Jongdae had to lean into the older boy’s body, as his legs were shaking with every step and he feared he would fall if he let go. The boy didn’t seem to mind though, and actually tightened his hold around him, allowing Jongdae to revel in the warmth of his side. Although he felt a bit bad, as he had completely wet the side of his expensive suit. He quickly frowned afterwards. Why was he sorry? He was rich, he'd be able to buy another as if it was nothing.

“You alright, Jongdae?” the boy named Yesung asked him.

It was strange. He felt an inkling of doubt in his chest. This boy was rich. What if he was tricking him and was just like Sir Jack and Madame Hyorin? The rich people were all the same – they ordered around the poor and treated them like they were the scum of the earth, acting as if they were kings and queens. They didn’t deserve anything. They didn’t need to work for it, they didn’t work for hours without end, starving whenever they didn’t have enough slips for food and scrapping at crumbs from leftovers.

No, they were raised with golden spoons in their mouths.

But Jongdae wanted to give Yesung the benefit of the doubt. Nodding, he murmured, “You can leave me here, sir. I know my way back home.”

Yesung paused in his tracks, and Jongdae was sure he was going to leave him there, wet, tired and lonely. “You can’t seriously believe I’ll leave you on your own out here. After you almost drowned?” Jongdae kept his gaze on the ground, and Yesung gently placed his hands on his shoulders, kneeling on the floor. “Are you really alright, Jongdae?”

Jongdae couldn’t stop his eyes from going watery, and he finally shook his head. “No,” he whispered.

“What can I do to help?” Yesung managed to catch his gaze, reaching his hand up and wiping a tear away. “Don’t cry, Jongdae. Everything’s going to be alright.”

He was soft to the touch, Jongdae noticed. He was being so gentle, but why? It didn’t make any sense. Yesung was wealthy and he was poor. “Why?” Jongdae found himself asking. He sniffled. “Why you being so nice to me?”

Yesung grinned at him, moving the hair out of his face. “Because everyone deserves a chance. Plus, you looked so sad, and I thought it would do no harm trying to help you out.”

Jongdae gulped. “Can you – can you go to my house and help my mama?” He wiped his eyes, shoulders jolting as he inhaled sharply. “Sh-she’s sick. My mama’s sick and she needs help, but – but daddy won’t do nothing. Daddy- daddy doesn’t love mommy, and he won’t he-help her. He wan-wants her to die,” he stammered, snot and tears running down his face and mixing into one.

“Hey, hey,” Yesung softly spoke, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a handkerchief, wiping his face. “Shh, it’s alright, Jongdae. Take a deep breath and count to ten.”

He did so, breath shaking as he inhaled, his hands reaching up to Yesung’s sleeves, fingers curling around the fabric as he started to count. By ten, he had calmed down, his breath was still shaky but the tears had dried and he felt he could think clearly now.

“My mama needs help,” he finally said, shutting his eyes. “I-I went to Madame Hyorin and Sir Jack’s home to try and ask for help, b-but they was so mean. They threw me out. A-and I asked some poor folk, too, but they don’t wanna help.” He opened his eyes, staring Yesung in the eye. “Will you please help my mama, Sir Yesung? She’ll die if she don’t get help.”

He smiled, rubbing his hands on his arms. “Of course I will.” He stood up. “Lead the way, Jongdae. And please – just call me Yesung.”

No words could describe the happiness he felt in that moment. For the first time in days, the sides of his lips curled up and he grinned, not wasting another minute and grabbed Yesung’s hand, sprinting as fast as his feeble legs could. About halfway there, Yesung stopped him, digging his feet in the floor after failed attempts of calling his name.

Jongdae was pissed. What was more important than saving his mother? He just about started to yell, anger bubbling up in his chest but stopped once he saw the older boy kneeling down and picking up some herbs and flowers.

He noticed Jongdae’s slightly angered and curious expression. “These are medicinal herbs. They’ll help your mother get better. The flowers are to make her feel better.”

“How? Are they gonna heal her or somethin’? Are they m-medisnal?” Jongdae quizzed, confused on how a couple of flowers could make his mother feel better.

“Medicinal. And they’re pretty,” Yesung replied, standing up with a smile. “Women love pretty things. They always make them happy.”

Jongdae was still not buying it but went along anyway, grabbing the hand that wasn’t holding the stuff and started back down the path. Finally, they arrived at his little wooden house, and he hurriedly slammed his side in the front door, not caring about the pain that erupted there afterwards. He dragged Yesung to his mother, avoiding the shards of glass from the bottle his father had broken earlier (he was going to have to clean that up later) staring at her with tears in his eyes and allowing the older male to check her temperature, placing his hand on her forehead.

“She’s burning up,” Yesung stated. “I’ll go boil these herbs.” He took his suit jacket off and put it on top of the dozens of blankets.

“Is she gonna be alright?” Jongdae asked, staring at him with frightened eyes. “Mama’s never been this sick before.”

Yesung placed the flowers on the nightstand, giving him a nod. “She’ll be better, I promise.”

He sat next to her, tearing up when he heard her whimper. Her head tilted up and her eyes groggily opened. “Jongie…? Jongie... what are ya doin’?” she asked.

He jumped, embracing her and mentally yelling at himself as he felt tears stream down his face. I’m supposed to be strong, he thought. Daddy wants a tough son, not a girly one. “M-mama, you’re up.”

“Where’s dad?” she mumbled. “Is he here?”

Of course she’d asked for him. She was always looking out for his father, she cooked, she cleaned, she loved, she spent hours working to get slips for him and what did he do?

He neglected her and turned to the bottle.

Jongdae didn’t remember a time where his father was entirely sober. According to his mother, he had only started recently but he knew they were lies. His father was never there when he was younger, and he always reeked of disgusting alcohol when he was around.

He shook his head. His mother had told him lying was bad, so he would always tell the truth, even though he knew it would hurt her. Jongdae would never lie, he was better than that.

“No mama,” he muttered, gulping as she let out a depressed sigh. “D-daddy left earlier.”

All he could do was grab his mother’s hand, kiss it and shut his eyes because he couldn’t bear to see his mother’s eyes grow glossy, tears leaving her eyes before she could even fully process his words with her lip beginning to quiver. Frankly, his mother never cried around him, sometimes he would faintly hear her cries when she would be alone in the other room – they were usually just soft and smothered by her hand - and other times he would notice her red eyes, but he’d never witnessed her sob openly.

The sickness must have taken over her ability to stop whatever tears she’d held in, and God, he felt so guilty as her body began to shake and she let out choked sobs. “M-mama,” he mumbled, “it’s okay. I’m here with you. I love you, mama.” He held her head to his chest, gulping down the lump in his throat as he silently cried.

He looked up, catching the eye of Yesung, who was quietly waiting at the doorway with the tea. The latter headed in and he kept his gaze to the blankets, lifting his mother’s head to help her drink the tea.

Once she was done with her tea, she ended up falling back to sleep in Jongdae’s arms. He gazed at the dried tear stains on her face, running his fingers through her hair.

“She’ll be alright now, Jongdae,” Yesung said, sitting down at the edge of the bed. “You don’t have to worry.”

Jongdae kept his gaze on her. “Mama don’t usually cry in front of me. She was too sick to stop.”

Gritting his teeth, he added, “Daddy don’t care about my mama, but she loves him. I love him. But he don’t love us.”

Yesung’s eyes trailed across the room. “You don’t know that,” he whispered.

“I do. He told me before.” He finally looked up. “I thought if I died daddy would start lovin’ her again. She needs daddy, but daddy don’t want her. He wants the drink. He comes here sometimes but he ain’t really here.” His bottom lip quivered. “Can’t you be my daddy?”

Yesung gulped, slowly shaking his head. “You know I can’t Jongdae.”

Of course. Of course he couldn’t. It was stupid for him to have even asked when he knew what the answer was going to be. He had just met Yesung – he hadn’t even known him for a day and he asked him such a ridiculous question. To add to that, Yesung wasn’t even a day over twenty, had he really asked a child to be his father? He shut his eyes in embarrassment. He had forgotten that Yesung was rich. What wealthy person would adopt a poor mother and her child?

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I just- daddy never was nice to me like you was. No one’s ever been nice to me like you was, except for mama. I’m sorry.”

Yesung scooted closer, wrapping his arms around both his mother and him. “It’s alright Jongdae. I may not be able to be your father, but I’ll be your friend.”

Jongdae sniffled. “Friend? W-what’s a friend?”

Chuckling, Yesung replied, “Someone who will always care for you, look out for you and love you. I’ll always be there for you Jongdae.”

Jongdae’s hands shook as he felt that unnerving chill travel down his spine. They knew. Jiyoung and Jongin both knew he had his powers and now he was being bombarded with their encouragement – their words telling him that this was a good thing. Magic was good. His powers were good. His aura was good.

But it wasn’t. It wasn’t.

He felt panic in his bones, his fingers curling at every moment as they asked him to try, but he just couldn’t! His