Minseok was seven years old when he first saw the crow.

It had been late February, the snow still stubbornly clinging to the ground even after the storm had long blown through. He had been horribly bored for days, Kou not allowing him any further than the yard. Instead, he had been forced to practice his hand with his reading and writing - a tortuous task, if anyone asked Minseok - and after a few minutes of that, the ability to write his name had lost its appeal. But with the melting of the snow came the freedom he craved. Or as much freedom as a seven year old boy could handle, and he was allowed outside once again.

He had only wandered far enough to lose sight of the house through the trees, Kou’s warnings to stay close by long forgotten, when he saw it.

There, in a patch of snow at the base of one of the tall pine trees that grew in the forest, was a crow. Minseok had seen crows many times, the birds seeming to have taken a liking to the area, so the sight of one was not rare. But then again, Minseok had never seen one so close before. The black birds had a habit of staying out of reach of curious little boys, but this one watched him without any sign of fleeing, and Minseok took that as his chance to investigate. He wondered if the crow would allow him close enough to touch those pretty black feathers. Or perhaps, if the bird let him, he could carry it back to show Kou how he had tamed the crow.

Slowly, he crept forward, eyes glued to the bird as he took cautious steps. He smiled triumphantly when every step closer did nothing to frighten the bird, but soon enough he started to notice something odd about this particular crow. Something was different.

For one, it made no sound. No caw, no cry, nothing. Not even the flap of its wings. And it never looked away, never took in its surroundings. The bird remained still, watching Minseok come closer and closer. If anything, it almost felt like the crow wanted him closer, for reasons the young boy couldn’t quite grasp.

He had gotten a mere couple of steps away before his determination gave way to hesitation, the bird still unresponsive to his actions. It only sat, watching, and the boy felt a heaviness in his gut as the creature stared at him.

Minseok no longer wanted to be near the bird. In fact, he didn’t want the bird to be near the cottage at all.

“Shoo!” Minseok yelled, jumping at the crow with his hands outstretched. He had seen Kou do something similar plenty of times, and every animal he did it to scrambled away. But the bird did nothing but tilt its head, clicking its beak at the movement. Almost a laughing sound, Minseok thought.

The boy took a step back, and then another, eying the bird warily before turning on his heel and sprinting back to his home, frequently glancing behind him at the creature.

He didn’t like that bird. Not one bit.

That night, after Minseok had told Kou of the strange encounter, he had been told everything: The curse that had been placed on him, his status as a royal, the significance of the crow. All of those things were laid out for him to understand, as best as he could, Kou ever patient with the boy’s questions and comments. It would be scary for anyone, but to a child it was horrifyingly similar to all of the nightmares of monsters he had been subject to in his young life.

He had hardly slept that night, the start of a terrible pattern that always occurred with the crow’s presence.

Every year after that saw the crow making a visit. Every winter, at the end of February, the crow would make its appearance. The first two times saw the creature only watching, Minseok nervously moving away and running back to Kou for comfort. It was the third time, and every time after that, that the bird spoke. The voice was broken, scratchy and inhuman, but the words were there. Horrible, nasty words. Threats, mostly, and taunts. Things that promised death and pain, despair and loss. And other lines, more poetic in nature, that Minseok began to recognize as his curse.

After a while, physical contact began to accompany the words, the crow nipping at his shirt collar or pecking at exposed skin. Nothing that cut too deep, mere scratches and the occasional bruise, but it was enough to have Kou worried, inspecting Minseok after every encounter, and enough to have Minseok developing a deep-rooted fear for anything with wings.

While such words and actions were frightening in nature, and left Minseok frazzled for days after the sighting, by the time he was a teenager he had come to recognize the crow as nothing more than a reminder. His fear, while certainly understandable, was misplaced, driven out of pain. He couldn’t change the curse, so there was no reason to let the bird have any type of power over him, and by his seventeenth year, he could largely ignore the crow. It was creepy, sure, and its beak was sharp against his skin, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle.

He was eighteen when his fears were validated.

The crow had not visited that year. January and February came and went without any black feathers or threats called in a warbling voice, and Minseok had allowed himself to hope it was over. He had suffered for years, and it seemed he had finally outgrown the crow lurking in the woods. Perhaps, he had thought gleefully, the bird was finally dead. Kou had warned him to stay cautious, that his eighteenth year could be a big one, but even his guardian had begun to relax. The crow was just not there.

And on his birthday, despite Kou’s wishes, Minseok had gone out to explore. The woods had been covered in a blanket of snow, an uncommon occurrence at that time of year. Good luck, Kou had said, though Minseok had been rather miffed at the sudden chill that fell over the earth on the days approaching his birthday. But he had to admit, the untouched snow was beautiful as he walked, fresh and pure and crunching beneath his weight.

He had been gone for hours, letting himself get lost in the forest just for the sake of it, drawn to the feeling of freedom that came with wandering without a destination. He was a smart enough tracker that he knew he could always find his way back, and when the sun began to slip back down towards the horizon - two hours until nightfall, he estimated - he turned back towards home.

He didn’t make it far before he saw it, the crow waiting in his path.

Minseok had stopped dead in his tracks, hesitating as he eyed the bird. Maybe it was another, some random black bird that was passing by. But the longer he watched, the more certain he was about it being his crow. He couldn’t help the sigh that left him, because he had been so sure - or at least hopeful - it was over. Weeks without anything had spoiled him. But now it was back, and while he wasn’t terribly surprised, the dread and anger that took a hold of his heart was intense. Of course he was still being watched. Of course he would never be truly free.

“What do you want?” he muttered bitterly, sneering when the bird only cocked its head to the side. “What? No threats this time?”

The crow didn’t respond, and Minseok’s stomach dropped at the silence. This was new. Late, and now quiet. Minseok didn’t like this at all.

With as much courage as he could muster, he continued forward, giving the bird a wide berth as he passed. The crow never moved from its spot, its eyes following the boy’s movements as Minseok pushed on towards his destination. And that only made the dread worse, worry buzzing in his mind.

He needed to get home. Kou would want to hear about this. Maybe he would have suggestions for why the bird was acting strangely.

But he had only walked for a few minutes when he saw the crow again, this time sitting on a branch in a nearby tree, empty black orbs meeting his gaze with an intensity no bird should be able to possess.

Once again, Minseok hesitated, and once again, there was no sound from the bird as he passed.

The third time he saw the crow was when Minseok began to run. He was still half an hour from the cottage, and his legs protested the distance in the snow, but he paid no mind to his aching muscles as his chest became tighter with each flash of black feathers he saw. It was always a few steps ahead of him, waiting, guiding him home, and the fear that settled at the base of his skull and ran down his spine was almost debilitating. But he pushed through the fear, telling himself it was only a crow. It was only a bird.

The sight of the cottage was a welcome relief. Home was familiar, safe, and the smoke rising from the chimney was enough to have him quickening his steps, his breath clouding the air in front of him. But as he pushed through the last surrounding trees and entered the yard, that breath caught in his throat.

Kou was on the ground.

He had fallen just outside of the door, his body positioned in a way that made Minseok think he had been trying to get inside. Deep footprints led towards him, some looking almost like he had crawled, carved into the snow like trenches. And he had been carrying firewood, if the scattered logs nearby were any indication, haphazardly dropped and forgotten. But what drew Minseok’s eye was the snow around him, the white powder marred with red. A rich, dark crimson color. The color of blood.

A shrill caw brought him back, the air entering his lungs in a painful gasp, his wide eyes searching the tree line before landing on the roof. The crow was there, perched on the ridge as it looked at the boy.

It was here. The crow was here. And Kou was still on the ground.

With a cry, Minseok took off across the yard towards his guardian, stumbling as he neared. The boy was vaguely aware of the crow’s wings spreading, the bird flying off as he ran towards the other, but he paid no mind. Whether the crow remained or not, the message had been delivered. Now all Minseok could do was face what had been left for him, every step closer weighing heavier than the last.

He sank to his knees next to Kou, the snow’s icy temperature immediately seeping through his pants. But he was numb to the snow, the chill that enveloped his heart much colder.

Kou was lying on his back, limbs stretched out to his sides awkwardly. Minseok could smell the metallic, coppery scent of blood now that he was closer, and he nearly retched as the odor assaulted his nose. There was so much blood, in Kou’s clothes, in the snow, staining the man’s ashen skin. Cuts littered his body, some shallow, others nearly to the bone, skin jagged and tattered, but the thing that horrified Minseok the most was his face.

His eyes were wide, staring up at the sky in frozen surprise as his mouth remained open. As if Kou had been crying out, either in pain or in fear, or a mixture of both. And Minseok’s mind filled with warnings, with cautionary tales of why he should remain near the house. Especially around dark. The sun’s light was nearly gone now. How long had he been away? How long had Kou suffered without anyone to come to his aid? What could have -

The cuts were far too deep for a bird to inflict, he realized in horror.

Minseok reached out a shaking hand, before pulling back, his fingers settling over his mouth instead. His chest burned with heaving breaths as he squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught of tears, rocking slightly on his knees as his body tried to curl in on itself.

There, on Kou’s chest, laid a single black feather, the color untouched, clean of any blood. Pristine.

He didn’t realize he was screaming until his throat went raw.

-

Eyes snapped open, a choked gasp leaving soft lips as Minseok jolted awake, muscles pulled taut in fear. For a brief, horrifying moment, he couldn’t move, limbs simply refusing to obey his request. The darkness felt too tight around him, shadows grasping at his hair, his legs, his arms, his pants, clawing at his skin, pinning him to the bed, pushing him down.

Then the moment passed, and he threw the damp sheets off and stumbled out of bed, just in time for him to sink to his knees as he heaved. His nails dragged against the floor as he threw up what little he had in his stomach, the majority being bile and water, throat and chest burning and eyes stinging with unshed tears.

It was only after an agonizing minute that his body lost its rigidity. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood up again, swaying slightly from the action, vision graying around the edges. His skin was too hot, fever still burning through his body, and he groaned.

It was then he realized that the fire had died, and his breath caught in his throat. He staggered to the fireplace and fumbled with the logs, dropping half of them in his attempt to arrange the wood.

The darkness felt suffocating, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps, the air too heavy in his lungs. His hands were shaking, desperation welling up in him as he found himself unable to still them long enough for him to ignite the dry firewood. He cursed under his breath as he fumbled again. He didn’t have time for this. He needed warmth. He needed light.

And then he caught movement from the corner of his eye and he jumped so violently that the flint fell from his hand. Minseok cringed at the thud it made when it landed on the floor, but before he could so much as consider reaching for it, there was movement to his left again, and his heartbeat faltered in his chest. Frantically, he looked to the side, but there was nothing save the darkness of his room.

Panic swelled in his gut as a noise - just to his right - reached his ears. Soft, familiar. Like the flutter of wings. And the sound sent ice through his veins, because that shouldn’t be possible. The crow couldn’t be here with him. He had locked the door, closed the window. He should be safe.

He looked around, searching, but there was nothing. No signs of the bird. And he tried to calm himself, tried to tell himself that the crow wasn’t here, but the next flap of wings had him cowering, hands flying to his ears in an attempt at keeping the noises out. His eyes darted around the shadows, knowing he’d find nothing, but there was something, hiding away in the dark, waiting. Always waiting. Always watching.

And then there was a caw and Minseok scrambled away from the fireplace, because the sound had been so close, as though the bird were just by his ear. But worse than the caw was the whispering coming from the shadows. Voices. And Minseok desperately wanted to close them out, didn’t want to know what they were saying, but nothing could silence them.

At first, he couldn’t tell the voices apart, but then, slowly, so slowly, did he start to recognize them. The incoherent mumbling slid into words, and Minseok whimpered as Kou’s voice begged him to please, help me. And then he heard Junmyeon and Jongdae, pleading with him, and Minseok shook his head to get rid of the voices bombarding him from all sides.

But he couldn’t escape them, or the pleas that began to turn in tone, edged with hysteria. The screams were deafening, and Minseok whined at the noises, because this shouldn’t be happening. But the screams continued, so loud that he had to cover his ears. Relief flooded through him when the cries died out.

When the screaming stopped, however, the accusations began. Harsh and biting and filled with hatred. You did this. This is your fault. Every doubt he had ever had after Kou’s death voiced aloud, filling his mind.

Even in the darkness, he could see them. Their bodies, mangled and broken and covered in blood, sightless eyes somehow finding his form as they spoke. Where were you? they asked. Why weren’t you there to save us? And Minseok couldn’t respond, couldn’t move as he watched them shift in the shadows.

And the sight of feathers, falling slowly and covering their bodies, like pure snow. He saw himself, sitting amidst the bodies, hands and face bloodied, eyes wide, and Minseok once again shook his head, no no no leaving his lips like a mantra. Hurriedly, he brought his shaking hands up to inspect them, turning them around, and when he saw no blood, he almost sobbed in relief.

But then he looked back at the bodies, at himself, and he felt tears well up in his eyes, because it was his fault. Kou was dead because of him, and Junmyeon, and Jongdae… All because of him. Everyone he loved would be taken away from him.

He pushed a hand through his hair, only to catch the overwhelming odor of blood, the warm stickiness that clung to his skin. In a flash, he had his hands in front of him again, and the nausea from earlier returned, threatening to make him sick once more.

Red. His hands were covered in red.

It was with a terrified whimper that he looked up again and saw his own self, meeting the gaze that seemed to tear him down.

“No…” he whispered, begged, eyes searching his own in desperation. As if hoping the other version of himself would smile and shake his head, tell him he wasn’t at fault. But the man only stared, his own features twisted in the same judgment that marred the others’ faces. “Please, no…”

There were more noises, caws, voices, echoing in his head, and he stared, horrified, when the bodies were suddenly moving.

Towards him.

Screeching noises reached his ears as the bodies approached him, crawling over the floor, and he struggled to get back on his feet, scrambling away, until he could get no further, his back pressed against the walls of the corner he had reached. His chest was heaving, breathing coming out in terrified whines.

The bodies weren’t deterred. They continued their advance, coming closer and closer.

And then, for a moment, nothing was there, Minseok’s ears straining to hear anything over his ragged breaths. Then the barest of touches slid down his face, like a finger trailed over his cheek, and he shrieked, jerking away from the sensation.

There were hands on him, pulling at him, trying to drag him back into the shadows. And that was when he started to scream, lashing out at nothing, begging them to leave him alone.

He could taste the faintest trace of salt on his lips, tears spilling from his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. Sobs racked through his body and left through his mouth, and he covered his ears, shaking his heads as he screamed at the shadows.

“Stop!”

The plea was raw, guttural in tone, and it only grew more so with every cry, desperation mounting with every grab and tug from invisible hands. But no matter how much he begged, how loud he cried, how hard he fought to pull away, it didn’t stop.

Pulling his knees up to his chest, he buried his face in his arms, trying to make himself as small as possible, as small as his fear made him feel. Whispered, broken pleas, choked sobs, still fell from his lips now and then when a noise sounded particularly close, when he felt what he swore was a brush of a finger or a feather against his bare skin, when his mind refused to see anything but bloodied bodies in pure snow.

In the dark, all Minseok could do was wait for daybreak.

-

If nothing else, Jongdae considered himself an optimist.

In the worst of situations, the stable hand could always find the bright side, even if the bright side were horribly outweighed by the bad. He could always find something, anything, to hold onto for hope, to use as a life line.

And when that didn’t work, he knew how to fake it.

Even when he didn’t readily believe that everything was okay - some situations required a little more effort to return to normal - he found the power of suggestion worked. He could tell himself it would be fine, screw his smile into place, and face the world with light steps and cheerful words, and eventually, his heart would begin to believe him. It was simple. Almost too easy.

Today, for example, he had used such optimism with Junmyeon. The prince had found him before sunrise, disheveled and exhausted from an obvious lack of sleep, a noticeably more alert Yixing just behind him, followed by a sleepy Yifan. The latter seemed to have tagged along rather than having been invited, if Yixing’s scowl were any indication. But Yifan was never one to be left out of the loop if he could help it, and regardless of how he came to find Jongdae, he had. Besides, both he and Yixing were just as involved as Jongdae and Junmyeon, their identities also exposed by yesterday’s events.

And Junmyeon, bless him, did exactly what Jongdae expected him to do. He requested they go to Xiumin that very instant, so overwhelmed with the urge to make sure everything was alright between them and the newest addition to their circle of friends. He had no doubt kept himself up all night, tossing and turning and worrying himself half to death about Xiumin’s reaction. True to his personality, Junmyeon could not let it lie as it was, not when he felt like he had something to set right. And with the man being ill, he certainly saw the visit as a necessary one.

But Jongdae had only smiled, shaking his head as he patted the prince on the shoulder. As much as he knew Junmyeon was only doing what he thought was right, Jongdae knew it was not the best thing for Xiumin today.

Though Jongdae had not thought of Junmyeon’s title in a very long time, having come to know the man beneath the crown, he could still remember how he had felt when he first met the prince. He had been but a boy, then, and the idea of a member of the royal family speaking to him was intimidating, even if that member were just as young as he was. It had taken a while for Jongdae to get past the gap in their status. And he figured Xiumin, already insecure in his relationship with others from years of isolation, was feeling much the same.

But Jongdae was not a royal. Jongdae was just Jongdae.

Yixing had caught onto the stable hand’s thoughts quickly, nodding in agreement. It would be best for him to go alone. He was the one who was most equal in standings with the other, and would be the least imposing of the four. This would give Junmyeon a chance to rest, and give Xiumin another day to wrap his head around the information he had just learned.

The advisor had seemed to think something else, as well, eyeing Jongdae curiously as Junmyeon tried in vain to change the stable hand’s mind. Something was in his gaze as he looked Jongdae over, before he began insisting that Junmyeon stay behind for his lessons. Whatever it was, he never voiced.

Yifan, unfortunately, was not as quiet with his thoughts, and relentlessly about “trouble in paradise” and the best way to fix such issues, complete with a wink that had no business being on the man’s face when he had all but been mooning over Zitao the previous week as the guard had gone through his morning workout routine.

He had laughed it off, bidding the group farewell with a mock salute before heading off to the woods, but now that he was out of the presence of others, the smile he had worn was deflated a bit, his heart a little heavier in thought.

Part of him disregarded Yifan’s words with little hesitation - the young lord could not help himself, really, when it came to an opportunity to tease - while the other part was aware of there being some truth to the jests. He had initially been drawn to Xiumin by curiosity alone, fascinated by the man who seemed to be shrouded in mystery. A riddle for him to solve. But the more he discovered, the more he was intrigued. Pretty soon, it wasn’t the challenge that held his attention, but Xiumin himself.

And he knew the similarities he had found in their pasts only fueled his desire to learn more, but it wasn’t just that, either. It was the way Xiumin easily slipped into teasing Junmyeon, fond and light and lacking any heat. It was in the way he took his time in choosing his words, alway cautious, but honest. And it was in the way Xiumin had reached for him back at the cottage, when Jongdae had been unsure of how to comfort him after such a lie had been revealed. The touch, though small, was beyond significant, because Xiumin never initiated contact, having spent his life avoiding others. But he had initiated it then, if only briefly, because he knew what it would mean to Jongdae.

He was in much deeper than he had realized, but Jongdae couldn’t find it in himself to fight it. Xiumin had proven to be one of the only people he had ever had difficulty reading, but as long as the other man would have him, he would continue to try.

As he got closer to the cottage, Jongdae found himself becoming more anxious. The optimism that he had been clinging to since yesterday was ebbing away, leaving him with a pang of worry in his chest. And while he wanted to credit the feeling to the rocky ground that surrounded Xiumin’s opinions of their group of friends, he knew this was something else. He couldn’t shake it, couldn’t convince himself that things were fine when in reality, things felt off. Like something had shifted.

He was started to act like Yixing, he thought with a snort. Paranoid and worried over nothing.

But even if he felt silly, he pushed himself to walk a little faster, feet crunching through the snow in steady strides. The sooner he got to Xiumin, the sooner he could get rid of this useless worry.

When the cottage came into view, however, the odd feeling was back. There was no smoke from the chimney, a rarity for any home at this time of year; there hadn’t been a fire for a while, if the lack of the smell was any indication. But Jongdae made note of the time, the sun just starting its ascent, throwing the sky into glorious shades of amber and rose. Minseok might not be awake, if he were still fighting his fever, and therefore could not have started the fire back, had it gone out in the night. He could assist in the starting of a new fire, he assured himself, though the tightness in his chest didn’t fade as he settled in front of the door.

He hesitated in his knock, cautious in waking the other man up. But after standing in the cold for a few seconds, he figured he could just add it to the list of things he would be apologizing for today, and let his fist fall sharply against the door.

Only there was no sound on the other side, the cottage quiet and the door remaining shut. Jongdae frowned, pulling his coat tighter around him, and knocked once more, louder this time.

“Xiumin?”

If he hadn’t been listening, he was sure he would have missed the small sound on the other side of the door, muffled by the thick wood that stood as a barrier. But Jongdae had been straining, hoping for any slight response, and the sound that reached him was loud enough for him to recognize.

A sob, desperate and weak. And distinctly Xiumin’s voice.

Except it wasn’t the voice he had come to associate with the other man. It wasn’t the light but strong tenor, clear and rich in tone. What it was was broken, hoarse, and it had Jongdae banging on the door with more force.

“Xiu? Are you alright?”

The silence that met him was much harsher than he expected, and broke the last of his resolve to let Xiumin let him in on his own terms.

He kneeled quickly, untying the lock pick from the inside of his boot and pulling the old tool out of its place. He was not always proud of the things he had done as a child to survive when his parents had died, but he readily admitted the skills he honed came in handy at times. Lock picking was one of them. And he thanked every hardship he had endured that led to him carrying his pick around, lest he would have been trapped outside right now.

The lock on Xiumin’s door was old, much older than any in the city, and he knew the best way to break it would be to literally break it, smash it apart. But he had spent years learning how to unlock doors discretely, and he’d rather not leave Xiumin completely defenseless. So he set to work, hands steady as he kept one ear to the door, partly out of hearing the telltale click of the lock and partly to see if Xiumin would cry out again.

When the lock’s bolt finally slid out of place, he tucked the pick back into his boot and pushed the door open, stepping inside.

The cottage was nearly as cold as it was outside, and he shivered at the loss of the sunlight, the room thrown into darkness without the fire. But he couldn’t focus on the cold for long when he realized Xiumin was not in his bed.

Panic filled Jongdae’s gut when he didn’t see the man anywhere, and he called again.

“Xiumin?”

A whimper, and the sound of shuffling, clumsy thumps of limbs against wood, and Jongdae’s eyes found the other man easily.

The room was mostly intact, save the blankets hanging half off of his bed and the firewood no longer stacked neatly in the corner. But even if everything else were seemingly unbroken, Xiumin looked downright shattered, curled in the corner furthest from the door. He was practically unclothed, except for the linen pants he wore, and his body shivered uncontrollably as he tried to push himself further away from Jongdae, head completely covered by his arms.

“My God,” Jongdae muttered sharply, starting forward. “Xiumin…”

He was intending to pull the man up, but as he neared, boots loud against the wooden floor, Xiumin cried out.

“No, please! Leave me alone!”

“Xiu, it’s me,” Jongdae started, “It’s Jongdae.” But when Jongdae reached towards him, the other man lashed out blindly, his hand catching him on the wrist and drawing a hiss from the stable hand at the sudden pain.

The keen that left Xiumin hurt Jongdae far worse than the slight smarting sting in his wrist.

“Please, I beg you!” Xiumin whined, his voice edged in tears as he took heaving breaths. “I didn’t mean to do this!”

Jongdae fell quiet at the words, confused as he watched Xiumin tremble against the wall. Sweat dotted his hairline, despite the cold, and Jongdae groaned softly. His fever. It had not broken.

“Xiu?” he called softly, hating the way the other flinched at his voice. “Xiu, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Shadows,” Xiumin whispered, barely loud enough for Jongdae to hear.

The fire. It was the only way he was going to get the darkness out of the room. Jongdae’s heart ached at the sight of the man so visibly upset. But he couldn’t let him lie here in the cold. He had to get him into bed. He had to get a fire going.

“Hang on,” he murmured, moving towards the fireplace. He grabbed an armful of logs, arranging them quickly and reaching for the flint that Junmyeon had bought the other. It lay abandoned on the floor, and Jongdae wondered if Xiumin had been trying to start the fire back when his fever overtook him. The logs were cold, and his heart lurched against his ribs. How long had he been sitting against that damn wall?

It took him only a moment to get a spark, and the comforting sound of wood popping under the heat made him smile with a brief sense of accomplishment. But then he was moving back to Xiumin, deliberately slow, much slower than he would have liked.

Jongdae had done this before, this cautious attempt to calm down a distressed individual, but only with horses. But the longer he looked at Xiumin, the firmer his determination became. He had to do something to get him off of the floor.

He spoke in a low, soothing voice, knowing anything else would only frighten the man more.

“Xiumin? We need to get you into bed.”

When he got no response, he inched closer, now kneeling just in front of the other. He was reluctant to put himself there, knowing Xiumin might feel cornered with nowhere to go, but if it got Xiumin to calm down faster as a result, he would do it.

Carefully, he reached out his hand, his fingers just barely making contact with Xiumin’s arm. The touch startled Xiumin, and he struck out again, nearly pushing Jongdae back.

“No,” the man protested faintly, tucking himself further into the wall, and Jongdae sighed. The touch was brief, but it was enough to feel the heat rising from his skin. He was running out of options, and he feared allowing Xiumin to lie in the floor for much longer would only make things worse for his health. Sometimes, a little bit of force was necessary. He cursed under his breath, knowing Xiumin was not going to like this at all.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, before reaching forward again, this time pulling Xiumin towards him with the movement, until Xiumin was practically in his lap.

Xiumin fought the hold, as expected, and yelled at the action. He was stronger than Jongdae on most occasions, but fever had weakened him just enough for Jongdae to gain a decent advantage. But that didn’t make it any easier. Xiumin bucked, twisting his body this way and that as he tried to break free of the stable hand’s grip, begging to be let go. He swung his arm and managed to catch Jongdae on the chin, hard enough that Jongdae could taste the tang of blood in his mouth from biting his tongue.

With difficulty, Jongdae managed to wrench the man’s arms down to his sides, wrapping Xiumin tightly in his own and pulling him into his chest. The sobs had turned into screams, and Jongdae quickly tried to get through to the other man, voice soothing even as he tried to get over the frightened sounds coming from the other.

“Xiumin, stop! You’re safe!”

“No, the curse…” Xiumin sobbed, thrashing in Jongdae’s hold. “Everyone’s dead.”

Xiumin continued to cry out, the words slipping into hysteria, and Jongdae brought a hand up to cup the base of the other man’s skull, forcing him to look up with a gentle but firm touch. He had to calm him. He had to show him that everything was okay, that nothing, no one, was going to hurt him.

“Xiumin, look at me.”

It was the first time he had really seen the man’s face since he arrived, and it made his heart leap into his throat. His features were drawn, paled with illness and fear, and his eyes, though looking at Jongdae, were blown wide with terror.

“It’s only me,” Jongdae whispered, his thumb trying to soothe the skin of Xiumin’s neck, trying to rub the tension out of the muscles. “It’s only me, Xiumin. I swear to you, you are safe.”

Xiumin’s breath was still too fast, too shallow, but as Jongdae watched, his eyes softened just the slightest bit, coming into focus.

“Ch-” he started, before correcting himself, voice scratchy and faint. “Jongdae?”

The stable hand smiled encouragingly, nodding quickly, and the relief that flooded Xiumin’s face pulled a quiet gasp from his lips.

“I thought…” Xiumin continued, his lips as his face scrunched in confusion. “The crow, I -”

His eyes closed, a pitiful sound leaving him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Jongdae shushed him, pulling him to his chest again. “It’s alright. But we must get you to bed.”

With more strength than he thought he possessed, Jongdae lifted them both from the floor, half carrying, half supporting Xiumin as they crossed the distance to the bed. He could feel Xiumin’s fingers twisting into the material of his shirt, each step nearly sending him back to the floor, and it terrified Jongdae. He had never seen the man so broken, and he hoped he would never see it again.

Without a second thought, he slid into the bed, pulling Xiumin down gently with him until the other was laying half on top of him, curled into his side and head tucked under Jongdae’s chin. The fact that Xiumin said nothing against the amount of contact was a testimony in itself to just how vulnerable he truly was. Jongdae stayed quiet, though, letting his hand rub soothing paths along the other’s back, willing him to calm down and rest.

It wasn’t until the other man had long been asleep, his body relaxed and having finally stopped shaking against his side, that Jongdae pulled himself away. A more difficult task than he expected, but a necessary one. The fire needed tending.

He made himself useful, tidying the place up as Xiumin slept, checking on him frequently as he worked. He restacked the logs, adjusted the bedding, cleaned up a spot on the floor that appeared to be evidence to Xiumin’s sickness affecting his stomach, and put the flint back on the desk. Some of the figurines had toppled over, he noticed, and he was halfway through arranging them when he realized the crow from yesterday was missing among the carvings. Xiumin had mentioned a crow, and something about a curse, when he was still trapped in his feverish state. But the thought was fleeting, at best, Jongdae too lost in his mind for the missing crow and the murmured words to make much of an impression.

They should have stayed. He should have stayed. They had been so worried about overwhelming Xiumin that they had allowed their own hesitations to drive them away from the cottage. But if they were looking to avoid Xiumin being thrown into panic, they had obviously missed the mark.

It was the fever, he knew. His illness had warped, burning through him in the form of nightmares that bled into reality, and Jongdae knew it was foolish and self-centered to think he had anything to do with that. But he still felt like this could have all been avoided, and if not, at least he could have stopped it sooner.

When had it started? Had he been plagued by these terrors all night? Had he gotten any sleep at all?

Though such fever-driven dreams were tough to shake, Jongdae was certain it would have been easier with someone there to help guide him through it. Instead, Xiumin had been left to his own mind, and suffered for it.

Sometime around late noon, Xiumin’s fever broke. But he still slept, exhausted, and Jongdae remained close by. He had woken him only twice to help him drink some water, but other than that he had sat and kept the fire burning, kept the shadows away.

When a hand fell to his shoulder, startling him from his thoughts in a dramatic fashion, he had nearly taken the person’s hand off. Until, of course, he realized it was Junmyeon. The prince, having slipped away from the others - he was far too good at that - had come alone with a pouch of fresh food. But upon seeing the expression that Jongdae wore, the food had been forgotten, and concerns were voiced.

After a brief account, in which Jongdae had condensed the fear and cries and pain into a simple “he succumbed to fever hallucinations”, Junmyeon was just as guilt-ridden as he was. They shouldn’t have left. And when Junmyeon voiced his agreement, Jongdae made the decision he had been toying with for hours.

He would not leave Xiumin tonight. He would stay, tend to the fire, make sure his fever was completely broken. And Junmyeon looked ready to fight to stay as well, until Xiumin stirred in the bed. They had only been whispering, but the sound seemed to be enough to rouse Xiumin, who glanced at them with a groggy expression before lifting a hand in a small wave. Jongdae could feel himself tense, unsure of what Xiumin’s reaction would be, but he only made a soft comment about Junmyeon trying to kill him with gluttony, gesturing to the bag that remained untouched, and the air in the room melted into familiarity.

To his credit, Xiumin took the news of Jongdae’s intent to stay much better than he expected. He had only frowned, protesting that it was unnecessary, but gave in when Jongdae insisted. Junmyeon, however, would leave, and Jongdae could only smile when Xiumin readily agreed with his logic. It would be dark in a few hours. He would need to head on. After all, while Jongdae’s disappearance for the night would be met with some minor worry, Junmyeon’s would be met with massive searches, and nobody needed such a fuss at the moment.

Regardless, Junmyeon was adamant he would be back the next morning, first thing, and Xiumin allowed him that bit of power. They would talk then, the oldest had muttered, and the smile that went with that sentence looked wrong to Jongdae. But he watched as Junmyeon smiled in return, either oblivious or very good at pretending he was, clasping the man’s hand in his before bidding both Xiumin and Jongdae farewell.

Xiumin’s fever did not come back, but that did not stop Jongdae from claiming a side of his bed anyways, determined to share his warmth with the man should the fire go out again. Xiumin didn’t fight the decision, even tossing an arm around Jongdae’s waist as he settled in, this time Jongdae being pulled against him, Xiumin’s chest pressing into his back. Not a word was said, but the position felt a lot like gratitude, like the man was thanking him for staying, and Jongdae wrapped a warm hand around the man’s forearm in reassurance. He wouldn’t leave. Not again.

Jongdae spent half the night listening to Xiumin breathe, before heavy eyes could no longer watch the flickering of the fire and gave in to sleep.

-

Jongdae could see the difference in Xiumin the minute he woke up.

When he had pulled himself from sleep, Xiumin had already left the bed, seated in front of the fire. He was lost in thought, it seemed, flipping the flint over and over again between his fingers, and Jongdae took a moment just to watch the flames bouncing across his skin. The glow of the fire made him look healthier, or perhaps that was due to the fever breaking. But either way his eyes looked clearer, sharper, even if his body held onto some of the sickness from the past couple of days, a little leaner than it had been days ago. A few more days of rest, Jongdae guessed, and he would be back to his normal self.

But the tension in his shoulders told another story. He was stiff, muscles tight, and Jongdae didn’t like it. The nightmares were gone, and Xiumin should be more at ease, but he wasn’t. And Jongdae couldn’t think of a reason that didn’t revolve around Junmyeon and himself.

When Jongdae cleared his throat, making a show of sitting up in the bed as to not startle the other man, Xiumin sent him a soft smile. But the rest of the time was quiet between them, Jongdae trying to catch his eye and Xiumin adamantly looking away. Any touch shared between them was small, without any lingering comfort, and Jongdae could feel him slipping away from the openness they had mere hours ago. While he expected it, it still stung a bit more than he thought it would.

It only got worse when Junmyeon arrived, the prince’s smile tight when Xiumin half-heartedly greeted him. And as they sat around the table - or rather, Junmyeon and Xiumin at the table, and Jongdae perched on the edge of the bed - Jongdae was nearly ready to tear his hair out at the tension.

But then Xiumin spoke.

“I have a confession,” he said in a flat tone, as if the words were as mundane as the weather. When Junmyeon and Jongdae remained quiet, he continued. “I’ve been a bit of a hypocrite.”

“Oh?” Junmyeon asked, and Jongdae smiled despite the circumstances, amused at the nonchalance Junmyeon had tried to put into his response, when the stable hand could clearly see the man’s interest in his features.

“When you told me who you were,” Xiumin continued, “I was upset.”

“Naturally,” Junmyeon agreed. “Anyone would be upset at such a lie.”

Xiumin chuckled at the words, and it sounded horribly forced to Jongdae’s ears. “Well, I guess it is your turn to be upset.”

Jongdae froze at the response, his eyes locked on Xiumin as the older man took a deep breath. He didn’t look at anyone as he spoke, his eyes never leaving the table, and Jongdae was struck by the similarities to what had happened two days prior.

“Xiu?” he called, softly, and the older man looked over his shoulder, but still not at Jongdae, his eyes falling just to the side. He shook his head with a sad smile.

“‘Xiumin’, much like ‘Suho’ and ‘Chen’, is only an alias,” he muttered. “My name is Minseok.”

“Minseok?” Junmyeon repeated, his voice breathless as his eyes widened.

“Yes,” the other said with a nod. He turned back to Junmyeon, his eyes finally lifting to look at the prince. “Kim Minseok.”

Junmyeon’s expression flicked from confusion to utter shock, paling as he searched the other man’s eyes. But when he spoke, it was firm. A denial.

“No.”

“Jun?” Jongdae called, but the prince didn’t spare him a look, his focus on Xiumin. Or rather, on Minseok.

“No, you are not,” Junmyeon continued. “You cannot be… It is impossible.”

“Please,” Minseok started, “let me explain.”

“They told me you were dead,” he countered, and Jongdae couldn’t hold his tongue any longer.

“What is going on?” he asked, looking between the men. But neither paid him any mind, lost in their own conversation.

“I’m surprised they told you at all,” Minseok replied frankly. “I didn’t know of your existence until you told me yourself.”

“Why?” Junmyeon asked, and now Jongdae could hear the anger in his words. He watched as the prince rose from the table, shaking his head. “Why would they -”

“For the same reason you hid your identity, and the same reason I hid mine,” Minseok answered. “For protection.”

Jongdae didn’t understand. What did Junmyeon know that he didn’t? What piece was he missing in understanding just what exactly was going on? He was shocked at Minseok’s words, yes, but Junmyeon was practically shaking with anger, and Jongdae had no idea what could have driven him to be so upset.

“Protection?” Junmyeon bit out, waving a hand towards the surroundings. “We are in the middle of nowhere. What could possibly hurt you?”

“Junmyeon,” Jongdae tried, standing up from the bed. It was all escalating so quickly, and he felt the urge to diffuse the situation. “You need to calm yourself.”

“Calm myself?” Junmyeon scoffed, his gaze slipping to Jongdae. “Do you know who he is, Jongdae? Who Kim Minseok is?”

Jongdae shook his head, because no; besides what he knew of “Xiumin”, he knew nothing of Kim Minseok. Though he assumed they were one in the same, just like he was with “Chen”, and just like Junmyeon was with “Suho”. A name did not change the person’s personality. But obviously, the prince thought differently.

“My brother,” Junmyeon said, and Minseok flinched at the words as if he had been struck. “He is my older brother. Whom, might I add, I was told had died.”

Jongdae fell silent, stunned at the information, because that was a difference. This was not some low ranked subject living in the woods, but royalty. Minseok was a member of the royal family, and the thought of having shared a bed with him had heat crawling up the back of Jongdae’s neck, because even if he were on good terms with Junmyeon, he had never been so intimately close to him. He shook the embarrassment away, ashamed of himself as he reminded him that this was still the man who they had befriended months ago and he had done nothing wrong, but the words still refused to gather in coherent sentences in his mind as he stared at Minseok’s back. But even if he had been able to speak, Minseok would have cut him off.

“Junmyeon, please,” Minseok interjected. “It was not my decision. I didn’t know I even had a brother until I learned of your name.” He ran a hand through his hair, blowing out a deep breath as he did so. “I’ve been in hiding since my birth. All of this was meant to keep me safe.”

“From what?” Junmyeon demanded in exasperation, leaning over the table.

Minseok hesitated, Jongdae watching as he came to a decision.

“A curse,” he said gently. “On my twenty-fourth birthday, I am cursed to die.”

“You cannot be cursed,” Junmyeon insisted immediately. “Magic was banned from our kingdom long before either of us were born.” Minseok readily agreed.

“Yes, it was. But just because something is banned does not mean others will not do it.”

“How long?” the stable hand spoke then, his voice piercing the silence, and Minseok answered honestly.

“A little more than a month’s time.”

Jongdae’s heart seized in his chest, a gasp lodging in his throat, and he watched as Minseok ducked his head at the noise, almost as if in guilt. He could see Junmyeon fared no better with the information, holding the table with a white-knuckled grip.

Minseok let out a heavy sigh, looking at Junmyeon with desperation. “Please. Sit down, and I will tell you everything.”

Jongdae could see the fear, the uncertainty, in Junmyeon’s eyes, and then the prince was shaking his head. Before the stable hand could act, Junmyeon had turned back towards the door, storming out into the snow as the door shut heavily behind him. Minseok called out to him, standing and moving to follow, but Jongdae was quick to stop the other man.

“Let him go,” Jongdae said quietly. “He’s upset. But as much as he acts like it, he’s not stupid. He’ll come back soon.”

Minseok seemed ready to fight him on that, but eventually lowered himself back into his seat, eyes never leaving the door.

It was silent, for a while, Jongdae sliding easily into the seat Junmyeon had occupied before. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the older man, his mind drawing connections he could have missed. The slight similarities - and he meant slight - in their appearances. The stubbornness they shared. But even if he had picked up on things earlier, he would have never guessed this, could never have guessed they were brothers. Or that Minseok would be cursed.

But he reminded himself, again, that this was still the same man he had shared a bed with the night before, the same one he had cared for, the same one who saved them months prior. So he did what he always did. Tried to fill in the pieces.

“You mentioned a curse yesterday,” he began, meeting Minseok’s gaze when the other finally looked at him, “when you were feverish. Were you talking about the one that was placed on you?”

Minseok paused, glancing at the door again. Jongdae knew he was still thinking of Junmyeon, of whether or not they should wait to have this conversation when they were all present, but whatever held him back relented underneath Jongdae’s gaze.

“Yes. It was the same.”

Jongdae wet his lips. “A long time ago, you said fate was here for you, in the woods, away from the city,” he continued. “Is that why you tried to push us away?”

“In part, yes,” Minseok hummed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Isolation meant I didn’t have to say goodbye.”

“That seems awfully pessimistic,” Jongdae said, the words far too teasing for the situation, but Minseok couldn’t fight the smile, even if it were slightly bitter.

“I didn’t want to get close to others. I’ve felt the pain of losing someone. I was not ready to cause someone else the same suffering.”

“But now that Junmyeon knows you are his brother, it will hurt far worse,” Jongdae said, before adding, “Now that we know…”

It hurt. A lot. This man in front of him was important to them, to Jongdae, and to know he would now lose him to something none of them could control… It was like a stab to the heart. Or maybe, more accurately, the side. The heart would be too quick, too merciful. This was more like a wound that would bleed for a while before leading to death. Slow. Painful.

“I never intended on telling you,” Minseok mumbled, covering his face with his hands before letting them fall back to the table. “But after you mentioned the crow -”

“What significance does the crow have?” Jongdae asked, using his curiosity to distract himself from the emptiness that had settled in his chest.

“The sorcerer who cursed me goes by the name Crow,” Minseok answered, “and every year, I am visited by the same damned bird. I had thought it only served to mock me, repeating the curse to me and taunting me, sometimes even physically striking out, but it…”

“It what?” Jongdae pushed when Minseok trailed off.

“I’ve only ever had one person in my life,” Minseok continued, “and that was Kou, my guardian. On my eighteenth birthday, he was taken away from me. The crow was there, led me to him.”

He gestured toward Jongdae with an open hand, his brow pulled together. “You said you saw it. It never shows itself to anyone but me. Never. But it showed itself to you and Junmyeon, the same day you told me your real names.”

Jongdae stared at him, taking in the information quietly, letting the words fall into place in his mind. When he spoke again, it was not a question, but a statement.

“You think it has laid claim on me and Junmyeon.”

“Exactly,” Minseok confirmed. “Because of me, you are now in danger.”

“Because of a sorcerer,” Jongdae corrected, holding the other’s gaze firmly. “None of this sounds like your fault. If anything, it is us who forced ourselves into your life.”

“I let you in,” Minseok countered. “And look what came of it. Lies and pain and death.”

Jongdae reached forward then, laying a hand over the other’s forearm. He had been trying to keep his distance, trying to give the man his own space, but he could only take so much. Minseok was hurting, and contact, however small, would still be enough to remind him that Jongdae was still there. And when words failed, this did not.

Minseok refused to look at him, but Jongdae continued anyways.

“No one is dead yet,” he said softly. “And it is going to take a lot more than some stupid crow to scare us away.”

Minseok smiled, the expression too sad for Jongdae’s liking, but it was a start.

“What now?” he asked, and Jongdae gave a shrug.

“We wait for Junmyeon.”

-

Junmyeon wasn’t sure where he was going, but he knew he had to go somewhere, before he completely lost his mind.

He hadn’t been walking for long when he came to a halt and slid down to sit on a rock, burying his face in his palms. He knew he hadn’t gotten that far away from the cottage, either from the cold that nipped at his skin or a reluctance to leave too much distance between himself and the others, but it was far enough to get himself some air. To make sure he could have the time, the quiet, necessary to absorb the new information. Because as much as Junmyeon thought he could handle pressure, he didn’t know how to handle this. He didn’t know how to handle knowing he, despite all that he had been told, had a brother.

Brother. The word was still too new, too foreign a concept.

His brother had died, they had said. He had died from birth, before Junmyeon even got the chance to meet him, to know him. And he had come to terms with that, accepted it from a young age. But now, Xiumin, Minseok, suddenly revealed himself to be Junmyeon’s older brother.

He had gone twenty-two years thinking his brother was dead, when, in reality, he had been just a few hours away. Minseok had been this close, and Junmyeon hadn’t known.

Had his parents known? Had they lied to him all this time? How many others knew?

Junmyeon would have hoped his parents had not kept Minseok a secret for Junmyeon, that they had not lied to him. He trusted his parents not to keep such a thing from him. If Minseok spoke the truth, and he was his brother, Junmyeon was entitled to know that. He had a right to know that his older brother was alive.

For now.

Distraught, Junmyeon gripped at his hair, fighting back the urge to scream, lash out, or just break down, because it would be so simple to shatter instead of trying to hold himself together. What was there to keep him from breaking? All that he had known, every foundation, had collapsed underneath him.

And on top of it all, Minseok was going to die. A curse would take him from Junmyeon just when he had learned of his existence, just when they had found one another. How could fate be so cruel? Minseok was a friend. Minseok was his brother, and he would die.

A chill ran down Junmyeon’s back, and he distractedly reached for a twig on the ground, fiddling with it as he lost himself in thoughts.

What if Minseok had kept quiet, had never said a word about the curse? What if he had died without them knowing? What if they had found him in the cottage, his body grown cold?

What if they had never found him at all?

The twig in his hands snapped, and Junmyeon stared at it, swallowing dryly.

The realization that Minseok would - could, Junmyeon corrected himself quickly - die was already enough to bring tears to the prince’s eyes, but the idea of Minseok dying alone was what pushed those emotions to the edge and over.

No one deserved to be alone, especially not in their last moments. Those last breaths were reserved for the people around them, to assure that they were loved, that they would be missed, that they were never alone, not even in this. Junmyeon could think of nothing more heartbreaking or terrifying than to leave this life with no one by your side, and to think that Minseok could have met such a fate had him sobbing into his hands.

Junmyeon didn’t understand anything that was happening. He didn’t understand why Minseok was cursed. He didn’t understand why he was fated to have found him so close to the day he was set to die. And he didn’t understand why Jongdae and Minseok had seemed so calm when it felt like his chest was about to burst.

How could Minseok speak of his impending death like he had already come to accept it? How could Jongdae tell Junmyeon to calm down? Everything was falling apart, and yet it was only Junmyeon who seemed to feel that way.

He just didn’t understand.

He had taken to snapping twigs he found on the ground in his hands, the urge to fiddle with something too strong to ignore. It was pointless, thoughtless, and yet he did it anyways. Like breaking twigs in two would somehow calm him, would somehow fix everything. Like breaking twigs would be as easy as breaking the curse on Minseok, the seconds stealing away the other’s life as Junmyeon sat there, doing absolutely nothing but mourn the agonies of fate and destroy twigs as he did so.

But sitting there would not fix anything.

Magic was a strong force, Junmyeon knew, even if he had never seen it for himself, but he would be damned if he let a curse stop him from at least trying. He had never been one to give in so easily, and now it was a matter of life or death, his brother’s life being on the line.

What was Junmyeon doing out here, crying over something that had yet to happen? He could not grieve a man who wasn’t dead, and Minseok wouldn’t die. Not if Junmyeon had a say in it.

There was still time to save his brother from the curse. There was still time to act.

And there was no way he would let Minseok be alone, counting the days until his approaching demise with a sad acceptance.

He threw away the twig in his hand as he rose from the rock, absently wondering how long he’d been gone as he trudged back through the snow towards the cottage with a new fire in his eyes.

It didn’t take long for him to reach the small cottage, and when he stepped inside, warmth enveloping him, two pairs of eyes immediately turned to him, the soft chatter fading as they regarded him with some caution.

There was quiet for a short moment, before Junmyeon broke it, his voice soft as he spoke.

“Minseok, when is your birthday?”

Minseok frowned at the unexpected question, but answered, “The twenty-sixth of March.”

Junmyeon nodded to himself, pursing his lips in thought. A month, Minseok had said. He had a month to break a curse he knew nothing about.

“What kind of curse is it?”

Minseok blinked. “The curse?”

“Yes,” Junmyeon insisted firmly. “Tell me about it. I need to know what is said.”

“Why would you need to know that?” Minseok asked, the words tinged with confusion, though Jongdae, Junmyeon noted, had leaned forward, the slightest hope evident in his features as he listened to the prince.

“If we are going to break it, we need to know. A transcription would be ideal.”

“Nothing can be done,” Minseok said, his voice resigned, tired in tone. “Trust me when I tell you I have already tried. The curse cannot be broken, Junmyeon.”

“You may have tried,” Jongdae cut in with a small smile, “but we haven’t had a go at it. Perhaps fresh eyes could find an answer your tired ones couldn’t. Also, there are books back at the castle we can refer to for help.”

Minseok was already shaking his head before Jongdae had finished speaking. “No,” he said firmly, almost harshly. “Absolutely not. You will not get involved in this.”

“Do you honestly think that I will let you do this your way, brother?” Junmyeon asked, and Minseok winced. “That we will let you?” he added with a glance towards Jongdae, who was watching Minseok, before his gaze once again settled on Minseok.

“Let us help, Minseok,” Jongdae coaxed. “You don’t have to fight this on your own.”

“Yes, I do,” Minseok shot back. “Crow has made sure of that more than once.”

“Crow?” Junmyeon asked, and when Minseok remained silent, Jongdae spoke up.

“The sorcerer who cursed him,” the stable hand said softly, sending Minseok an apologetic look when the older man frowned.

“It does not matter who he is,” Minseok stated firmly, shaking his head. “You already know more than you should.”

“But we must know it all,” Jongdae countered, his gaze pleading as he leaned closer to the other man. “If what you said is true, and the crow is laying a claim on our lives, wouldn’t it benefit us to know what we’re up against? To know what to look for?”

Junmyeon saw how Minseok hesitated, and quickly added to Jongdae’s words. “The curse is the only thing we have against him.”

When Minseok still refused to budge, Junmyeon’s tone softened, his voice losing its anger and leaving only urgency. “Please. Tell us.”

With one final sigh, Minseok’s shoulders sagged. He rose from his chair, eyes downcast and jaw clenched, and moved towards his desk. Rummaging through the papers that sat in the corner, he pulled one sheet from the bottom, old and weathered from frequent handling.

“When I was younger,” he started, staring at the paper for a moment longer before lifting his face to look at both Junmyeon and Jongdae, “Kou had me tell him what the crow had said, word for word. I hadn’t known it was the curse until later, and I had studied it often since, but nothing was ever produced from my efforts.”

He came back to the table, handing the paper to Junmyeon. “I doubt you will be able to make much of it, either. But this is the curse I carry.”

Junmyeon took the paper from the man’s outstretched hand, only letting his eyes sweep the words briefly before giving a short nod. He couldn’t look at it right now. Later, when his emotions were calmer, he would go through the lines. But for now, he was satisfied just to have it in his possession. The paper was folded and put into the inside pocket of his coat, his hand smoothing over the material as he cleared his throat.

“We will start first thing in the morning.” He spared a look around the cottage, stopping when his attention once more fell to Minseok. “Is there anything you wish to take with you?”

Minseok tilted his head. “… Take with me?”

Jongdae, always one step ahead, smiled at the words. “We have a bit of a trip. We shouldn’t take much.”

“Indeed,” Junmyeon agreed readily. “Essentials will have to do.”

“Wait, what are you talking about?” Minseok questioned, looking between the two. “Where are you taking me?”

“The safest place I can think of,” Junmyeon answered, finally giving his brother a smile. “The castle.”

Nat’s Notes: Fun fact: Angst <333  I mean, it can’t come as a surprise. Not now. Not after all our warnings. Heh. But we hope you like it! This is one of the chapters we’ve looked forward to the most since we started plotting. Also, one of our catch phrases: “Poor Seok.” Haha. But yesh, hope you liked it <3   The next chapter will be… pretty long, as well (Meg’s comment: among other things. Okay, sorry. I’m stopping now (Nat’s comment: Pfffft.)). Oops? Sigh. We fail at short chapters. (Another fun fact: We’ve reached 70.000 words! 72.000, to be more exact. Whoo! And 150 pages 8)) Anyway, yesh. I think I have nothing more to say. Thank you for reading! <3 And we love comments and upvotes and all that nice stuff <3 Definitely not hinting at anything. Nope.

Meg’s Notes: We’ve been looking forward to this chapter for quite some time, for some sick, sadistic reason (because look what we have done to poor Seok). But it was so much fun to write (I worry about our mentality (Nat’s comment: What? What? No. Not at all.))! We hope you enjoyed it. This one was very Seok-centric, with some XiuChen as well, but Sulay is working on it, haha ^^ And the chapter length, as Nat said, is getting longer (because I’m wordy as hell and it is rubbing off on her). Still, we hope you find all of these words to be as necessary as we did while writing. We work hard to make this plot the best it can be, and we love sharing it with all of you <333 Any comments or upvotes or whatnot are greatly appreciated to feed these poor writers’ souls <3333

We decided no rating would be necessary for this chapter, but if you happen to think otherwise, please let us know so we can rate accordingly!

Lovely readers, we will see you for Chapter 7!