The first hands to touch him are gloved, covered in brown leather that Jongin feels more than sees. His silver wings brush gently against warm skin and the human holding him gasps, dropping him in dismayed surprise. Jongin doesn't understand what's happening to him until someone nearby remarks, "Well done, Chanyeol. The flesh memory'll be all wonky with this one. He'll have to go to the shop."

He doesn't know what the shop is exactly, but it sounds like a scary place for something like him--winged, but unable to fly.

"I do not destroy my creations." Jongin's maker's voice is sharp, angry almost. It prompts an immediate apology and departure from the other man in the workroom, and Jongin, still lying defunct on the floor, marvels at his own recognition of the Maker's emotions. He should not know righteous fury, but it's flavor is potent to the very tips of Jongin's wings when the maker's bare hand plucks him from the ground and cradles him gently in his palms. "Wingardium leviosa!" the Maker whispers as a flash of bright light frightens Jongin into drawing his wings around himself protectively. He feels the ghost of a settling pet atop the sphere of his body and experiences the rushing emotion of kindness mixed with joy seeping through the Maker's skin. The man who made Jongin opens his hand a little more and encourages, "Be free, little one."

Magic is not a transmitable feeling so it is pure faith that has Jongin launching himself from the Maker's hold. He has no context for a levitation charm, not even for freedom, but in that moment Jongin at least understands pride. His maker's pride in his creation, Jongin's pride in himself; neither is distinguisable from the other, but Jongin can fly again, and that matters more than anything else. Flitting here and there around the workroom, Jongin feels like he can go forever--and he probably can. At the very least, Jongin flies until the Maker gathers his things to go home for the night, and then despite the Maker's protests, Jongin flies some more, following his creator all the way from the workroom to the man's house.

"Oh!" There's another man, one whose voice Jongin knows is not the one belonging to the man who made him. "I see you've found yourself a pet."

"Jealous?" It's the Maker this time, and Jongin, resting in the curls of his creator's hair, registers something like hope. And maybe fear? Of what, Jongin doesn't know, but he doesn't like negative emotion. He buries himself deeper into his nest and recalls the comforting warmth of his first touch, sending his memory of the feeling back into the Maker with every ounce of power his little body has. Jongin shakes with the Maker's own shock, but doesn't understand when the Maker pulls him frantically from his hair and cups him tightly. "You shouldn't be able to do that," the Maker tells Jongin, like it's a secret so wonderful that he can't decide whether to treasure it himself or share it with the world.

Jongin would ask what it is that he can do that has the Maker in such awe, but he can't. As it is, he caresses again the tender skin of the Maker's wrist with his wings, siphoning off the happiness and sending some back as it hits him in pleasant waves. "Remarkable," the Maker breathes, and for the second time in his short life, Jongin experiences the touch of another human being when the man who makes the Maker hopeful brushes a finger against the silver of his feathers curiously.

"What's it doing?" He wants to know. Frankly, Jongin wouldn't mind knowing either.

The Maker hesitates, and Jongin feels the fear once more. He still doesn't like it and this time sets himself vibrating with the force of the joy he takes from his memories and returns to its original owner. "I'm not crazy," the Maker prefaces, and Jongin can't see it, but the other man rolls his eyes.

"No more than other people, Yeol," the man comforts teasingly.

"Shut up!" The Maker is amused; strangely enough, the feeling of it tickles. "Seriously, though, I think," he takes a deep breath and if Jongin understood calm, he would wish for the knowledge of it. "I think he can feel."

"Obviously," the other man deadpans. "All snitches are ruled by flesh memory. You charm them; you should know."

Jongin wonders if he should maybe start calling the Maker the Charmer instead, but he settles on Yeol. The name made the Maker pleased when the man used it, and when Yeol is happy, Jongin is happy too.

"No, no," Yeol disagrees. "I mean I can feel that he can feel. I know it's weird, Yixing-ah, but it's almost like he's archiving my emotions and reminding me of them when I need them most."

The other man is still skeptical, even if Jongin can't feel it in his continued touch against Jongin's golden body, he can remember what that sounds like in Yeol's voice. "Show me."

Jongin is literally blown away by the strength of the love and gratitude Yeol feels when Yixing-ah believes him, despite the other man still being obviously unsure. He flutters aimlessly for a moment, waiting for Yeol to say something, to offer an example at least, and then doesn't understand the silence between the two men when Yeol remains mute. Why doesn't Yeol just tell Yixing-ah about the first time Jongin used his flesh memory in reverse? Is it because Yixing-ah was involved somehow? Jongin doesn't understand that either until he lands back in Yeol's hair and is struck dumb by the fear. Again.

Suddenly, Jongin understands. This Yixing-ah person makes Yeol afraid, but for some reason Jongin's maker loves him anyway. For some reason, Yixing-ah makes the Maker happy. And when the man who created him is happy, Jongin is happy too, so instead of waiting around forever for Yeol to say something despite the fear, Jongin gives his maker hope and takes matters into his own hands. Er, wings.

Yixing-ah is standing suspiciously close to Yeol, and Jongin, who can really only see the world through the colors of Yeol's emotions and his own sensory nervous system that keeps his kin from hitting all manner of obstacles during Quidditch matches, accidentally misjudges the distance and slams into the other man's face.

"Ow," Yixing-ah groans after a minute, massaging his jaw with the hand that isn't cradling Jongin as gently as Yeol ever did. "Your pet's a little violent, you know." Through the air Jongin thinks Yeol feels a little sheepish, but it seems the whole flesh memory thing is a little less successful when there's no direct touch involved. Still, Jongin's tasted enough of the emotion to send his own sheepish apology into Yixing-ah's skin, and he's hardly surprised when Yixing-ah gasps and lets him fall. Unlike the last time, though, Jongin's wings work beautifully, and he hovers above the spot where Yeol's large hand creates a steadying presence on Yixing-ah's shoulder.

Jongin allows a short time for Yixing-ah to catch his breath and reign in the shock that Jongin is sure the man feels, even if Jongin himself can't also feel it. When Yeol lifts his palm away from Yixing-ah, Jongin replaces it, nuzzling into the warmth that the Maker's hand just left there. As he moves, Jongin gathers the kindness and joy from when Yeol brought his purpose back to life, the peace when Yeol comforted Jongin in his fear, the hope when Yeol bantered with Yixing-ah, and finally the overwhelming love that tempered all of Yeol's emotions since coming home, but was especially powerful when Yixing-ah believed in him. Jongin pours these feelings into Yixing-ah with everything he has, and when he's finished and Yixing-ah is crying hot, wet tears onto the glistening metal of Jongin's wings, he curls up, the memory of Yeol's happiness lulling him to sleep.

"What did you feel?" Chanyeol wants to know as he brushes Yixing's tears away with his thumb. "What did he give you?"

"You," Yixing begins, pausing to scoop the sleeping snitch from off his shoulder and stand on his tiptoes to place him back into Chanyeol's hair. "You love me?"

Chanyeol catches Yixing on his way down, arms encircling the other man and pulling him impossibly close. Yixing returns the embrace and Jongin's maker shrugs, his smile sweet. "You make me happy," he tells Yixing simply. "How could I not?"