in looking at your face. “Sleep.”

You didn’t make it four steps in before the door started to swing closed behind you, stopping just short of closed, his profile barely visible through the crack–mouth partially opened like he wanted to say more–but he didn’t. Instead he opened the door another inch and left it there, his steps trailing back down the steps until they faded into the darkness of the first floor.

The room was bland. Muted toned blankets upon a metal framed bed, a heavy dresser, and a single brass lantern hung from the ceiling. It was nothing special, but simple was what you needed right now.

Upon the first wind of release, Wes dove from your arms and crawled beneath the bed to hide, the unfamiliar space making his hair stand on end. The absence of his warm on your chest brought the emptiness back like a tidal wave, crashing into you until you flopped forwards on the bed, laying there with half your limbs dangling off the edge.

It was unclear to you how long you just let yourself rot on those blankets, melting into a puddle of salt on the comforter that floated in and out of consciousness. Somewhere within those long hours, you heard the sound of a stiff bristled brush being dragged across the wooden steps, scrubbing your wet boot prints away in the dead of night. The sound of life within the walls around you instead of the desolate silence you were used to.

Much like when you had worked at the butcher shop, you found yourself listening for him–the occasional bend of wooden floors under his weight, the clatter of beads from a room nearby, the light descent of the stairs–all of it a pitiful comfort to you that you weren’t alone. His haunting presence for once appreciated rather than dreaded.

You counted the minutes of silence when you felt the absence of his presence become apparent by the hollowed out feeling of the home, all the way until the navy of night had been exchanged for the melancholy pale grays of morning when his steps tread heavily upon the stairs, stopping just outside your door.

There was no use pretending to be asleep, for if he really was a god, there would be no fooling him. Yet still you let your eyes fall closed like that would hide how swollen they still were.

The door hovered open, the steps coming to stop beside your folded frame. You held your breath, your only defense against the strong scent of roses and cinnamon that nearly crumbled you again. A leather clad hand prodded open one of your limp fists, flipping it to deposit something small and cool to the touch onto your palm and closing your fingers around it. The pulse familiar and comforting.

His leave was just as quiet as his entrance, the distant sound of a door clicking closed and running water through the pipes in the wall let you know it was safe to open your eyes again, blinking blearily at the glowing treseyn he had bestowed upon you once more. Perhaps the company of your father’s soul was all you needed to finally drift off into the realm of sleep, if only for the little time you had left to do so.

Hoseok woke you up with a sharp rap of his knuckles upon the frame of the door. “It is morning. You don’t want to be late, I presume.”

It was strange, how well he kept to himself so easily as he lead you down the hill, keeping in front of you through town so you didn’t have to think about where you were going. It wasn’t a show of kindness and warmth by any means, but it was quiet and unwavering. And that was enough for you right now to not hate the proximity. If anything, his reputation acted like a shield, keeping all of the curious eyes and pestering neighbors at bay as the men from the crematorium carried the body away.

Anything you could possibly identify of your father was covered by a sheet, making it easier to watch him go. It didn’t make it easier for Lucille, who was seated besides his body on the cart, looking back to you like she had expected you to follow them there.

But she should know by now that doing so was not part of your job.

Wiping your nose with the back of your hand, you stalked straight into the empty store to escape the swarming of empathy from your neighbors, the air inside stale and stagnant. You twisted on the lamp, letting light swath the room with life, and thrust your hand in your pocket to enclose around the small orb, rolling it between your fingers as you surveyed the room.

Hoseok ducked in the store after you, perplexed and mildly cross. “What are you doing? Will you not go with him?”

“No,” You answered plainly, sniffing away the congestion that still lingered from the previous night. You rounded the counter, inspecting the selection of wood at your disposal. “That is not my job.” Finding a slab of mahogany that’s patterns swirled just right, you hoisted it from the stack and hauled it to the work table, dropping it down and lining it up with the engraved measurements.

You tracked your index finger along the edge, skimming the numbers until they lined up with the section you liked the most. “He always said he wanted his coffin to be made of mahogany. Said that he liked the color of it.” Locating your gloves and shoving your hands into them, you flicked on the machine, the buzzing sound soothing some of the gnawing pain in your chest.

“You can go back to your shop, you are no longer needed here. I can handle the rest of this.” You settled down on you stool, hands shifting the wood into position.

Hoseok chewed on the inside of his cheek, standing still as a statue in front of your counter. Shaking his head to himself with a low grumble, he turned to leave, pausing upon the threshold. “I will return later with the ashes. Try your best not to lose a finger while I am gone.”

You managed a weak scoff. “What do I owe you the pleasure for your sudden persistence? Intent on kicking me when I’m down?”

Hoseok didn’t take the bait this morning, leering at you like his answer should be obvious. “It is not you that owes me, but I that owes you.”

“For what?” You eyed him from below your lashes, not bothering to straighten all the way up. The answer didn’t come from his mouth, but the staggering resurgence of his alternative identity that unfurled its power over the room, well-known to you by just the sensation his manifestation brings.

“Oh,” the exclamation fell from your mouth softly. Watching him shift his energy in real time did little to combat that little voice in your head that whispered all the what if’s and excuses to keep your sacred memories with him. If anything it made you more defiant in keeping them to yourself. Hoseok owed you nothing, and that was the way you wanted to keep it. “I guess I shall see you later then.”

Hoseok closed his eyes as he exhaled a long sigh. “You shall.”

It felt sacrilegious to not have a tapered candle burning beside you while you worked, the thought toying with your mind every minute that passed. It would’ve have been your fathers wish for you to do so, and you knew that–but would he still have harbored so much love for the god knowing who his alter-ego was? Most importantly: Do you?

You couldn’t decide, probably due to the fact that you simply refused to accept the truth.

The guilt for neglecting your father’s wishes outweighed your uncertainty, for soon you were surrounded by black and red candles that dripped thin trails of wax down their holders and pooled at the base in a swirling moat of color, and the room was clouded with spiced incense smoke by the time afternoon had begun to roll through.

Each coffin you had crafted was respected to the utmost degree, all of them treated with a great gentleness; but this one was different. You found yourself tracing the grain for longer than you normally would, savoring the sanding of its edges and slowing down the slather of adhesive that held the pieces together. A hushed an unhurried procedure. One last show of love to the man that had raised you.

It was ritualistic, really.

There was truly no powerful a way to remind you of the importance of your work than when you were tasked with crafting the resting place of a loved one. Your father had always said it was an experience like no other–and now you understood what he had meant.

This moment here, holding the box still as you applied the finish with languid strokes, held the peace you had hoped for.

A peace that was soon interrupted by the abrupt opening of the shop door.

“I came as soon as I heard the news!” Taehyung bend over his knees gasping for breath, hair windswept and cheeks flushed from the cold. “Everyone is-are you-”

“I’m fine,” You reassured him, your tone even.

“Fine?” His voice jumped an octave.

You dipped your applicator in more of the beeswax varnish. “Fine.”

Taehyung rose to full height, taking in the state of the workshop and your disheveled appearance. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

Your eyes flitted up to meet his, the urge to turn him away with some kind of ‘I can handle it’ excuse. But perhaps, just this once, you’d let yourself indulge in saying something new for a change. “Actually, if you wouldn’t mind preparing the wood for my next customer…”

He himself seemed taken aback by your request, eyes bulging out of his skull. “Saint Hickory and Oak, are you certain you’re doing okay?”

You gave him a weak shrug, keeping your focus honed in on smoothing out the streaks your brush left behind. “At this moment, I am almost certain of nothing anymore.”

That only seemed to unnerve him further, yet he took no hesitation in hopping the counter to your side and sorting through the order labels with nimble fingers. It took a lot to silence a man like Kim Taehyung, yet that afternoon he seemed content with keeping his mouth closed and his hands busy, staving any words behind rushed worried glances and quiet observations.

It made you overly conscious of each muscle in your face and throat, keeping them taut and controlled as to not give anything away. But perhaps that in itself was telling enough.

Hours passed before Hoseok returned, most of them a blur of wood tones and smoke that you couldn’t seem to construct into any sort of memory. You didn’t even remember moving to the next stool so Taehyung could man the saw, or many of the previous hours that were spent sitting on it with your father’s empty box in your hands, the sides blank and undisturbed. Usually the designs spoke to you–beckoning your hand forth to uncover the patterns and motifs that hid beneath the surface. These four planks brought forth nothing but a splintering throb in your chest and a reminder of your weakness.

“What business do you have here?” Taehyung was on Hoseok the moment he opened the front door, mouth agape and fingers curled tight around the handle of a tool.

Hoseok raised one pointed brow in his direction, unimpressed by his show of threat. “Work.”

“I thought she had quit-” Taehyung did a double take bending low to nudge you with his elbow, whispering from the corner of his mouth, “-I thought you quit?”

“I did,” you whispered back. “This is much more complicated.”

He gave you a bug-eyed expression.

“I will explain later,” You waved a hand in his direction, laying the box on the table next to you as you stood. “Did you...Did you pick him up?”

Hoseok lifted the metal tin in his hands up higher for you to see. “As promised.”

Taehyung took on a shade of green, a hand coming up to wipe at the brewing sweat on his brow. “That’s him?”

“I would love to give you my real response to such an asinine question, but I am trying to be nice today.” Hoseok sneered at Taehyung.

“And how is that going for you?” Taehyung pressed the side of his fist over his mouth to stifle a gag.

“You are making it terribly difficult,” Hoseok glared at him. “Either hold yourself together or take your leave.”

You laid a hand on Taehyung’s bicep, giving it a gentle squeeze. “If you need to take a break you can, I appreciate how much you have already done for me today.”

Taehyung didn’t need to be told twice, tripping over his own boots on his way to build more separation between him and the little urn, some jumbled noise that had almost taken the shape of a goodbye leaving his lips as he disappeared.

Hoseok tracked his departure, only tearing his eyes away when the door closed. “You tend to keep quite the interesting company.”

“At least I have company.” You had intended for it to come out as an insult, but it ended up too soft around the edges, like a forlorn wish that shone a more pitiful light on yourself than him.

Hoseok didn’t take the obvious chance to ridicule the exposed underbelly of such a comment, standing stiff at the door. “Have you finished the box yet?”

It was clear you hadn’t, the sides still barren. You spun the cube in your hand with a scoff. “Does it look like I have?”

“Obviously you have-” His quick rebuttal slipped away behind a deep breath, which upon exhaling long and slow he began again with his eyes squeezed shut. “It doesn’t matter I suppose.”

Now it was your turn to raise a brow, stepping close enough to grab the other end of the tin in your hands. “’Trying to be nice today’, huh?”

Hoseok’s eye twitched, hands retracting from the tin with the speed of a lightning strike. “Don’t push it.” With that, he shrugged off his cloak and draped it over one of the empty stools, veering away from you to inspect the forge. “This flame is too low. You need to bring the temperature up.” His hands were adding more logs to the bottom before you could register what he was doing, foot pressing down on the pedal to feed more air into the chamber like he had done so a hundred times.

“How do you know how hot it needs to be?” You asked, hand on your hip. A small lick of defensiveness climbing up within you at being challenged in your own shop.

He paused, eyeing you carefully. “Who do you think taught your ancestors how to do this?”

You swallowed thickly, the lump in your throat that never seemed to go away after last night returning. “Not you.”

Hoseok shook his head, letting the comment pass unrequited. You were going to leave him to stoke the fires alone when rolled up his sleeves and took up the molds, squeezing it open and closed as though stretching an old muscle.

“That is my job,” You stumbled over to him, hand coming down over his to try and take it from his hand.

Hoseok’s eye twitched. “I’m not going to do your father’s. But I assume you have other orders that need to be prepared?”

Something hot burned in your middle and settled in your cheeks. You told yourself it was indignation at him coming into your shop and doing what he pleased, and not in anyway something akin to admiration for his strange willingness to help. That was quickly replaced with a flourish of protectiveness.

“Yes, you are correct to assume so. But let’s make one thing perfectly clear here, butcher,” You stood toe to toe with him, taking the mold from his hands and holding it behind you out of reach. “This is my business. This is my family’s shop. If you want to work here, you will have to listen to me. You have no place to boss me around here.”

“I don’t?” His voice dropped lower, sizzling with a threat you had learned was weightless by the tone alone.

“You don’t.”

Velvety flower petals and the smell of spiced rum curled around your senses, the pressure that came with them dragging your heart through your stomach, and her vision lost its clarity for a few moments.

“Don’t I?”

You blinked, the energy of Abyios saturating the air until it was too thick to breathe. You had never felt his presence like this–so unfiltered and so clearly him–not even of the previous night. Shaking your head took effort, yet you still did it.

“No.”

And then you smacked him just like Jimin had done–a gentle wack to the back of the head that seemed to stupefy him enough to drop his display, the whites of his eyes becoming just as visible as his irises.

“You do not get to just use that...thatgodprivilege. Not when it means so much to me and especially not with your face on. Now-” You shoved the mold back in his immobile hands, manually curling his fingers around the handle when he didn’t do it himself. “Show me I can trust you with this. I will wait until you’re ready.”

His lip curled upwards, teeth barred. “You are-”

“-Insufferable, I know,” You finished for him. “And you are just Hoseok. I do not fear you, nor am I willing to take your word in place of a demonstration of proficiency. I like to ensure that each and every treseyn that passes through that door is made up to my standards. So if you insist on being so good at it: prove it.”

Hoseok took the challenge in stride. Maybe it was the love of a strong work ethic that was stronger than his dislike for you that did it, but he dared not make the slightest noise as he took up one of your other clients ashes and started about concocting the proper mixture, letting it set over the flame while he meticulously managed the temperature. The result was flawless: sleek and marbled to perfection with just the right amount of shine.

He kept up with your standards for each order he took on, and while you hated to say it–the two of you worked unexpectedly well together, moving around each other like you had been doing this your whole lives. Which if you were even going to humor his alternative identity, you technically had been.

Night crawled on, and you still hadn’t finished your father’s box, nor had you started the process of melting him into any treseyn. Every time you started, another ticket caught your eye and pulled you that way, letting him sit idly on the counter top, waiting. You stared at the tin until your eyes grew heavy and your hands nearly slipped off the saw handle, forcing your work to come to a halt. Darkness crept over you, making every bone in your body feel heavy with the acknowledgment of who was in that tin.

Why hadn’t you just gotten over this part of it yet? You shouldn’t be feeling this way anymore. Would he be disappointed in how hard you were taking this?

Hoseok seemed to grow tired of the work just as you felt yourself curling further inwards, discarding his tools and donning his cloak once more as he prepared to take his leave. Once tied, he lingered by the door, eyes boring into the side of your skull with a vengeance that refused to be ignored.

“Yes?” You finally broke with an exasperated breath.

Hoseok clicked his tongue at your tone. “Are you coming or not?”

You furrowed your brow, peeling off your gloves that had grown sticky with sweat, not quite understanding what he had meant at first. Then it struck you: he was waiting to take you back to his home. You supposed you hadn’t ever stated in your prayers how long you were in need for a place of refuge, just that you needed it.

And if you were being honest, you weren’t ready to stay here alone–not yet anyways. Not to mention Wes was still curled up somewhere up on that hill, waiting for you to come get him. It wouldn’t make sense to go all the way up to get him, then make the trek back home in the same night, you told yourself.

You were only going back with him because it was responsible time management.

For days, you repeated that thought enough for you to believe it was the truth. You didn’t go back to the shop for any of them; keeping yourself tucked away in the confines of the guest room with Wes (when he wasn’t off exploring the new territory). Your father waited for you back at the shop, and you felt nothing for disgrace for yourself upon discovering that was the reason your heart tried to invert itself every time you thought about returning. You were becoming a coward.

Each night that week you melted into the silky sheets and plush comforter of the guest bed while relishing in the way that his bath had left your skin radiating with warmth instead of shriveling up from the cold, whispering to yourself that it was just the efficiency of this arrangement that made it so pleasant.

Like you weren’t up late into the night with wet cheeks and puffy eyes, hands curled around your father’s soul that you had yet to return while counting along to the gentle rhythm of Hoseok’s steps upon the stairs or the soft click of a door. Telling yourself all kinds of lies now that your father was not around to hear them, like how easily you were lulled to sleep by Hoseok puttering about was normal, and not so very wrong.

_________________________________________ 

Hoseok–despite his abhorrent distaste for anything colorful and his insistent need to watch your every step across his floors–was actually quite the exceptional roommate. He left you alone for the most part, never prying as to when you would return to work and letting any and all arguments slip between the cracks of his polished floors.

Breakfast was always left for you on the table, somehow still warm when you arose for your day of nonexistence. Clothes were folded with crisp lines, left atop the dresser in neat rows but never in it. Your bedding was always washed and changed before you returned to its embrace. But you almost never saw him do any of it. You had thought he was a ghost at the butcher shop, but here would be his true haunting place. And you were no better, days dripping away from you like spilled molasses, sticky and suffocating, with no way to stop the flow. They just kept coming.

This morning next to your plate was your father’s coffin, a small note tucked under the edge of it.

“I thought it might do you well to have it around in case the inspiration strikes. I brought back a few of your tools to help get the job done.”

Locating the blades, they were lined up within a traveler’s pouch made of artisan leather, something you had never owned before. Whatever you seemed to owe him must hold a lot more weight than you had originally fathomed, because this bag was no doubt an expensive gift.

Having the box in your hands turned you into a garbled mess again, thankfully with Wes as your only audience this time. You carried it around the house, posed it in different rooms and held it up to the light through curtained windows. But nothing came to you.

Hoseok found you sitting on the floor of his dark living room with the box in your lap, spine curled around it like a shield. He hovered by the door, leaving it ajar so the cold winter air could blow through the space, breathing a bit of life to it. After a few moments he spoke.

“I have an errand I need to run this evening,” He let the phrase float between you for a moment. “I could use some assistance with it if you would like to...get out of the house.”

“I suppose,” You mumbled, nestling the box on one of the round end tables, disturbing the dust that lay there. Your boots were still lost somewhere up in the guest room, and while searching for them you found yourself plucking up the little blue orb on your nightstand and dropping it into your pocket. It felt wrong not to take him with you.

You hadn’t the mind to realize where he was taking you until the maze-like shapes of metal wire and wooden posts crested over the rolling hills ahead of you. Then the smell hit you next, the sharp, eye-watering odor of livestock that was impossible to block. Hoseok guided you straight to the fences, leaning up against them in silence while he waited for whatever it was he had come for.

A long rectangular barn stood proud to your left, its gates were closed but that did little to stop the sounds of mulling animals from reaching your ears. The bleats and thumps of their hooves loud as ever. The sunset refracted off of the thin layer of trampled snow within the confines of the gates, softening the harsh lines of Hoseok’s usually bludgeoning expression, smoothing them until he looked rather peaceful as he took in the empty field.

You leaned forward, resting your chin on your forearm to look at him. “You always seem to be much easier company come sunset, have you noticed that?”

“He always has been that way,” A new voice answered for him stepping out from one of the rickety old doors to the barn. “It seems that the cover of night seems to make him soft.”

The man before you was tall, much taller than Hoseok, stocky in build with hair long enough to keep pulled back away from his face by a thin ribbon. The rounded shape of his cheeks and the permanent lopsided slant to his mouth made him approachable despite his intimidating size. You vaguely recognized him, but you couldn’t put your finger on from where. Perhaps just whenever you had meandered far enough out of town to catch a glimpse of the farms. He held a broad hand out to you, eyes glinting with kindness. “Jungkook.”

You took his hand from over the fence and gave it a firm shake, recognizing the name from the other townsfolk. “Nice to officially meet you.”

“Likewise,” Jungkook’s eyes flickered between you and Hoseok, taking on a knowing gleam. “Are you the new employee I’ve heard so much about?”

You tucked your tongue into the well of your cheek, eyeing Hoseok who looked like he wanted to melt into the ground. “Am I?”

Jungkook laughed, the sound melodic and deep. “I’ve heard nothing bad, don’t worry.”

Hoseok eyes rolled to a lazy stop on Jungkook, rubbing the tip of his nose with the side of his hand like that would cover up the sudden pinkish twinge to the skin. “My herd?”

“Right,” Jungkook brought two fingers to the corners of his mouth and whistled so loud it vibrated your skull. “They should be here momentarily.”

A lone cow rounded the corner first, curious and careful, its large nostrils blowing out thick streams of steam into the icy air. Then came another, and another–until there was a small herd of them prancing the perimeter of the barn towards you, tails flicking excitedly as they ran.

In one fluid motion, Hoseok hopped himself over the fence to greet them, caressing their noses and wrapping his spindly arms around their thick necks. Another shocking display of compassion from him.

“You want to say hi?” Jungkook offered you a hand, nodding towards the accumulating herd.

A feeling of life swelled in you, and you took his hand to chase the rush of it, letting him help hoist you over the fence to the uneven ground on the other side.

The animals were full of unbridled joy, nosing at the snow and galloping around the empty field in circles, stopping to press their foreheads to your palm every once in a while, or nudge your arm over their heads until you gave in and scratched along their backs. Hoseok was in no better a position, all but smothered by the animals that couldn’t seem to get enough of him–pressing into his sides and knocking him this way and that like a group of overgrown dogs. It brought you more joy then you’d care to admit, watching his cloak get tugged on or his face bumped in another direction against his will.

The sun had finished its journey lower by the time you found yourself shivering, butt planted in the cold ground lent up against one of the reclining cows who couldn’t stop herself from resting her head over your lap. You scratched between her ears and under her chin idly, watching Hoseok and Jungkook wrangle the rest back towards the barn. Your fist somehow found its way around your father’s treseyn at some point, just letting it rest there, the ache in your chest brought on by its pulse muted. You could almost imagine your father sitting next to you as you held it, probably spewing some story about him and his own brothers that was related to this, because he always had one.

It hurt, but the good kind of hurt.

“I see Valli has you cornered,” Jungkook plopped down next to you, sweaty and out of breath from the chase with the animals, leaning over to plant a kiss atop the cows forehead. “She would keep you here forever if you’d let her.”

“I don’t mind,” You beamed up to him, resting your cheek on her warm fur. “She’s quite the companion.”

“You say that now, but when she is insistent on getting as much attention as possible from you while trying to work, it grows tiring.” One side of Jungkook’s mouth tipped upwards as he spoke, leaning back to rest on his palms. There was a relaxed lull in conversation before he started again, this time subdued and quiet. “I am...I am sorry to hear of your father. He was a good man.”

You squeezed the treseyn tighter. “You knew him?”

Jungkook smiled, taking on a distant look. “I did. When he was but a boy, him and his brothers would come down to the fields and offer their labor in exchange for some loose change. Of the three of them, he always worked the hardest, not once would he leave until all possible tasks were completed for the day. He built himself quite the legacy, and I am sure the town will be feeling his loss for quite some time. If you are to ever need anything, do not hesitate to ask. A daughter of his is a friend of mine.”

You fought back the urge to cry with a shaky inhale, letting it slip back out of your mouth audibly, having the strength to offer nothing else but a timid “Thank you.” You were right, there was a story of him here to be told, and while it hurt to hear it from someone else’s mouth, it warmed your soul to find him within the nooks and cranny’s of Povendel, like a treasure hunt just for you.

With every other cow now guided back inside except the one snuggled into your side, Hoseok started his blazing trail back to you, tired and out of breath from the chase. You traced Hoseok’s path towards you from the front of the barn while letting the lump that had formed in your throat wither away once more, his head low and his chest heaving. “He is just full of surprises recently,” You mused, noting the way he tugged off his gloves to wring his cold hands together. “I wouldn’t have taken him for an animal lover, all things considered.”

“Most don’t,” Jungkook sighed, tipping his head back to the star studded sky. “But he spends much of his time here with them until it’s their time.”

“When will that be?” You fiddled with Valli’s ear.

“Soon,” Jungkook frowned, looking up to greet Hoseok as he arrived before you. “When are they due?”

“Spring,” Hoseok answered plainly.

“And you are able to just...kill them?” Your voice grew more timid with each word, remembering how technically you had seen him kill more than just animals–your father’s soul a testament to that.

Hoseok pondered your question, crouching down low to run a hand over Valli’s spine. “I don’t know how many times I have to remind you that I am able to just kill anything. I am death.”

“And I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that I refuse to believe that you are a god.”

Jungkook looked rather amused at the two of you. “Interesting dynamic you have here, Hoseok.”

“Don’t even start,” Hoseok slid his eyes over to Jungkook and narrowed them. “You have your own ‘interesting dynamics’ to tackle if I’m not mistaken.”

Jungkook held his hands up in surrender. “I meant no offense.”

“He always finds a way to be offended, that’s his specialty,” You remarked with a chuckle of your own, letting the treseyn drop back into your pocket to glance towards Jungkook. “You know of him?”

Jungkook’s eyes glinted knowingly, a gentle smile making its way onto his face. “Quite well.”

Hoseok didn’t comment on your jest, nor Jungkook’s apparent knowledge of his identity, taking to staring vacantly at the side of your face in a way that made you self conscious about what it must look like. It was intense and indecipherable the way he stared at it. Was there something on your face? Just in case, you wiped at your cheek, breaking his eye contact with it.

He cleared his throat and leveled his attention to Jungkook. “We should be going soon.”

The goodbyes were brief, but the lasting impact of the interaction left you glowing with rejuvenation. You kept your head up as you walked through town, even going as far as to offer the trickling townsfolk a wave here and there. When they returned it, your heart soared, and the flutter of your father’s soul in your pocket grew stronger, the ache lessening even more.

It should’ve alarmed you how you didn’t think twice on walking back to Hoseok’s house, or how your body didn’t even need to be told where to go. It just knew that was where you were supposed to go.

Wes was right on the other side of the door, impatiently awaiting your return with noisy meows and traveling paws. Hoseok stared down at his begging, unimpressed when Wes tried to use his shins as ladder to peer up at him hopefully. “Does he ever not wish to eat?”

“Gods no,” You chuckled, nudging Wes off of Hoseok with your foot. “If he ever says no to something, it means he is near death and needs immediate medical attention.”

“I never understood cats,” Hoseok dodged Wes’s next advance, stepping over him until for the cat to turn on his heel and trot after him. “They are so needy. They offer no value to a home.”

Your eyebrows shot into your hairline. “And pray tell, what value do you bring to a home, Hoseok?”

His mouth opened and closed for a moment, clearly fighting the urge to make a snarky remark.

“That’s what I thought,” You shrugged, picking Wes up from the floor and waving at him with one of his paws. “I think he deserves to try some of that chicken you brought back yesterday.”

Hoseok’s nostrils flared. “No he doesn’t. That is high quality poultry that shall not be wasted on a cat.”

“Oh? And who should it be wasted on?” You asked with a teasing smile.

Hoseok huffed, tying himself up in knots to find an answer that never came.

“Hmm. For a god you really need to work on your communication. You are lacking the skill I was sure you’d have.”

Hoseok followed you into the kitchen, turning on the lamp. “I thought you didn’t believe I was a god?”

“I don’t,” You put Wes on one of the kitchen chairs, ambling over to his cupboards to start digging through them. “Looks like you’ll have to do a better job at convincing me.”

Hoseok noticed what you were up to and lunged across the kitchen to smack the cupboard door closed. “What happened to you being a moping mess? Now you are pillaging me out of house and home after insulting me?”

“We need to eat,” you gestured between yourself and the cat. “And as for the moping, give me a bit of time and perhaps the urge will return. But as of right now, I am hungry.”

Hoseok looked to you like you had two heads. “You are done grieving...because you are hungry?”

“I’m not done grieving,” It was your turn to roll your eyes, fishing out the little pearl-like object from your pocket and holding it out for the both of you to see, you smiled down softly to it. “But I think it’d be good for me to take a break. Don’t you think?”

He hesitated in his response, disappearing into his pantry to rummage through its contents. “I am not the one you should be asking.” He appeared again holding a sack of dried flour, shooing you out of his way. “Sit. I will not have you messing up my kitchen.”

Lowering yourself into one of the kitchen chairs, you couldn’t help the tiny smile that wormed its way on your face. You thought of the grumpy man in front of you prancing with cows all evening, and your smile only grew that much wider. The a surge in motivation gripped you by the throat, urging you to chip away at your father’s coffin, if only a little bit. So you did, parking yourself at his kitchen table while he took to wiping down his cabinets and counters free of the accumulated grime, with you whittling the tiny image of a cow sleeping upon a bed of soft grasses, the picture no bigger than an inch or two. It wasn’t finished by any means, but it was something. A journey you had taken him on this afternoon that you felt deserved to be remembered; one of the many tales of him you hoped to find as the days went on.

When you lit the small black candle on the table top, you saw the muscles in Hoseok’s jaw twitch, and he looked at you–really looked at you–so quick you had almost missed it. You weren’t exactly sure what it was, except that it was vulnerable. A peek behind the curtain of his being, free from the layers of protection he wore. You held the fleeting connection close until it was warm and melted in your hands, like honey that stuck to your skin, turning your mind upside down and your insides into goo. You liked when he looked at you like that. Liked the taste it left in your mouth more than you cared to admit.

It lingered, even as you shoveled shy bites of the meal he had slid across the table for you to eat; grew stronger when he sat in one of the empty chairs and pretended to hate when Wes climbed onto his lap and curled up against his stomach, but didn’t make any move to push him off. It’s taste warded off the caked up feelings of isolation, a feeling you hadn’t even noticed had been so prominent before now that you hadn’t been given the chance to feel it over the past week.

A soft smile dug into your cheeks as you watched Hoseok drag his palm over the top of Wes’s head, his head tipped down to stare at the cat that looked up to him with the biggest, most precious eyes that glinted in the candle light; his pupils growing larger with each second. It would have been cute hadn’t you known exactly what that look meant.

“That is the look he gives when he’s getting ready to bite, you know.”

Hoseok slid his eyes to you, bros furrowed. “What?”

You gestured to Wes with your spoon. “Those big sweet eyes? Yeah. Those are the eyes of a monster waiting to strike.”

Hoseok scoffed, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “As if he would-” He never quite finished that sentence, Wes’s mouth clamping down on his wrist and his tail puffing twice its size as he experienced a joy like no other: the taste of fresh prey.

“Treserorr!” Hoseok cursed, leaping into the air and shooing the cat off his lap, wrapping his hand around his wrist to sooth the burn of the cats teeth. Wes scampered off, leaping and bounding down the hall towards the stairs to celebrate his victory while Hoseok nursed his wounded pride.

You nearly spitting your food across the table, unbothered by the narrow-eyed glare Hoseok sent your way. You brought the back of your hand up to hide your wide grin and bubbling laughter. “I tried to warn you!”

Hoseok stared at you for a moment, nursing the puncture wounds and soaking in your expression and the poorly concealed giggles you couldn’t stop. Then with a shake of his head, he walked over to the sink and sunk his hands in the soapy water, hiding himself and petal pink glow that had overcome the tips of his ears in the task of cleaning up after dinner. You couldn’t stop replaying the image in your mind, an absent minded smile hung on your lips as you finished cleaning up the lines of the etched image. The candle had long since fizzled out, but he stuck around, his quiet, disgruntled company an acquired taste that your palate was growing quite accustomed to.

_________________________________________ 

Everything looked blue. The snow, the sky, the pale walls of the cottage you could now recognize as none other than Hoseok’s. Even the fur of the fox was sucked of all of its color, left a shimmering, silvery blue. It had been a while since the creature had paid you a visit, but that made him all the more ecstatic upon your arrival, running in tight circles around your feet and pawing at your legs with high-pitched chattering sounds.

This time when he launched his little body against the door, it gave way, spilling golden light down until the cerulean snow. He pounced along the wooden floorboards, diving beneath the couches and darting through doorways. You had never seen the creature this happy before.

He swerved to a stop before you, beckoning you deeper into the home that only now started to show its differences.

It was Hoseok’s house, but it wasn’t. This one was decorated with loose-handed sketches and stacked canvases, no inch of the space unkempt or lavished with color and life. No layers of dust and soot, no barren walls–the space was truly a home curated by someone who loved it.

The fox waited for you on the staircase, whining at your dragging pace.

You whispered to him an apology that you couldn’t hear, taking the stairs after him and turning the corner towards the only room you dared not venture.

“I am not supposed to go in there…” Your steps slowed. “It is not mine.”

If the fox had been human, you could almost guarantee that it was laughing at you, using its long snout to pry open a small gap.

“I mean it,” You argued, heart thumping loudly in your ears as he managed to get his head through the hole he had made. “I shouldn’t be here.”

The door opened, revealing a room not too much unlike the one you were staying in, just with older, more ornate wooden pieces, and each surface absolutely swamped with beads, colorful bottles holding thin bouquets, and bones of all shapes and sizes. A dragon’s den would be a more precise title for such a room.

At the center was a towering figure, illustrious and dignified, with the head of a skeletal deer whose antlers stretched up to the ceiling, the tips scraping the paint from the surface as I moved. It did not frighten you in the slightest, bringing forth a wave of tranquility about the room as it moved. It stood before the largest dresser, pointing an elongated, bony finger at one of the offering plates nearest to him. Hoseok’s gloves were folded neatly there, looking less cracked and weathered than you had seen them earlier that day. It was then that you noticed along the bottom, the braided rope that was woven along the wrist and dangled downwards, acting like a fastener to keep it snug to the wearer’s skin. Those didn’t seem to be Hoseok’s gloves, for you had never once seen the black and gold thread.

Once more quick glance of the room made you feel like an intruder, the unmade red blankets strewn about, the clothes forgotten on a nearby chair like they had been hastily discarded, and the steam that billowed out from the bathroom door, signaling the want for privacy.

You hear the water turn off and the knob to the bathroom jostle against the wood, filling your middle with dread you couldn’t shake. All it told you was that you needed to run–and quickly.

The fox sat at attention besides the door, wagging its tail and beaming up to you like this was exactly what it had been waiting for.

The door opened, and the suffocating strength of whoever awaited you was enough to get your feet moving–racing down the steps to escape having to face them and whatever horrors they carried with them.

The fox scampered after you, calling out to you like a lost child with obvious disappointment, but it too was followed. You never looked. You couldn’t, the only thing on your mind was getting out of the house and getting out of it quickly. Both of your pursuer’s steps were gaining on you, the sound of your breath filling your ears as you grasped for the handle in a desperate struggle for freedom.

It wouldn’t open.

You through yourself against it to no avail.

The fox had grown in size, no longer was it small and delicate, but hulking in size like a horse, its back concaved downwards under it’s growing weight. It slammed into you, smothering you against the door with a deafening whine. Teeth dug into your shoulder, not with enough force to break the skin but enough to sting, his jaws shaking you about to get you to hold still as the figure rounded the top of the stairs. You screamed, clawing for its lips to release you, wriggling your body from it’s bone crushing grip until you fell to the floor at its feet in a heap. It grabbed you again, tugging you to your feet by the back of your neck, forcing you to face what descended the steps into the dimly lit entrance way.

A beast would be the only proper name for it. A hulking mass of matted fur with a blunt snout, hoofed legs bent and mangled, stretching helplessly down each step as its massive weight snapped what was left of its bones with audible cracks. The eyes were bulbous and yellow, the fur formally cream, now threaded with the crimson of its own blood. A lamb, cursed and defiled. It crawled desperately, gnashing splintered square teeth and spitting foam. The fox wouldn’t loosen its grip, the teeth starting to pinch at the skin at the base of your neck, drawing warmth to trickle down your spine.

No scream escaped your throat though it strained to find one. Limbs flailed in all directions to make room to escape from the foxes grip, but he wouldn’t budge.

He was leading you to this...this demon from the beginning. Offering your body to its impending consumption without remorse.

Your fingers clawed at the foxes eyes and nose, raking through the flesh and fur, the action only spurring it to bite down with more force. The lamb approached your dangling feet, golden-yellow eyes staring up at you with untethered rage. It’s mouth opened, and from it a piercing cry tore from its throat, loud enough to drown out your own racing heartbeat and any thought you could’ve had. It made blood pool from your ears, dripping through the gaps of your fingers and wrists to land in its gaping mouth.

A scream finally flew free, stopping short in the back of your hand that came up to stifle it.

Your room was dark, the moon still visible through the curtains of the window. You must have only been asleep for an hour or two judging by the deep blue color of the sky, but the dream had left a toll on you, urging you to stumble out of bed and away from it’s grasp.

You snuck out to the porch, a tall tapered candle and your father’s coffin to take your mind off the dream, hankering down on the edge of the porch like you belonged there. You struck a match, lighting the wick and keeping it close, like the puny flame alone would be strong enough to ward off the ruthless bitter air.

At first you weren’t sure what you should add to the design, turning the tool over in your hand like a windmill and letting it fall to the step below, only to pick it up in a hurry like that would magically spur you into motion. Yet you couldn’t figure out the rest of the design to save your life. The answer should be simple–he was your father for pete’s sake. You knew everything there was to know about him: his love for animals and his job, his devotion to his religion, what made him laugh, the quickest way to irritate him–all of it was known to you like the back of your hand.

So why did nothing feel right?

Were you even cut out for this job anymore if you couldn’t even finish your own father’s design? Were you that much of a failure that you could fumble the supposedly easiest job?

The front creaked open, the sound followed by two heavy boots landing on the uneven wood.

“It is far too cold to be out here.”

“Then go back inside,” You offered weakly, your throat tight.

Hoseok’s weight hovered behind you just out of sight, shifting from foot to foot audibly. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” You shot back, growing defensive as the start of fresh tears threatened to fall.

“You invited me.”

“I didn’t-” Your argument died quickly, staring into the flickering candle once more. “I didn’t invite you.”

You heard Hoseok sigh, then there was a rustle of fabric before his cloak was draped over your shoulders again and his weight settled on the step beside you. It wasn’t fair. It really wasn’t, not when the scent of Abyios followed him as though to spite your resistence.

He seemed reserved again, the call of the night keeping him relaxed besides you as he pondered whatever it was he wanted to say. “I am going to be traveling soon, for work…” He cleared his throat, keeping his attention down on the back of his hands that hung loosely off his knees. “To the Doeidyads.”

You pursed your lips, unsure where he was headed with this conversation. Was he finally kicking you out? Why did that thought make you want to cry again?

As though reading your thoughts he angled his body towards you, never quite looking up. “I was going to extend the offer for you to join me–that is if you’d want to.”

You inspected his face from the corner of your eye. “What kind of work?”

“Saprorym Meuloutyp.”

You froze, holding the coffin tighter in your fists. He was traveling north to the birthplace of the holiday–a city you had never gotten the chance to go to yet, and a holiday you had yet to really take part in. A dream that had never felt possible now dangled before you. Not only that, but it could be a chance to find more of your father around, as he had traveled north before, and had even witnessed one of the celebrations in person. It would almost be like going with him if you really thought about it.

“What business do you have celebrating such a holiday?” You used the question to hide your eagerness to say yes, schooling your features to pretend what he had offered wasn’t filling you with a whirlwind of excitement.

“Are you really asking me such a question?”

You shrugged. “It is a reasonable question for a man such as yourself. Have you ever even danced before?”

Hoseok looked offended. “Funny how you of all people are asking me that.”

You flushed, remembering how often you had danced with Abyios late into the night, horrified to imagine it being Hoseok watching your clumsy attempts to follow along. “If you really are...him...how many candles have lit for you?” You quizzed to take the attention off of yourself, the tool in your hand long forgotten.

Hoseok grunted in displeasure. “Too many.”

“So you dislike when I light them?”

Hoseok’s neck snapped to you, eyes wide. “I never said that. Never imply something so idiotic to me again.”

You flinched, cowering deeper into the fabric like the comforting scent could save you. Guilt flashed across his features that he covered up with a cough into his fist. “Four hundred.”

You made a noise of confusion in the back of your throat, and he took that as a sign to continue.

“Four hundred. You have burned four hundred candles for me. Give or take.”

“And my dad?” The question sounded pitiful to even your own ears.

Hoseok tipped his head back to examine the night sky, letting the first real chuckle fall from his lips. “More than I could count. Thousands.”

Your eyes stung, and you brought the back of your hand up to wipe at them before they could embarrass you again. You found your voice a second later, scratchy and uncertain. “What for?”

Hoseok regarded you thoughtfully over his shoulder. “For many reasons. Most of them were just to spend time with me. He wasn’t one to ask for much. I can only recall a few times where he has.”

You looked to him expectantly, ushering him to tell you more. “And what were those?”

“When you were born I can vaguely remember him asking for my blessing…” He grew quieter, and if you looked close enough you could almost see the memories reflected in his eyes as he sifted through them. “When I had come to collect your mother, he prayed for me to watch over her in the afterlife. And then lastly when he had first fallen ill, he prayed for my guidance.”

“He had only asked for your help three times?” You looked to him in amazement.

“Only three,” Hoseok repeated, as if amazed himself. “Thousands of candles and a nearly equal amount of other offerings, and only three requests.”

“I’ve made so many already…” You laughed to yourself, the sound wet and shy.

“I know.” Hoseok looked at you without an ounce of judgment. If anything, it could be read as a tender fondness, melting his stony expression down to something soft. Almost.

Your skin felt hot, a stark contrast to the winters embrace, and you hurriedly inspected the blank lid of the coffin like it was the most interesting thing in the world, tracing the swirling patterns of the wood with your fingertip. It was then when an idea struck you, your finger ceasing its movements to pick up the carving tool.

Hoseok didn’t pry, just watched silently as you carved the outline of a pillared candle, the top surrounded in a wreath of churning smoke that coiled around the stem, and stretched long wispy tendrils around the lid. The carving took up the entire top, but it only felt right to make it so, for clearly they were important to him. A homage to his dedication.

You worked until you couldn’t, your vision blurring against your will at the rush of emotion the image brought forth. When you couldn’t hold it in anymore, you cast the box aside and pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes until it hurt. All you wanted to do was push them back in–hide them away until you were in the comfort of your room.

“I wish I could say that it gets easier,” Hoseok kept his volume low, his voice rumbling up from deep within his chest. “It doesn’t. It never does.”

Your spine bent inwards until your forehead pressed into your knees, and you swallowed in a sudden breath, using your the tops of your thighs to hide the sound of it. “That isn’t true,” You mumbled into your own skin.

Hoseok seemed taken aback by your response. “Excuse me?”

“You said that it never gets easier, but I know that isn’t true,” You craned your neck to peer up at him, resting your damp cheek on your leg and sending him a bittersweet smile. “My mother died when I was young as you know, and while it hurt, the pain subsided long ago in exchange for the security her memory brings. I am lucky to be able to remember her–to have known her at all is a gift. I know one day this pain will be nothing more than a memory, but it is until then that I will struggle.”

Hoseok fidgeted in his seat, a thousand emotions displaying themselves on his face. Anger. Frustration. Shame. Then it landed on one you hadn’t seen him wear before: curious. “I suppose…”

Silence settled over the two of you, one that felt as tranquil as the freshly fallen snow and left you time to think of his offer. While the rational part of yourself knew you should say no, that you were better off wiping yourself off the floor and facing the shop, and the prospects of planning a service for your father–but the wishful part of you wanted to just go. To truly live for once, not hidden behind storefront windows or creeping around brick buildings. To be apart of it all instead of locked away inside. And this might be your only chance to do so, with the impending doom of the city retracting its funding from you after your impromptu break.

“I’ll go with you,” You mumbled out. “To the Doeidyads.” Hoseok tipped his head to listen, tearing his eyes from the stars. “But on one condition.”

“What is it?” he asked cautiously.

“I want to bring someone with me, and not just my dad.” You lifted your head from your knees and wiped at your face. “I would like to invite Lucille. I haven’t gotten to see her much since he died, and I want to remind her that I still think of her.”

He chewed over your request, his expression made up of that same indecipherable curiosity as before. “That is...I can work with that.”

Hoseok started to move to stand, and you panicked at the thought of being alone again, hand coming out to grab his wrist and giving it a sharp tug. “If it is not too much to ask, would you mind staying until the candle goes out?” You felt the name crawling up the back of your throat and settling on the tip of your tongue, and you spit it out on whim. “Please?”

Hoseok went rigid, lowering himself back down to the step as though in a trance. He didn’t look at you, and you didn’t look at him. But you never did quite let go of his wrist, letting it rest in the palm of your hand like in some twisted way it belonged there. That’s where it stayed, tucked between your fingers, keeping them warm until you couldn’t remember to blink anymore. Until the world was nothing but indistinct shapes, and your dreams were soaked with cinnamon and chamomile, safe from the beastly horrors of before.

_________________________________________ 

Saying goodbye to Wes was harder than you had thought it would be–it was only a few days, but leaving him alone felt so wrong. You had gone over the instructions for Taehyung multiple times when you had dropped him off at his shop, fretting over whether or not he’d be able to handle his care despite his constant reassurance.

Part of it was stalling before you were to meet Lucille at the docks, anxious to how the first real time seeing her since your father’s death would go–would she be inconsolable? Would she want nothing to do with you now that your father wasn’t holding the two of you together? Fear raced around your head like a whirlpool, flushing out every other possible thought until your palms were slick with sweat and your mind was empty.

“Why would you even invite her if you are going to be so nervous?” Hoseok grumbled, lugging behind him the trunk that held the both of your belongings.

“Because,” You snapped back, searching the crowds for the top of Lucille’s head. “It is important when struggling with grief to lean on those closest to you, for no one else will understand like they will. And while she isn’t my mother, she is still family.”

You caught sight of her standing to the side of the bustling crowd, arms wrapped around herself and peering nervously through the crowd, the tension between her brows melting once she finally saw your approach.

She waved you over, standing on the tips of her toes to stand out amongst the crowd. Maybe she was just as nervous as you were.

“Sorry for running behind,” You stopped beside her, unsure if you should hug her or not, settling for just standing near. “We got caught up dropping the cat off with Taehyung.”

“It’s no problem,” Lucille assured you, looking to Hoseok next. “I appreciate you offering to bring me along. It was an unexpected visit, that is for sure.”

You looked between the two of them. “He came to ask you in person?”

Lucille’s eyes lit up at the memory, washing away some of the gloom that hovered over them. “Oh yes! He showed up at the bakery, giving all of us quite the shock. You should have seen everyone’s faces when he walked through the door!”

Hoseok smiled through tight lips. “It is an honor to bring you along, Lucille.” Hoseok nodded to the trunk, then to her bag. “It will be best if we check these in. We can board early.” With that, he brushed past the two of you, sauntering straight to the boarding ramp to the guard who simply let him through without any hesitation. Moments like this reminded you of how different of a life the two of you had led, for his money let him go anywhere he pleased it seemed.

Lucille looked just as nervous as you felt, so you took the lead, gesturing after him with both shaky hands. “After you?” She chuckled a bit too loudly, hurrying after him with her skirts in hand. Things had never been so uncomfortable between the two of you, the unsaid lurking just beneath the surface, but neither of you with the guts to say it.

The cabin Hoseok had led you two was small, just a simple compartment with two wooden booths for seating, and a tiny porthole window on one side. It was cramped and humid, which paired with the gentle sway of the floors from side to side made your stomach churn. That, and you could see the glisten of unshed tears coating Lucille’s eyes as she looked from the window, and you wanted to run from what them falling could do to you.

Hoseok had his friendly persona on once more, chatting politely with her while you slipped out to the deck where other people had come to congregate, most of them marveling the view of icy blue waves diving against the sides of the ship, or the distant shoreline of Povendel disappearing into the distance. But you were just looking for space. A moment to breathe when you felt like you couldn’t.

Both of them seemed alright with giving you that much needed space, for Lucille only found her place besides you when the shapeless mass of the Doeidyads started to form from the mist, still undefined at this distance.

“The view is beautiful,” She commented, resting her hands on the railing.

You hummed in agreement. “It is.”

Her fingers danced across the wood, tapping in a sporadic rhythm. “He loved the sea…” Her voice cracked, but she regained control of it. “He always talked of how much he wanted us to take a trip together. The three of us, to Cheym.”

You had to carefully control your breathing to keep it from becoming unsteady. “I didn’t know that.”

“He kept it to himself. I don’t think he wanted to get your hopes up in case he...well…” She trailed off, voice strained.

You nodded, unable to say much else.

Lucille turned to you suddenly, a timid hand coming out to rest on yours. “I really am grateful you invited me. It is bittersweet; but in a way it’s like we are completing his wishes. Does that make sense?”

You sniffled, offering her a weak smile. “Yeah, it does.” The other one of your hands traveled into your pockets, grabbing hold of your father’s treseyn and wedging it in your fist. If you closed your eyes, you could imagine him standing between the two of you, pointing to the sea birds and naming them. His laugh was just out of reach, barely audible over the sound of the water.

“Call me naive,” Lucille laughed at herself, “but it’s almost like he’s here with us.”

Now that struck you. It situated itself next to your beating heart, tunneling deep down and curling up like a small creature, content and unguarded in its little hovel. You felt a rush of emotion swell up inside, and all of the sudden the water had never looked so blue; crashing and dispersing in a beautiful slap of white foam and sea spray. The growing city ahead whispered to you, calling you forward with a promise of more. You’d find part of him there, and if you didn’t–you would invite him to join you.

You flipped your hand to hold hers with more purpose, looking to her ardently. “It’s not naive, because I feel it too.”

It was like that moment broke down the awkward air that had surrounded the two of you, and the silence was no longer uncomfortable, but soothing. You understood each other in that moment, ears perked up for any kind of sign of him while your eyes were trained ahead on what was to come.

You didn’t blame Hoseok for keeping to himself for most of the trip, probable giving the mask he had to wear around Lucille a break before he sidled up near the two of you just as the city had come into view, the boat readying itself to dock.

Magnificent would do little to describe the Doeidyads, a city of stone carved into the cliff side draped in glittering lights and climbing higher into the mountains, framed by the foggy beaches and sprawling docks that held more boats than you had seen in your entire life. When you let your father’s treseyn fall back into your pocket, it was like a breath of fresh air had come over you, and you invited him to join you as you descended the ramp onto the sturdy wooden docks below.

Hoseok expertly weaved the two of you through the city, taking the limestone streets in stride; up the cliff side paths to the center of town, a massive courtyard embellished with an equally sizable fountain and an overwhelming assortment of celebratory decorations. Banners of electric blue and black hung high over your heads in a zigzagging pattern, trailed by large red bulbs that shone down on the streets, painting everything in shades of purple and crimson. What was the most breathtaking scene of it all was the art they had built, hulking structures of marble and clay molded into different kinds of mushrooms that spilled across the sides of buildings and latched onto lantern posts. No doubt that the witches had helped achieve such a dazzling display, but the unapologetically loud and enormous display of tradition was enough to move you.

The people were already moving like Saprorym Meuloutyp was today and not the following day, roaring with laughter with loud music on every corner, dressed to the nines in vibrant colors over contrasting blacks, masks of bone or sculpted like mushroom caps that had grown from their cheeks pulled over their eyes. The party had already begun, the streets alive with the energy.

The inn he had led you to was near the courtyard, a grand stone fixture that melded into a rocky cliff, dotted with ornate balconies and glowing from within. Like the rest of the town, it too was rippled with fanned out mushroom caps, some of them enchanted to shimmer as the sun started to fade.

Your room was to be shared with Lucille, which was no problem to you. Not when after Hoseok had take the two of you out to dinner at an outdoor restaurant, close enough to the courtyard to see one of the many parades dance proudly through town and the two of you had shared one two many drinks, giggling like schoolgirls as you stumbled back to your room.

“You are-”hiccup “-so kind, really.” Lucille had never grinned so wide in front of you, radiating a beauty that only came with age as she thanked Hoseok for the hundredth time, hanging onto his arm to keep from falling over entirely.

Hoseok grunted, having decided she was drunk enough to miss the lack of saccharine smiles and pleasantries. “Let’s just try and get you to your room. You will both need your rest for tomorrow.”

You giggled, holding open the door of your room so Hoseok could guide Lucille in. “Look at you~ Carrying me home again.”

“Like you had given me a choice,” He whispered, letting Lucille fall carelessly down onto her bed where she sunk with a sigh, her eyes closing on impact.

“You bought the drinks this time,” You chided, coy smile upon your lips. “You could have just left.”

Hoseok hesitated by the door, looking down his nose at you with the ghost of a smirk. “And let the two of you get lost and tumble down the hillside? I am not sure if you remember correctly, but your family seems to be the only one in town that doesn’t believe I am up to something nefarious. I would be framed for your murder instantly should something happen to you.”

Lucille had already begun to snore, and you looked around his shoulder to catch a glimpse of her, the bright lights from the city below lighting up the room with streaks of color. It was all marvelous, getting to be here–getting to witness such an event with your own eyes, and with someone you cared about no less. Your father’s soul felt heavy in your pocket, and with a rush of intoxicated gratitude, you threw yourself on him.

“Thank you,” You wrapped your arms around his middle and squeezed, hoping to convey just how much what he was doing meant to you. “Thank you for letting me take him places one last time.”

Hoseok was lax in your hold, one of his arms coming up to loosely rest at the small of your back. His heart beat wildly against his ribs, and you could hear it–feel it against your own. His skin grew warmer beneath your touch, and he seemed to have enough of your affection.

“Alright,” Hoseok groaned, peeling you off of him and stepping around you. “That is quite enough.”

You teased him if only a little. “Oh come on, you can’t have hated that.”

“Every second of it.” He huffed.

“Then why was your heart beating so fast?” You challenged.

Hoseok blanked for a moment. “Because you irritate me.”

“I do?”

“Enrage me, actually.”

“Of course,” You tried to hide your smile, his defense endearing. “And I would never wish for anything else.”

Hoseok bit his lip, taking another good look at your goofish smile. “I won’t be here to grab you both before the celebration. I like to arrive early. Most of the celebration takes place in the square or the shore, which should be easy enough for you to find. Can I trust you can handle that?”

“Absssolutely,” You slurred out with a clumsy salute.

“Promising,” Hoseok clicked his tongue. He started to retreat towards his room when he stopped, shoulders hunched up to his ears for him to hide behind. “If you...If you want to buy anything to wear for the celebration, I will drop off the money for it in the morning.”

You tilted your head. “Something to wear?”

“A mask.” Hoseok clarified. “An outfit. Whatever you please.”

“Oh,” You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, leaning on the handle to your door. “I suppose I didn’t think I’d need one. I probably won’t be doing much dancing….”

He sighed through his nose, frustrated. “Just get something. Consider it a gift.”

“Another gift?” You questioned, a lazy grin stretching across your face and your fingers tapping out a mindless rhythm on the door. “If I didn’t know any better butcher, it almost feels like you might...like me.”

Hoseok’s answer was nothing but a stifled breath and a hurried retreat, leaving you to wash up on your own before crawling beneath the soft sheets of the inn, drunken mind spinning all the while as to what his answer would have been if he had chosen to say something. His silence was enough to knock you off kilter, giggling to yourself underneath your comforter with warm cheeks, snuggled close to your father’s soul and mumbling to him the tales of your adventures that morning until you drifted off to the sounds of the city behind you.

_________________________________________ 

Waking with the sun wasn’t your intention, but it was your reality nonetheless. Lucille looked as though she needed the unbothered rest, so you let her have it, getting dressed in the shared bathroom and tiptoeing out into the hall as to not disturb her. Your boots nudged something small left upon the threshold–a satchel of drunes just left out in the open for you to find.

Gasping, you hurried to scoop them up from their vulnerable position, bewildered as to why he would just leave them out like this for any passerby to swipe. Especially since the bag was quite hefty. Tying the burgundy pouch to your belt, you wandered around the inn until you wound up on the street, breathing in the salty air that clung to you like a second skin, humid and dense. The townsfolk were working together in small groups to add more decorations to the streets, stuffing lights and winding streamers of cyan and black on any nook and cranny that could hold them up. You wove beneath ladders and around aiding witches to begin your lone trek through the city streets with no particular destination in mind, just to observe. To be.

At one point or another, you took out your father’s treseyn and held it out like doing so would give him the ability to see, describing the rocky cliffs and sloping trails on the city’s edge to him under your breath. When the crowd began to concentrate in the roads and open front shops, you pocketed him for safe keeping and headed down towards the shore where a group of older witches worked as a team to lay down a circular wooden platform and line it with pulsating lights of sky blue, waving their hands in fluid gestures to raise bubbling fungi from the edges to grow with the flick of their wrists. Behind them sat row of merchant tents embedded in the sands, harboring their first wave of tourists and native customers alike.

You walked through them, inspecting all the handmade jewelry and fabrics they had to offer, stopping at a lilac tent with a few particularly eye-catching masks. Each one was hand crafted from real bone: the skulls of cows, sheep or deer; miscellaneous shoulder blades carved into half masks; or dismembered ribs circled into snaggle-toothed crowns.

These were a part of the tradition that hadn’t quite made it to Povendel yet–only for the most devout Abyios worshipers on the day of Abyiosia. But you had heard the tales of how extravagant they would make them for Saprorym Meuloutyp, and these were no exception.

You were enamored with one in particular, a rounded mask sawed from the upper half of a sheep’s skull, cut off just before the snout would begin to stretch onward. On either side of its head were spiraled horns, embellished with clay mushrooms and etched with protective symbols that you ran your finger over in admiration.

“Y/n? Is that you?”

A voice you didn’t recognize called you from behind, and you looked over your shoulder to address the woman behind you with furrowed brows. “Yes?”

“Oh, how lovely it is to see you!” She was older, no younger than her mid sixties, neck ringed with over a dozen beaded necklaces and flowers tucked into her cropped curls. A welcoming smile donned her lips as she pulled you in for a tight hug that caught you of guard. “I can’t ever thank you enough for what you did for me.”

Your hands came up to pat awkwardly between her shoulder blades, not holding the slightest idea of who she was. “It really isn’t...you don’t have to thank me.”

The woman pulled back to hold you at arms length, her eyes shimmering with emotion. “But I do! I had always heard the best from your shop, but the care and attention to detail with which you cared for my husband–really, it is only right to thank you again.”

Tilting your head, you looked at her again, trying to place anything to her–a name, a coffin, a color–but you came up empty handed. “I’m glad I could be of service to you…” You responded slowly, feeling an immense sense of guilt for not being able to recognize her.

“I know it has only been a week, but I simply can not stop looking at it. I almost don’t want to have the service for him just so I can keep looking at it! How you knew he loved gardening is beyond me–had completely slipped my mind when I had handed over his ashes.”

A week? Now you were truly at a loss. You hadn’t completed an order in multiple weeks, let alone one recent enough to have not had a service by now. “I’m sorry ma’am, but you must be mistaken. I haven’t taken any new orders in almost two months.” You shot her an apologetic smile.

Now it was her turn to look confused, one of her index fingers coming up to rub at her chin. “No I am quite sure it was last week. Your employee said he would pass along my order to you.”

“My employee?” You squeaked, fear beginning to take place of the confusion. You didn’t have an employee. No one should be behind the counter of your shop.

“Yes that nice young gentleman behind the counter–dark hair, taller than me of course-” she added with a laugh, “-a little bit...how should I say it…”

“Grumpy? Off-putting? Could probably smile more?” You offered, going out on a whim as to just who else could possibly be at your shop, to which she lit up with recognition.

“Yes, exactly that!” The woman grew panicked for a moment, clutching at one of her necklaces. “But do not take that the wrong way, miss! He was an excellent help to me. Even delivered the finished treseyn after you had finished it and taken your leave.” Her tone became laced with sympathy. “I am sorry to hear about your father, I would love to offer my condolences if you’d let me.”

The blood drained from your face, leaving it susceptible to the biting shore air. Hoseok...Hoseok had been working your shop? But how? He was too busy with his own responsibilities to handle yours too? The sudden urge to cry tears of relief became overwhelming, and you swallowed it down with a grateful nod to the woman, not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable for something she couldn’t control. She left with another thanks and one more bone crushing hug, unknowingly leaving you with the aftermath of the bomb she had just dropped.

You don’t know whether or not you wanted to scream at him for taking control of your business without asking for permission, or if you wanted to fall to your knees and pray to him with the overflowing gratitude you felt. He had been keeping your shop open for you, a realization that made your heart skip a beat and your knees weak. In a rush of exhilaration, you snatched up the mask you had been admiring and paid for it without really hearing the actual cost, running straight down the beach as fast as your feet could carry you. All you could think of was finding Hoseok.

Except he wasn’t at the inn when you returned, your knock going unanswered. Even though he had said he’d be busy, you had thought that perhaps you could at least catch him before he disappeared off to the celebration. Disappointment swirled in your stomach, your fingers fiddling with the tips of the horns of your new mask as you loitered in the hallway, eyes catching on each passerby with the naive hope that one of them would be him.

“I had just been looking for you,” Lucille poked her head out of the door, startling the mask from your hands. “Hoseok stopped by this morning, said you were looking to go the shops today before the party begins. Would you like to go together?”

“He had stopped by? Did he say where he’d be going?” You bent low to grab the fallen mask, sounding more earnest than you had wanted to.

Lucille paused, giving you a quick once over with a knowing glint in her eye. Then settling one hand on her hip she answered. “I hadn’t thought to ask him.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms across your chest. “Do not look at me like that. It is nothing like what you think.”

“I haven’t said a word, my dear,” She chuckled, stepping out of the room and offering you her elbow. “Shall we?”

With the mask left on your bedside table, you led Lucille around the city you had already explored, taking extra time weaving in the narrow streets stuffed full of small shops, giving her the time you had to window shop. Her eyes lit up when they spotted the wide window of a clothing boutique, tugging you along by your linked arms to peruse their selections.

Of course almost everything was for Saprorym Meuloutyp; wide legged pants cinched at the ankle of vibrant fabrics and hand embroidered designs, flowing skirts that were hemmed shorter than the usual length for ease of movement. Skin tight tops to mix and match with all the available additions one could customize their outfit with, like partial corsets, long sashes or leather chest plates and glimmering shoulder pads that mimicked the shape of scalloped mushroom caps growing straight from your skin.

Lucille held up burgundy bottoms and a matching top, running her hand over the silky fabric. “How about this one?”

“Hm?” You looked up from the leather harness that was intended to follow the ridges of the wearer’s spine with thick tendrils like a lion’s mane mushroom. “I hadn’t expected you to partake in the event.”

“Oh, I won’t be. It’s not really something I follow like you and your father do.” Lucille held the hanger out for you to take. “I was thinking this would be well suited for you. I know red is considered an important color for your practice.”

You stepped over to her, the fabric melting over your skin like softened butter. “I suppose you are right.” You shared a small grateful smile with her, taking it from her hands and draping it over your forearm. While the color was much brighter than you were used to, you felt touched that she would pick something out with your beliefs in mind, knowing full well this was not her forte–if anything you knew this whole tradition was probably unsettling to her.

Holding up the shirt to inspect it further, you hummed to yourself, spinning it this way and that. “Well if I am to dress up, I might as well have some fun with it.” You craned your neck to regard Lucille over your shoulder, watching her light up with excitement once more. “Would you like to help me pick out some accessories?”

Lucille may not follow any specific deity, but she had exceptional taste in how to dress for someone that did: your hands full of carefully wrapped leather accessories and folded sashes. Each one selected with meticulous deliberation. Occasionally she would take the time to peek out the window at what the costumes of others looked like before diving back in to the collection with newfound determination, and you couldn’t help but smile at her efforts.

When back at the inn, Lucille took it upon herself to help you put on each item; tying the sashes around your waist and tightening the bodice that looked as though made from turkey tail species, layered swirls of color and uneven edges coasting over the sculpted shirt. She even bent low to tie the new brown leather shoes adorned with blooming star shaped mushrooms that burst from the top near your ankles.

Every movement you made felt heavier, weighed down by the sheer volume of fabric and leather you hadn’t ever had the privileged of enjoying. But the weight somehow felt freeing, not hindering. You must make sure to thank Hoseok for his gifts tonight.

It was dark outside your window by the time you ventured back into the square, and gone was the bright limestone streets of the city, for you had now entered what could almost be described as a different city. It was dark, lit up by flaming torches and the luminescent décor, cutting through the blackness of the winter night with neon shades of cyan, violet, and red. It refracted from the masks, and the dazzling attire of the rest of the crowd, and pulsed with the beat of music that seemed to thrum from all sides without any definitive source.

It moved the crowd like a current, swaying them in all directions and making it exponentially difficult to navigate through the tightly knit bodies to find Hoseok.

“Where did he say he would be?” Lucille looked anxiously over both shoulders, hand grasping your forearm with crushing force.

You frowned, surveying the crowd and situated the mask where it hung from your wrist. “He didn’t.”

Your search grew frantic, elbowing through food stand lines and the writhing bodies in the square to find him, cursing to yourself for not asking him where he expected you to meet him. It was all becoming too overwhelming, the lights, the sounds, the crowd–it made your head spin and your breathing become far too shallow. This place was unfamiliar, and you were certain the two of you had circled the same streets more than a dozen times before you sat down on the front steps of the inn, defeated and in need of a moment to rest.

The celebration was passing you by, slipping through your fingers that had been held out so pathetically to try and catch it. Curling in on yourself, you felt shame creep up on you, twisting its fist in your gut for even thinking you belonged at the center of it all.

It was then that something thrummed in your mind–like a pulse separate form yours that pulled you to your feet. It spoke in tongues of cinnamon and roses, curling around your senses like a beckoning hand to lead you down the stone paths towards the shore. You couldn’t explain how you knew where to go, but you just did.

Drums beat in frenzied rhythms, carrying the sound of guitar strings, horns and flutes whose players fingers would no doubt be bloodied or bruised by the end of the night with the pace they had set. Lucille’s fingers dug into the skin of your arm, but you couldn’t feel it anymore–her touch drowned out by the chanting of the crowd that grew to a deafening roar.

You were back on the beach, back at that rounded platform that had now become an arena, lit up by blazing torches that dared to lick tall into the night sky, molding the sweaty bodies that spun and leapt around the platform with wild enthusiasm. You searched the sea of people for someplace to get a better look at the event, spotting a small stone wall and clambering atop it, pulling Lucille with you.

From here you could see it all: Dozens of them tapping in and out of the dance floor, challenging each other as to who could go the farthest–who could last the longest. Onlookers showered them with dried flower petals and tossed beads over their necks or gnarled bones that stuck out from their costumes.

One person reigned supreme, as they still stood resolute and unchallenged when the song had ended, the skin of their mostly bare chest slick with perspiration, so hot it steamed into the cold air. Their mask was decadent, an elongated piece of a deer’s skull that overshadowed their entire face, its horns blessed with countless pieces of jewelry, their neck hung heavy with beads and handcrafted gifts. Steam plumed from the nostrils with each hot breath meeting frigid air, making skull look more alive than dead. The only other thing this dancer had chosen to wear to the circle was a pair of loose black pants tucked into boots, a crimson sash around their waist, and leather shoulder guards that crisscrossed over his back and vined down his arms. A blank canvas of exposed skin, like he had come here with the expectation that he would be showered with gifts–like he had been sure he would win.

A man that must have been the leader of the ring burst through the crowd and held the victor’s hand up in the air, feeding into the crowds frenzy until all you could hear was their screams. The mediator’s words melded into their voices, and you couldn’t seem to care. Your attention swallowed up by the mystery dancer, who scanned the onlookers with a vehement calculation, looking down upon them like he owned them.

Then he looked at you.

Through the curtain of billowing smoke and clapping hands he found you, picking you apart with every commanding flick of his gaze over your form; a silent challenge staring you dead in the face. The pull grew stronger the moment you locked eyes, making you sick with how strong he called to you, your throat itching to scream, to hurl–to say his name.

The name sizzled under your tongue, crawled over your skin and stole the breath from your lungs. It bit, it clawed, and it scraped from your chest, breaking through with not more than a whisper from your lips.

“Abyios.”

Beads swayed off the tips of his antlers as he tilted his head at your call, imploring you closer with the darkest eyes you had ever seen–the only sign that he even had any was the way they reflected the orange glow of the fires that surrounded him. He shifted, telling you to enter the ring with a short nod of his head.

As if on cue, the mediator started to gather the next group, yanking them by the hands to stand next to him, and one by one they started to fill up the empty space. You curled inwards, your ribs aching with fright. You shook your head frantically at Hoseok, terrified of what it would be like to dance in front of so many people, to be a part of the main story and not scribbled in as an afterthought along the margins–to be seen.

But something within you yearned to say yes, to leap from the crowd and lose yourself entirely in the flow of the music and the chanting from the crowd. You almost took a step forwards, but your mind wouldn’t let you, keeping you stuck still on the stone wall on the edge of it all.

It didn’t matter what you had wanted anyway, because the ring was full of the next contenders with no space left for you, and the first thrum of the drums were already starting once more. It shouldn’t have made you feel so dejected to see them start circling the edge of the platform to the beat, it was you that had chosen not to go up there in the first place; but still as the song progressed, it filled your belly with lead and made your throat tight.

Watching Hoseok with his identity hidden behind a mask of bone, he moved like he belonged up there, countless voices cheering for him and throwing offerings of admiration at his feet–and he did. He did belong there. No, he owned the arena with the authority only a god could have.

And nobody knew. Not a single person here was aware that in their honoring of Saprorro’s final fight for immortality against the god of death, that he was the one they were challenging right at this very moment. Not a soul had the slightest clue that this was no longer a reenactment, but the real experience.

No one except for you.

The longer you watched, the more familiar his motions seemed. An almost exact replica of what he had taught you on those long dark nights in the privacy of your shop. A surge of confidence swelled up within you. He had taught you to move just like that, so what was keeping you from being up there with him? Fear? Humiliation? Humiliation of what–of what a god had taught you? Of the legacy your family had fought so hard to keep alive?

The song ended with Hoseok the victor once again–because of course he was. There was no one being that stood a chance against him, not when they had no idea what they were truly up against.

And again, he found you. The smallest part of his mouth that was still visible beneath the mask curling upwards in almost prideful gleam. Expectant, the fingers of one hand twitching by his thigh like he wanted to hold it out to you.

You had gone on this trip to honor your father, to be closer to his beliefs, to give him an experience. To get in touch with your roots. And you were certain that if you turned him down again, you would be turning down the biggest honor anyone in your family could have ever dreamed of. You could almost feel the breath of their wanting on the back of your neck, your hair standing on end.

And you’d be damned if you didn’t honor their legacy like they would have wanted.

With your mask slipped down over your face, your feet moved faster than your fear, pushing you forward through crowd until you were stood in front of him without any memory of how you had gotten there. Close enough to feel the furnace-like heat that radiated off of his skin. The howls of the audience grew louder, his hand curling around one of yours in a way that had their fever pitch climbing higher until they were in a starved frenzy, palms coming out to push you further into the circle like a sacrificial lamb.

Anxiety took hold again, eyes darting over the hundreds of faces that surrounded you, your pulse reaching dangerous speeds. Hoseok gave a sharp tug to your intertwined hands, forcing you to look at him instead, an anchor that allowed you to take in a real breath of oxygen. Their screams grew distant, their faces fuzzy and indistinct; the only thing you could see was him.

The music started abruptly, or perhaps it was just because you hadn’t been paying attention to anything else but his eyes on yours, and the ghost of his thumb over the inside of your wrist. So unbearably tender yet scorching at the same time. This wasn’t Hoseok, and you knew it. This was Abyios, and he was expecting you to dance with him.

“Move!” He hissed beneath his breath, and on command your body twisted in a mirroring image of his. It started off clumsier than you would have liked, your muscles shaking under the stare of so many eyes. That was until the pounding of the drum seeped into your blood that started to boil in time with it.

Every bend, every leap, every spin–you were ready for. You had already done this countless times, practiced and prepared without knowing. The first chain of beads hooked onto the tip of your masks spiraling horn, and with it, you were gone.

Your chest felt like it was caving in with each ragged intake of breath, a feeling you had never felt before burning deep within, exploding outwards in a whirlwind of movement you hadn’t even known your body could handle. It was animalistic, a heaving dance of freedom that spun your mind out of itself, tying your brain in knots with only one thought surviving the aftermath: move.

His hands found yours before you could get too far away from him, slotting his fingers through yours and leading them in sweeping motions that sliced through the air with unrestrained fervor.

Smoke and sweat married with the sweet trickling incense, your palms growing slick as they slid down the expanse of his chest, coming back up to grasp at the hair on the back of his neck to bring your faces mere inches apart.

“I was looking for you,” You panted.

“I know,” Hoseok grabbed for your hip and used the curve to drive you impossibly closer.

You ducked out from his hold and carved your way across the dance floor with to accept another set of beads from a young girl hoisted on her father’s shoulders and a large toothy grin, and more hands immediately followed to throw more upon you. When you threw your body back into the current of movement, Hoseok was already waiting for you, winding an arm around your middle to spin you into him, which you met with a teasing lilt of your mouth.

“You knew and still you didn’t come find me?”

Hoseok grunted, using the arm around your waist to dip you backwards, his other hand gliding over your chest to rest over the base of your throat, his touch leaving goosebumps in its wake. “I just did.” His grip slipped higher, cupping below your jaw so the pad of his thumb could run over your bottom lip, dipping into the soft flesh to open just slightly. “If you had wanted me to come see you, you should have made a request.”

He yanked you back upwards, pulling his hand from your mouth to dig into the soft flesh of your hips. Blood rushed to your head at the sudden change and you planted both hands on his shoulders to steady yourself while he took the lead.

“I did,” You retorted breathlessly. “But still, you never came.”

“That is a shame,” Hoseok lilted, the sound a mockery of sympathy, tutting down at you in a way that had your body rushing with an unfamiliar heat. “Then you must not have earned it.”

He tried to create distance between the two of you, but you wouldn’t have it–the dance becoming a chase that neither of you seemed keen on losing. A push and pull that toed the line between ravenous and sensual; an exploration of touch that left your skin soaked with the smell of sweat and cinnamon.

The song ended with a thundering riot of cheers, the two of you the only contenders left standing, toe to toe and gasping for air. But one of you would have to concede in order for there to be a winner, yet neither of you budged.

The ring leader moved around the two of you in a blur, using the crowd’s cheers as a tool to try and weigh who the winner should be, yet they did little to help, for every time he pointed to either one of you, the screams echoed high into the night.

It seemed that all were at an impasse.

Hoseok took a step closer, closing what little distance you had, the noses of your masks bumping against one another. You couldn’t hear the crowd anymore over the pounding of your own heart in your ears, your fingers itching to run up the leather straps across his chest up to his neck and tear his mask off–to do away with whatever kept you apart at this very moment.

The volume of the crowd falling to a curious murmur, each one of them waiting on bated breath for who would give in first. Hoseok pulled away, gaze ablaze with something insatiable and delirious, like he wanted to devour you whole. Contrary to the way he looked at you, the index finger he brought up to run along the cheek of your mask was gentle, stopping to hitch on the edge of it as though he was going to tip if off your face and let it clatter below.

He retracted his touch, letting his hand fall back to his side. And then he kneeled; hands shaking as he unwound one of the necklaces from his neck and held it up to you in offering.

The town went mad.

Gifts reigned down on you, people from all directions stretching their arms out in a desperate plea to bestow your mask and neck with all they had to offer. The ground trembled beneath your feet from their excitement, and you felt like you might explode from all of the attention. Never before had you felt so seen, felt so welcomed than now as people rushed to catch a glimpse of you, running their fingertips reverently over your mask to pin handmade mushrooms on your cheeks as you walked past them. The winner of the dance against Death.

Lucille waited for you, glowing with pride and jumping on the chance to wrap her arms around you without a care for how damp you had become. She had been crying, her cheeks wet against your neck as she squeezed you tighter than ever before, drawing the crowd to chuck fistfuls of flower petals over her too, letting them fall on her shoulders and stick to her hair. On instinct, you found your father’s treseyn in your pocket and gave it three firm squeezes, and you hadn’t the need to wonder if he had seen it–because you knew he had.

The night swept away from you in a blur of neon lights and never-ending music, your hand always being captured to dance with someone new when you weren’t guiding Lucille through a basic sway of the beat or spinning her in clumsy circles. Hoseok had disappeared into the crowd, only to come back much later with a something much more inconspicuous on, a low cut black shirt that billowed with his movement, tucked into simple black pants, mask and the persona he had carried forgone. He hovered near, always watching when someone else carted you around the dance floor, always lingering a few feet away while you spun Lucille around or guzzled another drink.

Lucille retired to bed first, giving you nothing but reassurance to enjoy your night. And you did, so much so that your feet ached, and your bones screamed at you to just sit for a moment. But you knew the moment you did, you might not get back up again, and you never wanted this night to end.

Time doesn’t seem to care about that though, ticking forward until the incessant touching and dancing started to overwhelm you, your mind frayed at the edges as you started to hit your limit. Hoseok was there too, gripping your elbow and clearing a path back to the inn with just one intimidating look at whoever stood in his way.

That was until you stopped him with a firm tug of his shirt, your human needs getting the best of you. “Can we find a bathroom?”

“Can you not wait until we get back to the inn?” Hoseok groaned, turning this way and that for his next move through the crowd.

“No,” You frowned, tugging on his shirt again. “I need to go.”

“Treserorr you humans are so needy…” Hoseok muttered under his breath, changing courses for an immediate right hand turn, cutting through a narrow alley and dragging you back out near an overflowing restaurant. He walked the perimeter until you approached the wooden shack that you realized must be the bathrooms. “Here. Go. Only select individuals are allowed back here, so there is no line to blame if you take too long.”

“And you’re one of them?”

Hoseok blinked. “Of course I am.”

Your bladder was already screaming at you, you felt no need to banter with him when the situation was so dire, so you ignored his sass and barreled straight into the small bathroom: a dingy wooden interior with a measly two stalls. As he promised, they were both empty and you praised his brilliance as you shimmied into one to relieve yourself.

Sitting down felt like a dream, the blood that had pooled in your legs making them sting as it finally had a moments rest. You let yourself relish in the moment, tipping your head back to bump into the wall and closing your eyes, taking a moment to come back to reality after such an unearthly experience.

Footsteps shuffled in, the door closing shortly after. You sighed again, cleaning yourself up and rushing to pull your pants up thinking it was Hoseok that had grown impatient already. Hitting the stall door open with your hip you crossed to the sink without bothering to look up at him. “You know, I had assumed you were human enough to understand how rude it is to rush someone in the bathroom.”

“Is it? I hadn’t the slightest idea.”

Your neck snapped up, meeting the glowing violet eyes of the woman at the sink next to you in the mirror. Her costume was the most elaborate you had seen, her a webbed purple veil falling to her cheekbones, her skin where it touched dulled with thin layers of paint to shine blue when the light hit it just right. Over her shoulders, Amethyst Deceivers and Blue Pinkgills cascaded down the front of her black bodice and latched into the exposed skin of her chest and shoulders. She was beautiful in the most haunting way, an amused smile playing at her navy lips. You were utterly horrified at your own behavior tripping over yourself to apologize.

“I’m so sorry–I assumed you were someone else.”

The woman hummed, twisting the faucet of the sink next to yours and letting cool water run over her hands and wrists, which were also ribbed with flat scalloped mushrooms. “I know.”

Hot water turned lukewarm as you became enamored with her hands, the gills of the mushrooms there rising and falling like they were breathing. It looked so real it made you queasy. Offering her a polite smile, you grabbed for the soap and began scrubbing. “Your costume is lovely. That must have taken you quite awhile to put together.”

“A very long time indeed,” She mused, splaying out her fingers underneath the water to feel it rush between her fingers. “My name is Safiya. And yours is?”

“Y/n.” You answered, glancing at her briefly. Before your eyes, where the water touched her skin began to speckle with white splotches of mildew and mold, trailing up her wrists and forearms. The woman followed your line of sight and her smile coiled into one of pride. You averted your gaze back to your own hands as the hair on your arms prickled skyward.

“You can look, it is more than alright.” She held her hands up, wiggling her fingers and letting the water drip off her fingers and splat onto the floor. “Beautiful aren’t they?”

You stole another glance, swallowing down another surge of unease as the white, spidery wisps started to dot the floor where the water fell. “They are.”

Her hum of gratitude melted into a click of her tongue that you couldn’t place whether it had meant to sound condescending or if it was just overly sweet. “Oh dear, your sash is uneven. Here, let me fix it for you.” Her touch darkened the satin of your sash as she turned you around to face her and undid the existing knot. Her eyes focused in on the task, finally freeing you from the effects of her stare. “I love your costume too. It is very fitting for you.”

The woman spoke to you with a familiarity that landed just a dash too sweet. A hair too comfortable. “Do I know you?”

“Perhaps. I have frequented your business.” She looped one end over the other and thread it through. “You may not remember me well, but I’ve always been around.” The woman frowned almost comically wide. “I’ve just been to shy to make an attempt at friendship.”

“You want to be...friends?” You inquired, her touch making your skin crawl through the thin shirt.

“Most definitely.” She nodded a bit longer than necessary, pausing with one end of the sash in each hand to stare at your through her long dark lashes. “We can be friends, right?”

One of your hands gripped the sink besides you, wet fingers finding little support on the porcelain. “Right.”

She smiled, her lips thinning and stretching until they cracked. “I was hoping you would say that.” Then she yanked on both ends of the sash, pulling it so tight it stole your breath from your lungs and nearly cracked your bottom ribs. “Friends help each other,” she mumbled, her statement directed at no one in particular while patting the bow she had tied.

When she didn’t stop fiddling with the loops on the bow after a handful of seconds, you cleared your throat and cut the flow of water. “I appreciate your help, but I should be going. Someone is waiting for me.”

“Of course,” the woman took a step back to let you pass her by. Your hand curled around the knob when she spoke again. “Goodnight Y/n, may the nights eyes watch over you.”

Your skin still buzzed from the residual weight of her stare when you stepped next to Hoseok, fingers trying to wriggle a bit more breathing room in your sash.

“The creation of earth had taken less time than you did in that bathroom.” His arms were crossed over his chest, looking quite displeased.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, still too distracted with your sash to cook up some kind of retort.

Hoseok paused. “Are you ill?”

You frowned down at your hands, unsure of what you should say to him. “There was just…” Stealing a quick look at him, you diverted it back to the busy street you had come from, wanting nothing more than to leave this little restroom in the dust before Safiya followed you out. Thinking of her hands on your waist and her eyes that punctured through you sent a tingle up your spine. Something was off about her, but you couldn’t quite place your finger on it. Her costume was too real–too alive. Could she have been…? No. That would be absurd, you scolded yourself with a shake of your head. “I had just run into a new friend in the bathroom that’s all.”

Hoseok cocked his head to the side, blatant confusion written all over his features. His eyes trailed down your forearms, running over your fingers and landing on the sash they picked at, zeroing in on the loops there. Pinching one of them, his knuckles ghosted yours as he rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. Without warning, he tore his hands away and threw the bathroom door open, pouring over every inch of it like a predator hunting prey, eyes ablaze and fists clenched to strike at moments notice. When he emerged once more, he pulled you back along the alleys into the street, the crowd parting like the sea for him as though they could sense his urgency.

He didn’t let up until you were in front of the inn, looking over both shoulders before some of the tension began to release from his shoulders, his pace naturally slowing. Upon arriving back to the dimly hit hallway, you paused just at your door, fingers wrapped around the cool metal of the knob.

“Have you lost your key?” Hoseok inquired from beside you, arms crossed over his chest while he drilled holes into your profile with his eyes.

You let your hand fall from the door, flexing your fingers to feel the blood rushing through them. “No I...I have it. I was just thinking.”

Hoseok quirked an eyebrow up, blinking slowly at you. A silent request for more.

“I was debating on enjoying the balcony tonight,” You whispered to him, a shy half-smile on your lips. “I’ve never gotten to use one before, and the view of the city must be gorgeous with all of the lights and decorations. But I am worried I might wake her if I do.”

Hoseok kissed his teeth, pushing himself off of the wall near your door and treading over to his room, twisting the key in the lock and twisting it open. “You can just use mine if that is what concerns you.”

You gaped after the spot he had just been, and before he could lecture you, you scurried after him into the room, being sure to keep your arms close to your sides as to not disturb anything–not that there was much to be disturbed anyway. The blankets of his bed were still crisp and untouched, there were no bags or clothes strewn about. Like his home, it didn’t look to be lived in at all. His pair of worn leather gloves discarded on his night stand the only sign he had been in the room at all.

Hoseok cleared his throat, breaking your eye contact with the gloves as he gestured to the unlatched door to his terrace. “Did you want to use it, or not?”

You slipped past him, and all of your unease melted at the view. From his room you could see the white speckled lines of waves crashing along the shore, and the twinkling lights of the stragglers still swaying slowly beneath the stars.

“It’s stunning,” You commented, mesmerized by how small everything looked from so high up. “It’s just so different from home.”

Hoseok made a sound that could almost be read as amused. “That is because we are in an entirely different city.”

“Thank you for your brilliant observation,” You rolled your eyes lightly, leaning your elbows upon the railing to lean over the city to drink in her beauty. While you weren’t drunk in the slightest, what drinks you had consumed took away any feeling of embarrassment you could possibly feel when you unsheathed your father’s soul and held it up.

“Is this what it looked like when you were here?” You asked the little blue orb. The misty interior swirled slowly, as it always did. “Hmm. It has probably changed, at least a little.” Looking over your shoulder at the set of wooden chairs behind you, you dragged one closer to the ledge and settled down on it.

“Of course, make yourself comfortable by all means.” Hoseok’s voice dripped with sarcasm as he grabbed for the other chair and lowered himself into it.

You grinned, taking the chance to send him a playful wink. “I think I will, thank you. Isn’t this more comfortable?” You held the orb up to your ear like you were listening for an answer. “He says it is.”

Hoseok scoffed, but it wasn’t harsh by any means. The distant sound of softer melodies drifted up from the streets, a lovely backtrack to the tranquility of the night. A night that was much colder when you weren’t dancing or pressed between bodies that were. It brought forth memories of just how many times Hoseok had given you his cloak when the nights were cold like this, and a teasing smile toyed at the corners of your mouth.

“You know,” You started, keeping your eyes on your palms, “my father was convinced that you were a kind, misunderstood soul. Shy even.”

“And who could have possibly given him such an absurd idea?”

“Me.” You grew sheepish, passing the treseyn back and forth between both hands. At first it was all lies. Stories I told to keep him from expending his limited energy worrying over me while at work. But then…” You flickered you gaze up to his face. “Well, I think some truth started to shine through those stories.”

He averted his eyes, running his tongue over his teeth and picking at the fabric of his pants. “If that is what you believe.”

“Wait, I think he’s saying something.” You held up a finger, bringing your ear down to the treseyn again. “Uh huh. I see.” You fought back a smile. “He says that it is true. He has seen it.”

Hoseok just stared at you, unimpressed. “He is dead. He is saying nothing.”

“That is where you’re wrong,” You chide him. “You see that?” You pointed at the distant sea. “That is him saying hello.” Next, you gestured to the sky full of twinkling stars. “That is his smile. The more they twinkle, the bigger and brighter it is.” Then to the near by trees branches that bent in the breeze, scratching against each other. “And that...that is him laughing at you.”

Laughing to yourself at your own joke, you waited for his offhanded remark or huffing offense. But silence met your ears instead; heavy and overbearing.

From the corner of your eye his hand displayed itself to you, cupped around something small that shined up to you from the protection of his curled fingers. “And what does he say?”

Your breath hitched, the tiny orb in his hand a similar blue to your father’s, just with a greenish tint that made the swirling mist within look brighter. Swallowing thickly, you gingerly lifted the ball from his hands.

“I am not sure. I do not know who this is.”

Hoseok sighed through his nose. “You do.” He melted further down into the chair, his leg beginning to shake. “Perhaps more than me.”

Confused, you brought the orb closer to your face, letting the pulse of it’s energy seep into your palm. You wracked your brain for whoever this could be, all the while Hoseok observed your expression as you did so, adding more pressure on you to get the answer right.

It was then that it struck you. The god of death had a myth regarding a lover, lost to sickness and time. His name living on within few of the households that worshipped Abyios–holding space in your own home since before you were born. Recognition bloomed within, unfurling it’s wings and shaking them of any stiffness–the greeting of an old friend having been woken up from their rest.

“Hi Rey,” You whispered down to the treseyn, letting it roll to the center of your palm next to your father’s.

Hoseok made a stifled choking sound in the back of his throat, eyes growing enormous.

“Hoseok seems to think you have something to share with me, care to tell?” You held it up to your cheek, listening to the hum of his energy, keeping your eyes locked on Hoseok as you did so, just looking. Taking in the soft slope of his nose and the teeniest sliver of hope in his eyes. The soul vibrated in your hold, tickling your cheek until you giggled. “Oh wow, he has a lot to say.”

Hoseok was still as a statue trying to get a read of your expression. “What is it? What is he saying?”

Lowering it from your cheek, you carefully placed back into his awaiting palm with a soft smile. “That he is still here.”

His chest rose faster than before, his face started to flush red under the lights. “Is that all?”

“That and he wants you to stop being such an ass.”

When Hoseok glared at you, you held your hands up in surrender, an airy chuckle escaping your lips. “Those were his words, not mine.”

His attention drifted back to the orb in his hands, and he licked his lips thoughtfully. “As excruciating as you are, that does appear to be something he would have said.”

Curiosity ate at your resolve, and you knew your next move was a risky one–still, you made it.

“What was he like?”

Hoseok didn’t lift his eyes from the stone, but his sigh was long and deep, weighed down by centuries of exhaustion that bled out in his hushed submission. “He was everything to me.” His lip twitched, and his eyes grew glassy in a way that had him biting on his tongue to hide it.

You had never understood Hoseok more than in that moment, a curtain shifting enough to catch an inkling of what was hidden behind it. He had never looked so human than in that moment, burdened by grief.

Without thinking, you slotted one of your hands over his, curling your fingers around it and giving it a tight squeeze. “Why don’t you tell me about him?”

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