A teenage boy stands from a wobbly wooden chair, knocking it back to the floor in his rush of excitement. The sound of old wood grating on a dirty cement floor followed by the loud thunk as it strikes the hard surface dead on fills the silent room.

It is perfect. It is beautiful. This little object, limp and weighty in the teen's palm is the most incredible accomplishment of his life. It stares at him with crossed eyes made of thread, watching in blank horror at the teen boy's thrilled face. The boy's lips curl in a mischievous smile. Just perfect. He almost doesn't want to let this one go, but debts need to be paid, his cat needs to be fed. With a final look at the lovingly crafted stitches and the perfect amount of straw stuffing that gives this beautiful little object it's rounded belly, he completes the last step and sews in a single strand of human hair straight through the center.

He sings a slow, mournful song with a happy little skip weaved in between the notes. The melody sounds low in the very heart of the object, pulsing and filling out the stretch of cloth until the entire thing is beating, once, twice.

The strand of human hair twitches in the dark of the doll's insides, curling in just slightly before splitting down the middle and creating branches that push past the pieces of straw stuffing to touch the fabric skin and tie itself there. A complex network of thin strands is made as the music thrums around a single knot beneath the doll's chest.

At last, it is finished.

The boy laughs out the last word of broken melody deep within the quiet confines of the basement. The only witnesses, boxes of dusty children's toys and thick family albums left to rot.

A single chain hangs idly from the ceiling and a sharp tug from the teen casts the room in total darkness as he hides his prized possession in his winter uniform and climbs up the creaking yellow-painted wooden steps to a brighter world beyond.

“Luhan, where have you been?” calls an angry woman to the teen with a slight bulge in the chest of his jacket. “The bus leaves in five minutes. If I have to drive you all way out in the cold weather to school yet again, you will be mopping the floors with your tongue every day for a week or so help me-”

“I'm going, Auntie,” says Luhan with a sense of urgency as a wooden spoon waves threateningly from the woman's hands. He wipes a bead of sweat from just under his dark brown bangs as he thinks up a quick lie. “Just forgot my school books in the basement.” he comes up with, eyeing the spoon nervously. His aunt was not above hitting and spanking her sister's son.

“Don't see how someone could spend so much time in that rat's nest.” she mutters, stalking off before shouting, “Don't come crying to me when you catch some airborne disease” after the boy's figure heading out the door.

Chuckling lightly, Luhan adjusts the strap of his shoulder bag and quickly moves the special doll from his jacket to a leathery pocket on the side of the bag. He does not take the doll out again until the lunch bell rings at his high school and students clamber over each other to reach the cafeteria food line first. Instead of joining in on the competition, the boy sneaks his way to the empty science room, sitting on a random desk as he waits.

Luhan can't help but admire the doll in his hands. Something about it holds his attention steadfast. It was crafted so much better than all his others. He contemplates playing with it a while before handing it over to it's new owner, but dismisses the idea almost instantly as the magic in it wouldn't last forever.

Still, it is tempting.

The one it is attached to is good-looking, strong and graceful from years of dancing, and smiled dimpled smiles to anyone and everyone as if he thinks all the people of the world deserve to receive such a precious smile. Sure, Yixing is forgetful, tends to blank out, and is the worst secret keeper in the history of humankind, but Luhan can't deny having imagined what a relationship with such a guy would be like on occasion. He enjoyed the little scenarios he created in his head of doing silly couple things and Yixing often fueled his imagination.

Of course, Yixing is straight and wildly popular. It would be impossible to reach him past the flocks of people that naturally gravitated to his side and even more impossible to spend enough time with him to comfortably convince him that being gay isn't all that bad.

That's where the doll comes in. But where is-

“Xiumin!” says Luhan happily as a timid figure with a lighter brown hair peeks around the open door.

“Shh!” shushes this new boy, a teen of the same grade as Luhan. “I don't want anyone to know...” He trails off, but Luhan knows exactly what he means. Xiumin doesn't want anyone to know he asked Luhan (AKA the weird student with a witch for a mother) for help with his crush.

“Scooch right up,” says Luhan, smile faltering. Even after two years in the same school, nothing has changed to make him less of a freak in the students' eyes. He pats the surface of an empty desk adjacent to his and waits while Xiumin sits upon it, curiously glancing at the doll in his hands.

“Is that it?” Xiumin asks.

“That's it.”

“It's... cute.”

Luhan raises a brow, but hands it over for the boy to examine. “Pay me when it works, okay? Everything is already done; it's bonded and ready for use.”

“Bonded...” mutters the teen next to him, experimentally moving the limbs carefully.

“Oh, that won't do anything.” explains Luhan. “Moving it, I mean. In order to influence your little crush-” Xiumin flushes pink, tilting his head down so his hair covers just a little more of his face. “-you can whisper into it's ear and make him say things he doesn't mean, stick pins or set fire to specific points, spray perfumes and any other noxious gases on it's body, stick it's head in water and then in the freezer-”

Having listened to all this in horror, Xiumin decides to in and ask what would be a good method to get his crush's attention.

Thinking it over, Luhan replies, “There are many methods, but if it were me, I would get him to say my name so he would be forced to think of me. Actually, it would probably be better worth my time to make a voodoo doll of one of his friends and get his friends to say nice things about me.”

“Oh,” says Xiumin, considering this answer. “Then could you make another one of his friend for me? I'll pay for this one too since it's already been made.”

“Sure. Just give me a few days to build my strength up again.”

“Cool.” The boy hops down from the desk and heads for the door, stopping once to look back at the student who stares down at his fingers with a small smile. “Luhan, thanks.”

The words echo lightly in Luhan's head as the figure leaves with one of his own handmade voodoo dolls. He feels like his mother would be proud of him for carrying on with the craft she painstakingly taught him before her death. Maybe she watches him now from the afterlife and brags to all her new friends about how well he is doing. Maybe she is just happy to see her son finally treated like an equal by one of his peers. And maybe, just maybe, she is patting his hair right now and whispering nice things like she used to when he was a child, and he just can't feel it.

***

During the last class period, Xiumin stops outside Luhan's classroom, biting his lip to contain a wide grin as he busts him out of the teacher's boring lecture with the excuse of the principal calling him out.

“It works!” the boy whispers as soon as the door shuts behind them again. “I can't believe it, Lu. It really works-”

“Did you think I was crazy?” asks Luhan, wondering why he likes hearing his name shortened like that. Was it because he feels like he's one step closer to being considered normal?

“No- I mean, kind of, but not really- I don't know.” sputters Xiumin, dragging his business partner down the halls. “Uhm, I whispered to the doll and I didn't really think it would do anything, but then suddenly Yixing stood up in the middle of class and said everything I told it verbatim-”

“Help me out here,” Luhan stops him, a slight catch in his brow. “Verbatim means...”

“Word for word.”

“Right. I knew that.”

Not believing him, Xiumin pulls him into the library, empty at this time of day except for the librarian who currently sleeps at his desk with feet propped up on a small stack of books. The two settle down a corner away from the snoozing form to wait out the rest of the school day as they chat with much excitement and on Xiumin's part, wonder.

“How long have you been able to do this?” the teens asks, eyes wide.

“Since I was ten. My mom taught me as much as she could before Mother Earth claimed her.”

“Claimed? Claimed how- oh!” Xiumin finally gets it, choosing not to press further and instead asking if it was something anyone can do.

“I-I don't know,” says Luhan truthfully. “She never told me- well, I never thought to ask. There's really no way to find out too, since nothing she taught me was ever written down anywhere. You also can't believe anything the internet or library books say either; I learned that the hard way.”

“There is a way to find out. You could train someone.” Xiumin points out.

“Huh. I guess I could. Hey, Xiumin, do you want-” Luhan pauses, taking in the eager face of the other student. “Nevermind. Of course you want to be trained.” The other boy grins too widely for Luhan's comfort so he quickly adds, “But it'll cost you extra.”

“I should have guessed as much.” he groans, agreeing to it anyway. After all, how often did the chance to learn magic come around in one's lifetime? Xiumin pays him for the first doll, wondering how much he was willing to spend for this. There is so much about this that intrigues him, but it could be a trick, couldn't it?