Boots.

 

Boots and sneakers and flats and oxfords.

 

Namjoon watches boots and legs day in and day out. They hurry by in the weak morning light and stumble home under the watchful eye of the moon. Streams of shoes ebb and flow with the arrival of the trains. They pour into the faintly glowing maw of the subway station and vanish below the sidewalk.

 

He’s familiar with shoes, knows them. Flats have a good chance of stopping and trying to engage him in conversation. Oxfords, never. Tennis shoes are more of a hit and miss. Boots, well, it depends on the type. Fashion boots, no, but tatty Doc Martens, yes.

 

Namjoon is barefoot.

 

It’s on a brisk autumn day – chilly enough that he keeps two weak warming charms palmed and another set tucked under his feet – that a pair of beat up, grease-stained, black sneakers comes to a deliberate halt in front of his blanket. The shoes are hidden from his view as the man crouches down to inspect the wares haphazardly spread before him.

 

Small bottles of various colors, mostly red, yellow, and brown, lie on the blanket and twinkle in the light. Some are filled to the cork with jet black liquids, some clear. Only a few are labeled. The names are scribbled with black sharpie on brown paper scraps and attached with too-big strips of packing tape. Charms in tiny drawstring, burlap bags sit patiently in clumps, ready to be snatched up and activated. Off in the corner, tied bundles of dried herbs and fresh moss are organized by type and effect. Tiny battered tents of cardboard mark the prices in chicken-scratch handwriting.

 

Namjoon makes the final stitch in the seam and breaks the white thread with his teeth, watching the man from beneath his bangs. After the needle is stowed away, he pulls out roll of twine from the bag by his hip and cuts off a length with a pocketknife.

 

“Hello, there,” the stranger says, glancing up.

 

Namjoon sets the incomplete burlap bag and twine in his lap. His hand twitches toward the maze of goods on the blanket. “Earth and Body wares.”

 

“Of course,” the man murmurs with a smile. He’s got light brown hair brushed to the side, a well-loved tan jacket, a nice smile, and truly awful sneakers.

 

The crowd streams by, flowing around the crouching man without looking or pausing. Namjoon thinks he might recognize him, but he sees so many people per day that it’s hard to tell. The guy’s never bought anything. He’d remember that.

 

Under Namjoon’s watchful eye, the man inspects a few different bottles, turning them this way and that. He stays away from the bundled herbs, but gives the emerald green moss a gentle pet. Namjoon threads the twine through the top of the small burlap bag, knotting the end so it works as a drawstring. The man pokes through the charms with an inexpert eye, not quite sure what all he’s looking at, but not asking for help.

 

It takes several minutes for him to come to a decision. A small charm bag is dangling from his fingers when he looks up. “You have anything for luck?”

 

“Mhm.” Namjoon reaches out to pluck the bag from the man’s hand. “Not this one, though. Healthy pregnancy.”

 

He has to hold in a chuckle when the man’s cheeks turn pink.

 

“Of course, my bad,” he says sheepishly. “I don’t buy charms often. Or any potions or magic or anything, really.”

 

Namjoon leans forward and scoops up the little group of luck charms. It takes a few seconds to sort through them and test their strength. When he finds the most potent charm, he hands it over. “You know the rules for charms?”

 

“Uh…”

 

“One:  I activate the charm on your word. Two: don’t share it after activation. Three: leave it in the bag. Four: don’t take the bundle inside the bag apart. If it gets harmed in any way, come see me. Five: this one will last two days at most. Six: when it’s used up, bring it back here or to a licensed magical waste facility. Got it?”

 

“You’re the boss, don’t break it, don’t trash it. Yeah, I think I can remember that,” the man replies. “How much will this cost me? Ten?”

 

Namjoon nods and accepts the crumpled ten dollar bill. “Start now?”

 

The man bites his lip, looks over his shoulder, and gently tugs on the drawstring. “Uh, yeah, I think so.” He hands the bag back to Namjoon, who doesn’t take it. Instead, he places his hand on top of the other man’s, trapping the charm between them.

 

A magical spark jumps from the man’s hand to Namjoon, passing through the burlap bag. The witch is startled enough that he nearly pulls his hand away.

 

 The charm isn’t activated yet, so nothing should have happened.

 

The man’s slightly embarrassed expression is being overruled by his curiosity, but he doesn’t appear to have noticed. Which makes sense, of course. Non-witches can’t feel magic.

 

Stowing that in the back of his mind for later contemplation, Namjoon whispers a silky string of words. He sees the reflection of his eyes glowing blue in the other man’s eyes, which grow wide. The bag heats for a second before cooling.

 

“Good to go. Thanks for your business.” Namjoon drags his hand away, reluctant despite himself.

 

“Seokjin. My name’s Seokjin,” the man blurts out, “And I think I should be thanking you.” That smile reappears as the activated charm disappears into his jacket pocket. Seokjin stands, hands fidgeting with the zipper of his jacket.

 

They stare at each other.

 

“Thanks again.” Seokjin gives a jerky wave and turns away.

 

Practiced fingers return to his backpack to pull out supplies for a new burlap bag, but Namjoon’s eyes follow Seokjin’s retreating figure as it weaves through the crowd.

 

The magic reacted to Seokjin somehow. He doesn’t really know what that means, but hopes Seokjin and his nice smile will stop by again. If the luck charm works properly, which it will because Namjoon doesn’t sell ty product, then the man will probably be back within the next two days.

 

They just might be lucky for each other.

 

As the final glimpse of Seokjin’s tan jacket is disappearing around a corner, a pair of flats blocks his view.

 

“Ooh! Charms! You have anything for my girlfriend, you think?”

 

Namjoon reluctantly wrestles his gaze to the teen standing before him. “What’s the problem?”

 

He’s alone again quickly enough. With every stitch, his mind returns to Seokjin. He wasn’t particularly charming and he wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, but there is something about him. Something that makes Namjoon want to brew potions, search for the very rare petals of a jade vine, and let the magic run wild.

 

Despite the beginnings of something giddy in his stomach, only time will tell.

 

And so another day passes. When the light gets low and steam rises from the grill in front of the subway entrance, Namjoon packs away his charms, herbs, and potions. The blanket is folded and rolled, strapped to his bag for easy transportation.

 

He too disappears into the earth, feet bare, waiting for the next train.

 

***

 

Kennick Station.

 

Namjoon unrolls his blanket shortly after dawn, careful not to go out too far on the sidewalk. If he doesn’t respect the flow of the herd, people will step on his wares. Not on purpose, but the river of humanity has a specific allocation of space they will consume and the devil himself couldn’t change it.

 

Experience has shown that trouble comes quickly when charms and potions are broken.

 

Unlike Jubilee, the previous station, the Kennick stop services the younger, hipper area of town. That doesn’t mean he’ll get more business, but there are food stands and a park across the street with a jogging path and a pond. Food within a stone’s throw is a godsend; he doesn’t have to pack up entirely to find something to eat, though if he is willing to close shop for a break, he can go visit the ducks in the pond.

 

Throughout the morning, an old man buys a headache potion, which he immediately downs. He even hands the red bottle and cork back to Namjoon before stalking off. The cork won’t be reusable for a sellable item, but the bottle can be washed, cleansed, and used for another potion.

 

Cork is more porous than glass, so the magic soaks in and won’t let go. Residual magical traces can have effects on other magics they come in contact with, like alteration, neutralization, and magnification.

 

What this really means is that cross-contamination can make potions explode.

 

It may have happened once or twice. 

 

Two young women in dresses and leggings buy a bundle of house purification herbs. The first girl poses with the bundle and a second later, the other posts the photo to Instagram. #magic #witches #new house #purified #no ghosties #shopping #girlfriend #Friday.

 

A toddler in rubber ducky boots drags his father over. After a little fussing and a stern warning from his dad to “not touch magical objects without asking, kiddo,” they buy a warming charm and a good garden charm. Namjoon activates the warmth charm upon request and hands it to the little boy. The kid almost drops it, but then squeals with delight and smooshes the heated bag to his cheek. Laughing, the dad scoops his son up, thanks Namjoon, and carries on his way.

 

Namjoon’s lunch hour has to wait until the actual lunch hour is over. With small crowds gathering at the food stalls and walking to the park to picnic, he literally can’t afford to abandon his merch.

 

When the rush trickles away, he discreetly activates a see-me-not charm and tucks it under the corner of the blanket. They’re a tad bit illegal, but work wonders when he needs to step away for a few minutes without ending up robbed blind.

 

It takes a second for the charm to kick in. Soon enough, pedestrians who get too close to the blanket swerve to the side without realizing it.

 

Feeling a little curl of satisfaction, Namjoon skulks down the sidewalk, hands tucked away in his hoodie’s pockets, on the prowl for a tempting food stall. He passes up burritos, hot dogs, ice cream, and gyros, though the last is pretty tempting. Instead, he settles on scarfing down way too many takoyaki.

 

It feels glorious to stretch his legs so he eats and walks at the same time, peering in the shops and restaurants that pass by while trying not to run into anyone. The sun is starting to make him sweat, but his hands are full and he can’t his hoodie.

 

The block ends all too quickly, so he turns around and ambles back toward his shop.

 

There are still a few takoyaki left (his stomach is a black hole), so after a quick check showing the see-me-not charm is still working, he continues down the sidewalk in the other direction. The rich smells of frying oil and savory meat are heavy in the air. Thankfully, his stomach’s too full of takoyaki to take notice.

 

Quickly stuffing the last of his lunch into his mouth, Namjoon steps to the side to dump the soggy paper dish into the trash. Someone knocks hard into his shoulder, making his hands flail for the trashcan to keep his balance.

 

Some man in a suit twists around and looks about to apologize. The expression quickly fades into one of faint disgust and he turns away, brushing the shoulder of his suit jacket like it’s gotten dirty. “Damn witches,” he mutters, angrily stalking away.

 

Namjoon rights himself and silently wishes he knew a hex, or even a jinx. Make the trip on his own shoelaces or something.

 

Instead, he grits his teeth, takes three deep breaths, and continues on his walk.

 

He doesn’t run into witch haters often, but the few unlucky occasions have proven them to be superstitious, prejudiced, ignorant, and nursing a nastiness that would outdo a wounded bear.

 

He doesn’t want his nice walk and the beautiful day to be ruined by some ignorant jerk who probably uses disease prevention charms during his one night stands like a good little hypocrite, but it’s difficult.

 

To derail that train of thought, Namjoon takes a vested interest in inspecting every food stall, sending secret little waves to the children who stare up at him, and enjoying the oven-like heat of the cement on his bare feet.

 

“Hey! Hey, hold on a second!”

 

The sound barely manages to pull Namjoon out of his own head. He looks around, trying to find who’s yelling at him.

 

A familiar pair of shoes jog up. It’s Seokjin wiping his hands on a grease-spattered apron and beaming.

 

“Hello there, uh-“

 

“Namjoon.” He rarely shares his name with his customers, but he honestly doesn’t mind telling Seokjin.

 

“Namjoon. Great. Yeah, uh, I just saw you across the sidewalk and thought I’d say hi. And thanks again. The charm works like a….well, a charm.” He scratches the back of his head in embarrassment. “I definitely got lucky these past two days.”

 

Namjoon’s eyebrows go up.

 

Seokjin’s face glows with the intensity of his blush. “Not like that! I meant that I got to go home early from my shift, I found five dollars on the ground, and I missed a phone call from my father because I tripped on my apartment door. Believe me, that’s lucky.”

 

A few people shoulder their way between the chatting duo.

 

Seokjin is startled, but he recovers quickly, pointing to a food stall behind him. “Sorry I stopped you in the middle of the sidewalk. You want to…?”

 

“Sure.”

 

Namjoon follows Seokjin over to a sturdy stall called Happy Squid that boasts fried squid and octopus. That explains the grease.

 

Seokjin holds up a hand to his fellow squid chef, indicating five minutes, and turns back to Namjoon. “By the way, it’s been two days, so the charm is used up. I guess you can have it back.” He wipes his hands off on his apron again before gingerly reaching into his pocket and carefully extracting the little burlap bag.

 

Usually when charms come back to Namjoon, the burlap is a mess of wild threads, creases, and overall look like it’s been trampled by a horse. In comparison, Seokjin’s luck charm looks no different from the day Namjoon put it together and infused it with magic.

 

It’s dropped into Namjoon’s hand reluctantly. Seokjin snatches his hand away and squirms in place, looking a little lost.

 

Namjoon tucks it into his jacket pocket and can’t help a small smile. It’s rare to meet a person who has so little experience with magic yet treats it so reverently and carefully. Other customers who haven’t bought magic for themselves often treat it casually simply because of the extensive use of witch and magic imagery in pop culture. Nothing like the callous use of warding and memory potions by the witch Sherlock Holmes and his trusty sidekick to make even the shyest person disregard the rules like they’re an old pro.

 

“Seokjin! Gimme a hand, would you?”

 

They both turn to see quite the line has gathered in front of Happy Squid.

 

“Of course. Sorry!” Seokjin hollers. “Thanks again,” he tells Namjoon.

 

Namjoon fiddles with the twine drawstring in his pocket. “…stop by my shop. I’m usually here or at Jubilee or Aljini station.”

 

Seokjin, who’s tying a black bandana over his hair, grins and nods.

 

Namjoon spares one last look before shuffling back to his blanket, the smells and sounds of frying squid trailing behind him.

 

Everything’s intact when he returns, so Namjoon and settles back into place. He doesn’t deactivate the see-me-not charm yet.

 

Seokjin’s luck charm is indeed completely depleted. There’s not even a faint whisper of magic left in the little bundle. Receiving the withered husks of his charms is always a melancholy experience. Namjoon is glad that his charms are useful, but sad that the life and magic that once coursed through the plants is gone.

 

The first order of business is disposing of the used luck charm. It’s easy to push his wares aside to make a working space on the dark blue blanket. Due to the often delicate ingredients and potential of interruption and cross-contamination, Namjoon prefers to assemble and infuse charms, potions, and herbs in the safety of his apartment, but he knows how to be careful. Years of practice means he can deconstruct or whip up a charm in a matter of minutes in almost any environment.

 

Namjoon upends the luck bag in his palm. A small packet tumbles out, mostly composed of recently picked stephanotis petals and various multicolored crystals wrapped in bay leaves. 

 

The ingredients aren’t dangerous as they are, despite how ominous rule number six may sound. But, there are licensed magic disposal stations for good reasons, many of which include exploding potions.

 

Namjoon stows the withered packet in a small plastic bag and chucks it into his backpack. Luck charms are never particularly strong, meaning their used ingredients are highly unlikely to react with anything.

 

Seokjin’s reluctant expression as he handed the charm over swims to the forefront of his mind. It’s not quite clear if that was the first bit of magic Seokjin had ever bought; the man himself said he wasn’t used to charms or potions. Maybe he grew attached.

 

Whatever the reason, Namjoon can’t forget that face or the feeling of compulsion after the spark. It had awakened a drive in him that he never felt before.

 

If it were anyone else, Namjoon would be perfectly willing to stuff the empty burlap bag with hay and give it to Seokjin as a keepsake, but that’s not in the cards today. The dirt, dust, and sand hidden in the sidewalk cracks speak to him. The earth, trapped beneath a concrete shell, calls out to the magic running through Namjoon and steers him toward the new ingredients in his backpack. It seems he’ll be making an entirely new charm instead.

 

Unwilling to argue with the Earth, Namjoon fishes around for several small bottles of ingredients that fill the bottom of his backpack in a jumble of multicolored glass and plastic. Certain bottles gravitate toward his searching fingers. He ends up retrieving bottles of dried heather blossoms, bamboo slivers, fragments of smoky quartz, flecks of agate, and barbs from the pinion feathers of a red-tailed hawk.

 

Namjoon mulls over the base components spread before him on the blanket. When bound together, they will create a charm for protection, and a strong one at that. This charm protects from physical and mental harm on a high level, meaning it will do almost anything within its power to guard the user. He has no idea what Seokjin needs to be protected from, but the magic is pulling him. It’s not as if he’s reluctant; he already likes Seokjin quite a bit.  

 

He gathers everything with steady hands, popping out corks and shaking out the proper amount of each material with ease. Everything is cradled in the green, rippling body of a large magnolia leaf. The final ingredient, two human tears, must be added last. Yes, Namjoon has a bottle of human tears. He even has a spray bottle attachment if needed. Pre-bottled tears won’t do for this charm, however.

 

Instead, Namjoon hunches over the incomplete charm and closes his eyes. One possibility is sinking his fingernails into his leg or carefully pressing into the flesh of his foot with the flat, bladed edge of the scissors.

 

He instinctively knows that tears of forced pain will only corrupt the magic, so he has to find a different way to get the waterworks started.

 

With the sun beating down on him and the crowd unwittingly avoiding him, Namjoon remembers every time someone looked at him in disgust, cussed him out, or pulled their children away with nervous eyes. Every whisper they didn’t know he could hear, the laughter at his bare feet, every person who avoided looking into his glowing blue eyes with barely concealed horror.

 

He usually forces it all to roll off his back, like how ducks shed water, but deep down it bothers him. Despite magic being around forever and fully integrated into everyday life, some people just can’t get over it.

 

The joke’s ultimately on them, though. He can deal with the prejudice and the hate and will never, ever give up his craft, his identity, because it allows him to do this.

 

Two tears leak from the crinkled corners of his eyes and slowly slide down his cheeks. They are tears of grief, the fate of the unprotected.

 

He wipes the first with his index finger and smears it in a half circle on the magnolia leaf around the tiny heap of ingredients. The other tear goes around the other side. Before they dry completely, he drops a scrap of paper with Seokjin’s name on it into the center and wraps the leaf into a tight bundle, which he ties closed with a thick stem of prairie stage, a type of grass. The packet is slipped inside the burlap sack from Seokjin’s luck charm, the bag that touched the spark. Namjoon pulls the drawstring tight and clutches the bag to his chest.

 

The incantation rises from his heart, flowing up his throat and out into the warm air like a song. His eyes and fingertips glow blue with the intensity of the spell and the bag grows warm between his clasped hands.

 

The words fade and Namjoon’s vision returns to normal. A wave of exhaustion swamps him, so strong he nearly passes out on top of his blanket. He gives himself a hard shake and blinks rapidly. When he’s able to sit up straight, his eyes are pulled to the innocuous little bag resting in his hands. It looks the same as a luck, good garden, or STD charm. It would take another witch to realize that this protection charm is in another league, bound by Seokjin’s name, Namjoon’s tears, the bag touched by a spark, and the strength of will forced into the base components.

 

A set of deep, calming breaths do him a lot of good. This is big. This is really big. The magic is guiding him more than it ever has, and it’s toward Seokjin. And here he thought it was a just another Friday.

 

Namjoon checks the see-me-not, which is still working, throws everything into his backpack, rolls up his blanket, and deactivates the charm. His return to the crowd’s notice is gradual, eased along by magic that makes sure he doesn’t suddenly appear in the middle of the sidewalk. He edges past a group of pedestrians and slowly makes his way toward the fried squid stand.

 

The line has died off again. Seokjin’s sweating in the heat of the fryers, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he concentrates. Namjoon hangs back and watches for a minute. The protection charm in his pocket feels edgy, the magic eager to bond with the man it’s been created for.

 

 It’s not sentient, but it has will and it’s about to will Namjoon’s over there if he doesn’t get it in gear.

 

It just so happens that Seokjin looks up as Namjoon’s dithering half-behind the corner of the nearest building. He breaks into a sweet grin and waves.

 

Namjoon approaches ever so slowly as the man hurries to finish the latest batch of octopus.

 

“Back so soon?” Seokjin laughs, dragging an arm over his sweaty forehead.

 

Namjoon tugs the potent protection charm from his pocket, unsurprised by the confused look he gets in return.

 

“It looked like you didn’t want to give up the luck charm,” he explains, trying not to fidget. “I was gonna make the dead charm safe so you could have it back.”

 

 “But you didn’t?” Seokjin asks, teeth tugging on his lip in a nervous gesture.

 

The witch holds the new charm out tentatively. “I ended up making a protection charm.”

 

“Really?” Seokjin looks stunned, but takes the bag with careful hands and examines it, like it might look or feel different from the luck charm. The bundle inside is a little bigger, but he shouldn’t be able to feel the magic.

 

When the quick inspection doesn’t reveal anything, Seokjin squeezes the bag to his chest as a smile grows, and hides it away in his pocket.

 

The magic sparks around him, a blue glow that only Namjoon can see.

 

 “I just thought if you needed luck, protection wouldn’t hurt either.” Namjoon wants to hide his face in his hood, but he just shoves his hands in his pockets instead and rocks back on his heels.

 

“Thank you so much, Namjoon. I don’t know what to say.” Seokjin’s looking up at him, face red. “You really didn’t have to.”

 

“It’s no problem.” He attempts a smile. He must not do too badly based on Seokjin’s answering grin.

 

He doesn’t tell him about the spark. He doesn’t tell Seokjin that he was compelled to make the charm by magic that was unusually pushy. And he doesn’t say that a charm that powerful with those specific ingredients would start at $50 and quickly go up. Money has nothing to do with this particular bit of magic.

 

With a tiny wave, which seems to be the best way to end awkward conversations, Namjoon turns to make his escape to the park. Not looking back is a conscious decision he forces himself to follow. No doubt they’ll run into each other again sooner or later. He doesn’t want to come off as an obsessed fool.

 

That means he doesn’t see Seokjin’s hand immediately go to his pocket, retrieve the burlap bag, and cradle it in his hands. He smiles brilliantly, gives the charm a little kiss, and tucks it away before turning back to the squid stall.

 

Namjoon steps into the park and it’s a relief to be among the trees and the dirt again. Their energy thrums beneath his feet, through the grass that tickles his toes. Namjoon is a witch of Body and Earth and to the earth his will always return. Also, ducks. He likes ducks.

 

There’s a little cement patio that juts into the lake to make feeding the birds easier. Namjoon avoids this like the plague because he doesn’t like crowds (when he’s not selling) and hates spending time on cement if he doesn’t have to. Instead, he trudges to the far side of the pond, through the mud and cattails, and settles in among the bulrush. There’s birdseed and cracked corn bouncing around in his backpack. He rifles around for it, extra careful to avoid charm ingredients.

 

It would be very awkward if he accidentally cursed the ducks.

 

The flock paddles over to his edge of the pond. They recognize him, he thinks. Or maybe they’re just hungry and know that stupid humans will feed them without demanding anything.

 

He sows the seeds into the water nonetheless, smiling softly as the birds peck at the treat and squawk when they get in each other’s way.

 

“Play nice, J-Hope, V,” Namjoon scolds them.

 

So, he might have named the wild ducks that live in the park. They don’t seem to mind.

 

***

 

After the protection charm delivery, Seokjin makes visiting Namjoon’s little shop a regular occurrence whenever he’s set up at Kennick.

 

Namjoon finds himself setting up at Kennick more often. This is a fact he doesn’t bother to deny. Nor does he feel embarrassed or ashamed. Business is just as good there as anywhere else and he likes seeing Seokjin. The cook always appears in the same apron and stain black sneakers, smiling and armed with another story about ridiculous customers.

 

Seokjin is also a true font of questions, asking, “Why do you need fingernail clippings?” “Does it really matter which kind of dirt is in there?” “Tell me you wrestled a hawk to get those feathers,” and “You seriously had to it to get it to work?”

 

Namjoon’s happy to answer the questions because of the man’s sincere curiosity and thoughtfulness when he receives the answers. The conversation make the days fly by. Seokjin’s good looks and overly friendly personality even draw customers to the shop. There’s been more than one lady who sidles over and makes small talk with Seokjin, eventually buying a charm they don’t need and reluctantly leaving.

 

He’s never become so close to someone so quickly, no thanks to his penchant for silence and awkwardness. The witch has never been particularly chatty, but Seokjin doesn’t mind. He makes funny observations about passersby or sits in silence next to Namjoon, basking in the sun like a lizard.

 

After the lunch rush on a particular Thursday afternoon, Seokjin appears wielding freshly fried squid on a stick. Namjoon quickly finishes his transaction, which involves a gaggle of teenagers, two spirit warding bombs, a bad case of butterfingers, a clear skin potion, and a bundle of regular incense.

 

“Hey, Namjoon. Now a good time?”

 

Namjoon nods and scoots to the side so Seokjin can join him.

 

The magic of the protection charm hums in the pocket of Seokjin’s jeans. He’s had the charm on his person every single visit. The cook even told him that he never lets the little bag out of his sight, which gives Namjoon untold amounts of satisfaction. The protection charm is incredibly stable, unlike luck charms. Instead of constantly hemorrhaging magical power, the protection spell will remain intact until it’s used. Since Namjoon created the charm, he’ll know the minute the magic kicks in and when that day comes, he hopes Seokjin is nearby. He won’t be getting hurt on Namjoon’s watch.

 

Namjoon accepts the fried squid without argument. Though he tried to insist on paying the first few times, he eventually folded in the face of Seokjin’s bullheaded kindness. It’s not like he wants to deny himself anyway; the fried squid is to die for.

 

“How’s business?” Seokjin asks when Namjoon’s mouth is full.

 

Glaring, the witch chews and chews until he can finally swallow.

 

“Not bad. Teenagers.”

 

The both crack up at that. Most teens buying magic at his shop are doing it for the first time, often behind their parents’ backs. Typically, they’re twitchy, unsure, and looking for pregnancy or STD-prevention charms or clear skin potions. Some even slip Namjoon cash and hastily shove their purchase in a pocket like it’s some kid of drug deal. Honestly, all the magic Namjoon sells is completely legal.

 

Seokjin props his elbow on his knee and his chin on his hand. “We’ve been super slow today,” he complains. “Yoongi could’ve handled everything by himself. Not that I’d ever skip out, of course, but if every day were like today, I’d be charging you for that squid.”

 

Namjoon takes a huge bite and smiles, puffing his cheeks up.

 

“Save the cute faces for when you really need them,” Seokjin pointedly advises.

 

Trying to eat and not laugh at the same time is conducive to choking, as Namjoon discovers. Seokjin thumps him on the back, laughing without even trying to hide it, until he can breathe again.

 

“,” the witch says affectionately. He points at Seokjin with the empty squid stick. “Cross me and I’ll make your balls shrivel up.”

 

Seokjin just scrunches his nose. “You can’t do that. That’s not a real spell.”

 

Namjoon shrugs and glances at his ingredient bag.

 

“Tell me the truth. That’s not a thing. It can’t be.”

 

Seokjin’s swing from certainty to worry almost makes Namjoon grin, but he holds it back. “Who knows? It’s magic,” is the nonchalant reply.

 

Before Seokjin can beat a real answer out of him, a customer stops in front of the blanket.

 

“I’ll let you get back to work,” he says instead, standing. “The park later?”

 

Namjoon nods, setting his stick aside and waving goodbye. They have a standing date, as he thinks of it, to meet at the duck pond when they’re both done for the day.

 

He’s never really minded his job; making charms and potions and interacting with people on the street brings him a sense of satisfaction, but recently, the days don’t pass by fast enough. Seokjin might have something to do with that.

 

Throughout the rest of the afternoon, the headache and fever potions sell out, as do the warmth and health charms. Everyone’s gearing up for flu season, meaning Namjoon will soon have to retreat into the subway stations themselves or risk freezing to death on the sidewalk. Fall is plodding right along with more leaves stripped from the trees every day.

 

When the last bundle of pest-repelling herbs is sold off to protect a pumpkin patch, Namjoon calls it a day. The prep work for tomorrow will already take hours, not to mention Seokjin might already be waiting in the park. It’s easy to pack everything up since half of his wares have been sold, so he hustles over to the park in the fading light, backpack clinking with every step.

 

Ripples disturb the pond, caused by eager ducks diving for the vegetable scraps that Seokjin tosses into the crowd. He isn’t hiding in the reeds, but neither is he parked on the cement patio. It only took one visit for Seokjin to learn about Namjoon’s hatred of concrete. He’s stood in the grass ever since, even when it’s wet or muddy, not that it would make much of a difference to his terrible shoes.

 

Namjoon doesn’t say anything when he walks up. Instead, he steals some of Seokjin’s scraps and rips them into small pieces so he can slowly sprinkle them into the water. Suga and Monster tussle over a particularly juicy piece of carrot that’s beginning to sink. Monster’s wings whap into Suga’s head until the other duck back away, quacking angrily.

 

“Monster’s kind of a jerk,” Seokjin muses, throwing the sulking Suga some pity food. The man was surprisingly on board with the duck nicknames.

 

“Yup.” It’s the truth. “They’ll be leaving soon,” Namjoon adds.

 

Seokjin’s half-sitting, half-lying in the grass. He looks over at Namjoon. “I’ll be sad to see them go. At least they’ll be back in the spring.”

 

They continue to chat about work, movies, rude subway people, and their ability to hold their liquor –or lack thereof. After a while, Namjoon settles into the grass.

 

“That luck charm really worked,” Seokjin says without preamble a while after they fall into comfortable silence.

 

“Of course it did,” Namjoon replies. He’s not insulted, though, because Seokjin looks at him with these big amazed eyes whenever he works magic.

 

The other man looks over. “No, I mean that I really got lucky. If I didn’t have the charm, who knows if you would’ve walked by Happy Squid that day. And then we wouldn’t be friends.” His gaze returns to the duck pond. “I’m really lucky.”

 

The urge to hide in his hood like a turtle is strong, but Namjoon resists. J-Hope and V are nipping at Kookie’s tail feathers, driving the poor duck to desperate squawking and trying to hide behind Monster.

 

“I think I’m really lucky too,” he finally says.

 

“Really?”

 

“Of course. Idiot.”

 

Seokjin’s smile is sweet and disgustingly sincere. He chuckles a little and wiggles his fingers in the grass.

 

Too many feelings are going on here. Namjoon blurts the first subject that comes to mind: “So, I think Suga is actually a girl duck.”

 

Seokjin outright laughs and flops onto his back. “What makes you say that?”

 

The words flow easily between them, as do the silences, until the sun sets behind the trees and Namjoon begins to shiver. The ducks float quietly, sated and tired.

 

They part at the park entrance after a heartfelt half hug. Physical affection has always made Namjoon feel awkward; he can never quite figure out what to do with his hands. This means that Seokjin takes charge and does whatever he wants. It freaked Namjoon out the first time, but now he lets himself be manhandled. He won’t tell Seokjin, but those hugs have really grown on him.

 

He watches, unmoving, as Seokjin strides down the block. When the tousled head finally disappears, Namjoon heads for the subway station. He wouldn’t mind if every day were like today: steady business, fried squid, ducks, and Seokjin’s easy company.

 

Is this contentment? Happiness? He ponders this as he steps into an empty train car. Whatever it is, he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

 

***

 

Of course, the universe was listening and immediately screws him over as punishment.

 

Two days later at Kennick Station, business is going well. The warming charms are gone and he’s down to a single pack of goblin moss. Namjoon sets a half-completed charm bag on his backpack and stands to stretch his sore legs. This makes him realize he has to pee really badly. Pursing his lips, Namjoon activates the see-me-not charm and steps away to hunt down the nearest public restroom.

 

When he returns a few minutes later, he’s happy to find that nothing’s been disturbed.

 

Just as Namjoon’s about to sit and deactivate the see-me-not, three men come up behind him with purpose. They’re young-ish, probably mid-twenties, and dressed in nondescript beanies and worn combat boots.

 

“Yes?” the witch asks, raising an eyebrow. They clearly know he’s supposed to have a shop, and they’re looking for it, but their eyes keep sliding away from that particular patch of cement. Instead, he is the focus of their ire.

 

The group closes in around him.

 

“Come with us,” one demands.

 

Namjoon has never seen these guys before in his life, not to mention they have “up to no good” written all over them. His first thought is that they’re witch haters. “No thanks.”

 

One of the others leans in. “It wasn’t a question.”

 

There’s now the tip of a large, serrated knife tickling Namjoon’s stomach. He swallows down his next remark and says, “Where to?” instead.

 

They ignore him and start walking, trapping Namjoon in the middle of the group. If these are witch haters, he’s about get beat to a pulp, maybe even killed if things go badly. He needs a way to let people know something’s wrong without upsetting his new friends.

 

The thought strikes him as the group blindly slides around his blanket. A desperate kick sends the see-me-not charm skittering across the sidewalk until it hits a mailbox, and within seconds, everyone’s skirting around the mailbox like it’s fallen out of existence.

 

“Watch where you’re walking or you might end up with a few extra holes,” one man snarls, shoving Namjoon’s shoulder.

 

If he is truly lucky, Seokjin will come to visit, see the abandoned blanket, and realize something’s wrong. Then he can contact the police or consult a witch who’s good with scrying and find his sorry . That is, if he’s still alive to save.

He hopes Seokjin doesn’t worry too much.

 

The men swerve into the back alleys almost immediately, cutting down on the number of people who unwittingly witnessed the kidnapping. They force him to walk for about ten minutes.

 

The group bangs their way through a lopsided door and down a short flight of stairs to the basement of a ramshackle apartment building. Namjoon’s shoved into the back room where there’s a desk and chair, laptop, two out windows, and single lightbulb dangling from a wire in the ceiling.

 

This isn’t what he was expecting. There’s a lot less back alley murder going on and a lot more bad action movie cliché than he had any reason to expect.

 

Claw-like fingers on his shoulder force him into the seat.

 

“Now what?”

 

The room is so poorly lit Namjoon can’t tell who’s who. One of them jabs at the laptop, which begins to boot up.

 

Another kidnapper speaks from behind him. Namjoon doesn’t bother to turn around to face him.

 

“We’re running a hacking program to break the coding on the National Bank’s website, but it needs to work faster if we don’t wanna get caught. That’s where you come in, witch. You use your magic to make it work better.”

 

Namjoon is so stumped by that explanation that he just kind of sits there and watches as the Windows 10 logo fades into the default desktop wallpaper. “I can’t do that,” he finally tells them, shrugging. “That’s not how it works.”

 

“Is it that you can’t or you won’t, little witch?” The man grabs Namjoon’s hair and jerks his head back roughly so their eyes meet.  

 

“It’s not that it can’t be done, but I can’t do it,” Namjoon rasps, neck aching.

 

The man scoffs in disgust, gives him a hard shake, and lets go of his hair. Namjoon fights the urge to run his hands to soothe his abused scalp. “I’m an Earth witch, not a Tech witch,” he explains.

 

The goon on his left pipes up. “But you were selling tech charms!”

 

“Yes, I sell tech charms,” Namjoon says impatiently. “I buy them from a Tech witch so I have a variety of stuff to sell. Guess what? They don’t really sell at my shop. People know my specialty and come for that. Only tourists and magic newbies buy tech charms off me.”

 

“I don’t give a what you specialize in!” the one with the grabby hands yells. “Make it work!”

 

This time Namjoon receives a few solid punches to the gut. He tries to shield his middle with his arms, but the other two guys drag them away while the third pummels him so hard puking is definitely an option.

 

When they let him go, Namjoon groans and curls in on himself. “I can’t. Better luck at the Apple Store.” The nonchalance is forced. He doesn’t want to appear weak in front of these guys. They’ll latch onto any chink in his armor and exploit it for all it’s worth.

 

They pin him down in the chair and drag his left hand up to the table, splaying it out palm-down. “For every minute you don’t help us with a spell, I break one of your fingers.” The words are chock full of rage and frustration.

 

A chill goes down Namjoon’s spine. This is bad. They sound like a bunch of idiots who know nothing about magic, and true idiocy is just as dangerous as intelligence, if not more so. They don’t understand his craft, how he channels magic, or elemental affinities and he won’t be able to explain it to them. The only thing they can process in their little pea brains is brute force.

 

Maybe witch haters would have been easier to deal with after all.

 

“That’s one minute.”

 

A snap and Namjoon cries out, head dipping down and eyes immediately filling with tears. “I c-can’t do anything,” he pants, “except stop you from getting chlamydia and make your tomatoes bug-free.”

 

They’re surprisingly quiet around him, no longer making demands. Instead, they’re just waiting. The instructions have been laid out and the consequences are clear, so there’s nothing to it but to mete out the punishment when necessary. Reasoning is pointless.

 

Tech spells are complex and highly specialized, requiring intimate knowledge of computers and coding to get them to work properly. All of which means that Namjoon, who knows how to Google and Facebook, couldn’t fake it even if he wanted to. And god does he want.

 

This is the point when he realizes all of his fingers are going to get broken.

 

Namjoon begins to panic is a way he didn’t before. The men’s arms are like steel vices keeping him in place, but he kicks out and tries to jerk his shoulders away. When he slams his head back into someone’s stomach, he gets nothing but swirling vision and a sharp slap on the temple to show for it. Desperate legs kick at the table, but he’s unable to tip it over or hit any of his kidnappers.

 

“Quit your squirming, you stupid witch,” the guy on his right orders.

 

Again, Namjoon wishes he knew a hex or any form of verbal magic, but he doesn’t have the affinity for it. Never has, never will.

 

As the bone in his left ring finger is flexed to the point of snapping, a spark flickers inside him. He loses the feeling immediately, everything in him focused on the excruciating waves of pain swamping his hand. He hunches over and tries to breathe through choked tears. 

 

With a blast of air and a pop not unlike a gun being fired, Seokjin appears in the middle of the room.

 

Everything freezes.

 

“Namjoon?”

 

Seokjin’s expression flickers from shocked confusion to sickened horror to an anger so intense and uncharacteristic that Namjoon would run for cover if he were able.

 

The man behind his chair releases his grip and goes for Seokjin, who roars and lunges to meet him like a man possessed. In Namjoon’s eyes, he’s glowing a furious blue. The magic of the protection charm is burning hot and steady like the flame of a blow torch, enveloping Seokjin from head to toe.  

 

It would almost be funny how the goon can’t get a solid grip on Seokjin, but Namjoon is too busy trying to mentally block out the pain in his fingers. Seokjin’s not a trained fighter by any means. In fact, this is likely his first physical altercation, but the kidnapper goes down after a solid blow to the solar plexus, likely due to the help of the protection charm.

 

“Get off him!” The Happy Squid cook comes barreling toward the guy holding Namjoon’s left hand, magic so strong it’s a wonder no one else can see it. The power tastes strong and earthy in his mouth.

 

When Seokjin rips the man away, it jars Namjoon’s hand. The witch cries out and protectively cradles the freed limb to his chest. Though his eyes are blurry with tears, he can see the third man coming up behind Seokjin while the first guy pushes himself up from the floor. The protection charm is strong, yes, but the power will burn out quickly if it has to endure the simultaneous assault of three men.

 

It’s easy to stumble from the chair and bolt to the windows. Namjoon gives the frame a few hard hits with his good hand to loosen the warped wood and wrenches it open, the shouts and scuffling of the fight ringing in his ears. He’s not going to let anything happen to Seokjin No one else fries squid as good as he does, not to mention the ducks are already used to him. It would be way too much work to teach their names to someone new.

 

With the image of Seokjin feeding the ducks held firmly in the forefront of his mind, Namjoon digs his fingers into the moist dirt level with the window frame. Immediately, relief flows up and into the broken digits of his left hand, leeched away by the earth itself.

 

Humans do not have innate magic. Instead, It is all around, saturating every element. A witch is a person born with the ability to feel the web of magic around them and, with practice, use their will to channel the magic into spells, charms, and potions.

 

The earth speaks to Namjoon. The roots and blossoms whisper. There is great life within them, great potential, and they’ve always been kind.

 

Really, all he has to do is ask.

 

They grow and grow beneath his hand, eager and searching for the warm glow of Namjoon’s heart.

 

Seokjin, it beats. Protect Seokjin.

 

Namjoon’s eyes snap open, blue like gems, and mammoth roots burst through the rotting floor with a screech of old wood. They snake through the squat windows and wind through the walls, dropping clinging vines from the ceiling like grasping fingers.

 

“What the hell is going on?” one of the men screams, tripping over himself to escape the reaching tendrils.

 

The sudden feeling of exhaustion isn’t surprising in the least. Namjoon’s simply grateful he hasn’t passed out. He slumps against the wall, dazed, with his hand stubbornly planted in the dirt.

 

The man who did the finger breaking is backed into a corner, shaking. His eyes dart across the room, desperate, like a trapped animal.

 

The vines reach for his ankles. He kicks them away, panting with fear.

 

All of a sudden, his eyes snap up and meet Namjoon’s apathetic gaze. Something passes through the other man’s expression. His teeth clench. “You…” he hisses, now completely unaware of the glossy, green vines that wind up his legs and toward his back.

 

A shaking hand dips into the back of his waistband and reappears with a pistol.

 

Seokjin sees it a second after Namjoon.

 

“Namjoon!”

 

Three reverberating bangs of the pistol and Namjoon’s seeing blue. His hand slides from the dirt as he collapses onto a thick patch of clover that sprouted from the floorboards. The fall jars his broken fingers. He smothers a pained cry.

 

Seokjin is standing before him, the protection charm shining so fiercely it makes his eyes smart. The bullets literally bounced off the spell and fell harmlessly to the floor.

 

The kidnapper and Seokjin stare at each other, dumbfounded.

 

With a mental shove that makes Namjoon feel like he’s about to pop a vein, the vines shoot up the man’s chest and wrap him in a paralyzing hug. He begins to scream even though Namjoon knows for a fact they aren’t crushing him. The gun clatters to the floor. Seokjin swoops down and retrieves it, carefully engaging the safety and emptying the rest of the bullets, which he pockets.

 

The other two men are still unconscious, now cradled inside cocoons of roots and vines. They won’t be causing trouble anytime soon.

 

Seokjin’s blue glow slowly fades until there’s only a small spark remaining, centered on his pants pocket. By the time he drops to his knees in front of an achy, half-awake Namjoon, the spark disappears completely.

 

“Oh my god Namjoon, are you okay? What did they do to you? How did I get here?” He runs gentle hands over the witch’s arms and stomach, stopping when he sees the state of his left fingers.

 

“What happened?”

 

Namjoon’s head lolls against the wall. The pain retreats to a dull ache if he doesn’t move. “Broke my fingers. When I wouldn’t help them.”
 

“Jesus,” Seokjin breathes, hands hovering uncertainly over the other man. He’s desperate to touch, reassure them both, but he doesn’t want to cause Namjoon any more pain. “We need to get you to a hospital.”

 

“Take me out to dinner.”

 

Seokjin rocks back onto his heels and stares, clearly concerned. He even checks Namjoon’s temperature with the back of his hand. “Do you have a concussion? Did they hit you on the head too?”

 

Namjoon grumpily shakes off the questioning hand and slumps into the wall even further. “Yeah, but that’s not the point. Take me out to dinner.”

 

“Right now? I don’t think that’s a good idea. We need to call the police and get you some medical attention.” Seokjin glances around at the plants bursting through the walls and three restrained kidnappers, one of whom is still spitting muffled curses from his prison.

 

“No,” Namjoon huffs, exasperated. “Later. Somewhere nice.”

 

Seokjin finally gets it, and when he does his whole face lights up. “Oh. You’re asking me on a date.”

 

Namjoon carefully shakes his aching head. “No.”

 

“You’re not asking me on a date?” is the confused response.

 

“No.” Namjoon rolls his eyes. “I’m telling.”

 

“Oh, I get it. You’re telling me I’m taking you on a date.” He settles on the patch of clover by Namjoon’s right side, careful not to jostle him, and pulls out his phone. The witch’s head drops onto his shoulder.

 

“Mmm,” Namjoon rumbles, exhaustion taking over. He can feel his eyes sliding shut, but there’s nothing he can do to stop it. Seokjin’s bony shoulder is surprisingly comfortable. Right before he tips over the edge, he feels a hand carding through his hair.

 

“You sleep, Namjoon,” he suggests, dialing 911, “I’ll take care of this.”

 

And Namjoon sleeps.

 

***

 

“This is not what I meant when I said dinner.”

 

Seokjin’s in the middle of the Happy Squid with an apron haphazardly thrown over a button-up and clean, gray jeans. He’s wearing black boots. They’re neither fashion boots nor Doc Martens.

 

“I know. I’m really, really sorry Namjoon, but Yoongi called me saying Jimin got sick in the middle of his shift and had to go home,” Seokjin half-yells over the sound of sizzling oil. “I couldn’t just leave him hanging.”

 

Namjoon is lounging against the wall, hands tucked into the pockets of a leather jacket. He’s wearing a button-up too, paired with worn khakis, a brown belt, and dark sunglasses. He stares down at his dusty bare feet.

 

“Hey.” He looks up to see Seokjin standing in front of him with a stick of glistening, golden brown squid in one hand. The cook dips forward to drop a kiss on Namjoon’s lips. “Here.”

 

The witch slips his sunglasses onto the top of his head and reaches out for the squid, but Seokjin quickly pulls back.

 

“Wait, it won’t hurt your fingers, right?” he asks, forehead crinkled in concern.

 

Namjoon’s smile is small, but genuine. He holds his left hand out for inspection. “Drank my health potions after the splints. Almost good as new.” Seokjin gently caresses the two fingers that were broken, then curls them up and pulls them straight again. “Doesn’t hurt at all,” the witch assures him. “Just stiff in the morning.”

 

“Thank god it only took a week,” Seokjin says, still looking sad. “There’s no way you can make your charms and potions without both hands.” He brings Namjoon’s hand up and kisses the two fingers.

 

Namjoon feels his face heating with a blush, but doesn’t feel the desire to hide. He takes the squid and steals a kiss. “Mhm.”

 

Seokjin sighs, assaults him with a quick half hug, and returns to the stall.

 

Namjoon watches and gnaws on his squid. His boyfriend’s boots are going to get ruined. Customer after customer gets in line and he glares at them with narrowed eyes. His date is ruined and it’s all their fault. Stupid Seokjin is just too nice. He should’ve told Yoongi to shove it.

 

Finally there’s a lull in the rush. Seokjin catches his eye and smiles ruefully. Namjoon dumps his empty stick into the nearest trash can and marches up to Happy Squid. Thankfully, Yoongi has disappeared somewhere. The witch draws his boyfriend in for a hug, slinging his arms around the man’s waist. He distracts Seokjin with kisses while he unties the apron and yanks the damn thing over his head when he pulls back.

 

“What are you-” Seokjin asks, bewildered, but Namjoon ignores him. He flips off the fryers and tosses the apron onto a table. Thankfully Seokjin hasn’t had time to start another batch after the rush, so there’s almost no fried squid or octopus sitting out. Keeping Seokjin away with one hand, he pulls a see-me-not charm from his pocket, activates it, and slaps it onto the counter.

 

Seokjin’s eyes immediately slide away from the where the food stall is sitting. “Namjoon, you can’t just make Happy Squid invisible. We’ll lose business. And don’t think I don’t know see-me-nots are illegal, because I do.”

 

Namjoon just shrugs. “Hard to get caught if no one can see it.”

 

Seokjin huffs at his cavalier attitude. “Yoongi won’t be able to find the stall!”

 

“That’s his problem,” the witch retorts. He grabs Seokjin’s wrist and tows him away from the hidden food stand. “We’re going to dinner.”

 

If he was really upset about it, Seokjin would resist. Instead, he just laughs helplessly and allows himself to be lead down the street. The only thing he does is walk beside Namjoon instead of behind him and change his grip so they’re holding hands. “I know this place close by,” he says. “The kitchen staff is all witches with different affinities. I’ve been meaning to try it. What do you say?”

 

Namjoon knocks their hips together. “Sounds good.”

 

“And if there are any veggies left over, we can save them for the ducks,” Seokjin adds.

 

“Good idea.”

 

The pair disappears down the sidewalk, blue spark glowing where their hands are clasped together.