The crackle of the fire is his only companion. Excluding the boy in the corner, but he’s trying to ignore him until he goes away.

The tall boy had been delivered to him days ago by a page, hands bound and head hung low, as the overexcited preteen had preached the words of the guild master. Apparently he was meant to teach the boy metalworking. Keep him as an apprentice. The sallow kid was gone before Jongin could object.

He doesn’t totally ignore the stranger. He’s been feeding the unwelcome addition to his abode. There’s no famine and the guild master is a stern man. Jongin would likely be forced out of the town if he was to disobey orders.

The fire continues to crackle and Jongin throws in come more charcoal, skin and clothes hopelessly blackened. There’s a low murmur behind him and Jongin freezes. That’s the other thing.

He doesn’t understand a of what the boy says.

Jongin had asked him if he’d had any experience around sunset on the first day and the boy’s eyebrows had furrowed and his mouth set in a frown and Jongin wasn’t sure why until he’d opened his mouth and an army of gibberish had assaulted him.

Jongin had seen the page in town and had grabbed the boy, demanding to know more about the newest addition to the town. The boy explained in stuttered fragments but Jongin got the gist of it. Tall guy was from somewhere up north where the mountains were dotted with carpets of white–Jongin’s never seen it, but enough travelers have passed through for him to hear tales of it–and strange tongues were spoken. Something of a prisoner of war, the boy had been sold in a nearby town while the guild master was visiting. The old man thought Jongin needed more hands with the recent population boom the town’s received. Jongin had righted the boy and returned home.

He doesn’t need help. Snorting at the idea, he removes the red-hot iron from the hearth and drops it down on an anvil, grabbing his hammer. He’d made it himself soon after he’d become the blacksmith for the village. Like many of his earlier works, it’s not very pleasing to look at, but it works just fine.

As he hammers the sheet of metal into a helmet, he can feel eyes on his back. He shrugs them off and shapes the cooling iron.

-

“What are you waiting for?” The stuff in the bowls might be slop, but it’s edible and it’s better than nothing and the kid is just sitting there. Jongin scowls. “Eat it.”

He’s looking down and shoving food into his own mouth when he hears a soft, “eat it,” so he’s not sure whether he imagined it or not; however, when he looks up, the guy is eating.

He shrugs and finishes his meal.

-

Jongin receives an order for way too many arrowheads and promptly gives up on the idea of ignoring his uninvited helper. Whether he likes it or not, it’s impossible to do this on his own and the guild master had retired after teaching Jongin, leaving the former and his son to supply the town with blacksmiths. The town had both up until the last field cycle, when the master’s son had left to work for a manor and Jongin became the only blacksmith in town.

It wasn’t ideal.

He drags the boy with him to the center of the small town, where the man who supplies him with metals resides. If the boy is truly to be his apprentice, he needs to learn the layout of the town as soon as possible.

“Hey!” The heavily bearded man is out front, crooked teeth arranged in what might be a smile. “What can I do you for?”

“I’m going to need my next delivery now.”

The smile slips. “What? Why? I just gave you–”

“I know,” Jongin interrupts. The order is due in a few nights. He has no time. “I have a large order and I need the next shipment now. I can give you a couple helmets.”

He elbows the boy, who startles and looks hopelessly confused. Jongin grimaces and grabs his hands, showing the headgear he had stayed up late to make.

The man makes an appreciative noise and steps forward, grabbing the helmets. The younger flinches and draws back, using Jongin as a shield.

“Just this once,” the scruffy man murmurs, going inside and returning with a bucket full of ore. “I’m not going to just hand you some next time.”

Jongin grins, accepting the metal. “Of course not.” He turns and follows the taller boy, who has an excited skip in his step, home.

-

“Don’t think you’re just going to be sitting there the whole time.”

The boy perks up at Jongin’s voice, eyeing him questioningly.

“That’s right,” and he knows the boy understands nothing, but he’s used to talking to walls, “after I melt this all down, you’re going to help me. I’ll show you the first time, so you better pay attention.”

The fire is roaring and after shaping more than enough cylindrical sticks, he heads out back to get some water, the tall boy following behind.

As soon as he sticks the first in, he calls the boy over. “Now, watch,” he commands, waiting until the metal turns red-hot, then yanks it out with the forceps, carrying it over to the anvil and slamming it down. He grabs his blunt hammer and waits until the boy nods before bringing it down onto the metal. He winces every time he hits his hand, but tries not to make it noticeable. When he’s achieved a flattened tip, he stabs a portion of the end onto a spike and grabs a knife, slicing off the tip. He hands the rest to the boy, who is watching attentively, before alternating between blunt and finer hammers until he has a relatively sharp arrowhead in front of him. He dips the metal in the water and shows it to the boy. “This is what it should look like. Now it’s your turn,” he leaves the arrowhead on the anvil and slumps down onto a stool beside it. He points to the remaining stick of metal, “use that. I’ll stay here. Now, go,” he ushers the boy away.

He doesn’t have to wait that long. The only mishap is a muted shout from the boy when he touches the hot metal, but other than that, it goes well and the dark-haired foreigner proudly hands over a well-fasioned arrowhead. Jongin inspects it and is pleasantly surprised. It had taken him years to perfect his technique. This boy has done it in seconds. He retains his uncaring exterior and lays the arrowhead beside his own. “That’s nice. Now move it, we have more to do.”

Jongin finishes a handful more before he looks over to check out the other pile. Slowly, he counts both. He has six. The boy has seven. Gritting his teeth, he grabs more metal.

The next time he checks, he has to be more discreet. The boy’s still hammering beside him. He counts both piles and resists slamming his hand down onto the solid slab. Thirteen to ten. How is the boy doing it?

He hammers away, missing and hitting his hand way too many times to stop and count, until they run out of metal. The boy sits down on the stool and Jongin counts. He has twenty-four, which really is a personal best. But, the boy has thirty one. He glares at the metal, shoving it all into a sack before hesitantly stepping forward and patting the boy on the back. Then he hastily mounts the stairs and goes to bed.

When the heavily built man arrives to pick up the order, he opens the sack to check the quality before nodding and offering Jongin a larger sack full of clothes and food, the agreed trade.

“A lesser smith would have bargained for more time. These are impeccable,” he praises, slipping the sack over his shoulder and tightening his fur jacket. “You have my thanks, Jongin.”

Jongin bows as the hunter leaves. “It was my pleasure.”

As soon as the wooden door slams shut, the younger boy who had been standing beside him the whole time pounces and Jongin’s knees threaten to buckle as he gasps in shock. “What are you doing?!”

The boy refuses to be deterred, clinging to Jongin’s shoulders as the blacksmith tries and fails to shake him free. Jongin stills and the boy’s grip slackens before he takes a step back, meeting Jongin’s stare. He removes a hand to point at the lighter-haired smith.

“Jongin.”

He’s struck by the smooth voice, something he was not expecting, so Jongin doesn’t respond at first. The boy frowns and repeats the words, Jongin’s name rolling off his tongue like honey. Finally, Jongin snaps to and nods. “Jongin,” he points to himself, agreeing.

“Zitao,” the boy states, pointing to himself.

Jongin’s eyes widen. There it is. “Zee-Zhi–” he tries, the other frowning and cutting him off with an open palm.

Pointing to himself once, he says slowly, “Tao.”

“Tao,” Jongin repeats, small smile pulling at his lips as the boy jumps with glee and pulls away, singing Jongin’s name as he prances about the house.

Jongin laughs, eyes twinkling with amusement.

-

A knock at the door and his guild master hidden behind it have Jongin bowing as low as he can go.

“Get up, get up,” the man commands, voice light as he ushers a tall man inside the house with him. Tao stands near the back of the room, watching the event with interest.

“Wu Fan,” the old man begins, turning to make sure he pronounced the name right, “is a merchant and he’s decided to stop here for a while. He’d like to put an order in for a knife and a couple bowls.”

“If it’s not a problem,” the giant interjects, complete with a disarming smile. Tao perks up, eyebrows raised.

Jongin shakes his head, “it’s no problem at all.”

“Excellent,” the man grins a gummy smile, bowing his head momentarily. “I’ll be staying in a tent on the outskirts for a fortnight. Take your time!”

He turns to leave and Jongin opens his mouth to wish him well, but Tao brushes past and jumps the merchant, startling the two men and horrifying the older master. Jongin steps forward to pull him away but then a flurry of gibberish flows from the boy’s mouth and Jongin can’t help the frown pulls at his lips. Tao had been speaking in halting fragments for quite a while and he’d be lying if he said he isn’t upsetted by the boy’s relapse into a language he doesn’t understand. But Jongin is even more displeased when a sincere smile blossoms on the merchant’s chiseled features.

Jongin freezes when the man replies in the same tongue. The guild master shoots him a questioning glance, but Jongin has no answer. He shrugs and watches the exchange. Tao’s eyes sparkle as he prattles on and on and green has never been a flattering color for Jongin.

Wu Fan suddenly realizes that Jongin and the guild master are still there and he flushes slightly. “We hail from the same region,” he explains despite Tao’s growing pout, “I’m a little rusty, I haven’t lived there since I was young, but it’s fantastic hearing about my homeland. I’m sorry, but would you mind if I…”

Jongin takes a second to catch on. “Oh, no it’s fine. Make yourself comfortable.” He turns to his master as Tao leads his new best friend away. “I can help him find his way back to his tent if he needs help.”

The old man grins a toothless smile and ruffles Jongin’s hair. “You’re a good boy.”

Jongin makes his way over to his project of platters ordered by a beaming mother for her new daughter-in-law. As he melds the metal, he mutters a name under his breath, rage growing as he realizes how little it sounds like the word that had passed through the tall man’s lips. His hand slips and he slams the mallet down on his thumb.

-

Jongin practically houses two foreigners. All he hears are unintelligible words. He dreams in a language he can’t understand.

He misses the silence.

As he finishes a second bowl, for Wu Fan’s order that he’s trying to finish as fast as possible, he looks up and catches Tao idle with a broom under his clasped hands, chatting animatedly with the blond traveler.

“So,” Jongin grunts, wiping his reddened hands with a rag, “will you be staying for dinner?” Again, he thinks sourly.

Tao stands straighter, grin spreading across his face. “Say…” his face screws up and looks at the ground thoughtfully before beaming. “Yes! Say yes!”

Jongin hides his grimace behind the new bowl, yanking it out of the water-filled bucket to dry it off.

“If it’s not a problem–”

“No problem!” Tao cheers, switching his attention to a sullen Jongin. He points to himself, still smiling. “Food?”

Jongin really can’t help himself when the other is like this. Despite himself, he finds his frown morphing into a grin and he nods slightly. “Yeah. You know where the food is. Go ahead.”

Tao grins and skips off, broom falling forgotten to the ground. Jongin’s still smiling, turns and meets Wu Fan’s amused eyes. He clears his throat and goes back to messing with the bowl.

“Zitao misses the north.”

Jongin grits his teeth and tosses the bowl aside. “Yeah, I imagine Zhi–Ze–” He sighs and gives up, brushing off the thin material of his pants and moving closer to where Wu Fan is seated. “Of course he does.”

“But,” the gently smiling man interjects, “he’s told me that he likes it here. Well, not the town. He said the people are scary.”

Jongin chuckles inwardly, trying not to seem too interested in what Tao thinks. He scuffs his foot on the dirt floor.

“He likes it here with you,” Wu Fan whispers. “But shh, he didn’t want me to tell you.”

Jongin blinks, replaying the words in his head, but then Tao comes bounding into the room, modelic voice filling the room and then he stills, bouncing on the balls of his feet impatiently as he waits for Wu Fan to translate.

Jongin doesn’t know what’s been asked of him but he answers yes anyway. Tao grins and pecks Jongin on the cheek before bounding off again.

Wu Fan laughs and says something about old customs but Jongin barely hears him, grin plastered on his face as he realizes just how hopeless he is.

-

He has an order for five swords. Five. It takes him forever to make just two. Jongin has a blacksmith’s, not an armory.

As if that isn’t bad enough, Wu Fan’s been coming around less and Tao has responded by becoming somber and melancholy, drifting around the shack like a specter, alternating between sweeping and sighing. Jongin hasn’t heard him talk in a while and he lies awake for most of the night wondering what he’s done wrong.

But back to the matter at hand. A few of the adolescent villagers decided that they wanted to go and join a unit a few villages away, some sort of anti-barbarian force. Not an army, by any means, but a little band of fighters. And of course the boys couldn’t go to another village for weapons.

Honestly, Jongin doesn’t know what he is doing. He’d made knives and daggers, sure, but he had never crafted an actual sword. He hisses as he burns his hands again, misjudging the temperature of the hilt. Tao flies to his side, giving him a worried glance and eyeing the injured hand, not knowing what to do.

Jongin irritable shooes him away. He has to finish these soon. The sun had gone down a fair time ago, but he isn’t going to sleep until he’s finished at least one. Tao hovers around him for a while longer, before breathing out a tired sigh and heading back over to sweep dirt out the door.

Jongin is careful for a bit longer, then he drops a mallet on his foot and slices his palm. He cries out inadvertently, lowering his head onto the cool surface of the anvil and clutching his palm, waiting for the stinging to end. Someone wraps fabric around the cut and Jongin glances up to see Tao carefully concentrating on his work, happily tying a neat bow with the ends. He gives Jongin a small smile and a look. Jongin squints and sees pity.

“Who do you think you are?” Jongin snaps, pulling his hand back. Tao looks startled and Jongin rolls his eyes. “You’re absolutely no help. You don’t know anything and I can’t focus. Just–get out.”

Tao blinks, but stays where he is.

Jongin jumps to his feet. “Get out! LEAVE!”

After Tao dashes out, Jongin slumps back onto his stool and rubs at his eyes, ignoring the guilt he feels from watching Tao’s eyes go wide and watery. He banishes all thoughts except those pertaining to metal work and resumes his project, biting his lip to stop any noise from escaping as he smooths his injured hand over the hilt.

-

Jongin wakes up disoriented. He doesn’t remember falling asleep.

As he sits up, the animal hide draped over his shoulders falls to the ground. He blinks, wondering who put it there before he smiles a bit. Of course. He fingers the indent in his cheek from sleeping on the anvil and he twitches in pain. He pulls his hand back and stares at the brown-stained fabric.

He remembers.

He groans loudly.

“Tao!” He shouts, leaving the extinguished fire behind to find the other. “Tao!” He shouts again, wondering if he’s hiding. He doesn’t blame him. He steps into the small room where there’s two poorly fashioned beds, both empty. He runs back into the larger room, looking around. There’s absolutely no chance that Tao went into town. He must be here somewhere.

Then he sees the note on the table. Written on Wu Fan’s order he had given to Jongin–which had been utterly useless, seeing as how Jongin’s illiterate just like the rest of the village–is a long sprawl of markings. They mean nothing to Jongin, but he panics. Grabbing the parchment, he dashes back over to the anvil to see the sword he’d been working on gone.

Breaths coming short, he stares at the meaningless and dashes on the paper before making up his mind.

-

Wu Fan’s tent is right where it’s been for the past fortnight. Jongin refuses to be comforted by that and pulls the flaps aside, surprising a drowsy Wu Fan.

Jongin opens his mouth to explain but only unintelligible pants escape. Wu Fan arches a brow and Jongin s forward the slip of parchment.

Wu Fan laughs, wiping away the sleep from his eyes and accepting the paper. “A note from Tao?” He chuckles, folding his legs and getting comfortable. He pats the covered ground beside him. “You seem very eager, wh–” He stops when he starts reading, brow furrowing and Jongin worries his bottom lip with his teeth.

After an eternity, Wu Fan throws down the piece of paper, eyeing Jongin critically. “What did you do?”

Jongin falls forward, covering his face with his hands.

-

He continues to murmur the words Wu Fan had taught him back when the sun was on the opposite side of the sky under his breath, pushing past underbrush that’s been gradually increasing in height.

He’s far from his village and he briefly wonders who will replace him as blacksmith when a low noise breaks the silence. Jongin stills and listens again.

There it is.

The noise gets louder and Jongin can feel cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. Having never left the village, he is ill-prepared for the wild and all the horrible stories told by strangers flood his mind.

The bushes rustle and Jongin sees bright eyes in the growing dusk before a scarred muzzle peeks out, drawing back to display daggers for teeth.

Jongin tries to find the will to move as the beast steps forward, lips pulling back to let out a feral growl. Jongin has absolutely no idea what to do so he settles for running. Keeping his eyes fixed onto those of the beast, he takes a few steps back, trips on the uneven ground, and falls hard.

The beast seems to grin, lips pulling back even more with the knowledge that its prey is helpless.

Jongin stills and in a breath, closing his eyes as the beast draws closer, faster. He utters a silent apology and closes his eyes.

The bushes rustle again and there’s a whimper and a piercing cry before it all goes silent again.

“Jongin.”

Jongin almost sobs at the voice, opening his eyes. Even in the dark, he sees the brown orbs staring back. Almost immediately, Tao is probing at his face, muttering in a foreign language and Jongin is home.

Then, all too soon, Zitao seems to realize what he is doing and pulls back, looking apologetic and ashamed, reaching out to grab Jongin’s poorly crafted sword, wiping it off with the folds of his clothes.

Jongin looks past him and sees the animal sprawled on the ground, lifeless. Then Tao stands and Jongin’s jaw goes slack. Jongin, despite being trained for years to become a blacksmith, doesn’t have the body for it. His arms are too lean and his hands are slightly on the delicate side, not that that had ever stopped him. But with Tao standing, he can see the toned, muscled arms in the last few beams of sunlight and it’s really no surprise that he took so quickly to the arrowheads. He’s built for it. Wu Fan’s translation repeats in his head and Jongin in a breath.

Because Tao also looks every ounce the nephew of a northern prince.

Jongin wastes no more time once he sees that Tao’s about to leave. He takes a deep breath and blurts out the phrase that he’d been memorized ever since he’d ducked out of Wu Fan’s tent.

The reaction is instantaneous. Tao freezes, then turns on his heel and faces Jongin with a barely visible look of awe on his face. He breathes out something that sounds like a question and Jongin slowly makes his way to his feet. Staring at the ground, he repeats the words and frowns at how little they sound like what Wu Fan had patiently enunciated for him.

Despite that, Tao positively glows with joy and envelopes him with a great hug, shoddy sword abandoned at his feet. “Jongin,” he whispers into his ear, “me too.” And the words aren’t perfectly pronounced but Jongin grins anyway, arms wrapping round Tao’s well-defined middle as he meets Tao’s gaze. Without saying anything else, he leans forward and presses their lips together. Jongin doesn’t know what he’ll do now, he doesn’t know what they’ll do now, but he knows that he’s perfectly happy right here, within Tao’s arms.

When they break apart, Tao gives a breathless laugh and tugs Jongin impossibly closer, leaning down to ghost his lips over his ear. “Again,” he breathes, pulling back to relish the shiver that runs through the slightly smaller man. Jongin smirks, leaning over to do the same, letting his lips hover near Tao’s rosy–he can’t see them, but he instinctively knows they are–cheek. He whispers the words that warp his tongue once more, grinning against tanned skin. This time, he carefully mouths the last word before saying it aloud, careful not to butcher it. He can feel it as Tao holds his breath and he smiles, pecking him on the cheek before whispering the word under his breath.

“Zitao.”