Jongdae’s trailing behind his grandma, picking up the vegetables that fall from her arms as they meander her flourishing garden. She stops by each plant, whether picking its fruit or not, just to say hello or encourage their continued growth.

Yeah, Grandma talks to plants.

But she says that plants can feel the meaning of her words, so they understand, and if they care for each and every plant like a child, the plant will grow bigger and stronger than any other ignored plant. They talk to one another, making plans for harvest and the inevitable winter.

So far, for as often as Grandma’s chatted up her tomatoes and roses and herbs, she’s never heard them reply, but she’s just as happy seeing them healthy and hardy.

Jongdae, being a child, is a bit more impatient. Plus, the only other company he has are his other grandparents and brothers. He loves them, but they’re kind of boring. Minseok just wants them all to behave and not cause trouble; Joonmyun wants them to find quiet activities and not get hurt; and Jongin’s still just a baby.

So Jongdae has to find his own adventures, and what could be better than communicating with a whole other species? They could actually be fae or spirits or aliens—who really knows?

Grandma just knows what she’s learned since childhood. “That’s not to say there’s no magic,” she’s quick to add. “If you find it, you need to protect it, because it’s protecting you, too.”

He spends a lot of time in the sprawling garden, sometimes with Jongin, when the older brothers are “too busy,” or Jongin’s just being fussy. Jongdae’s his favorite—Minseok says he just has a higher tolerance for tantrums because of his own personality, whatever that means.

The cool older brother is a role he embraces, and as long as Jongin’s following him and doing everything he says, he welcomes his company.

And maybe it’s just Jongdae, but sometimes he turns around and has to search for Jongin among the heavy leaves, and the little boy will be calmly playing in the dirt, narrating his reasoning or asking for assurance, as though someone is with him. Talking to him.

He never says whom he’s talking to, only that hyung or noona are his friends.

Outside the garden, grass stands at Jongdae’s calves—none of his grandpas have the strength or energy to cut it shorter. The yard surrounds the house and shed like a green ocean, fenced in by trees that grow taller and closer together the further out they are.

Even the trees have a voice, according to his grandma; if you want to hear them, you need to close your eyes and pay attention—let the forest speak. The voices are wild and soft. From time to time, between the beautiful light, green songs, a desperate cry for help may be heard.

Please, don’t!

Everyone is inside, waiting for the clustering gray clouds to rain, but Jongdae’s still lying in the grass with his head on his arms. He doesn’t mind a bit of rain.

Stop!

Okay, so he’s not just hearing nothing. Someone is calling for help, and they sound panicked.

Jongdae wonders if he should go get someone, even just one of his older brothers, but he decides to investigate first. If it’s bad, he’ll come right back.

Wiping bits of grass from his pants, Jongdae takes off in the direction he thinks he hears the person crying. He passes through the underbrush and hears the stream. The boys aren’t supposed to go to the nearby stream without an adult, but that’s where it sounds like he has to go. It’ll be fine, as long as he doesn’t go in the water.

Something heavy thuds into something solid, and all the hair on Jongdae’s arms lifts at the resounding scream.

Crawling beneath an old, decaying tree, Jongdae spies bright red. A man wearing a red jacket and blue jeans is working an axe back and forth, trying to free it from the trunk of a tree.

“Hey!” Jongdae scrambles to his feet and runs within a few feet of the stranger. He doesn’t want to get any closer to the axe.

Facing a skinny seven-year-old with scratched glasses and a scowl, the man gruffly sighs and wrenches his tool with a final tug. “Look, kid. I’m just trying to make a living here. Go home, and it’ll be our secret.”

“Go make it somewhere else! This is my grandpa’s woods! You’re trespassing, and you’re stealing.”

“It’s a tree. Nobody’s gonna miss a tree—”

“I will! And that’s somebody’s home!” Jongdae snatches a rock from the ground and his arm back. “Now go away, or I’ll get Grandpa!” He chucks the rock as hard as he can, intentionally missing the man but hoping his threat is clear.

“You little—” A root lifts, tripping him before he can get closer, and Jongdae shimmies up another tree, out of reach and armed with more rocks.

“Go away!” Jongdae commands, throwing a rock at the man’s foot. “I can yell real loud, if you don’t, and my grandpa doesn’t like trespassers!”

The man must think it’s not worth his time, or maybe he doesn’t like the shower of bugs, leaves, and bird feathers that rains over him when he reaches for a low branch, because he finally takes his saw and storms away. Jongdae can hear him muttering, probably about him, but he’s not familiar with the bitter words.

Dropping his rocks to the ground, he kicks his feet up onto a nearby branch and lounges back against the trunk with a satisfied sigh. True, Grandpa doesn’t like trespassers, but he was already old when Jongdae was born—technically a great grandpa—and most likely would not have made it all the way out here.

He jumps when a cluster of leaves curls over his arm with a whisper of thanks.

“Uh...You’re welcome.” Pushing his glasses up his nose, he boasts a little. “Just gotta know how to handle folks around here.”

“You were amazing.” A little boy—little, like only as tall as the length of Jongdae’s hand—steps out from behind a cluster of leaves. He’s entirely green and brown and only vaguely people-shaped. His face is hidden by leaves.

“Thanks.” He leans closer, shifting to lay on his belly with his legs dangling. “I’ve never talked to a tree before. Do you talk a lot?”

“No. Sometimes, I’ll sing, but that’s only when the wind is just right and there’s a lot of sunlight.” So definitely not now. It’s gotten darker; the rain should be coming any minute.

Sure enough, Jongdae feels a cold drop hit the back of his neck and flinches. The boy looks up, and the tree leaves spread like an umbrella over Jongdae.

“Why don’t humans like rain?”

“We do! Or, well, some of us do. Little kids like the puddles, anyway, and I like sitting out on the porch and listening to it. The adults have a thing about getting wet. It can make us sick, sometimes.”

“Oh...like too much water makes roots rot.”

“Yeah...I guess.” Jongdae doesn’t know anything about that, although his grandparents will comment about giving their beloved plants just the right amount of water to drink. “So what are you, anyway?”

The boy blinks at him. “I’m Baekhyun!” As if that explains everything.

Which, really, it’s all Jongdae needs to know. He’s obviously not human; he could be a fairy or a spirit or a figment of his imagination, but he’s the most interesting thing Jongdae’s ever seen, and as the boy climbs the tree bark like a ladder to sit more eye-level with him, he decides to be friends.

“I’m Jongdae.”

From his vantage point, he can see the house when the other trees’ limbs move with the wind. It’s getting dark; rain clouds are moving in. Grandma is outside again, moving some of her hanging plants to where they’ll get more or less rain. Joonmyun helps, pushing pots to safety.

Into the trees, he hears the excited mumbling of those waiting for a good rainfall. Baekhyun looks up and spreads his leaves. Compared to the other trees, he’s still quite small. Only the rain that slips between the adults’ leaves or drops from their foliage will reach him.

“A storm is coming,” he remarks, a bit anxiously. “Humans don’t do well in storms, do they?”

“I probably should go home…” Jongdae starts to scoot off the branch and lower himself down the trunk. “Can I come back and see you?”

Baekhyun smiles, dangling his legs beside Jongdae’s hand and kicking his heels back and forth. “Of course! I’d like that.”

Jongdae doesn’t make it home before the rain. Grandpa picks him up like a sodden farm cat and carries him to the bathroom for a bath and pajamas.

He doesn’t tell his family about the boy in the tree. After his bath, he waits up nervously throughout the lightning and thunder—not because he’s afraid or anything, but he’s seen the scars on some trees from lightning strikes and worries about a small tree like Baekhyun.

In the morning, aside from puddles in the gravel driveway and pooling water in some cupped flowers and an upright wheelbarrow, there’s nothing to suggest the raging storm from the previous night. Baekhyun greets him sunnily and proudly points out his new shoots.

Nobody asks where he goes during the day. Grandma makes happy comments about how her children would spend the days outside all the time; children in the city spend too much time indoors.

Jongin will follow him, but Baekhyun can be remarkably shy or picky about who sees him. One of the days Jongin tags along and wades through the tall grass behind Jongdae, cradling a rock in his hands, he asks Jongdae who’s singing.

“That’s just Baekhyun. He likes breezy days.”

“Who’s Baek hyung?”

“He’s my best friend.”

“Oh.” Jongin stops to watch a line of ants marching in line. “Does he like rocks?”

“I dunno.” Jongdae shrugs and stands on his toes to lift a bushy limb for Jongin to walk under. “Why?”

“Cuz this is a special rock.” Jongin s it towards the sky, eyeing the rock critically. “It’s got a face! It doesn’t talk much, though.”

Rocks, in Jongdae’s experience, don’t usually talk at all.

Neither do trees, though, so maybe it depends on the company.

Finally, they’re under Baekhyun’s branches. “This is Baekhyun!”

“Your best friend’s a tree...”

“Yours is a rock.”

“It’s a special rock!”

“And this is a special tree!”

“It doesn’t have a face.” He shows his rock, with its cracked mouth and uneven eyes.

“He does to!” Jongdae looks up at the branches, shaking with laughter. “You just can’t see it, sometimes…”

Jongin gives him a disbelieving look, something bordering on the expression when he finds a fascinating but too-slimy-to-touch salamander on the porch. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Neither does a special rock.” Jongdae’s face is hot, and his voice rises in pitch. “It’s just a plain, dumb ol’ rock!”

He regrets it as soon as he says it. Jongin bites his lower lip and drops his chin to his chest. He doesn’t like anyone seeing him cry, but Jongdae hears him sniffle and mutter something about his 'plain, dumb brother' before turning on his heel and marching back towards the house.

“Is he okay?” Baekhyun asks, dropping leaves on Jongdae’s head.

“He’s just being a baby, like usual. Rocks! Of all things! Only he would befriend a rock.”

“It was a nice rock,” Baekhyun muses. “He really should be careful, though, not all rocks are nice. Some capture souls.”

“That…” Jongdae feels a chill between his shoulder blades and picks at a scab on his arm. “You don’t think Jonginie’s rock was a soul catcher?”

“I don’t think so. Not yet, anyway, but as long as it’s surrounded with kindness, it shouldn’t try to keep any soul. Unless it really likes them.”

Someone comes out of the house, and Jongdae hears his name called. It’s Minseok.

Stomach twisting even more, he shimmies up the trunk. Baekhyun gives him a boost to a branch and watches him try to hide. “What is it?”

“My big brother.”

“Kim Jongdae!” Minseok stands beneath the tree, hands on his hips. “Come down here.”

Jongdae leans over cautiously. “Will you promise not to hit me?”

“No.”

“Then I’m not coming down.” He sits back and crosses his arms.

Minseok isn’t easily deterred, however, and merely shifts his weight impatiently. “What did you say to Jongin? He’s locked himself in the cellar.”

“Why does that mean I did something?” It’s insulting how whenever something sort of bad happens, Jongdae is the first suspected.

“Because all he’ll say is 'Jongdae hyung is a dumb meanie.'”

Jongdae scoffs. The little tattletale. Jongin could get away with murder, being the youngest and objectively the cutest. Everyone always fawns over him. Jongdae will, too, when he’s not bitter and righteously angry.

“Come down and apologize, or I’ll come up and make you.”

Rather than reply, Jongdae sticks his tongue out. He can stay up in Baekhyun’s branches all day. He doesn’t need his brothers’ companionship or ridicule or abuse. The trees are great company. He should just make a tree house and live in a tree.

Belatedly, he realizes he should have come down sooner. Minseok picks up a fist-sized rock covered on one side with moss. He’s the one who taught Jongdae how to throw stones.

It strikes the trunk beside Jongdae, startling him enough that he loses his balance and falls. Baekhyun lurches from the tree and grabs his wrists.

“It’s better if you go apologize,” he says, pulling Jongdae back onto the limb. “A rock isn’t such a bad friend, but that one’s been sleeping for a really long time. When it wakes up...it’s better if he leaves it behind. Find another rock.”

“It won’t hurt Jongin, will it?”

Baekhyun shakes his head but shrugs. “I don’t know. I hope not.”

“Jongdae!” Minseok hollers from the ground, another stone in-hand.

“F-Fine!” he calls. “I’m coming down.”

Jongin doesn’t want to see him when he comes to apologize. It takes a lot of cajoling and bribery with candy to get him to unlock the door.

“I’m really sorry, Jonginie. I shouldn’t have made fun of your rock; I heard rocks can be good friends, and if it’s a good friend to you, then I’m happy.”

“You mean it?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“I promise. I’m sorry for being mean. A rock isn’t a bad friend, but I was a bad brother.”

“Sorry for makin’ fun of Baek hyung. A tree’s not a bad friend, ‘n you’re not a bad brother.”

Baekhyun has a sappy smile when Jongdae tells him how Jongin had hugged him after they apologized. “My siblings aren’t like that,” he sighs. “I’ve never hugged anyone before.”

“You’ve never been hugged?” Jongdae and his brothers grew up with hugs. Greetings, good mornings, good nights, apologies, thank yous…

He extends his arms. “I’ll hug you! Or,” he looks to the tree trunk, “you…?”

The boy throws open his arms, clinging to Jongdae’s arm as he embraces the rough trunk. “It’s warm,” he comments. “I like it. I wish more trees could hug.”

“That would be nice. I’ll hug you whenever you want, though. I promise.”

a/n: Written for Shall We Chen. (prompt no.SWC013 Trees have a voice, if you want to hear them you need to close your eyes and pay attention, let the forest speak. From time to time, between the beautiful green voices you might hear a desperate cry for help.)

I had a bigger story planned. Jongdae was going to become an advocate and chain himself to trees in protest. Lost track of time/ran out of time/poor time management resulted in this...