“Emerge from darkness, blacker than darkness,” he mutters clearly. “Purify that which is impure.”

 

An inky spot appears from behind a pillowy cloud before it expands in volume, shunning all the bright rays from the sun as it drapes to form a protective curtain around the abandoned mall. The veil is always needed to lure the curses out of their hiding spots while keeping them out of public sight.

 

The sorcerer then whips his head around and grins, his blond hair bobbing along to the movement. “Let’s go and finish them off.”

 

Minho only stares at him, acknowledging the grin and knowing far too well the corners of his eyes must’ve crinkled underneath that blindfold. He allows a smile to stretch across his own face as he steps forward until they are side-by-side and nods.

 

“Fine. Let’s go, Taemin.”

 

***

 

Here is a well-known fact: Taemin is, without a doubt, the strongest sorcerer alive.

 

No one ever comes close to his level of mastery when it comes to utilising curse techniques and alleviating all the shortcomings. It takes years of practice and training for one to be able to possess that much prowess—and that weary platitude does dance on the breeze in the sacred house of sorcery more often than the residents would love to admit—but Taemin is simply different. He descends from one of the most prominent clans, the pride of the Lee family, and he knows that best. 

 

Ranging from plucky semi-grade one to special-grade, both registered and unregistered, all of the curses come as easy as breathing for Taemin to handle. Let alone the blindfold, just an effortless wave of his hand could reduce these curses to a mediocre amount, which is why he’s often reserved for the most unsalvageable situations.

 

Because people know he’s the indestructible anomaly within the community with immense strength and close-to-nonexistent weakness.

 

Unlike Taemin, though, Minho doesn’t come from the Big Three Families. In fact, he comes from a non-sorcerer background whose members would rather be merely humans than anything else, and that reality alone has set him miles and miles apart from being as amazing of a sorcerer as Taemin. No inherited abilities, no proper introduction into this world full of strong, insurmountable energies; one could say he was almost not ready when he first stepped into Jujutsu High.

 

And yet, despite all the clear differences and sharp distinction between them, he still finds himself attracted to Taemin. 

 

No, not the crush kind of attraction—at least that’s what he convinces himself to believe—but it’s the instant inhuman force that catapults him to Taemin whenever he’s within reach. It’s weird. It’s surreal. Minho isn’t someone who feels for other people except the weak and those who are in dire need of help (not Taemin, obviously), but for some inexplicable reason… that happens. Whatever that entails.

 

He opens his eyes again after letting them rest for a while, staring at his mentor as the debrief continues. They just finished exorcising a pack of low-grade curses in the mall when a special grade popped up unwarranted before them, but they’ve been training tirelessly together to grow to their strongest selves to handle it effortlessly.

 

“I don’t understand why we need to hear this.”

 

He hears a grumble from his right, making the corner of his lips curl into a thin-lined smile. Enough to hide it from the mentor as the complaining continues, “Like, we finished off the mission. We reported to them. Why tell us something that we’ve witnessed and done ourselves?”

 

“He can hear you,” Minho reminds him softly. “Tone it down a bit.”

 

“Let him be!” He pouts in retaliation, chin propped onto the breadth of his palm as he stares past the mentor and straight at the blank blackboard behind him. “He should’ve dismissed us!”

 

“I will, Taemin,” Jinki—their mentor—finally says while crossing his arms. “After I’m done with this, that is. So, focus.”

 

“Oh, sir!” 

 

“Minho,” Jinki calls out instead. He points a finger at him before gesturing at the pouting blondie. “You take care of him.” 

 

There’s another huff of defiance before Taemin plops his head on his folded arms over the table, mouthing a ‘no fun’ to Minho before he closes his eyes. 

 

He’s known for his nonchalant behaviour, very unprincipled and carefree. He dislikes following the norm, enjoys breaking the rules but employing the best of his time as a sorcerer instead. It doesn't make him rude or crude, though. Everyone in the Jujutsu High is aware of it and agrees that it’s just his nature to be like that—silly, funny, blasé, unhinged. That’s quintessentially Taemin in their eyes.

 

Contradictorily, Minho is a prim, strait-laced man. He knows what’s worth fighting for and his regard for righteousness always prevails in his battles. When being paired with Taemin for missions, he appears to be the most responsible and sensible of the two, balancing out Taemin’s playfulness to ensure they come back intact with no excessive cursed energies wasted.

 

The divide between their personality traits is like a gulf, Minho thinks as he remains in his seat, gaze fixating at the other. But that’s how partners complement one another, right? Not in terms of dating—not that he insinuated that—but just… being together, in general.

 

By then, Taemin is already out as a light, uncaring of the stat mentioned over and over again. Jinki’s voice barely filtrates into Minho’s ears anymore, too. It’s like a form of dim chaos that he decides to silence as he focuses on his partner, staring unabashedly as he snores quietly.

 

From here, save for the dark sunglasses perching low on the bridge of his nose, Minho could see Taemin’s features very well. Starting from his eyelashes, naturally long and impossibly thick, correction-fluid white. They would’ve looked unsettling on others but not Taemin. If anything, it flatters his complexion, accentuating the shape of his eyes, like a very delicate frame to his otherwise striking bright-blue eyes. Pretty things are created for pretty people, after all.

 

Then his gaze descends to the shapely nose. There should be a mole somewhere there, probably hidden by the nose pads now that he hasn’t taken his sunglasses off yet. His breath comes out in an upset rush of air. That’s his personal favourite, one that he always catches himself looking at far too long to be considered as just looking before he hurriedly looks away. It’s a good thing that the beauty point settles low on his nose, so not even a bandage or blindfold could cover it while they are out to complete their tasks. 

 

There are times when he so desperately wants to let his intrusive thoughts win. Then, perhaps, he would have garnered enough bravery to boop his nose and touch his mole. Would Taemin freak out? Shriek? Snort? Or would he blink and blush? It’s very unlikely for him to take it seriously, anyway. So what if he does? What if he stutters and laughs that wheezy, soft, heavenly laughter that—

 

“Minho.”

 

He snaps out of his thoughts and lifts his head to find the owner of the voice. Jinki is already standing near the sliding door, his laptop and notebook deftly held in one arm as they lock gazes. Minho is rather professional at acting indifferent. Whether or not he gets caught is beside the point since it’s clear enough that the older man has set a certain character judgement on him. His pupils remain unresponsive, body still as a statue as he patiently waits.

 

Jinki’s eyes then shift to the sleeping sorcerer whose face is tucked away from his sight, still an undeniable grump even while sleeping. It seems to Minho that he has something to say—something that isn’t, for once, about sorcery—but he doesn’t force upon it when their eyes meet the second time in that suspended silence.

 

“Rest well later. You both did a good job today,” is all Jinki ends up saying. There’s a hint of a relief in his words and it’s so brief that Minho is sure he would’ve missed it if he wasn’t listening to Jinki with rapt attention. 

 

He nods anyway, head dipping in a quick bow. “Thank you, sir.”

 

“And take care of that brat. I know you care for him a lot.” 

 

With that, he leaves. The thud resounds in the classroom as Minho stares at the closed door, torn between accepting it as a fellow sorcerer (professionally) or a fellow human who is man enough to love and be loved (unprofessionally).

 

“You heard him.”

 

And Minho blinks down in surprise at the sound of Taemin’s voice. A pair of impossibly beautiful eyes come into sight, a sky of light blue encased in two round orbs as they stare up at him. Those are an innate gift, nonstandard and extraordinary. “Take care of me.”

 

“Haven’t I done it enough?” Minho teases, a stray strand of jet black hair falling across his face as he tilts his head. 

 

Taemin pouts the way he assumes would rile Minho up and extends his arms. “It’s not quite enough, Min!” He huffs before it resolves, an imaginary bulb lighting up at his temple as he perks up. “Oh, I think I have one way to attest to it.”

 

“What is it?” Minho asks, more than willing to humour him, blatantly ignoring the erratic way his heart hammers against his own ribcage.

 

Then Taemin’s mischief resurfaces. He nudges his sunglasses high again—unknowingly deprives Minho of those clear blue crystals—and claps his hands aloud. “Late night icy treats!”

 

And Minho doesn’t remember when, fails to register how, but he finds himself standing in the convenience store regardless as Taemin buries his head deep in the ice cream fridge. It’s way past their curfew and his morals would’ve halted their intention before it manifested into an actual moving plan, but he knows for sure that he would never deny Taemin the resources he needs.

 

Plus, there’s nothing as remotely rewarding as this comforting warmth that settles in his weary body as he watches the blond head pop back out of the chilled box, hand holding up at least three popsicles with three different flavours.

 

“Found them!” Taemin announces, beaming like the sunrise. “The very last ones in stock!”

 

Minho smiles, realisation dawning. He’s definitely bent on siding with Taemin and he regrets not one moment of doing it.

 

***

 

On that fine summer morning, Minho busies himself on the training grounds. He realises that, with every completed mission, he gains a better understanding of his own abilities. The constant use of his cursed techniques is steadily catching up to his partner, and it’s just another well-known fact that he’s now the next strongest sorcerer after Taemin in the current Jujutsu community.

 

And to tell the truth, he never desires to change that.

 

He’s strong for his cursed spirit manipulative power, a technique no other sorcerers could ever, ever replicate in this lifetime and after. It’s almost as powerful as an inherited power, except it can’t be passed down because there’s no established familial connection to it. He’s also a highly capable and expert close-quarters fighter and this one—quoting Taemin—is definitely his strongest suit if the occasions don’t involve curses.

 

“Even I would die in your hands!”  

 

He remembers Taemin shrieked. 

 

“…without Limitless activated, of course.” 

 

The conversation always plays in his mind like a broken loop. He doesn’t know if it’s more about the topic or just Taemin’s voice alone, but it helps him big time to re-centre his focus in generating cursed energies as he trains on and on under the sun.

 

“Minho? Minho! Oh, there you are!”

 

He hears an irregular clatter of footsteps running down the short steps before the person stands under the shady tree to shield from the direct sunlight. Minho turns around, both eyebrows raised as he takes in Taemin’s appearance. He’s in the uniform but he’s not wearing his sunglasses. No blindfold, no bandage, nothing.

 

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” Taemin nearly whines. Minho’s heart stutters a little. “I need your help.”

 

“What help?” Minho asks as he walks towards where the other is standing, sweat glistening over his skin in clear rivulets. Summer has been challenging this year. The heat is no joke but that isn’t enough of an excuse for him not to train. “And why aren’t you wearing anything to cover your eyes? It will exhaust you.”

 

Silence clings to the air and it lasts long enough for Minho to question himself if he did actually lodge the question or not. Though, his breath ends up getting caught in his throat when he notes the slow descent along his frame. Taemin practically falls quiet as he ogles, watching how the t-shirt sticks to Minho’s body from the sweat, drawing out the hard lines of his abs. 

 

He seems to be taking his time, too. Minho feels his gaze travel from his lower abdomen up to his chest then down his exposed, veiny arms. Then a stifled gasp is heard. Taemin is certainly exhaling way too loudly than intended.

 

Or is it a moan?

 

It can’t be a moan.

 

Oh God, is he ?

 

“Taemin?” Minho peeks from the side. “Hello?”

 

His act seems to pull the other out of his reverie. Bright-blue eyes widen as he bats his eyelashes, looking away and clearing his throat as he mumbles aloud. “Right!” His voice cracks and they both visibly wince at it. “I’m—are you training or tanning?”

 

“Well, both?”

 

“This isn’t the place to tan! Put on your shirt,” Taemin says while still resolutely looking away at the garden instead.

 

Minho raises his eyebrows higher, amused. “I don’t know how to break this to you, Taemin, but I am wearing a shirt right now. Do I look half to you?”

 

Taemin, pretending his brain didn’t just melt out of embarrassment at the question, promptly opens his mouth to answer:

 

“Oh.” 

 

Another silence ensues. Minho has approximately two seconds to change the topic and save them from the awkwardness before Taemin finally looks up. He’s the strongest sorcerer, after all. Bravery is just another requisite, he concludes until he notices Taemin’s expression.

 

Minho blinks, his brain short-circuiting for a second.

 

Huh. Bright scarlet ignites across Taemin’s face. His eyes are big as saucers, lips a little parted. It’s enticing, like it’s calling for something Minho doesn’t dare put a finger on just yet. That’s so uncharacteristic of him, but damn. 

 

Taemin is blushing.

 

“Anyway!” He tacks on, a little too vulnerably bashful as he swats a hand to divert the other’s attention elsewhere. “I got my bandage ripped during yesterday’s mission, so I need your help to—” He gestures around his head. “—cover my eyes.”

 

“But you have your blindfold, no?” Minho asks rather dumbly.

 

And he has never regretted asking anything until he sees how outright upset Taemin gets over his question. Taemin doesn’t even get annoyed very easily, so for him to be this disappointed—lips pursed out, chin turning down and head drooping evidently—it means Minho has screwed up big, big time.

 

“Alright,” Minho says, slightly baffled still. “Alright. Come, let me help you with it.”

 

Taemin’s smile returns almost immediately, wide and bright. He puts the bandage in the taller man’s hand afterwards. “Thank you! It’s really difficult to live the way I do, isn’t it?”

 

“I don’t think so.”

 

Minho mumbles as he unclips the bandage and pulls it open, dampening his lips slightly. He always thinks of propriety. It doesn’t matter what circumstances he’s in, he will only act with rationale and common sense. That’s just how he was built—starchy, proper. 

 

But when he lifts his head and the same sky blue eyes stare at him expectantly, he’s worried if his judgement will lapse again. 

 

He breathes in deeply. Be professional, he reminds himself over and over as he lays the cloth across Taemin’s forehead, encircling it around his head before bringing one end back to the front. Don’t think of anything, he continues with the internal ted-talk with himself as he leans down slightly. This is the tricky part. Crossing it too tightly will hurt Taemin’s eyes which will eventually disrupt his focus. It has to be nice; not too tight, not too loose, just right.

 

The cloth then hovers over one eye and, okay, maybe Minho is being way too careful with this. His finger accidentally brushes against Taemin’s eyelashes and he jumps slightly in surprise, making the other laugh loudly as he undoes the placement to check on said left eye.

 

“Why are you so worried? Those are just my eyelashes!” Taemin chuckles. 

 

“I was just… well, worried…” Minho mumbles and checks one last time before proceeding with his task. How could he not be? Those white eyelashes look so beautifully fragile. Very pure and cottony, like the downy fluffs of a dandelion that will flutter in the wind when blown on. What if his stupidly nimble finger destroys them?

 

With Taemin’s absent reply, he continues to cover the other eye and ties a fixable knot behind his head. Close proximity be damned. If he embarasses himself once more, he will just keel over and die. Better get this done with as soon as possible before he messes up further.

 

“There you go.”

 

“Waaah!” Taemin reaches back to touch the neat knot. The scarlet has intensified, but he seems to be better at controlling it now. He tries. Then, he spins on his heels and starts to walk away. “Thank you, Minho! Now I can go out with my friends without getting tired!”

 

Minho snorts because really, who does he think he’s fooling? Taemin considers nobody a friend except himself. He’s probably spouting nonsense, but Minho is a natural busybody. A nosy man. He needs to know where the other is going nonetheless. 

 

“Where are you go—”

 

His voice cuts off when Taemin meets his gaze again through the neatly folded bandage and says, “Your eyes are very beautiful, Minho!”

 

He gasps.

 

“I mean, I’ve always known you have big eyes, but I didn’t know you have clear brown irises. It’s a very pretty colour.” 

 

Taemin elaborates extensively and Minho forces himself to heed so he won’t miss out on the blush that darkens across that porcelain skin. He feels his own face grow warm at the flattering words, but he remains quiet. Words are stuck in his throat, his stance stock. 

 

Should he say thank you? 

 

“Just thought of letting you know, though! I know you’ve been gushing at Jonghyun about my eyes.” Taemin adds with a cheeky smile before waving his hand and disappearing into the building, leaving the flabbergasted man alone on the training grounds.

 

The sun continues to cast Minho’s shadow over the ground as he touches the corner of his eye and swallows hard. Something stirs in his chest. He knows, undeniably, irrevocably, that he harbours a special feeling for Taemin. What he doesn’t know is whether that sentiment is being reciprocated or not.

 

But after today, Minho thinks as he reminisces about the bright blush he’d witnessed just a while ago and wipes the silly grin off his face. At least he knows he’s got a chance.

 

***

 

There’s nothing such as fixed holidays or breaks for the sorcerers. Even as students, it is crucial for them to succumb to the continuous loop of training in terms of mastering the basics and completing missions, no matter. Only those who confront curses more vigilantly are able to generate confidence to be promoted to a higher grade. It’s a dream of many.

 

Many except Taemin and Minho who are already in the league of their own. Enough of curses—a reprieve away from them is greatly appreciated.

 

“This feels weirdly normal,” Taemin muses aloud while swinging his leg under the table, sunglasses sitting high on the bridge of his nose as he pauses to stare.

 

Minho follows his line of sight and spots a small group of kids on the sandy area of the beach, probably building sandcastles and whatnot together. He doesn’t bother to identify their activity, refuses to invest in people’s business, so he turns around again and takes a sip of the orange juice. “It’s the same.”

 

“It’s not! I mean, look at you,” Taemin says before leaning over the table, surprising Minho from the close proximity but he doesn’t flinch. “You really look different when you’re not wearing that black ominous uniform.” Then, just as casually, he adds. “Although you’re wearing a black shirt now all the same.”

 

“You do realise our uniforms are similar, right?”

 

He shrugs. “Then I guess it means something because you certainly wear it better than I do.”

 

Okay, wow. Minho stops sipping his juice as he looks at Taemin. He tries to find any hint of playfulness to it. There’s no way he would spout unprovoked compliments for nothing. His head then whips around, a little too comically frantic.

 

“What are you doing?” Taemin laughs.

 

“Searching for ice cream vendors,” Minho replies before meeting his eyes again, grinning. “In case you’re only buttering me up for a treat.”

 

“I’m not!”

 

“You could be.”

 

“Do not!” Taemin purses his lips into a pout, face in his hands while glaring pointedly at Minho the way a kid would at their parents for snatching away his toys. “ The Lee Taemin does not butter anyone up for a treat.”

 

And it takes everything within for Minho not to coo out loud. His efforts at holding himself back must be obvious because Taemin continues to give him a thousand-metre stare, chin turned down a little to expose his eyes. They squint, only the slivers of sky blue are visible, and Minho breaks into a wide smile.

 

At times like this, he’s often reminded of the reason why they are paired together. Taemin is just a child trapped in the body of a mature, strong bloke. The constant need to play and have fun never leaves him, which is only appropriate, considering how he was pretty much denied to have that phase in life. For them whose childhood has been robbed for learning sorcery and fighting off landed or fluttering curses, the carefree status of children is something worth envying, so Minho gets it.

 

And he’s very sure nobody gets Taemin the way he does, even if his traits are the complete opposite and stretching the rules is unlawful by his best belief.

 

“Fine,” Minho mumbles as he reaches out to pinch Taemin’s cheek lightly. “Fine, alright. You compliment me genuinely.”

 

“That I do.” 

 

The skin warms up at once under his touch before a pretty shade of coral spreads across those high cheekbones. By now, he’s got his sunglasses up high again—dammit—but Minho gets a full, proper view of his face all the same. He twists his hand a little, now using the back of his finger to caress the delicate slope of Taemin’s cheek down to his chin. Perhaps, sitting facing each other isn’t so bad, after all.

 

“What are you doing?” 

 

The question comes in a very small projection and it tickles Minho’s ear in the best way possible. There’s no reluctance or disgust in his tone, thank God. 

 

“I just think…” Minho trails off, his gaze flickering between his own thumb and Taemin’s slightly parted lips. There’s a chance to backtrack. A chance to stop talking altogether. But then: “I just think you’re very beautiful.”

 

Taemin’s breath hitches and Minho feels so, so unrightfully sinful for being able to hear it escape through the narrowed slit between those plump tiers. Another thought resurfaces at the back of his messy mind, though he reels it in for the time being. 

 

Looking up from his lips, Minho finds Taemin is already waiting to meet his gaze squarely. His sunglasses are off and away, showcasing the vulnerability of the sky blue eyes as he stares at him attentively. Something about this feels very intimate that it activates the carnal desire in the pit of Minho’s stomach and not even the breeze could soothe what has been set alight between them.

 

A moment passes. Tidal waves crash and roar quietly in the near distance, then another, and another.

 

They’re still staring at each other. 

 

At last, when his threadbare patience snaps, Minho finally gives in to his unspoken want and asks, “May I kiss you?” He sounds breathless, full of care and too much love, as though he needs the other to know that it’s fine to decline. It’s fine to say reject and no, but God, please.

 

Please say yes. 

 

“You may do anything you want with me.”

 

The confession leaves Taemin’s mouth in a timid rush of air, but it’s honest. The gleam in those eyes never lies, now mirrored in Minho’s own except it changes into a hungry glint instead as he cradles the flushed cheek and leans in to press their lips together in a soft, yearning kiss. Taemin squeaks against his mouth at the first contact (it’s very endearing, indeed), and Minho lets the sound fill him up and never leaves him ever.

 

Minho’s heart does a stupid backflip when Taemin moves his lips slowly, trying to reciprocate the kiss without vying for control. Doing this in public is by far the craziest thing they’ve ever done together. Minho is often the one to break the delusion of doing any more ridiculous plans because he’s a polite man whose lifestyle runs in parallel with the decencies of life, but nothing concerns him more now than the addictive taste of Taemin’s soft, plushed lips pushing in between his for more, more, and more.

 

Taemin slowly glides a hand up to hold Minho’s wrist then further up to rest on the sharp, defined jaw, holding his face close as they explore each other in a mutual, disclosed rhythm. Minho takes that chance to swipe his tongue across Taemin’s pliant bottom lip in askance, making him gasp before he opens up to grant access. The stifled noise grows into an audible moan at the meeting of hot tongues and Minho feels the small hand travel up to take hold of his hair for leverage.

 

Whatever sound escapes, Minho swallows it, still devouring Taemin from all the years of holding himself back. Nothing—and by this he means not even the bloodline of those Big Three Families and special grade cursed spirits—scares him more than crossing their sacred friendship line that he’d rather bury away his feelings if that means he doesn’t lose Taemin. But then, again, this is different. And suddenly, all those fears dissipate as he revels in the shared moment by deepening the kiss further, ripping heat through their skins like wildfire.

 

“Where are… oh, hey, guys!”

 

Both of them gasp and pull away at the sound of Jonghyun’s voice, breaking apart from whatever point they were once connected together as the shorter sorcerer runs towards their table. He’s as clueless as always, arms extended out as he grins widely. “Your takoyaki!”

 

Taemin quickly grabs his sunglasses and puts them on. “Oh… takoyaki!” He laughs awkwardly, scratching the back of his ear. “Right. Did we ask you to buy for us?”

 

“You did.” Jonghyun blinks. Then, he turns to Minho, blinking even faster. “Didn’t you?”

 

Minho, whose mind is still clouded with the taste of Taemin’s lips, only shrugs. “I can’t remember. Maybe I did.” 

 

The shorter one beams. “I knew it! So.” He shoves the box to Minho’s face pointedly, grinning widely. “Do have it! I need to go and meet Kibum before the mentor summons us.”

 

Minho takes the box, puts it on the table, and has half the mind to express his gratitude to the other when Jonghyun already bolts off, chasing after a fellow sorcerer as he grumpily stomps away. The scene makes him laugh, though the merriment dies the second his eyes meet Taemin’s shaded ones.

 

The boy is pouting.

 

“What now, Tae?” Minho asks calmly. 

 

He so badly wants to tease, but what reels him back is the way Taemin’s shoulders sag with disappointment, white eyelashes fluttering low behind his sunglasses. Did he hate the kiss? 

 

“Tae,” Minho calls softly. Worries begin bubbling rapidly in the pit of his stomach. “Are you angry that I kiss—”

 

His words are cut short when Taemin suddenly lifts his head and yells: “Jonghyun, I’ll rip your hair when I see you later!” 

 

It takes Minho by surprise. He even flinches back from the projection then quickly looks around, praying to every god there is to keep Jonghyun anywhere but nearby. This boy is fuming. 

 

“He interrupted us!” Taemin whines afterwards and throws his head to the table rebelliously. It lands way too hard than intended that he grunts and starts babbling. 

 

He says something about how he already told Jonghyun not to bring Kibum to the same beach and something else about Jinki…—Minho doesn’t quite follow that one. What he follows, though, is the movement of Taemin’s glossed lips, knowing very well the reason they ended up looking like that. It makes him smile, and maybe, well, blush a little as well.

 

“Enough of complaining already. We can always do it again,” Minho says. He acts nonchalant but he’s so sure his heart misses three beats as he jabs at one takoyaki ball and brings it to Taemin’s lips, offering it. “Unless you hated it.”

 

When he earns nothing as a reply, Minho hums. “Thought so.” He’s about to bring the takoyaki to his own mouth before Taemin holds his hand, puts it down and pretty much lays across the table to pull Minho into a kiss.

 

“I want,” he almost whines against his lips, and Minho feels his cursed energies go haywire in his body. He’s unstable as . “I want to do it again.”

 

He has about three seconds to recollect himself and start moving along to the kiss, but the opportunity slips as Taemin pulls away and leads Minho’s hand again to feed him the takoyaki. “And I want this, too.” He beams his unidentifiable signature noise.

 

Minho stares, dumbfounded. It doesn’t change the fact that his ears burn from the entire ordeal, so he looks down and laughs helplessly instead. “You’re such a brat.”

 

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

 

“You’re a pretty brat?”

 

“…not that!”

 

“You’re the prettiest brat?”

 

“Shut up!” 

 

***

 

“This isn’t right.”

 

Kibum shots a sidelong glare at Jinki. If looks could kill, this one would have their mentor dead. “Don’t joke about it, sir. Love wins.”

 

“Correct.” Jonghyun pipes in, nodding firmly.

 

“No—that’s not what I mean,” Jinki grunts, half-whispering and half-chastising. He peeks from behind the tree again, watching as Minho and Taemin take turns feeding one another. “It’s not right because they’re the strongest in our community.”

 

Annoyed, both Jonghyun and Kibum say in unison: “And?”

 

“And it’s challenging if something is to go wrong. One could absorb curses and embody the power, the other one could split this world into two then break it into pieces if he wants to. Together, they’re undefeated. But apart… or as enemies,” Jinki pauses, then continues. “It will be the end for everyone.”

 

“Sir…”

 

“Don’t get me wrong!” He laughs afterwards, shaking his hands. “I like seeing them like this. Love is a beautiful feeling.”

 

And all three heads pop out from behind the trunk, spying on the lovebirds from a safe distance.

 

“There’s no curse more twisted than love, that’s all.”

 

Though, deep inside, Jinki knows nothing could potentially come in between them. They’re both mentally, physically, and now emotionally, attached to one another. Whatever happens, they will resolve it together, even without having their skills activated and others’ lives in jeopardy.

 

Jinki giggles. “Shall we tease them when they’re back?”

 

“Sir, no! We will get caught! Noooo!”

 

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A/N: very self indulgent as usual. 6v6 i'm currently drafting something but i've missed being here! do talk to me about anything. <3