There’s always something brewing beneath the surface of the universe—like an omnipresent trace, a darkness that holds the answer to every question. Jongin’s father has always told him not to play with fire and the shadow it always creates. He’s always been a smart boy, too, heeding his words in his heart.

 

But Jongin’s father is dying and he’s not here right now.

 

“Dude, are you sure about this?” Sehun asks. His feet are propped on the dashboard and Jongin wants to go off on his best friend for that, for everything—just so he can release some of the frustration he’s experiencing from the situation.

 

“Yeah,” Jongin replies curtly. The grip on his steering wheel tightens and he bites his tongue. Sehun doesn’t deserve to receive the brunt of his anger and borderline hopelessness. “I don’t really have a choice, you know?”

 

The older of the two turns his head a bit, seeing Sehun shake his head grimly in a gesture that is neither a yes nor a no. There’s a weighted silence before Sehun speaks again. “I still don’t think visiting a witch is a good idea.”

 

Jongin shrugs, “Like I said, I have no choice. My father is dying, Sehun, and the doctors have no idea what to do about it. I don’t know what to do about it. It’s something related to magic.”

 

Maybe.

 

Jongin’s not sure how magic works. All he knows, all everyone knows, is it exists and it is best to stay away from it as far as possible. Witches are notorious for being fickle, one wrong offense and Jongin and Sehun will be lucky to make it out in the same specie they come in as. They’re creatures of mystery who thrive in the fear and confusion they create for the non-magics.

 

Witches are scattered in Seoul like flies in concrete dumpsters. Jongin has debated going to those who offer their services in the black market but he knows—or, as much as it is possible to know—that people of magic prefer to stay out of others’ businesses, even those of their own kind. The best approach is to just ask around and find one.

 

Sehun has managed to find him someone, some twenty-five minutes of driving to the quieter parts of the city. The skyscrapers and the rush of time have long passed, shifting to houses and smaller sidewalks always seeming like it’s half-way stuck in the past. There’s a woman walking with a young child clinging on her hands. Jongin swallows the lump on his throat.

 

“That’s it.” Sehun points out to a tiny house on the end of the road.

 

Jongin knows.

 

There’s something about the house that sets it apart from its neighborhood. There’s nothing different about it,  at first, just tinier than most of the houses surrounding it. But the size and the design of the house do not conceal the eerie something surrounding the property. It’s nothing suffocating, just a little bit cold, sending shivers down the length of Jongin’s spine.

 

Sehun lowers his feet from the dashboard. “Here we are.”

 

“Here we are,” Jongin repeats, parking just a few meters from the house’s front. They’ll never know how volatile this particular witch is and they do not really want to trespass and risk the ire of someone magic.

 

Jongin gets out of his car after a deep breath, Sehun following his actions. Locking up, he shakes his shoulder and flails his limbs a little.

 

“Nervous?” Sehun eyes him without a hint of judgment.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“You should be,” Sehun turns away and walks. “I still don’t agree with this hare-brained plan of yours.”

 

Jongin refuses to answer and continues to walk after his friend, lengthening his strides so they’re side-by-side. His gaze is trained towards the small house, resolute and strong. His father is dying.

 

The property has a small iron gate that barely reaches Jongin’s (and Sehun’s) chest. There is no doorbell to be found and Jongin is at a loss about what to do. He notices a toy-sized black dog, that looks more like a wolf to Jongin, looking at them from behind the gate. It’s nothing like any other dog Jongin has seen before.

 

“Hello,” he greets the creature, crouching low to appear smaller. Sehun turns to him weirdly before he, too, spots the dog and does the same. “My friend and I are here to ask something from the witch living in this house. We don’t mean any harm.”

 

The dog doesn’t do anything, just boring his eyes on them both. It tilts its head a bit and its tail wags lightly before it walks to the direction of the house. The gate swings open.

 

“Do you think—” Sehun drags, standing up just as Jongin does.

 

“Yes,” Jongin walks inside the property carefully. Sehun hesitantly walks beside him. “We’re not trespassing or disturbing the witch. They opened the gate for a reason.”

 

They stop at the front door. It doesn’t automatically open like the gate and Jongin debates with himself about knocking when—

 

“Boo!”

 

Jongin yelps and jumps a foot in to the air. Sehun has bent his body a bit, hiding behind Jongin after a muffled scream. Laughter rings all over the property, deep and bright.

 

“Hello,” the intruder greets. “I’m Kyungsoo. I heard you want to ask me a question.”

 

Jongin tries to calm his breathing and heartbeat, hands still pressing on his chest. The witch, who has appeared out of nowhere, does not look like any of the witches in stories and popular media. He has wide eyes and chubby cheeks, stature a little on the smaller side. He’s dressed comfortably in a large Nike hoodie and sweatpants. He doesn’t look like someone who will eat little children for breakfast. In fact, Jongin thinks he’s a little cute but the seemingly crackling air around the man deters any other comment Jongin may have said.

 

Kyungsoo is distinctly otherworldly—in the literal (and, maybe, in the figurative) sense.

 

“I—Yes,” Jongin stutters. He wipes his hands on the fabric of his jeans. The witch’s stare follows his movements and an amused glint twinkles on his dark eyes. “I need some of your help—if you would grant it, of course.”

 

Kyungsoo pauses a little before he gestures for Jongin and Sehun to step aside. “Come in.”

 

The door automatically opens and closes for the three of them. Jongin wonders if an invitation is necessary to visit a witch’s house, stepping inside and removing his shoes on the entryway. Sehun does the same, if a little hesitant to step on the wooden floorboards in his socks.

 

Looking around, Jongin like how the interior is cozy, warm. There’s a fireplace in the living room and the couch doesn’t match the armchairs. Just a few meters away, Jongin sees a dark hallway and the tiny kitchen. The dining table has four wooden chairs—two baby blue, a bright yellow, and a mint green.

 

It’s a little unexpected. Colors spill on the clean white walls in the form of painted flowers, bundles and vines twisting and alive. Jongin has no idea what some of those are but they’re beautiful—an eternity captured in motion and suspended on walls. A painted bird flies and perches itself on the painted tree on the perpendicular juncture created by two walls. Painted leaves sway with invisible wind.

 

Sehun gasps and Jongin is sure his mouth is open in agape. Kyungsoo sits on one of the armchairs, head titled towards the couch. Pride shines on his eyes like a mother and Jongin cannot help but be fascinated over the beauty—of the moving, magical artwork, of the man who has created them.

 

“They’re gorgeous,” Jongin says after a moment. Sehun nods wildly in agreement. He hopes this is proper etiquette, complimenting the design on a witch’s home.

 

“Thank you,” Kyungsoo replies. He waves his hand almost lazily to the side. “Please sit down. I will hear what you have to say.”

 

Like clouds clearing up after a storm, Jongin snaps his head to the direction where Kyungsoo has asked them to sit down. With tense shoulders, he carefully takes a seat on the side nearest to Kyungsoo. Sehun plops himself beside him, hand going on his knee to squeeze it in a comforting manner. Jongin exchanges a glance at the younger man before he turns back to Kyungsoo. The witch watches their interaction with curiosity b on his all-knowing eyes.

 

“Go on,” Kyungsoo says.

 

Jongin takes a deep breath, letting go all at once, like the exhale will have taken out all the misery with the puff of air.

 

“I think my father is cursed. He just stopped talking one day and, after that, he just got weaker and weaker. I brought him to the doctors and no one knows how to treat him. It’s not a non-magic illness.”

 

Kyungsoo tips his head to the side, right leg crossing over the other and his finger taps repeatedly on his knee in time with a beat that Jongin cannot hear.

 

“You want me to cure him.”

 

It’s not a question. The witch stares at him almost blankly. He’s not looking at Jongin as much as he’s looking into Jongin. It’s something non-magics have always cautioned others for—witches can see you bare in front of their eyes, stripped off of one’s secrets and desires and wants and needs. They look and see the heart and soul, even the parts the no one is aware of. Witches are scary because they can know a person so intimately.

 

“Yes,” Jongin’s voice is strong and unwavering. “I want my father to live for as long as he is able to.”

 

“As long as he is able to?” Kyungsoo’s eyebrows rise and Jongin feels Sehun’s knee bumping into his. The wording of his request is important.

 

“As long as his natural life allows him to. Without anything magic-related interfering to his life span.”

 

“What makes you think that your father’s natural life is not destined to end by the hands of a curse?”

 

“Magic is not natural,” Jongin states in a matter-of-fact. There’s nothing malicious with his sentence and Kyungsoo must have felt it because the witch’s lips quirk slightly.

 

“Very well,” he says, leaning closer to Jongin. He is even prettier up close with his pale skin and pouty lips, Jongin muses. “But this does not come free. Everything is tagged with a price.”

 

“Anything,” Jongin breathes out. “Absolutely anything. Money or whatever, I’ll have it done.”

 

“I don’t want your money,” Kyungsoo retorts. The smaller man uncrosses his legs. “In exchange for your father’s life, I want your first born child.”

 

The air in Jongin’s lungs is seemingly knocked out of him in one swoop. His hands ball into tight fists and he can feel his shoulder muscles stiffen like he’s ready to fight.

 

“Wait a second,” Sehun interrupts. Jongin turns to him with wide eyes. The man has promised to stay quiet throughout the entire time with the witch, saying he’ll let Jongin handle everything and will offer only silent moral support. Clearly, he cannot keep his promise. “What makes you think he’ll just give his child up?”

 

“His father’s life,” Kyungsoo deadpans. Sehun clams back on his seat like he’s burned.

skeptical, a little confused. “Do you not want a child?”

 

“I haven’t thought about it,” Jongin lies. He has thought about it. He watches as the little confusion on Kyungsoo’s face morphs into something even more, something Jongin has no name for. He explains, “But there are other factors to consider. Does adoption count in the deal?”

 

“Yes.” Kyungsoo nods firmly. “Adopted or biological, your first child will have to go to me.”

 

It sounds sinister coming out of the witch’s mouth but there’s nothing diabolic about the soft way Kyungsoo’s mouth curls around the word child. Jongin thinks there’s longing in there—hope. Maybe it’s just his imagination, wishful thinking to soothe the guilt in his heart at what he’s about to do. Everyone knows what happens to first borns given to witches.

 

Before he opens his mouth, Kyungsoo interrupts him. “I’ll give you two weeks to decide. Please come back before that or your father dies. The curse has been on him for too long.”

 

Dread washes over Jongin like a reality. He really doesn’t have a choice. His father is dying.

 

 

---

 

 

 

Sehun’s seething in Jongin’s top floor apartment, slamming two glasses of whiskey on the marble. Jongin winces at the noise, thankful that the crystal does not crack, before he downs half of the drink. It’s barely one in the afternoon on a Saturday.

 

“You can’t possibly believe what that witch said,” Sehun begins. Jongin has been waiting for a heated tirade since they have left Kyungsoo’s house. “He could be lying to you to get your future child.”

 

“Yes,” Jongin sighs. First borns carry an almost mystical quality—there’s a reason why people of magic always come after them. They’re more powerful if they’re given, handed by the parent to the witch with their own hands. Jongin takes another sip of whiskey. “But what can I do? My father will die in two weeks.”

 

“We’ll find someone—another witch!” Sehun throws both his hands. His tone progressively goes higher, pitch unstable and breathing erratic. “What if that Kyungsoo is just tricking you? What if Uncle doesn’t die in two weeks? What if he’s just saying that so you hand out your first b—”

 

“Shut up!” Jongin screams back, anguish evident in the harsh manner of his voice. He knows. He knows of the possibilities and the uncertainties. “All those what ifs—What if he’s not tricking me? What if my father dies in three weeks? What if he’s not just saying that so I hand out my first born to him? I’m not going to wait for those what ifs. I’m not taking a chance with my father’s life.”

 

Jongin breathes harshly, finishing the remaining alcohol inside his glass. He shoots Sehun an apologetic look and the man returns it with his own back. Pin-drop silence undisturbed by the vibrations of the air falls amidst the stillness of the modern space. Sehun stands up to fetch the entire bottle of whiskey. They haven’t eaten lunch yet.

 

 

---

 

 

 

The twenty-five minutes it takes Jongin to drive to Kyungsoo’s place seems longer the second time around now that he is aware of what he’s about to do, what he’s about to give up. He parks where he has parked before, opting to walk the little distance to the small house. Jongin slowly makes his way to the gate, his hands stuffed inside the pockets of his trousers.

 

This time, both the gate and the door swings open when Jongin passes through. He gets inside the house, muttering a soft excuse me and padding on the wooden floors in his socks. If Kyungsoo does something to him, it’s going to be a little harder to run.

 

He turns to the living room and notices the witch seated on one of the armchairs. The small dog-wolf, most likely his familiar, is on his lap. Kyungsoo is the creature’s fur delicately.

 

“I’ve been waiting for you,” the man says slowly. The room has low lighting, dimming almost theatrically. It throws shadows on Kyungsoo’s soft features, making him look even more not-of-this-world than he already is.

 

“Have you seriously posed like that to welcome me?” Jongin blurts out, the question uncontrollable on his tongue. The witch colors red on the apples of his round cheeks. His hand stills on the dog’s fur, coughing softly.

 

“Sit down, please.” Kyungsoo directs to the corner of the couch closest to him, not addressing how Jongin has caught him being, well, dramatic. The lights return to normal. “You’re here to accept the deal, no?”

 

Jongin slumps down, sighing a little. “Yes. I don’t think I can bear to see my father die when I can do something about it.”

 

Kyungsoo stares at him before saying, “You’re a good son.”

 

The taller of the two shakes his head and murmurs, “I’m not going to be a good father.”

 

The witch does not give an answer, choosing to nudge the resting familiar and lifting the creature down to the floor. “Go get the medicine, Mongshil.”

 

Jongin smiles at the name—Mongshil. It’s an unexpectedly cute name for such a powerful animal. Jongin has always had a soft spot for cute, small things and he watches with fondness as Mongshil toddles past him, rounding the couch and heading towards the hallway.

 

“Can I ask a question?” Jongin turns to the witch once Mongshil has disappeared from his sight completely. One of the other man’s thick eyebrows rises a little and his eyes narrow suspiciously before his expression schools itself to something a little more neutral.

 

“I may choose not to answer,” Kyungsoo replies cooly, almost defensively. Jongin knows magics are secretive and protective of their community, opting to stay in secluded villages. Witches like Kyungsoo who roam the cities are often tagged by the government. The human authority may not be able to do much against Kyungsoo’s power but witches are still vulnerable like anyone.

 

“That’s okay,” Jongin says after considering his words carefully, thinking of the less offensive and horrifying way to bring his question up without offending Kyungsoo and his magic. He settles for, “What will happen to the child?”

 

Kyungsoo’s eyes widen and his lips part a bit before closing. Mongshil hurtles in a blurry black ball and the witch picks the small cloth bag it carries in between its teeth. He sets it down on the coffee table just as Mongshil jumps up to settle on Kyungsoo’s lap once again.

 

“I will not harm the child,” the witch promises, catching the hidden question underneath Jongin’s original inquiry. Kyungsoo’s wide eyes do not waver when they meet Jongin’s. The darkness of them is unnerving but Jongin admits there’s something beautiful about the color of the other man’s irises.

 

“How will I know that you’ll keep your word?”

 

“You won’t—but you want your father alive,” Kyungsoo points out, picking up the cloth pouch and tugging on the drawstrings attached to the opening. Softly, kindly, he adds, “We can put it in the contract.”

 

He fishes out a glass bottle from the bag. It’s like the medicinal syrups for kids, and the clear container allows Jongin to see the blood red liquid inside. Kyungsoo sets it in front of Jongin and, instantly, the taller man knows it’s the cure to his father’s curse.

 

“Do we have a deal?” Kyungsoo extends one hand to other man, palm up and open. Jongin looks at the glass bottle and gulps.

 

“Yes,” he says, nodding to himself in conviction.

 

“Very well,” Kyungsoo says. “This contract will carry on until I have your first child and no other witch can interfere with our agreement.”

 

Jongin shares a look with the Kyungsoo. Like any other time, the eyes are disconcerting when they look like they have the answers to all of Jongin’s existential questions. Witches are truly powerful beings.

 

He nods, “Okay. We have a deal.”

 

Kyungsoo reaches for Jongin, cradling his bigger hand in both of his small ones. Jongin feels shivers go down his spine at the contact of Kyungsoo’s soft skin against his. The witch turns his wrist up, brushing the area with his thumb. Right hand disentangling with Jongin’s while the left remains holding Jongin’s limp hand, Kyungsoo closes his eyes and places his index and middle finger flat on the the skin of the taller man’s wrist. The contrast between their skin tones is fascinating.

 

Jongin doesn’t see Kyungsoo open his mouth for any verbal spell but the man moves his fingers to rub on the wrist where they lie. The witch’s closed eyes highlight the length of Kyungsoo’s eyelashes, fanning on the soft skin of his face. Jongin feels the surroundings going darker and he gasps and almost bolts when their joint hands glow with light, like all the brightness is getting and going to Jongin’s skin.

 

“Calm down,” Kyungsoo says. “This is my magic working.”

 

Kyungsoo’s soothing voice is a balm to the loudness of Jongin’s beating heart. In pitch black darkness, only where Kyungsoo is rubbing his fingers has light. Jongin closes his eyes, trying to focus on the anchor that is Kyungsoo—Kyungsoo’s skin, Kyungsoo’s caresses, Kyungsoo, Kyungsoo.

 

The light goes back.

 

“The contract is finished,” Kyungsoo says, withdrawing his hands. Jongin instantly misses the warmth. “You have to fulfill the end of your bargain or you will be permanently branded.”

 

Jongin nods dumbly before the word branded registers in his mind. He looks down the on wrist that Kyungsoo has been rubbing, finding a silver owl tattooed on his skin. Jongin trains his gaze towards Kyungsoo, who’s looking unfazed by everything.

 

“Until the contract is fulfilled, the mark of my magic will stay on your skin. It won’t be seen by other non-magics; don’t worry,” Kyungsoo explains, plucking the question off of Jongin’s throat and answering it. “Only you and I can see the brand. And other witches, of course, so they know that you’re—well—spoken for.”

 

Kyungsoo hands Jongin the small bottle, pressing it firmly on Jongin’s palm. The glass is cold on his clammy hand.

 

“Put five capfuls of this liquid in your father’s water once a day, for four days, beginning today. Make him drink the entire thing. The amount of water is not necessary but it has to be five capfuls in one go.”

 

“And that’s it?” Jongin is a little doubtful. “The curse will be gone? He’ll live?”

 

“Yes,” Kyungsoo answers strongly. “The curse is impersonal, too, so you don’t have to worry about the same witch going after your father.”

 

“How can someone just curse him with death out of the blue?” Jongin asks confusedly, a little angrily. His father is dying—is supposed to die—just because of the whims of someone with magic.

 

“I cannot give an answer to that.” Kyungsoo shakes his head minutely. “There are bad witches just as there are bad people.”

 

Jongin supposes Kyungsoo has a point. No use dwelling in the hows and whys; the bottle he’s holding will make his father okay, healthy.

 

“Thank you,” Jongin says sincerely. He hopes he conveys the utmost gratitude he has for the man and, feeling it’s not enough, he stands up and bows properly, his upper body perpendicular to the floor.

 

He sees Kyungsoo’s feet just as the man stands up and moves, his hands pushing Jongin back up. The taller man looks down at the witch and the soft expression on his face.

 

“It’s no matter,” Kyungsoo says. He touches Jongin’s bicep before walking towards the front door. He doesn’t bother stepping out of his house and Jongin’s about to turn around and walk away when everything crashes into him once again.

 

“Thank you, Kyungsoo. I really can’t say this enough,” he says, grinning from one ear to the other. He can feel his eyes becoming a little wet and he wipes the corners with his fingers with an embarrassed laugh. Kyungsoo watches him with an indiscernible face.

 

“As long as you complete the end of your bargain. I wish your father good health and a happier life, Jongin.” He closes the door quietly with a soft smile.

 

Jongin realizes he has not given his name to Kyungsoo at least once.

 

 

---

 

 

 

That same day, Jongin calls his secretary for a week off. He readily agrees and reschedules meetings and business luncheons or dinners, already aware of the condition of Jongin’s dad. Once he gets the okay, Jongin drives to his apartment to pack his clothes before heading towards the outskirts of Seoul where his father, his mother, and their two stay-in house helpers stay.

 

They’re a little surprised to see him and Jongin notices the redness around his mother’s eyes. The two maids both look solemn when they take his small suitcase.

 

“Come in, Jonginie,” his mother greets. Jongin feels warmth at the familiar endearment. “How long will you stay here?”

 

“A week at most. I got myself a leave from work,” Jongin replies, kissing his mother on the cheek. They head inside the lounge, his mom sitting on the couch beside him. “How’s Dad?”

 

The older woman sighs, “Nothing good. He’s trying to smile but—”

 

Jongin’s heart breaks when he hears his mother sniffle. He leans in for a hug and the tall woman tucks her head on Jongin’s shoulders. He rubs her back comfortingly, and Jongin does not want to think how his parents will react at the knowledge of the glass bottle with the soft confines of Jongin’s clothes inside his suitcase.

 

Death is nothing to look forward to.

 

“It’s going to be okay, Mom,” he promises.

 

Jongin wants to believe.

 

 

---

 

 

 

That night, he follows all of Kyungsoo’s instructions—five capfuls in water and Jongin watches as the blood red liquid dissipates clearly without any remnants of color in the drink. He brings his father the glass of water with his dinner and Jongin remains beside the old man with a smile and never-ending stories until the meal is finished and there’s no drop of water left.

 

Jongin repeats it for four nights. There isn’t any difference on his father on the first, second, third, or fourth night. Jongin worries about the deal he has made with Kyungsoo but he shakes it off and convinces himself to trust the magic, Kyungsoo’s magic.

 

The morning after the fourth night, after the liquid in the bottle is finished, Jongin walks down the staircase only to hear his mother’s exuberant but slightly worried yelling. He hurries his steps and takes two stairs at a time, almost sprinting towards the kitchen where the noises are coming from.

 

“Dad!” He screams. There he is, Jongin’s father. His face is a little sallow still but it’s bright and open. He’s standing in front of the large island chopping kimchi and there are various food items scattered on the expensive marble. His mother and the two maids hover with worried glances.

 

“Jongin, son!” His father’s voice booms, strong and loud and excited. Jongin feels like crying. “Tell your mother to stop fussing because I’m fine! See?”

 

His father lets the knife down and he lifts his flabby arms to flex with a wink. Jongin feels laughter bubble inside him and he can’t help but throw his head back when the chuckles erupt from his stomach, unstoppable.

 

Soon enough, the house fills with the sound of joy and delight and relief.

 

 

---

 

 

 

His sisters are called after and the weekend before Jongin has to work, they hold a family feast. The house is noisy with his father’s jokes and his mother’s giggles. His niece and nephew zoom around the house, showing off their toys and Jongin plays with them and the dogs contentedly.

 

On Sunday, they have a scheduled visit to the hospital and the doctors look torn between being baffled and being happy at the news of Jongin’s father’s recovery. Both his parents thank the medical team and Jongin shuffles his feet when one of the nurses, a middle-aged woman, shoots him a look like she knows.

 

He turns away from her, hands trembling before he stuffs them inside the pockets of his jeans. His father looks healthy, is healthy, and the smile on her mother’s face is the most genuine he has seen since his father has fallen ill. The both of them are going to Jeju for a vacation in two days, proudly calling it another honeymoon.

 

Jongin leaves the hospital with a light heart but a heavy stomach, the idea of what he has done haunting him but when he looks in the rearview mirror, he sees his parents holding hands and whispering with soft giggles and finds himself not minding it at all.

 

He’s okay. Jongin smiles to himself.

 

 

---

 

 

 

Jongin visits Kyungsoo before he goes to work. There’s still no doorbell and Mongshil is nowhere to be seen. He places the paper bag containing cookies and pastries from his sister’s café, Kamong, on the ground in front of the locked gate. There’s a printed photo from their family gathering inside and Jongin has signed the back of the picture with a thank you.

 

He hopes Kyungsoo appreciates the gesture.

 

 

---

 

 

 

Sehun finds out, of course, from the pictures on his parents’ joint Instagram. They’ve only been in Jeju for a couple of hours when Sehun barrels inside Jongin’s office, waving his phone like a madman.

 

“What have you done?” He shrieks. Jongin cringes and thanks the fact that his office is soundproof, even if it’s all glass walls. His secretary shoots him a questioning stare and Jongin nods his head once before the other man turns back to his work.

 

“Why do you even follow my parents’ Instagram?” Jongin inquires. “And  can you please—please—settle down? Anyone passing by my office will wonder what got you so hysterical before lunch break.”

 

“They take great pictures of their travel,” Sehun defends. The younger man sighs loudly before plopping down on the leather couch in the office. Accusingly, he adds, “You took the deal with the witch.”

 

Jongin doesn’t slump down on his desk but he does press his fingers on his temples, massaging the beginnings of a headache away. “I don’t have a choice.”

 

“You always have a choice,” Sehun points out, crossing his long legs together.

 

“Well, I don’t when it’s my father dying,” Jongin deadpans. He’s not in the mood to snap at Sehun and start another screaming match. He knows that the younger man does not want to upset him in any way.

 

“I’m glad Uncle is okay, Jongin,” Sehun whispers, barely audible except that the room is deathly silent. Jongin has even stopped typing on his laptop.

 

“Thank you.” Jongin smiles slightly, voice hitching at the last syllable. If Sehun has noticed, he keeps his mouth shut and doesn’t comment on it.

 

A heavy moment passes and Sehun grumbles and runs his hand on his hair. Breaking the silence, he asks, “What are you going to do with the first born child?”

 

“I don’t know,” Jongin admits truthfully.

 

“Maybe you can try to tell him you don’t want kids?” Sehun offers. His face contorts into something malicious, scheming. “You lied before that you haven’t thought about it, if I remember correctly.”

 

Seeing no point in lying, Jongin nods his head. “I was scared and I didn’t want to promise anything. But I ended up taking the deal anyway.” He laughs, a self-deprecating sound that has Sehun’s broad shoulders visibly drooping.

 

“Then, you need to delay it as much as possible,” Sehun says resolutely. “You’re one of the most baby-hungry people I know. The witch cannot take your first born child.”

 

Jongin agrees, feeling bad for Kyungsoo but adding, “I mean, I’m sure he knows I won’t have a kid after two weeks, right?”

 

 

---

 

 

 

Kyungsoo thinks Jongin will have a kid in less than two weeks.

 

“Kyungsoo, what,” Jongin deadpans. Kyungsoo’s sitting comfortably behind Jongin’s desk, munching on a cookie. Mongshil is trotting happily all over his office—the building doesn’t even allow pets!

 

“Hi,” Kyungsoo waves merrily. It’s a little cute except Jongin still has no clue why Kyungsoo is in his work place.

 

“Hello,” Jongin greets back dumbly. Kyungsoo stands up from Jongin’s chair, rounding the glass table. The taller man notices Kyungsoo’s attire—it’s definitely not office-appropriate. Oversized sweaters, skinny jeans, and sneakers will get Jongin a fit of scolding from Junmyeon, executive or not. Once again, Jongin wonders how Kyungsoo is able to get in the building—one of the top floors, even.

 

As if sensing the unspoken question from the weight of Jongin’s staring, Kyungsoo turns to him with a small smile, wiggling his fingers towards his direction.

 

“Right. Magic,” Jongin murmurs. Kyungsoo beams at that, nodding his head a bit. “But why are you here?”

 

Kyungsoo sits down on the couch and he follows the smaller man so he, too, is sitting beside him. Jongin feels his head spin. Mongshil runs towards Kyungsoo and the man scoops the familiar so its resting on Kyungsoo’s knees.

 

“We don’t allow pets,” Jongin blurts out.

 

“He’s not just a pet,” Kyungsoo retorts, bending down to nuzzle Mongshil’s nape. It—He gives a soft purr and Jongin melts at the sight. Magical creature or not, Mongshil is adorable and Jongin is weak for him. He decides to drop that argument.

 

the black fur, Kyungsoo trains his eyes towards Jongin. Once again, the man is hit by the inexplicable sense of otherworldly and non-belonging coming from Kyungsoo. The air around him always seems different. It’s nothing bad now but Jongin briefly lets his thoughts wander to how devastating Kyungsoo will be when mad—or in the height of passion.

 

He brings his hand up his mouth, covering the two coughs he has released from the momentary distraction. Kyungsoo still seems oblivious to where Jongin’s mind has gone.

 

“Well, I’m here to talk about our deal,” the witch says, turning his body slightly to Jongin’s direction without jostling the relaxed Mongshil on his lap. Jongin allows himself a short second to envy the familiar.

 

“It’s barely been a month, Kyungsoo,” Jongin grunts, carding his fingers through his hair. “I won’t have a child for you in that short of a time.”

 

To Jongin’s surprise, Kyungsoo tilts his head, confused, “You won’t?”

 

Jongin gasps, indignant, “I’m not some factory!” He gestures to the direction of his crotch and he belatedly realizes how manically stupid that is before he feels his cheeks warming up.

 

Thankfully, Kyungsoo also seems embarrassed. His round cheeks are flushed prettily and the color goes down to his neck before it disappears into the sweater. Jongin imagines how far it reaches down. He mentally smacks himself at the thought.

 

“Not even a baby—” Kyungsoo’s hand circles his stomach, “—in someone else’s tummy?”

 

“No!” Jongin stands up with the strength of his denial and Mongshil even startles from the loud sound. Kyungsoo is quick to soothe his familiar, cooing and rubbing the dog-wolf behind his ears. Jongin, still standing up and now gesticulating wildly, continues, “I don’t even have a girlfriend! I don’t have someone at the moment! I’m very much single!”

 

“Oh,” Kyungsoo’s mouth drops open in what Jongin assumes to be realization. “You have a problem finding a partner?”

 

Evidently, Kyungsoo’s the type to put two and two together only to come up with five.

 

Jongin sighs deeply and he sits down again, carefully this time so Mongshil is not disturbed, before speaking. He figures it’s good to be honest, even a little, “I’m busy with work, you know? And well, I’m biual so there’s that. No baby in a one-night stand’s tummy and I sure as hell won’t adopt with someone I barely know.”

 

Kyungsoo’s neutral face turns to understanding and then, to Jongin’s horror, determination. He stands up, cradling Mongshil on his arms like a child. “I’ll find you person.”

 

“No! Kyungsoo, stop. I di—”

 

Before Jongin can even finish, Kyungsoo has snapped his fingers, disappearing with Mongshil in a puff of smoke, leaving the taste of something burning in the air.

 

 

---

 

 

 

Jongin dreads going to work the next day, fearing that Kyungsoo is lurking around his office with his tiny familiar in tow and, he shudders as the thought passes his mind, a horde of unsuspecting non-magic and magic people for him to meet.

 

He drags his steps across the lacquered floor, absent-minded and anxious about the prospect of seeing Kyungsoo with a other people the witch has lured in as Jongin’s dates—maybe Jongin is used as the lure, a date with him in some fancy five-star restaurant that Kyungsoo has booked under his name.

 

“Good morning,” his secretary says happily. Jongin’s hackles instantly rise, shoulders tensing on instinct. Despite the customary acknowledgement, Jongin feels like something is wrong.

 

He walks to his office fast and, sure enough, there is Kyungsoo sitting on the couch. Mongshil is playing with a bright yellow ball.

 

“Hi, Jongin,” the witch chirps. “Fancy seeing you here.”

 

“This is my office,” Jongin answers flatly. Sighing, he asks, “How can you even go past all the guards? And with Mongshil too.”

 

“I don’t use the front door,” Kyungsoo states honestly and oh, that explains a lot. Jongin wonders if Kyungsoo has been joking last time about using magic for trivial tasks but it seems, for a witch like the man, magic is an integral part of being alive. Magic, Jongin assumes, is like breathing oxygen to one’s lungs for Kyungsoo. Maybe not even that, maybe magic just is.

 

It’s incredibly fascinating.

 

He sighs, calming down. It’s a little ironic how he’s the one with a debt but Kyungsoo is the one who is going out of his way to get his payment. Jongin asks, point blank, “What are you doing here?”

 

“Your preference!” Kyungsoo perks up. Jongin watches in awe as Kyungsoo pulls out two small token-like things from his tiny purse, throwing it in the air. They materialize and fall into the witch’s lap in the form of a ballpoint pen and a small notepad.

 

Jongin stares a little confounded but Kyungsoo turns to him with a small smile, saying, “I need to know your preference. Age. Job occupation. Personality. Looks. You know, what you find in an ideal someone.”

 

To add to the comical situation, Kyungsoo wags his eyebrows in what seems to be an encouraging manner. Jongin cannot help bursting out in laughter from the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. He gasps for air, wheezing while trying to regain his breathing back to normal. Kyungsoo stares at him with a blank face but the witch does not look mad.

 

Once he’s at least presentable, the other man rises one eyebrow at him, saying, “Are you done?”

 

“Sorry,” Jongin heaves, one hand on his chest as if it will help to get himself in control. “You’re really funny, do you know that?”

 

Kyungsoo turns his nose up with a harrumph and grumbles, “Are you going to answer the questions or not?”

 

Jongin shakes his head in amusement. “I really have no preference. Someone who’s of legal age, of course. Maybe someone who can make me laugh. A good cook will be nice, too, but it’s not necessary.”

 

The smaller man seems to be satisfied by his answers if the minute pleased smile on his face is to go by. Jongin watches in amazement as the pen moves on its own, scribbling his answers on paper.

 

Seeing the witch so concentrated on watching the words come to life on the notepad, Jongin can’t help the need to tease the man a little. He drawls, “Anything else you need to know about me? Favorite food? Favorite type of date? Favorite color? Favorite ual position, perhaps?”

 

Kyungsoo snaps his head at that, eyes even wider. “Are you going to make me a baby now?”

 

Well, , Jongin thinks, seeing the wild gleam on the witch’s dark irises. He half-screams, “No! I’m joking, Kyungsoo.”

 

The other man deflates like a balloon at that, narrow shoulders slumping slightly in obvious disappointment. After a second, he speaks up, “I learned yesterday that humans don’t just produce babies to people they don’t feel attached with. Unless it’s an accident or, well, unwillingly.”

 

Jongin nods, “Yes. I mean, the attachment is not necessary—like there are arranged marriages and all—but there’s some level of commitment from one or both parties.”

 

Kyungsoo soaks the words like a sponge, commenting, “I see.” The pen continues to record their conversation.

 

“Is that not how it works for people of magic?” Jongin asks. There’s so little known about them that he cannot help but be curious. No one knows exactly how and where people like Kyungsoo come from. But surely, they have families, right?

 

“Of course, we do,” the witch says, affronted. Jongin must have said his question out loud.

 

“Then, do you have a magical family, too?” he adds. He thinks of tiny Kyungsoo with his parents and he beams at the thought of a chubby toddler wreaking havoc in a remote village.

 

“Yes,” Kyungsoo answers proudly. “But, as far as I know, I’m not their biological son.”

 

Jongin does not say sorry—Kyungsoo looks happy and boastful when he mentions being adopted. It’s nothing for him to apologize for. Instead, he inquires again, “Then, are you some other witch couple’s son? How do people of magic come to be, anyway?”

 

Kyungsoo looks at Jongin’s face and the taller man feels the gaze bore into him once again, like that first time in Kyungsoo’s house. The witch stares at him for almost ten seconds before his eyes clear up and his lips quirk upwards.

 

“Some witches are born,” he explains. His hands come up to start making gestures. It’s endearing, really. “Some witches are made.”

 

“Made how?”

 

“Witches can pass their magic to others, as long as there’s something mystical about that person. The younger they are, the better. Magic is an inheritance in our community. We pass it to our offsprings and our offsprings will pass it to theirs.”

 

“So it can be anyone?” Jongin is wholly curious now, diverting his entire attention on Kyungsoo’s face. It’s more interesting than a pen moving on its own, he decides.

 

“Not just anyone,” Kyungsoo answers. He pauses and fiddles with his fingers like he’s trying to pick his words carefully, searching for the correct answer. “The world, everyone, has a little bit of magic in them. Some have more, some have less. The ones who have more, we can easily teach our craft to them. And the bond between the witch and that person is also essential.”

 

“So someone can just teach me magic?” Jongin asks, thinking of the possibilities.

 

“I doubt it,” Kyungsoo bites his full bottom lip. Jongin’s eyes drop to where the witch’s teeth graze the soft-looking skin. “For one, you’re old. And—ah—you’re the youngest, no?”

 

“Yes,” Jongin answers, eyebrows knitting together. There’s a question resting on the tip of his tongue but he’s sure it will not be well-received. Instead, he steers the topic away. “Are you sure you should be talking about this? I’ve always thought it’s a secret.”

 

Kyungsoo’s lips stretch into a wide grin, heart-shaped, and his eyes disappear in curved slits. “Not really,” he says softly. “You just have to ask nicely.”

 

Jongin’s heart skips a beat with the magic of Kyungsoo’s smile.

 

 

---

 

 

 

Kyungsoo is back in a little over a week with a printed out file neatly organized inside a manila folder. It's a little bit silly, in Jongin's opinion, but the witch seems so excited about the prospect of finding Jongin a match that he doesn't really say anything. He's trying to delay this as much as possible. He feels slightly bad but the idea of losing his first child, no matter how imaginary, makes his heart clench inside his chest. 

 

"I think I found someone," Kyungsoo begins, popping inside Jongin's office in a cloud of smoke. The smell of burning something accompanies Kyungsoo's travel across space and time and Jongin, training his nose and sniffing lightly, recognizes a musky scent characteristic of incense in front of family altars. It's weird but it brings back nostalgia of old homes from the past.

 

"Where's Mongshil?" Jongin asks, ignoring the folder Kyungsoo places on top of his desk. He looks around trying to spot the familiar somewhere but the creature is nowhere to be seen.

 

"Home," Kyungsoo responds. "I have to leave now for a meeting. Mongshil and I are going somewhere."

 

"Meeting?" Jongin's eyebrows go up. He doesn't think Kyungsoo's the type to keep a job. At that thought, he wonders how witches even make money—or if they even make one.

 

"Just someone who needs my help. It's no big deal," Kyungsoo shrugs. "Speaking of meetings, that person says you can call him to set your date. He's non-magic; you don't have to worry about me setting you up with witches." There's a wry grin on the other man's face and Jongin wants to smooth it out and replace it with something more wholesome and genuine. It's a novelty to miss someone's smile.

 

"Yeah," Jongin says, lying through his teeth. "I'll do that."

 

Kyungsoo gives a pleased nod and, before Jongin can say anything, he disappears once more in a puff of smoke. Jongin picks up the file and browses through the person's information that the witch has supposedly found (hopefully, willingly gathered). He's a two years older than Jongin, some Byun Baekhyun who advocates for witches' rights and protection in urban spaces. He loves going to karaoke but he doesn't know how to cook and Kyungsoo has drawn a sad face beside that. Jongin thinks it's endearing—Kyungsoo's drawing, not this Byun man. Baekhyun, according to the file, seems to have a wicked sense of humor and Jongin almost laughs while debating whether Kyungsoo intends for that pun or not.  

 

At the last page, after some more answers to questions like favorite color and food and ideal dating spots, there's a photo of Byun Baekhyun practically taking up the entire A4 sheet. The man is smiling wide in the photo, big and rectangular.

 

Jongin cannot help but think it's the wrong shape.

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

The visits to Jongin’s office has become more frequent. The following weeks, Kyungsoo has always appeared in Jongin’s office with Mongshil. He’ll materialize stacks of magazines and self-help books from the tokens inside his purse, carrying baskets—actual woven baskets—filled with boxes of food and cookies baked from scratch.

 

Some days, Jongin even gives himself a pat on the back for choosing this particular witch to make a deal with. The incessant things—all the interviews and printouts containing profiles and photographs that Jongin has to vet, even the numerous blind dates he has gone through—are easily brushed aside. Jongin has kept his answers vague enough or much too specific that Kyungsoo must be going headless trying to find him a suitable partner.

 

If Jongin’s honest with himself, the longer the contract goes on, the longer Kyungsoo has to pester him like an unsocialized puppy. He tells himself it’s because of Mongshil. The familiar has his own box of toys inside Jongin’s office.

 

Almost four months after Kyungsoo has first gone for a visit, Jongin is called to Junmyeon’s office. He checks his watch—there’s an hour and a half before Kyungsoo just poofs on his couch. Smiling to himself and looking forward to the promised bulgogi, Jongin skips to the larger office just down the hall.

 

“What’s up!” Jongin impolitely throws his hand up. Junmyeon’s face twists in a grimace but he ushers Jongin inside the large office, gesturing for the younger to sit down.

 

“Jongin, hey,” Junmyeon begins awkwardly. He stands up from behind his desk, walking the short distance and sitting down beside Jongin. “I have something to talk to you about—off the records.”

 

That has Jongin’s eyebrows going up to his hairline. Carefully, he requests, “Elaborate.”

 

“Well,” Junmyeon clears his throat. The younger feels suspicion mixed with foreboding drop in the pit of his stomach. He continues, “For the past month of so, we’ve been getting—well—I’ve been hearing rumors around the company.”

 

“Of what? Who?” Jongin asks, a little incredulous, and then, realization dawning on him like a douse of cold water, he exclaims, “Me?”

 

“Yes,” Junmyeon coughs. “It’s about your visitor—very frequent visitor.”

 

Jongin feels his blood run cold the mention of visitor. It can’t be anyone but Kyungsoo. They have always been careful. Kyungsoo never uses the human methods of going into the building and Mongshil usually behaves himself.

 

“What about him?” Jongin admits he’s a little testy and defensive, borderline protective. He knows witches do not have the best reputation but Kyungsoo has done no harm except for that one time he has almost magicked Jongin’s hair off of his head.

 

“There are things,” Junmyeon waves his right hand in front of Jongin, “going about him in the office.”

 

Jongin’s always had a little patience and, with the way his older colleague is dilly-dallying, he has even less. He almost growls, “Cut to the chase.”

 

Junmyeon pauses a bit before he schools his face into something that’s not resembling embarrassment. It’s there but Jongin knows an admonishment when he sees one.

 

“Don’t bring a hooker in your office,” the older man bursts out. His finger is in an accusing point directed towards Jongin.

 

Confused, he says, “What.”

 

“There are a lot of gossips going around the employees on the top floor. They’ve seen your visitor carrying baskets and staying in your office for a whole of lunch break, almost everyday. He’s not wearing the proper dress code in the building and no one knows how he can even get in.”

 

“So,” Jongin notes angrily, pissed off and offended on Kyungsoo’s behalf. “You came to the conclusion that I’m paying him for ?”

 

“What am I supposed to do?” Junmyeon explodes on Jongin’s face. “The talk of the entire company is this ‘gorgeous man visiting Mr. Kim’s office regularly, always at the same time’ but no one knows how he’s even inside the building.”

 

Jongin scoffs at Junmyeon’s air quotations, “And what does that have to do with me paying him for—what—office ? He’s not even a worker, for ’s sake.”

 

“I don’t care,” Junmyeon harshly rumbles out. “Everyone thinks you’re sneaking him inside the company and, don’t get me wrong, I don’t have a say on what you do with your free time or your discretionary fund, but people talk, Jongin.”

 

The older man sighs and Jongin feels the fight dissolving from the tense line of his body. He sees where Junmyeon is coming from and Jongin’s position in the company and the length of the zeroes on his paychecks have expected complications and inconveniences.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “He’s really not that. We’re go—”

 

Junmyeon waves him off, “Just don’t do it anymore. Or do it where people won’t see.” The man extends his hand to the exit, eyes already closing and head falling on the backrest of the couch.

 

Jongin colors at the implication of Junmyeon’s words, standing up and leaving the office hurriedly.

 

 

---

 

 

 

In almost an hour, Jongin has wrapped his work up, hightailing out of the office building after leaving a note in Mongshil’s toy box. There’s a quiet park with tables and benches under the shades of big trees just fifteen minutes drive if he pushes the speed limit. Jongin has picked a table under a thick covering of leaves and he sits there waiting for his frequent visitor.

 

“Hey.” There’s a snap in the air and the tell-tale smell of something burning. “Why are we not in your office?”

 

Kyungsoo sits across from Jongin, putting his basket on the table and pulling out various food items and utensils. Mongshil is already rolling on the grass playfully and Jongin his lips at the sight of the clear containers with his lunch.

 

Jongin rubs his neck sheepishly, debating on whether to be truthful or not. In the end, he decides to tell everything to Kyungsoo, trusting the man not to be offended or, at least, not enough to turn him into an animal.

 

“I got reprimanded by Junmyeon. He thinks I’m sneaking you inside the building,” he admits. There’s a why with the tilt of Kyungsoo’s head to the right and he still doesn’t look mad so Jongin continues. “For . There’s a rumor going around the office.”

 

There’s a moment of silence and Jongin says hurriedly, “Please don’t turn me into a frog!”

 

Kyungsoo stares at him and his big eyes go even rounder before his lips thin into a line and then—loud, tinkling laughter. Jongin stares with disbelieving eyes as he watches Kyungsoo bends himself in half with the way he’s chuckling hard.

 

“They think—Your officemates and employees,” Kyungsoo takes a big gulp of air, “they think I’m your favorite hooker! Oh god, this is—”

 

The witch erupts into high-pitched laughter, clapping his hands like a seal. Jongin allows himself to think of Kyungsoo as adorable with his eyes in crescents from happiness and amusement. And, because Jongin’s feeling good today with the sun on his face and Mongshil’s excited barks mingling with Kyungsoo’s peals of laughter, he also lets himself imagine what the other man’s lips will feel like against his.

 

 

---

 

 

 

The end of the week has Jongin in an increasingly amazing mood. Kyungsoo has said he’ll stop dropping by the office and, in turn, Jongin has extended an open invitation for Kyungsoo to just materialize inside Jongin’s apartment. They also, after a of couple months, have finally exchanged numbers. Jongin cannot hide his shock when Kyungsoo says that he does own a phone—complete with mobile data and whatnots.

 

However, all good and holy things do not last and forces of nature cannot be stopped. Like storms, for example, or Oh Sehun.

 

The younger man has been swamped with work but, apparently, Sehun has been released from the clutches of marketing when he barges inside Jongin’s office fifteen minutes before lunch. To Jongin’s rising headache, Park Chanyeol follows Sehun’s stomps.

 

“Good morning, Jongin,” Chanyeol greets politely. Jongin is instantly alarmed, Chanyeol is never polite in their company. Sehun snorts.

 

“What do you need?” He grumbles, already fishing out his wallet just in case he has lost some bet some time ago that he has just forgotten due the events of the last months.

 

“Not your money,” Chanyeol teases, sitting primly on the edge of Jongin’s table. Sehun is standing on the other side with his arms crossed intimidatingly. The eldest adds with a wink, “We all know you need it most.”

 

Jongin a little confused just releases a question sound. Chanyeol waggles his eyebrows. It’s a lot disconcerting, Jongin thinks.

 

“Rumor has it that you sneak in your, well, favorite hooker during office hours.”

 

Jongin groans as soon as the words come out of Chanyeol’s mouth. It sounds filthier when the tallest drags the syllables suggestively like that.

 

Like an involuntary response, Jongin defends, “Kyungsoo is not a ho—.” He curses, spying Sehun’s stormy face from several feet away. He’s a thundercloud, expression dark and lips in a displeased line. It’s comical except Sehun is slightly over six-foot tall built lean and broad. Jongin can take him in a fight but still.

 

“Kyungsoo?” Sehun barks. He purposefully stomps towards Jongin’s table and then slams both of his hands on the glass. “You’ve been meeting the witch in your office?”

 

Jongin, a little stupid, admits, “Not anymore.”

 

Sehun’s face clears up but Jongin just has to add, “We go to my apartment instead.”

 

He really can’t say he does not expect that hit on his head.