Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Jisung closes his dry eyes, willing them to open again. They do, finally- after what feels like hours. He blinks lazily, staring up at the ornate clock above him as the golden second hand ticks by. It hasn’t even been five minutes since he last looked at the time.

Maybe that’s his queue to call it a night.

Jisung rolls his eyes down to glare weakly at the open text in front of him, ancient ruins long forgotten by modern civilization dancing together in his blurred gaze. He wants to throw the book in his frustration, but the parchment looks like it would shatter if he even touched it without the sacred gloves he adorns. Instead he throws his tablet, notes app open to half-scrawled lines of shapes decoded into Korean translations, onto the plush comforter of his bed. Not damaging in the slightest, but still enough to satisfy the need to petulantly retaliate against insentient beings.

Taking off the gloves and locking them away, Jisung stands up and wills his back to crack. The solid line popping down his spine makes him groan in satisfaction, soon losing the tension in his shoulders like a puppet with cut strings. He blinks again to clear his blurry vision, wandering to his kitchen to drain the last of his herbal tea from the kettle left on the now-cool stovetop.

Taking up spellwork is a decision Jisung never consciously made. When he was a young boy, he spent most of his days with Eomma over her bookcase and working desk; pouches were made for good health in their neighbors, money trees adorned with actual gold coins and special candles lit around them, Eomma’s familiar headbutting his leg every time the little brown cat wanted attention. His father was a keeper of divine text, some books so old they were written on tablets with cuneiform and others so evil they were locked behind boxes, in chests, surrounded by magical warding behind the protected holding case in their basement. Jisung was raised in the world of herbal magic and hallowed knowledge. The obvious route for him to take was always the Seoul School of Sacred Arts.

Though hidden from most, the academy takes up a major space on the outskirts of Seoul. Where the average person would see an abandoned, once-grand architectural heap of wood and dust, Jisung and other students who have special gifts walk right into a whole different world. While he had always thought he would major in music or graphic design, Jisung ended up majoring in Ancient Literature and Decoding. He thinks it’s pretty cool.

The only thing he could really do without is the piles and piles of work he all but signed up for when his major was chosen. The academy pairs each student with the major that they see most beneficial in their freaky eye orb- quite literally a crystal ball shaped sphere, with a giant, mystical, golden eye blinking into the soul of the seeker- and thus, their prophecy is written. Or whatever weird old-timer shit the Grand Coven spews during the freshmen orientation speech. Really, Jisung loves that he was chosen as one of the strongest intellects in his class. But he didn’t realize he was also signing up to figure out why a circle is code for the sun but a slightly longer, thinner circle is code for an angel (sometimes, other times it is considered a cloud). And that’s just in one of the thousands of books he has been assigned to carry the weight of decoding the secrets of in past semesters.

But whatever. Truly, it is past his bedtime. Once the clock strikes 3am, Jisung’s brain starts to imagine the shadows in the corners of his studio apartment are shifting with an inhuman heartbeat.

Most of Jisung’s Mondays (and Wednesdays) pass like this:

His first class is Potion Brewing at 9:00am. Jisung has never really been good at cooking, or rather brewing, but the introductory course is easy enough to fumble through whenever his partner is Felix. Felix is a blonde haired half-man, half-pixie, who quickly adopted Jisung into his group of friends after Jisung’s first words to him were, Oh my god, are all pixies fucking hot or just the ones I’ve met? In Jisung’s defense, he really has only met hot pixies.

His second class starts at 10:30am, and he has just enough time to dawn his protective labcoat before starting the scientific study of Creature Anatomy. He has never been super psyched about the whole ‘cutting open innocent lives,’ thing, but thankfully their master mostly uses visual magic to project the idea of the creature onto an empty metal tray. His partner for this class, like most others, is Seungmin, which helps when he feels too geeked to actually touch the insides of the holographic entity.

Now, he has two hours for lunch and to hole up in the library with his nose shoved in whatever book is haunting him this week before his afternoon classes.

“Do you ever get tired of grabbing whatever sushi the student lounge is selling that doesn’t look expired for lunch?” And of course, Seungmin is there too.

Jisung huffs in unamused laughter, his chopsticks halfway to his open mouth when he looks up at the other boy. “The expired stuff is always on the first shelf, at the front. The trick is to get the fresh boxes they stack on the lower shelf, in the back.”

Seungmin stares at him, bored and with eyes half-lidded, chin perched on his palm. “You still eat it every day. Have you ever heard of a food pyramid?”

“Have you ever heard of your mom’s food p-”

“Hello fellow wizards. What’d we miss?” Jisung’s totally sick burn is cut off before he can properly end Seungmin’s life, the words still half formed in his mouth when Felix slings his cross-body bag over the table with a quiet thud. He slumps into a chair, followed by a much more peaceful Jeongin pulling out the chair next to Seungmin.

“I’ve told you this before, but calling yourself a wizard makes you sound like a virgin.” Seungmin starts, not hesitating to continue on his rampage. “Jisung is losing brain cells, I fear. Do you have any of that cold remedy powder you gave me when I had the flu?” he asks Felix, completely ignoring the singular chopstick that was aimed at his head. Thankfully, no one comments on how badly Jisung missed. He’s an academic, not a weapons master.

Felix, like the kind-hearted, gentle man-pixie he is, gives a good natured laugh and opens his lunchbox. He is carrying a tupperware with noodles and a mouth-watering sauce, pulling out another tupperware of cookies and shoving them to the middle of the table for the group to share. “I don’t have any remedies handy, sorry. Looks like you’re stuck taking care of him while he sneezes on your shoulder.”

Jisung gets half a second of his mischievous grin pulled onto his lips before Seungmin glares at him, a very specific look that he knows means Don’t even play with me right now.

He spends his lunch with his friends, talking shit and enabling Felix’s jabs at Seungmin. Jeongin is only a freshman compared to the other three, who are all in their second year, but he keeps up with the group surprisingly well. He has only integrated over the past few weeks as Felix has gotten to know him based on a shared class, but Jisung finds it’s easy to love the guy. Especially because his dimples pop out when his lips even slightly turn upwards- it’s like the same level of cuteness aggression that takes over in the presence of small animals possesses Jisung’s soul. It is mandatory that he pinches Jeongin’s cheeks whenever he lets his guard down.

“Oh! By the way, did I tell you guys about my Culture of the Spirits class discussion today?” Jeongin asks in a lull between conversations. Jisung shakes his head in response, always interested to learn more about Jeongin’s major. While the academy tries to give a basic, wraparound knowledge of all of the arts, Jisung can’t help but wish he were able to take every class they offer. Fortunately for him, his friends have been cast into other majors for the most part. Jeongin studies Communication with Other Kind, which Jisung always translates to ‘the magical equivalent of being bilingual.’ No one ever laughs as hard as he thinks they should when he cracks that joke, but whatever.

Jeongin continues, putting his elbows on the mahogany table to wave his hands in emphasis. “So my master says she has been working on a book, right? She’s co-writing with the Demonology and Archaic Creatures masters. And today she starts talking about their recent research or whatever- saying the Ancient Lit students are going to be assigned some serious ancient texts this week. Like, to my understanding you’ll get one thick ass book that will blow to ash if you look at it the wrong way and you have to like- I don't know what you all do, translate it? Anyway, apparently it’s super interesting work, and only the top ten students in the major are getting access. Pretty cool, right?”

Jisung turns his lips downward in thought, raising an eyebrow as he glances at Seungmin. The other Ancient Lit major seems to be on the same wave of thought as he is, this is a pretty cool opportunity. Considering Jisung is the second ranked student in the program, only beaten out by Seungmin (who reminds him about it every time Jisung gets a little too confident in his digs), he should be given the second hardest text to decode. Consider his interest piqued.

At the beginning of each semester, the Ancient Lit students are given a massive stack of books; the pile in Jisung’s apartment looms over him every time he has his morning tea. The texts, old and new, written in languages long-forgotten and as modern as last year, are given to each student who is tasked with the goal of decoding all of them, and pulling the metaphorical red string to explain how they are all connected. The new semester only started a couple weeks ago, but Jisung has steadily worked his way through a solid ¼ of the text. So far, all he has come up with is that old school magic-workers were a little batshit crazy, and incredibly pretentious. On top of that, Jisung also has the workload of his other classes to juggle, as well as preparing for his licensure exam to be able to practice magic of his own volition, without the Grand Coven watching over his every move. Really, taking on more work should make him feel dread. But this feels different.

Something Jeongin had said struck Jisung as odd. The top students of the department will be given one book, as in singular. Ancient Lit students are no stranger to being overworked, as the stack in Jisung’s apartment can attest to. One book seems… like a little bit of a low ball, if he’s being honest. Which really only makes his curiosity grow bigger. How bad can one book be, to be gifted only to the top students of the class and with a deadline for submitting decoded work nowhere in sight? Jisung wants to find out, sooner rather than later. Looking at Seungmin, he still seems to be on the same page, for once. After all, their shared love of ancient text and its curiosities are what brought their friendship to fruition in the first place. That, and Jisung had been the only classmate to make his lips twitch in amusement during orientation. He considers the memory to be one of his greatest achievements.

Jisung is practically radiating with pent up energy by the time his next class is starting. Usually, he whines and pouts when Security and Defense, also known as brawling with your friends for fun, comes around. He isn’t known for his muscles, or strength, or aim… or really, anything that has to do with hand-to-eye coordination. But Jisung really does want to get his energy out today, so he tells Chan not to go easy on him. Turns out, when a werewolf hybrid is told don’t go easy on me, he assumes bruising is not off the table. It’s fine though- after Jisung had whined and groaned enough, even going as far as to fake a limp, Chan apologized to him via ₩7,000 that will be used to get his next Matcha Latte.

Jisung flies through his last class of the day, which is hardly a class at all- it’s a virtual meeting with his Licensure Advisor that he is supposed to have daily, but is lucky if the guy shows up once a week- and gets home with just enough time to trick his brain into thinking he is working on decoding the texts he was given at the beginning of the semester. Really, he doesn’t get much done at all, just uses what little brain power he can to go over his notes and look at any connections he might have missed in the few books that are already decoded. Even with all of his wit, Jisung cannot imagine being particularly enthralled by the anatomical accuracy of shapeshifters related to their human counterparts if he were fully invested in his decoding work tonight. By the time the ticking of the clock above his desk signals three in the morning, Jisung has tired his poor brain out enough to catch some real shut eye.

Then morning comes- his classes come, bringing forth a new day of the Art of Dead Languages, Contextual Storytelling, and Worlds of Magik. His lunch break zips by, and suddenly he is in the office of the Ancient Literature Headmaster alongside nine other students he recognizes as the best in his field.

The buzzing under Jisung’s skin grows tenfold as they wait.

Headmaster Kim is a strong woman, tall with fiery red hair and a stare that could cut the strongest men to their knees. She demands to know every minute detail, making lips quiver as they whisper secrets the person didn't even know they had. Her gift has always been more in line with Telepathic Communications, but her passion for Ancient Lit made her a sure candidate for headmaster of the department. Jisung, as well as every other Ancient Lit student, worships her like an idol. She is… so cool, for lack of better words. Standing in front of her now, Jisung feels his shoulders correct in posture as he stands a little taller. When she clears her throat everyone falls silent.

“Well, I have heard rumors that the students in Communications are doing what they do best- communicating, that is- so I’m sure you are already aware of why you were called into my office.” Headmaster Kim starts, crossing her legs and sitting on the front of her desk. Jisung feels his breath leave his body in shallow exhales, too anticipatory to do anything more. After raising a pointed eyebrow at the students, Headmaster Kim continues.

“The lot of you are seen as the finest students of the Ancient Literature and Decoding department,” Headmaster Kim says, looking each student in the eye. “I have no doubt in my mind that each one of you is capable of taking on the full workload of the project at hand. However, the Literature masters are aware that your courseload is already quite heavy and we have decided to split the work among our top students- ten ancient texts, previously lost to time, handed to our ten best students with the task of unwrapping their mysteries. Each of you shall pick the book with your name beside it as you leave, careful to ensure you have dawned your sacred gloves so as not to disturb the contents.

“While there is no time limit on these texts and the decoding work, I have been advised to have the books back in my possession by the end of the semester. You are not receiving a grade for this decoding project, therefore we will accept the progress you make without judgment. However, if you do not wish to participate in this work, please see me in private sometime later today so that we can properly accommodate. In doing this, you will be aiding masters from other departments with their own work, which is highly appreciated and will not be forgotten.”

Headmaster Kim looks at each student once again, Jisung feeling pinpricks of lightning trembling in his fingertips as they lock eyes. When she finds what she is looking for in each of them, she raises an eyebrow. “Well, off to it! Everyone is dismissed- Seungmin and Jisung, please stay behind.”

Jisung’s heart drops to his ass. He casts a panicked look at Seungmin, who just shrugs in response. As he watches the other students pull their sacred gloves on and pick up their books, Jisung can’t help but notice that the two leftover, presumably for himself and his friend, are the only two that have been hidden behind ornate, wooden boxes. Jisung can feel the aura emanating from within, picking up on the warding surrounding each. While the warding is not impossible to deconstruct, it would probably take the rest of his day. The revelation only makes adrenaline spike in his veins, always excited for the prospect of a challenge.

Once the door shuts behind the last student, Headmaster Kim regards both boys with a nod of her head, standing up to cross the room and stand beside the two aforementioned boxes.

“Let me cut to the chase, I can feel the anticipation to crack these wards open from over here.” Headmaster Kim huffs a breath, tucking a stray piece of red hair behind her ear. Jisung has never heard her laugh- not even a slight tilt of her lips, and to say he is baffled would be the understatement of the century. Suddenly, this feels less like a headmaster commanding her students and more like peer-to-peer conversation, as if she is addressing them as equals. The thought makes Jisung preen under her stare.

“The two of you are well aware you are highly regarded amongst your peers. What you might not be privy to, is that the headmasters and Grand Coven have also been speaking highly of you.” Headmaster Kim smirks faintly at the resounding gasp Jisung can’t quite push down his throat in time. Seungmin jabs an elbow into his ribs, but Jisung barely feels the throb of pain. He feels lightheaded.

Headmaster Kim adorns her gloves, much more expensive and velvet-ridden than Jisung’s own he had bought at the Vintage Magik a few blocks from his apartment. She picks up the box under Seungmin’s name, holding it in both hands as she crosses the room to stand in front of him. Seungmin, who is in a constant state of nonchalant boredom, is lighting up the entire room with his energy. Jisung can feel the sparks flying from him and reaching his own bubble, radio waves of lightning prickling his psyche.

“I am speaking to the two of you in private because I did not wish for your peers to overhear what I am about to say. The texts you are assigned are… not quite as light as the other charges.” Headmaster Kim hums, waiting for Seungmin to quickly pull his own gloves on before handing the box over, watching the boy weigh it between his hands. “Seungmin, what do you notice when holding this box?”

Seungmin is intrigued, more so than Jisung has ever seen him. “The box is warded, but beyond that I can still feel strong energy from the text inside. It feels… I feel a bit winded, holding it. Even with warding in place and what seems to be another layer of- protective chain, I think- inside, I feel a little weak in comparison, Sunbaenim.”

Headmaster Kim smiles in approval, nodding her head. “Well done. Though, I assure you the Grand Coven would not allow me to distribute something you could not handle, Seungmin. The feeling of weakness is purely subconscious, the text attempted to drag myself under the same delusion. Apply what you mastered last year, in your Concentrating Efforts course.”

Jisung knows what she is referring to, as the course is standard for all first year students at the academy. While it is more than possible for different magical elements to be stronger than the being attempting to reign over them, most tools which hold immense power will simply project the feeling of being inept onto their perceived assailant. Seungmin blinks, recalling the same lesson, and nods after a moment of hesitation. Jisung feels the barriers surrounding Seungmin’s psyche double their efforts, building invisible walls around his own mind and taking to extra support near weaker areas. When he blinks again, stepping out of his headspace, he regards the box a second time.

“What do you notice?” Headmaster Kim asks, repeating her earlier question with more intent.

“It feels the same as before, but without the added tension. The book holds less strength than my abilities- although, it is attempting to overpower me again. I will have to ensure I am guarded against future attacks when opening the text.”

Headmaster Kim smiles just a little wider, nodding as she meanders to the other box. Jisung feels a burst of anxiety, nervous and driven, in his lower stomach. Headmaster Kim repeats her treatment of the earlier box, picking it up with both hands and standing in front of Jisung. He has already prepared while watching Seungmin, gloves dawned and building the barriers in his own mind much like the other had.

When the box is extended to him, Jisung exhales slowly as he holds the weight of it. From a closer vantage, he trails his eyes over the deep carvings of warding covering every square inch of the wood. When Headmaster Kim asks him the same question she had asked Seungmin, Jisung has already closed his eyes to get a better read on the object in his hands.

Jisung feels a tremor in the barriers of his mind, as if something is brushing against them. The tendril of energy is not aggressive, it is exploratory in nature. Almost as if the text itself is whispering to his psyche, almost as if it is teasing him. He considers himself to be strong when regarding his subconscious; both of his parents have spent their lives training him on magic, and creating mental barriers had been important if a teenage Jisung wanted to keep an ounce of privacy in his home. Even with the confidence he has in his abilities, Jisung can feel the penetration of his aura. He can feel that the text has found one of the weaknesses in his fortitude- but has not done anything to attack. If anything, the energy has only made him aware that it can do damage, if it so chooses.

Finally, Jisung opens his eyes. He realizes he might have focused on the energy emanating from the box for a second longer than necessary, as Seungmin and their headmaster are watching him expectantly. Clearing his throat, he blushes slightly at the attention. “The text has a strong aura, Sunbaenim. Like Seungmin-ssi has explained, there is some sort of chain wrapped in the box, surrounding the literature. I applied my barriers, which…”

He trails off- the barrier was exposed at its weakest point pretty quickly. Jisung does not want to have this opportunity ripped away from him just for the sake of savoring his mental strength for normal coursework. He knows this will drive him mad if he does not get to crack this box open. If the box is given to someone else, Jisung will spend his days wondering and wishing and grated in annoyance at not being able to decode it. Besides, the text is still inanimate at the end of the day. While he isn’t naive enough to think it could never harm him, the energy coming from the box does not seem particularly strong, either. If Jisung refortifies his mental barriers, he should be fine to continue his studies.

“...which aided in avoiding feelings of weakness. The text itself seems malicious, although not currently seeking to harm and fairly low-level.”

Headmaster Kim is, thankfully, nodding with an impressed glance at Jisung’s hands. Though she could easily use her telepathic abilities to cross the boundary of Jisung’s mind and catch his deceit, she does not attempt to do so. Jisung feels blessed in the headmaster’s respect for her students and taking what they say at face value.

“Very good,” She murmurs, stepping back from the two. “Now that you have been properly introduced to your charges, the same rules apply. You are not expected to decode the entirety of the text, only do what you can without too much strain. Your focus will stay on your coursework, and these books will come second to your studies. I will meet with you both again midsemester to check your progress and assess your psyche, just to ensure safety.”

Headmaster Kim does not tell them they can return the books to her if they wish, like she had with the other students. Maybe she thinks it is not necessary to say it a second time, or maybe she can sense the determination each scholar has to crack open their boxes. After another beat of silent assessment, she nods again and turns away from the two boys.

“You are dismissed.”

Jisung’s feet carry him away from the office on autopilot, gloved hands still tightly holding the box in his grasp. It is silent as he walks to the library, also without thinking, but when he sits down Seungmin is sitting in front of him, equally quiet. Jisung is not good at staying quiet- even so, he is not the one who breaks the stretch of solitude.

“Holy fucking shit,” Seungmin exhales, shaking his head as if drawing himself out of a daze. He blinks himself back into reality as he shoves the box into his school bag, putting his bag in the empty seat between his body and the wall. Jisung follows the same motions, keeping his satchel in his lap instead of completely losing touch with it. Both boys slowly deplete their barriers, becoming more open with their magical energies again with the boxes put underneath another layer of protection. Barriers are not meant to stay pulled up for long, unless the person is in the Defense and Security field and naturally has stronger abilities to forge defensive measures. Jisung can feel the lightest of pushes against his psyche, but with the book wrapped in chains, inside a box, inside his bag, the energy emitting from it is only faint. It feels similar to a gnat in his peripheral vision.

“Dude,” Seungmin mutters, gulping down the water bottle he pulled from his bag. Is he sweating? Kim Seungmin has never sweat in his life.

Jisung nods through his daze, speaking for the first time since they left the headmaster. He wants to say he agrees completely, that this is the biggest opportunity either student has ever gotten. He wants to say that he is excited beyond belief, wants to figure out every nook and cranny of the box covering metal covering parchment in his bag. While he always feels a sense of determination to unveil the secrets of every text he has been assigned, somehow Jisung feels this one is different. Maybe it is the sense of importance with the masters of their academy, or maybe the energy the caressed Jisung at the weakest spot in his mind is grating on his nerves, but he has never felt this adamant on unwrapping a text in his life. Instead of saying any of this aloud, he inhales for a count of four seconds and breathes out two words.

“Dude, indeed.”

Chapter Text

Jisung regards himself as a smart guy. Maybe not Eddison levels of smart, but he is a scholar, damn it. He is attending one of the most renowned magic academies in the nation- in the world, really. He is at the top of his class, second only to Seungmin (motherfucker), and he is more than capable of decoding every text in the academy's library, even convinced he could recode it afterwards just from memory alone.

The box will not crack open.

Jisung has tried everything he could possibly think of. He has used every warding spell he knows, every lockpicker, every powder and potion and tool he could possibly get into his possession. He even sent a text to his mother and father, each one sending him helpful ideas he had not yet thought of, but rendering the ideas useless in the face of this stupid box nonetheless. He feels as if one more misstep, one more shred of hope that is inevitably stomped out by a block of wood, will cause him to finally spiral into madness. He is two seconds away from packing his bags and moving into the nearest woodland area so that the local townspeople will whisper his name to their children as a warning not to go into the woods at night, accepting his fate as a doomed madman at the hands of this stupid, stupid box.

After classes end on Thursday, Jisung wants to do exactly what he did yesterday and fly straight home to attempt a multitude of increasingly ridiculous magical solutions. What he does instead is meet up with his friends in the library, at their usual haunting, grabbing a few books from the Warded Objects section to glance through while he has a late lunch. He had skipped it earlier to run home, quickly trying two more of his genius ideas for cracking open the box before dejectedly heading to his afternoon classes. When he approaches the usual table, Chan and Seungmin are already spread out amongst books similar to the ones Jisung has stacked in his own arms.

Seungmin doesn’t glance up from the textbook he is absorbed in when Jisung slouches down into the seat across from him. Chan pauses his reading, seemingly attempting to help Seungmin, to smile at the new company.

“Hey Sung-ah, any luck with your freaky book?” Chan teases, ducking his head in embarrassment when he catches twin glares thrown his way. “Sorry, tough crowd.”

Seungmin huffs, pushes the open book in front of him away to aggressively demolish a gummy candy from the bag next to him. “Please tell me you got your stupid fucking box open, and more importantly you can tell me how to open my own.”

Jisung rolls his eyes, flipping open the front cover of his own textbook. It feels weird to hold a book without his sacred gloves, but this book was published two years ago and there are thousands of copies. He doubts his efforts are going to lead to any lightbulbs flickering on in his head, considering the book seems to be pretty basic knowledge, but he grabbed a whole stack for a reason.

“Trust me, if I knew how to open the thing I would be much more annoying about it. I was up until four o'clock this morning trying to get even an inch of leeway. When I went to sleep I could have swore I heard the fucker laughing at me.”

Chan snorts, raising an eyebrow. “You talk about it like it’s a real entity. You know it's just paper and ink, right?”

Jisung stares at Seungmin hard enough that he is bullied into replying for the both of them. With a long suffering sigh, “Hyung, these things are taunting us. Even if it is just paper, the energy embodied in the pages is enough to make a non-magical being lose it’s mind.”

Chan shrugs, going back to skimming the textbook he has pulled in front of him. Jisung knows Chan doesn’t truly understand the insanity this is causing his friends; Chan is a hybrid, half-man, half-wolf. He is a magical being, but he does not practice magic the way the majority of his friends do. Sure, he is experienced in magic tools and weaponry, he can enchant swords and daggers with enough strength to defeat the evil lurking in the shadows, but Chan is next to clueless when it comes to the world of Ancient Lit, just as Jisung is clueless about the world of Security and Defense.

The three sit in silence for another few moments, each absorbed in their books, before being interrupted again by more additions to the group. Felix and Jeongin come into the room together (naturally), sitting down and wordlessly accepting textbooks of their own to scan through. Felix, at least, has been listening to Jisung whine and complain about the box sitting on his desk for the biggest part of the day. Jeongin must have been filled in via Seungmin, as he doesn't look confused in the slightest to be handed a book titled Opening Wards for Dummies: Everything You Need to Know!

Jisung is running on about four hours of sleep, the scalding hot tea he had this morning that had supposedly been an energy booster, and the sushi from the student center he had bought before coming to the library- from the back of the bottom shelf, where it was fresh and likely made this morning. He barely reads half of the words written in the book in front of him, knowing the attempt to gather more ideas is essentially useless anyway and unable to stop himself from yawning every couple of minutes. The book is mostly introductory wards; Jisung reads headings titled Picking Locks with No Key, How to Deconstruct Lower Level Fae Shielding, and Enchanted Weapons: When are They Dangerous? before he huffs a breath of annoyance and mimics Seungmin’s earlier motion, shoving the book away from himself.

Felix glances up from the smaller, thicker text he is skimming through to meet Jisung’s eye with a sympathetic smile. He bats his eyelashes, keeping one pointed nail on the page so he doesn’t lose his spot. “Sungie, I can stop by your apartment later with some sleep tonics if you need a break. Or I can bring calming powders, if you want to keep working but feel too agitated.”

Jisung can’t help the small smile he gives his friend, even with the dull throb in the back of his skull from an oncoming migraine. “Thanks, Lixie, but I’ll pass this time. I need to be alert around the box, at least until I get a better feel for the energy. Besides, the sooner I crack this bitch open, the sooner I can start decoding. I appreciate the concern, though.”

Felix nods, gently elbowing Seungmin to offer the same thing with a raise of his eyebrows. Seungmin shakes his head, patting the pixie’s shoulder. Before Chan can pipe up with another attempt to help, Jeongin groans and shuts the book he was pretending to study.

“This is impossible. I doubt there’s anything in any of these books that the two of you haven’t tried. There has to be some other way to open these things, you just haven’t thought of it yet.” The youngest sighs, running an irritated hand through his hair. Jisung rolls his eyes, feeling just as annoyed even though he knows Jeongin isn’t the cause of it.

“Okay, Innie- Tell me what it is that you think I haven’t tried yet. I have attempted every single way you can possibly imagine to open this thing. Seungmin and I have shared everything we know with each other. I even asked Reddit! Do you know how much of a fucking loser you have to be to get on Reddit and listen to incels tell you to try using a fucking skeleton key? As if the box even has a lock on it!” Jisung is whining, he knows he is. But the combined exhaustion and agitation are making him feel petulant. It has been a while since something has had him this stumped. Jeongin slumps into his chair, elbow on the table so he can rest his chin in his palm as he idly twirls his pen in thought. Then he snorts, glancing at the two Ancient Lit majors with mischief.

“Have you tried asking nicely?” Jeongin asks, grinning wide and sly. Jisung really would cross the table and punch him if his foot wasn’t asleep, preventing him from moving without a wince.

Seungmin does not look the slightest bit amused, but Jisung is guessing he is also sleep deprived, because he takes the bait. “Asking nicely. Of course, I’ll ask the magical box if it’s heart will grow three sizes and let me in so that I can completely nuke it’s sole purpose, which is keeping the thing inside of it hidden.”

Jeongin laughs with a little more mirth, always easily distracted by annoying his hyungs. Especially when it’s Seungmin who falls into his trap. “Hey, you never know! Maybe the box will be nice to you and spread open. But buy it dinner first, you should stay classy.”

Jisung watches Seungmin aim his pencil, sharp lead end first, right at Jeongin’s eyes. If Chan wasn’t sitting beside the younger man and didn’t have pinpoint reflexes, Jeongin would be blinded. In his current state, Jisung doesn’t have an ounce of sympathy.

Jisung is only able to sit still for another twenty minutes before he leaves his friends, deciding a walk home is probably better for him than taking public transport. His apartment isn’t that far, and although it takes longer to get there, he needs fresh air before he holes himself up for the rest of the night. By the time Jisung locks his front door behind him and slings his bag onto the couch in his small living room, he feels refreshed and hellbent on getting this box open. Even if he has to play dirty.

Jisung attempts the one spell he found in his earlier research first. He knows the spell is for beginner locksmiths, and he knows it won’t even budge the box- but he tries anyway. After that proves to be futile, he stomps to his closet and rummages around in the back of it, finally pulling out enough miscellaneous junk that he finds what he is looking for.

As a housewarming present when Jisung first got his own place, his dad had jokingly given him a toolbox. Like, a real toolbox- one with screwdrivers and hammers and whatever that curved rod is. The tools inside have never been used, which Jisung would feel guilty about if he didn’t know his dad was well aware he couldn’t confidently name a single one of the items. Now, he brings the tools to his living room and sets the plastic container down beside the stupid, stupid box.

Jisung stares at the faceless wood for a solid minute, somehow feeling he will lose some sort of battle if he looks away. He knows the box is not really sentient- it couldn’t blink, it has no eyes. But Jisung still glares hard at the wood, muttering, “You’re leaving me no choice.”

The hammer comes out first.

Jisung has never used a single tool that did not have magical properties. Now, beating the box with various metal bars and pointy pieces of iron makes him question how the hell people use this kind of tool in the first place. He hopes his neighbors don’t file a noise complaint, Jisung doubts the walls are thick enough to drone out the continuous groaning and thudding of him beating the shit out of a piece of wood. He doesn’t really work out- like, ever- so it doesn’t take long for the groaning to turn into panting, sweat beading at his forehead as he whines loudly and throws the metal object he was holding back at the now-disorganized toolbox.

“This is fucking impossible,” Jisung whispers to himself, head tilted back against the couch as he stares at the thing that has been taunting him for just over twenty-four hours. The box isn't even remotely damaged; If he didn’t know any better, or feel the ache in his biceps, Jisung would think it hadn’t even been touched. The energy coming from within the wood has turned… smug.

Have you tried asking nicely?

Jisung feels stupid for even thinking about Jeongin’s words. Obviously, it had been a joke. Jisung has never heard of an object without sentience, magical or not, that will open with a simple please. But really… what could he possibly lose at this point? He already lost his dignity the second he chose to ask Reddit.

Jisung sighs, shifting so he is leaning forward and face-to-wood with the box once again. His barriers have been up the entire time he has been home, which he imagines is also making him feel desperate enough to attempt an idea so stupid. But Jisung is exhausted, and he wants to make another pot of tea, and he wants this fucking box to fly open so he never has to look at it again. With a newfound determination born from sheer spite, Jisung clears his throat.

“Hello-” He cringes outwardly at his own greeting, imagining the box’s tinkering laugh floating in his head just like it had last night. “So uh, I know this is probably weird for you. I can imagine you don’t get a lot of time to chat, huh?”

Jisung fights the roll of his eyes at his attempts to break ice that isn’t even there to begin with. He rolls his shoulders to release the tension, cracking his neck this way and that before exhaling a heavy sigh. It's just a box.

“Alright, listen- can you just like, open? Please? I mean, this is really annoying. You don’t know me, but I’m the top student in my class-” Behind Seungmin, “-and there is genuinely nothing that has worked to crack you open. I’m making a dumbass out of myself, I know, but can you at least give me some sort of hint? Or maybe just, I don't know- fucking take it easy on me so I can sleep tonight without dreaming of hardwood? Not even the sexy kind, just the boring kind.”

Jisung knows he is rambling aloud to himself, no one else in the apartment to be subjected to his whining. All he hears in response to his pleas is a neighbor’s door down the hall faintly clicking shut. He huffs again, flopping back to his previous position slouched against his couch. Maybe Headmaster Kim would have some knowledge on what he should do. He could ask her tomorrow, but the thought of admitting he doesn’t know what the hell is going on makes his stomach churn.

Just as Jisung is about to give up and move to start boiling a kettle of water in his kitchen, he hears it.

The laughter that had scraped against his mind while he was falling asleep last night, the same glittering amusement he heard earlier- it is back. This time louder, as if someone is standing right in front of him and laughing at his pitiful state. Jisung freezes in place, glancing at the still box and counting his breaths as he waits.

Nothing happens for three minutes. Jisung has the thought to look into delusional disorders he might possess as a result of lack of sleep. Web MD is trustworthy, right?

Suddenly, the carvings etched into the wood of the box start to glow- a dim purple, getting brighter and more energetic as the glowing continues. The box is practically vibrating now, shaking enough so that it quietly thuds against the table. Then a loud Boom!

Jisung jumps back with a short yelp- the box- it just-

The box just fucking opened.

Jisung has about half a second to celebrate his triumph before he starts visibly choking.

The energy that takes over the room is the most intense thing Jisung has ever felt; Vaguely, he registers art flying off of his walls, cabinets in his kitchen banging open, glass somewhere in another room shattering, but all he can do is hunker down close to the floor and gasp as his throat constricts, as if the air is literally being sucked out of his body. The sheer power radiating outward from the box is enough to completely shatter the barriers in Jisung’s mind, his only real defense against magical entities depleted embarrassingly quick and without warning.

Jisung whimpers out loud as the aura in the room dips and surges in waves of what can only be described as excitement. The chill that passes over his body continues to run rampant, as if the being is bouncing off his apartment walls and darting in and out of his vessel. The entity that Jisung is sure was lying dormant in the box has been freed- the realization that Jisung caused this settles in his spine like liquid lightning. He just released whatever the fuck this thing is, and he won’t even be able to apologize for it before the creature murders him in cold blood! Jisung sends a quick prayer to whatever God he thinks of first, not even sure what religion he is using to beg for forgiveness and to save his soul.

The room stills completely in the next millisecond. Jisung is shaking so badly, ears ringing loud enough to start a pounding migraine, and if he were still standing he knows he would fall right back to the ground.

He is alone. Truly, the entity disappeared.

Jisung stays put, knees to his hardwood floor, for another indefinite timeframe. He is afraid to move, afraid to even exhale his shaking breath and calm his burning lungs. Jisung is even more scared to think- because what he wants to ask himself is a question he fears the answer to.

If the entity left him alone, where did it go? What is it doing now? And what the hell was that thing, anyway?

Jisung barely makes it to his feet before he crashes back into his couch cushions, hoping beyond belief that the entity just crawled back to whatever Hell it came from. He takes multiple breaths, tries to count his breathing but loses track so many times he isn’t sure how long his inhales and exhales lasted. When his heart rate has calmed down just a couple beats per minute, his next thought is immediate; He needs to call Seungmin.

 

“Genuinely, what the fuck?”

“I don’t know!”

“You’re telling me you just politely broke a demon free of it’s confines, but I had to buy a steak and learn how to cook it rare to get my fucking box open?”

Jisung groans, burrowing his face into the crook of his elbow. Upon calling Seungmin, the man had immediately told him to meet him at the cafe across the street from the library and hung up directly after. Jisung would have complained about the rude treatment, but honestly his skin was crawling more and more the longer he stared at the open box and limp chains on his coffee table. When he sat down in the cafe Seungmin was already waiting- and Jisung knew he had big news, because the other man had ordered a second drink and put it in front of him to avoid waiting any longer.

“Seung, I genuinely did not think it would work- like, at all. And we have no clue if it’s a demon! The bitch knocked everything off my shelves and destroyed my great grandmother’s candy dish then just left, I couldn’t even process anything beyond my life being spared!” Jisung whines, half of the words lost to his elbow. Seungmin scoffs, gulping down the last of his Iced Americano before crossing his arms.

“Well if it isn’t a demon, what is it? A trickster? Fae? Some kind of dark elf?” Seungmin asks, eyebrow raised as if he is making a point. Jisung doesn’t think there is any kind of point to be made, he simply didn’t get a good read on the aura of the entity aside from it being gigantic in size and strength. Really, it could be anything.

“I don’t know,” he ends up grumbling, chewing the straw of his matcha. “Let’s talk about you, please. You fed your box a sacrificial steak?”

Now Seungmin is the one groaning, rolling his eyes as if truly exasperated. “Yes. The stupid thing sent me some sort of weird ass vision of a rare steak. I thought I must have hallucinated in my sleep deprivation, but I was desperate so I bought one anyway. YouTube gave me directions to cook it, and I just… put the plate beside the box. It busted open just like that- then whatever came out devoured the steak and jumped out my fucking window.”

Jisung whistles, blinking wide and slow. “What did it look like?”

“Massive, for one.” Seungmin snorts, shaking his head. He is still the picture of nonchalance, but Jisung sees the way his hands fidget with the paper on his cup. Seungmin is nervous. “Like, ten feet tall types of massive. Human-esque, biceps the size of my head. It had vaguely blue skin and two horns, but I couldn’t get anything else before it broke through the glass in my living room. Do you know how hard it is to tell a landlady you didn’t break your window, it was an unnamed entity you accidentally freed from a cryptic magical box? I’m just lucky Mrs. Choi is clairvoyant, or else she would have called me a big fat liar.”

Jisung’s shoulders shake in laughter, his body feeling just an ounce lighter. At the very least, the ambiguous creature that he released did not make him spend an absurd amount of money on red meat and home repairs with his abysmal student income. The candy dish is irreplaceable, though.

Jisung leaves the coffee shop feeling at least a little more human. He thinks about going home, back to his apartment where the object of his jittery hands is lying dormant, and thinks better of it. Instead, Jisung grabs a bite to eat from the kebab stand nearby and decides to take a nice walk in the park… even if it is 8:00pm on a Thursday.

The early autumn air makes his skin prickle, not prepared for the chill of dusk and without a jacket to cover up. Instead of thinking about that, Jisung busies himself by kicking what few leaves have fallen and crunching them under his feet. No one else is out on the sidewalk this late in the evening, no doubt opting to spend the night indoors where they feel safe and cozy. Of course, the usual atmosphere of his apartment has been completely flipped upside down, and Jisung is currently thinking of bribing Chan to let him use his futon for the night. He would ask Felix, but while the pixie is brighter than the sun itself, he does not have a single muscle in his body. Chan is half wolf; If a creature is trying to kill Jisung he would have better chances sleeping in a wolf’s den than in a pixie cottage.

Jisung walks aimlessly, venturing out of the park once the loneliness starts to creep in and carrying himself closer to downtown streets. Every club and bar on the strip is open, college crowds from surrounding universities out partying for the night. Jisung likes to think he could do the same- but really, crowds packed into tight spaces make him itch. He would have a lot more fun getting stupidly drunk in his home with his friends, where he can retreat to bed as soon as he inevitably starts to feel sleepy. He’s always been a sleepy drunk.

As Jisung walks closer to his apartment, he starts to furrow his brows. The brick wall on the opposite side of the road, a little further down from his position, is blinking blue and red from the lights bouncing off of it. Jisung continues to close the distance, slowing down with a sinking pit in his gut.

The caution tape and small crowd gathered outside of a hole in the wall bar keep him from getting too close, but Jisung knows what happened- can feel it, right in the center of his sternum. One of the ambulances stationed outside is shutting it’s doors, three bodies covered by bags lying inside. A police officer is standing by the building, no doubt he came in one of the cars with their gleaming blue and red lights. Jisung can just make out the blurry details of the pictures in his hand, the bar floor littered with slumped bodies and so, so much red.

Jisung is not an Aura Reader, he only picks up on energies he is familiar with, or that of strong origins. Jisung can feel the aura of something dense- something that makes his legs attempt to buckle, the same way he had fallen to his floor in the living room of his apartment, staring at a vacant box and choking. The air around him is clean, but the thick fog of dark energy makes his eyes sting. The smell of metal and sweet death makes his eyes threaten to roll, unused to the unsettling tension. He shakes his head, watching the people around him hold each other close and whisper, attempting to uncover the story as police officers pick up the pieces.

“The time is 9:08PM, and the streets of Seoul are just beginning to wake with the lively crowd of people ready to make memories they will barely remember come morning.” Jisung’s head snaps to the side, furrowing his brows when he catches sight of a reporter standing near the bar, blue and red glowing over his features in turns. The man has a concerned frown etched onto his face, a look surely practiced on the ride over to the crime scene, as the camera in front of him zooms in. “However, for those who were unlucky enough to cross into a local bar by the name of Karma, the memories of tonight will only live on as nightmares in the minds of those around them.

“According to witnesses at the scene, the bar just a few feet away from our current location was subject to horrors beyond our imagination tonight. While no party-goers are able to tell the real story, witness reports detail what can only be described as a slaughter of the venue. So far, the total body count has been tallied at over twenty men and women, reportedly drained of their blood, energy depleted, and slash wounds in multiple areas. Police are denying having eyes on the assailant, but have determined there is no possibility of human involvement. Undeniably, a magical being is behind this brutal display. Now, the question is this: What exactly is prowling the streets of Seoul? Will this incident be an isolated attack, and are we safe to continue on as normal? While I am advised to not contribute to audience biases… I will only say, to the citizens of Seoul, be alert. Lock your doors, and care for your neighbors. While there is little to no information regarding the creature attack, the only thing we can do is hope and pray it has fled the city for good. This has been Song Hyeon-woo, now signing off.”

Jisung does not blink. He does not move, even as the reporter brushes past him and mumbles an apology. There is no train of thought in his brain, no barrier built in his mind to hold back the onslaught of any possible attack. Jisung can barely feel the cool night air- doesn’t even register his numb fingertips or the burning in his nose. A hand grips his shoulder and all he can do is sway with the motion.

“You should go home, kid.” A policeman, Jisung can see the glint of metal against his belt where handcuffs rest. “You look like you’ve seen enough. Need a ride?”

Jisung shakes his head almost imperceptibly, the policeman sighing. When Jisung has made his intent to stay silent clear, the man pats his shoulder and saunters back to his peers, thumbs in his belt loops like this is just another day on the job. To him, it probably is.

Jisung’s feet carry him back to his apartment, one step at a time, one foot in front of the other. His building looks the same as always, grey and dull and towering over the surrounding shops. His front door is the same beige it was when he left to meet Seungmin. Somehow, nothing has changed. Everything has changed.

Jisung clicks the lock shut on his door, deadbolt in place and chain pulled to connect to the hinge. The box is where he left it, on his coffee table. The metal chains unraveled inside, the book he hadn't even glanced at surely waiting for him. With a final breath, Jisung dawns his sacred gloves and takes the box to his bedroom, setting it on his desk. It no longer laughs at him- Jisung doesn’t even have to raise the barriers that are still shattered in his mind.

The book itself is… old. Of course. The leather of the cover looks to be dried and aged by hand, the spine twined together with a strong, thin rope. There is no title, and upon opening the pages there is no table of contents. Jisung scans the text, does not recognize the language in any way. There is no immediate sensical alignment to any language he knows, no lines to be drawn in similarity to any type of cuneiform, or alphabet, or braille- nothing. Just pages upon pages of loops and dots and crossed patterns, almost like a sheet of music written by someone who had never heard a song.

Jisung can already feel the headache attempting to break into his skull, his mind and body exhausted before the real work has even begun. He can’t help but drift in thought, mind passing by ideas of what could have possibly come from the book. Why had an entity been trapped in this box, with this text- the same entity that brutally murdered an entire bar of innocent lives? Jisung feels the phantom crawl of a chill down his spine, he hears the high laughter pass by through his ears.

Although he likes to think the creature will never want to cross paths with him again, knowing he has the box that kept it trapped for so long, Jisung knows better. He wants to remain in denial, but he has always been too smart for his own good. He is aware of the presence looming over the horizon, and he is aware he is on his hands and knees, crawling right into the line of fire.

Jisung knows decoding this text will bring about the end of life as he has been living it. He knows there is no going back once he starts this. Really, it has already started. He started it as soon as he cracked open the wood of the containment ward. But he can’t stop himself from thinking he can turn back, still. Even with the looming presence of whatever he brought into this world, he can wash his hands clean of the evil he set free. All he needs to do is close the book, give it back to Headmaster Kim. She would understand, so long as he told the truth. She wouldn’t wish this upon a student, knowing how much harm could be caused. If they had known about the creature lying dormant, they would have never let him have the assignment to begin with.

Jisung turns his tablet on, calibrating his pencil so that he can write notes. He pops his neck one way, then the other, releasing a forlorn exhale. Then, he starts working on what he does best. He starts to decode.

Chapter Text

Four days pass by. Four days, and Jisung lives.

He lives life as normal, the impending doom that settled in his gut starts to feel like it has always been there, even before this assignment. It gets easier to manage the constant boughs of anxiety, sometimes throwing him into a panic without even knowing the reasoning behind it. Slowly, the nervous flutter of moth wings in his stomach ebbs away until it has settled to nothing more than a faint buzz. Jisung is able to conduct business as usual, sitting with his friends in between classes and taking the weekend to sage his apartment so thoroughly he doesn’t think the fog of it will ever leave the air. He even manages to work on his actual assignments, crossing half of a sacred text off his semester list and planning to finish the rest this week. After four days, he starts to convince himself the entity has moved on to cast evil into some other town far, far away.

Still, he does not sleep.

At first, this had been by design. Jisung has spent most nights trying to make sense of this godforsaken book- he has narrowed the language down until it vaguely made sense in his mind. The book is written in some amalgamation of Haitian and Sino-Korean, which had then been coded using the author’s original codex. While it had been a bitch to try and match lines and dots to modern language- ignoring the fact that Jisung doesn’t know fucking Haitian- he has a vague idea of what is happening throughout the first section of the text, which he believes to be labeled Notations before going further. Really, the section is more of a warning than an author’s note; the person who had written the text had clearly also been the one to ward the box it was held in. So far, there is no mention of a creature being attached to the book. But, then again, Jisung is only half sure the translation is 100% accurate.

While the lack of sleep had been intentional that first night, Jisung eventually got tired. When he was finally exhausted enough to settle into bed without anything more than fumes running through his body, he quickly fell into slumber. Jisung also quickly experienced the first of what seems to be many night terrors to come.

The shadows in the dark corners of his bedroom had reached out to his psyche during that second night. He felt the cold caress of a phantom hand, fingertips grazing along the slope of his nose and tracing the line of his jaw. His eyes had moved rapidly through REM, following the body of energy passing through his room, bouncing off the walls, chasing the air out of his lungs. Even when the physical sensations had stopped and the room had fallen back into the realm of solitude, the mental assault had only doubled down. Jisung has been drowned in visions; flashes of dark tufts of hair, crimson pools of metallic liquid, low lights of a bar Jisung has never stepped foot in and the screams of strangers that cut into garbled, futile breaths of the near-dead. Jisung had woken up in soaked sheets, sweat dripping down his neck and into his sleep shirt. The clock above his desk had read 4:13AM. For the next two nights, Jisung woke up at 4:13AM after being chased through his own horrific thoughts, in the depths of his mind where he was forced to confront memories that aren’t his own. Of course, it always started with a cold fingertip inching over his features, mapping out the random lines of his face and neck, as if greeting a loved one after being apart for too long.

Jisung has never had nightmares, has never been prone to sleep paralysis, and can count every dream he has had in his life on one hand. This is no coincidence- Jisung is being haunted. Whether it be a force awakened through his recent mistakes, or the anxiety that had settled in his gut rearing its head after he falls vulnerable, or even the entity Jisung released out into the world (although he tries not to imagine that option being a reality), he knows something is off. Something is off in his space, and something is off kilter in his body. After the third night of waking up to the faint smell of sulfur and his pulse rabbiting in his neck, Jisung feels like he is two steps away from throwing in the metaphorical towel just to obtain some semblance of peace.

“Ji, you know I’m kind of a hypocrite for saying this but… Have you been sleeping well?”

Jisung blinks out of staring into a patch of particularly interesting grass, barely fazed when Chan lands a light swat to his stomach. The bright light of the sun is beaming down onto the sparring mats, Chan’s usual dark brown mop of hair lit into highlighted shades of amber and tiger’s eye bronze. Jisung knows he looks like shit- for lack of better words. The dark circles under his eyes could not be covered this morning, not with concealer or powder or whatever tonic Felix had left with him the last time he slept over. He had staggered through his morning lectures, leaving his pixie friend to take on most of the brewing duties in their potions course, and had barely made it five minutes into Defense and Security before Chan called for an intervention. Really, Chan easily kicks his ass when Jisung is having his best days. Having Chan kick his ass twice as hard today would have been embarrassing for them both.

“Sorry, Channie-hyung.” Jisung whines, clenching his eyes shut to avoid rubbing over the product that barely aids in coverage. “I haven’t slept well since… Since I started working on this project for class. I’ve been having some pretty hellish nightmares.”

Jisung tries not to fully divulge the extent of how insane he feels. While Chan would understand his dilemmas to a certain extent, Jisung doesn’t feel particularly excited to divulge the likely chance he released an unknown magical creature into the world that immediately slaughtered a bar full of innocent people then fucked off into the night, only to probably-more-than-likely come right back into Jisung’s space to terrorize him in his sleep whenever he had just started to feel some semblance of peace settle back into his body.

Chan still frowns at him, glancing over his slender frame as if the idea of simply having nightmares is already too much for one man to handle. Jisung has no doubt that Chan would pluck the nightmares straight from his mind and carry the burden of them himself if he thought it were possible to do so. Chan has always been pack-oriented, and while the half-wolf doesn’t necessarily have a traditional pack in the way many of his kin might, he has explained the concept of chosen family enough times to let Jisung know he feels they are bonded in a similar way. Chan will protect Jisung from anything and everything, because his instincts scream at him to do so much in the same way they scream for the safety of Seungmin, Felix, and Jeongin.

Jisung knows Chan is already racking his brain for solutions to the problem, even before he says, “Have you asked Felix for a sleep tonic?”

“He’s given me a few brews from his collection,” Jisung shrugs, blinking languidly. “None of them have worked. My problem isn’t really sleeping, it’s the content of my thoughts when I fall into rest.”

Chan hums, knocking his fists together behind the padded gloves he has equipped as he thinks. “Okay, so tea is probably out of the question, too. Have you tried spellwork? Charms to hang over your bed, manifestation, incense, all of the usual tips and tricks?”

Jisung nods, this time choosing to blink back at the patch of grass that had enraptured him earlier. “Hyung, I appreciate the help. But really, nothing… helps.”

And really, Jisung is telling the truth. Nothing has helped. He has woken up at 4:13AM for three nights, no matter how early or late he falls asleep, no matter what tonic or tea he takes to aid in slumber. The haunting has started to creep into his day now, first making an appearance over his bathroom mirror while he was brushing his teeth this morning. While the bathroom was lit in every corner, Jisung couldn’t help but notice the dark mist behind the glass door of his shower. He had blinked and it had been gone, but Jisung isn’t stupid. That same mist had been a shadow and cold fingertip the night before.

Still, even as class ends and Chan walks Jisung back in the direction of his apartment, he hasn’t given up. “Maybe you should talk to Felix’s friend, the guy that grows those psychedelic herbs and claims to know everyone’s death date- don’t look at me like that! Felix says he had growing pains in his wings last semester and this guy was the only person who helped him-”

Jisung lets out an incredulous balk of laughter, raising his eyebrows. “I’m sure whatever the hell Jackson is growing in his closet could knock a grown ogre on it’s ass, but I don’t think psychedelics are the answer to my problems, hyung!”

Chan is just about to defend his thought process, already holding clawed hands up in defense, when he gets tackled from behind by long, lanky arms and a giant grin. Chan looks like he had sensed this coming, not at all put off by the added weight on his shoulders as he spins the person around and lightly pulls them into a chokehold with a bellowing laugh.

“Ayen-ah, just in time! Help me convince Jisung to buy totally safe herbal remedies to help him have sweet dreams.” Chan grins, keeping an arm around Jeongin as he joins their walk. The youngest of the trio raises an eyebrow, pulling a wrapped candy from the paper bag he carries with a local convenience store name brandished on the front.

“Are you talking about the totally safe green shit Jackson sells? If so, I cannot conscientiously agree to this, hyung. Sorry.”

Chan groans in an entirely too dramatic way, glancing skyward. “Okay, then give us a better solution to Jisung’s nightmare problem, mhm?”

Jisung sighs to himself, much less dramatic but entirely felt in his soul. The day is catching up with him already, his eyelids drooping lower and lower. He would normally be foaming at the mouth at the thought of spending an evening curled up in bed, but now he can’t even enjoy the comfort of his mattress. Now, he dreads the thought of opening his front door and seeing shadows in his peripheral vision.

Jeongin seems to consider for a moment, chewing the candy he had unwrapped previously. He snaps his fingers suddenly, raising his eyebrows. “Got it! I don’t have the answer-”

“Jeongin I swear to fuck-” Jisung starts to whine, already too sensitive to handle the younger’s mocking today. Jeongin laughs as if he were prepared to be shut down.

“No, no- hyung, let me finish!” Jeongin huffs out, swallowing his candy. “I really don’t have an answer, but I know someone who definitely will.”

Jisung raises his eyebrows, shaking his head slightly to prompt him to keep going. So, Jeongin explains. “I know this guy- I mean, I don’t really know him, but he’s in my major. It’s this third year, everyone says he’s like, freaky intuitive. There’s this second year who went to see him and came out crying, then immediately dropped out of the academy. Like a week went by and one of the guy’s friends let it slip that he was mourning his cousin- Hyunjin fucking told him his cousin was dying, and it was true! I swear to god, the dude knows everything about everyone. If you want to know why you’re sleeping so poorly, he can tell you how to fix it.”

Jisung frowns, slowing their walk as they draw closer to his apartment complex. The dull grey of the exterior is much more intimidating than it usually is. “You said his name is Hyunjin?” When Jeongin nods, Jisung’s frown deepens. “Why does that name sound so familiar? I don’t know many people outside of the Ancient Lit world.”

Jeongin shrugs, scratching his nose before his reply comes, flippant in his delivery. “I don’t know, hyung. The point is, he’s the guy to go to if you want answers. I know where he sets up shop, we can stop by tomorrow after classes are done.”

Jisung takes in Jeongin’s sudden shy demeanor. The way he looks to the ground and kicks at an invisible rock, ruffles his hair in an attempt to hide his obviously red ears and cheeks, even turns to look over his shoulder to avoid the eye contact he wants to disengage. Jisung hears Chan gasp to his left, his hand slapping onto Jeongin’s shoulder.

“Ayen-ah, no way! Does someone have a little cru-”

“If you finish that sentence I will tell everyone about the time you slept over at my dorm and kept talking about a certain someone in your sleep- you know I have video proof, too. All it’ll take is one accidental slip of the thumb and the entire group chat will-”

“Alright, focus!” Jisung yelps, storing the details of Chan’s secret crush, and Jeongin’s not-so-secret crush, for later torture of his close friends. He turns to Jeongin, who looks half tempted to jump on Chan’s ridiculously broad back again, and motions for him to lock in on the conversation. “So, Hyunjin. You said he has a shop?”

Jeongin huffs, reluctantly turning his glare away from his friend to nod at Jisung. “Yeah, he has a shop out by the Agriculture building. Makes a shitload of money off of non-magic humans wanting to know their fortune or commune with the dead. But, he also gives real knowledge and advice to the magical beings who come to him and offer a good price.”

“You know I’m broke, though.” Jisung pouts, crossing his arms in an increasingly agitated state. Jeongin wiggles his brows, never one to back down in the face of a little attitude.

“I never said you had to pay with money, hyung. Hyunjin takes all kinds of payments. My Comms friend once traded her great, great grandmother’s locket for answers to a final exam. The thing was rusty and didn’t shut anymore, but it was her most prized possession. It’s more about how valuable the object is than strictly monetary.”

Chan, seemingly recovered from being threatened by someone younger than him, is frowning now. “I don't like that idea, though… Do you really think this guy can be trusted? He seems like a conman.”

Jeongin grins now, attempting to look trustworthy. It doesn’t work- Jisung feels more doubtful than he had before. “He is not a conman, I promise. He can tell you almost anything you want to know, seriously! But everyone has a price, right? If you give him something worthwhile, he’ll return the favor.”

Chan cuts back in to weigh the pros and cons of meeting this stranger, Jeongin arguing his stance in turn. The two seem to momentarily forget Jisung is standing beside them as they fight to make their points known, bickering like true siblings would. While Jisung is left to ponder his own viewpoint, he glances back up to the dull, grey building across the road.

Jisung isn’t entirely sure what he could offer that is even of value- the most expensive thing he had owned had been his great grandmother’s candy dish, which had found a new home in his trash can since it had been shattered. Beyond that, he spent a couple thousand won on a soundboard and mixing equipment when he had been more serious about his music hobby, and now that he remembers the box sitting in his closet he can’t help but feel guilty for not putting it to good use recently. Jisung just doesn’t own anything that came at a large expense. He is a simple guy, he buys all of his clothes from thrift shops and all of his notebooks littered with songs half-finished had been less than ₩5,000. His couch wasn’t even an expense to him, because the last person who lived in his apartment had left it there.

Even beyond that, Jisung cannot think of a single thing he owns that holds significant emotional value. He has a favorite hoodie that keeps him warm and cozy during the chilly months, and he has his finished songs downloaded onto his PC at home, but those things are all… replaceable. He would be sad to see them go, of course- but he can always thrift another hoodie and write another song.

Jisung looks into the window of what he knows to be his apartment while he is lost in thought, five floors up from the lobby and three doors to the left. He pauses there, mouth hanging halfway open as he was about to contribute unhelpful words to his friends’ argument to further fan the flames. His bedroom window faces the same direction he is standing in now- and right in the center, between his pulled-back curtains, stands a figure.

It could be mistaken for a statue or cardboard cutout from this far away. The shape does not move, although it vaguely resembles something human. Jisung can pick out shoulders, nearly as broad as Chan’s, and a head resting atop. The figure becomes less solid as his eyes trace downward, black wisps and blurred edges making up everything beyond the pectorals of the thing. But Jisung can clearly make out the tilt of a man’s head, and he knows he could never imagine the fleeting glint of red light where two eyes would be staring at him. It looks calculating. It looks to be sizing Jisung and his friends up, assessing who would pose the biggest threat.

A cold fingertip touches his jaw.

Jisung jumps in a way he would imagine looks similar to a cartoon character, blinking wide eyes over to stare at Jeongin’s finger that had just poked him while his own hands smack his beating heart to keep it in his chest. The chill of the later afternoon air has turned his body temperature down, making him cool to the touch.

“Hyung, what do you think? Would you want to go tomorrow?” Jeongin asks, seemingly unaware of Jisung’s panic rising in his throat.

When Jisung whips his head back to his apartment window, there is no shadowed figure. His curtains move in the air that flows in from the window he knows he did not leave cracked open. When Jisung looks back at his friends, Chan seems to have given up on arguing. Both of them are waiting for his answer.

Jisung gulps, throat dry and insides cracking. He really hates the idea of seeing a strange man who will require questionable payment, but he hates the thought of being alone with the thing in his apartment even more. “I think we should go now, actually.”

“Really?” Chan asks, raising an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you get some rest, Sungie?”

“No, hyung. I’m good.” Jisung says, already backing away from his apartment building. There is an itch on his jawline, like a caress of something that isn’t really there. “I don’t think I would be sleeping much right now, anyway.”

 

The Agriculture building on the academy’s campus is nestled behind the main hall, down a winding path that slowly but surely becomes overgrown the longer you travel. The cobblestone pathway begins to crack as Jisung walks, vines and blades of grass peeking through the stone until the damp earth becomes all he can feel beneath his soles. Jisung has always thought this area of campus to be ethereal; He has no business being in the Agriculture building, since he is not an Herbal Remedies or Plant Biology major, but the purity of the air and birds singing from lofty tree branches makes him wish he had been cast into the realm.

Jeongin walks silently ahead, humming to himself as he leads the way. Chan is stationed behind Jisung, his guard up and his stance watchful of their surroundings. Jisung wants to roll his eyes, as if any danger would creep up on them this close to campus, but he finds he is too fond of his wolf to do so. The trio walks for long enough that dusk settles into Jisung’s bones, passing through what looks to be an overgrown vineyard. While the sticks of wood are mostly barren at this time of year, someone has clearly been taking the time to shed some attention onto the place. There is a large basket filled with fallen twigs and pieces of vine off to the side, a rake leaning against the fence nearby. Finally, up ahead in a small clearing, Jisung sees what looks to be a rubble-ridden, two story cottage taken over by the same greenery of the vineyard. The little stone and wood building is mostly standing, no doubt aided by the vines wrapped around the foundation and up onto the roof, and there is a single porch light turned on beside the door. Jisung feels Chan halt in his steps, prompting the younger two to look back at him.

“You two cannot seriously think the vibe is safe here.” Chan furrows his brows, crosses his arms- trying and failing to intimidate. Jisung has seen the deep crevice of his dimples and red-faced laughter, he doubts he could ever be intimidated by the other. Still, the caws of a nearby murder of crows seem to agree with his words.

Jeongin snorts, obviously not falling for the scare tactic either. “Hyung, this is way safer than seeing Jackson fucking Wang and his suspicious herbal remedies. Be serious, Hyunjin is a little sharp around the edges but he can be really… sweet.” The last word is mumbled to the ground, but Jisung hears it nonetheless.

Jisung glances to the building ahead, trying his best to pick up on the aura inside. His reading skills are subpar when it comes to energy, but he can usually at least pick up a vague trail. Now, though- he is getting nothing. Not even a leftover vibration from someone who had previously been in the building, as if no one has ever stepped foot in it at all. With a huff of annoyance he gives up; whatever is waiting for him in there still seems like a vacation when compared to the creature that is likely in his apartment.

Turning back to Chan, he raises an eyebrow. “C’mon, hyung. We’re going in whether you like it or not. Would you rather be there to protect us or run home with your tail between your legs?”

Jeongin snorts again, this time having the decency to cover his mouth. Chan grits his teeth, jaw clenching at Jisung’s ability to remain stubborn once he sets his mind to something. He mumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like brat before he is marching onward.

Jeongin completes a series of tap, tap tap tap tap, tap tap tap knocks on the door, folding his hands behind his back afterwards as Jisung and Chan wait behind him with varying levels of anticipatory nerves. No sound comes from behind the rickety wooden door, but suddenly it is being flung open by an otherworldly presence. Jisung feels his eyes widen as he realizes no one is to blame for pulling it open, taking cautious steps into the antique shop with Chan as his barrier to what lies within.

Jisung is immediately overstimulated. Every available surface- whether it be dark oak tables, the counter in the corner, or the rug-littered floor- is taken up by something. There are more lamps standing tall and hanging from the ceiling than Jisung has ever seen, all flicked on and casting various shades of warm lighting into the space. The rugs on the floor are mismatched jewel tones, some lying over the corners of others, shelves lining the walls which display a metric fuck ton of books and bottles. Wind chimes are swaying gently above the open window, twinkling sounds singing to his ears. Upon further inspection there is a deeply carved staircase off to the right, a small room underneath it covered by deep purple curtains and beaded strings of crystal clear quartz.

“Holy fuck, I have a migraine already,” Chan mumbles, trying his best to stay alert while rubbing at his temple. Jisung feels the same way, and it isn’t just the decor that impairs him. The further they walk into the space, the more tired Jisung feels. Even if he weren’t sleep-deprived, he could guarantee his eyes would remain half lidded. His already vulnerable psychic barriers are shaking with the effort to stay standing, so Jisung depletes them. Really, Jeongin wouldn’t have brought him somewhere he would be in danger- or at least that is his hope.

Light footsteps sound from above, the skip of a pair of socked feet dancing down the stairs. Jisung tries his best to focus on the shadow trailing over the wall of the staircase until he sees a figure emerge. As Chan had put it earlier,

“Holy fuck,” Jisung gapes, unable to help his sudden wide-eyed staring.

The first thing he sees is long, pale legs covered by short overalls. Then he takes in the plain black turtle neck thrown over a sharply defined chest and set of shoulders, sure he can see the protruding collarbones beneath it. Long waves of blond hair fall to frame porcelain-perfect skin, taunting eyes cutting a narrowed look in the direction of the trio.

There is a fucking ferret on this dude’s shoulder.

“Innie,” A soft taunt falls from the man’s lips- Jisung feels weird even thinking this creature is a man, far too perfect to be considered human. “It’s been too long, naekkeo. I thought you said you would see me again soon?”

Jeongin looks like he is barely keeping his knees beneath him, wobbly with a thin sheen of sweat gracing his forehead. The mysterious siren comes closer to the group, letting the furry body of his familiar scamper down his arm and onto the counter by the far wall. Jisung watches the little being hop onto a small cushion settled by the old register, curling up and laying it’s head on tiny paws. It regards both Jisung and Chan, huffing quietly when it seems to get bored and closes it’s eyes.

“Don’t mind Beodeul, she has a protective streak about her.” Jisung snaps his head back to the man in front of him, blinking like a deer caught in headlights. He extends long, slim fingers dotted with ink, offering his hand to Jisung. “Call me Hyunjin, by the way. What should I call you?”

The words had been picked intentionally. Jisung is aware Hyunjin purposefully avoided asking if he could have his name, displaying an effort to avoid possible trickery. Jisung never works directly with the type of entities that would take him as a slave or anything, but he has read enough literature to know the meaning.

“Call me Jisung,” He says, gripping Hyunjin’s hand with his own clammy palm. Damn it- even Hyunjin’s hands are soft as hell. Where did this guy come from? Actual Heaven?

Hyunjin cuts his narrowed eyes back to look at Chan, who has now taken up position behind his friends. His arms are crossed and his gaze trained on Hyunjin, not letting his guard down no matter how beautiful he is. Hyunjin hums a soft tune as he drifts around Jisung, running his hand over Jisung’s shoulders lazily, making him jump at the intimate contact, as he starts to slither into Chan’s space.

Jeongin sighs, shaking his head with a little groan. “Jinnie, please don’t embarrass Chan-hyung. He’s just protective!”

Hyunjin doesn’t take his eyes away from Chan, sizing up the cut of his biceps as he moves ever so gently closer to the wolf. Jisung’s brows furrow, half-caught between feeling scared and confused. Chan isn’t moving from his spot, arms still crossed and still tracking every move Hyunjin makes. He isn’t the most aggressive wolf Jisung has ever met, far from it really- but close contact when he is already feeling on guard is a bad idea. Jisung can’t tell if the tension in the room is an assertion of dominance or… sexual, actually.

“Innie-yah, you know I don’t like big men who think their muscles matter. Let me do my thing,” Hyunjin sighs, still maintaining a bored air of indifference. Finally, he gets within touching distance of Chan. And Chan… doesn’t move. Like, at all.

Jisung realizes with a start that the humming hasn’t stopped, even as Hyunjin had spoken. The sound feels like it is bouncing off the walls, almost overbearing but still hypnotizing in it’s melody. He can only watch as Hyunjin leans into Chan’s personal space, whispering an unintelligible secret in his ear that makes the bigger man’s shoulders go slack. Jisung hears the sigh that leaves Jeongin’s mouth, as if he knew this would happen, as the two watch Chan become more and more entranced by the being in front of him. Finally, Hyunjin pulls away- and flicks Chan right in the center of his forehead.

“Bad dog.”

“Ow! What the hell-” Chan’s wince is cut off as he blinks, seeming to resurface from the deep trance he had been pulled into. He glowers at Hyunjin, who is now walking away from him with a tinkering little giggle. “What did you do to me?”

Hyunjin shrugs, picking Beodeul up from her comfy napping space. She gives a small rumble and a yawn, instead choosing to fall limp in the crook of his elbow. Jisung feels a grin tug onto his face, regardless of the concern he still has for Chan’s wellbeing. So much attitude for such a small lady.

“You can relax,” Hyunjin says. “I like to bend the emotions of people that are fun to fuck with. You look like a territorial puppy leaning against my front door, I thought it would be funny to treat you like one.”

Chan balks in response, mouth opening and closing much like the fish Jisung imagines living in the pond he spotted out behind the cottage. Then, Hyunjin’s attention turns to him and suddenly nothing is funny.

“You, Han Jisung,” He raises an eyebrow, beckoning Jisung with a tilt of his head. “Come with me, let’s talk payment.”

Chapter Text

“So… You think thirty five American cents, a green paperclip, and an Amethyst palm stone is going to be enough to pay me for giving you the solution to your lack of a sleep schedule?”

Jisung blinks, glancing down to his outstretched palm and the way Hyunjin still has not taken his hands off his hips. “Well, I don't not think that.”

Hyunjin snorts, somehow still making it look pretty. “Do I look cheap to you, Jisung?”

Jisung blushes at the huff of laughter behind him, turning to glare at Jeongin. Chan still looks unsettled where he stands beside the other, but looks more baffled that someone got through his defenses than anything else. Hyunjin shakes his head, carding long fingers through soft strands of hair, and opens the velvet curtain leading inside the room under the staircase. Jisung follows, batting strings of tiny crystals out of his way and stepping into a room he has to stagger backward to take in properly.

If the front of the shop had been overstimulating, Jisung is sure the room under the stairs is a neurodivergent nightmare. A windowsill covered in plants and stained glass, the entire back wall lined with shelves of ingredients and half finished artwork, dried herbs hanging from the low ceiling almost enough to hit the top of Jisung’s head- Beodeul even has another cushion in the room, on a small table that she hops onto and settles down.

In the center of the room stands a round table covered by a deep purple cloth. Hyunjin sits in the ornately carved, dark oak chair closest to the wall, motioning for Jisung to sit across. When he does as he is told he glances at the lone item on the table- a gaudy, glittering crystal ball. If he touched the object he fears his fingers would never rid of the little specks of iridescent glitter.

Jisung raises an eyebrow. “Is the crystal ball really necessary?”

Hyunjin shrugs, pressing a button under his side of the table to dim the lights to something a little more comfortable. “Non-magical humans visit often. They care about a good show more than the actual answers to their problems. Wanna see a magic trick?”

Nodding, Jisung watches as Hyunjin’s hand moves under the brim of the table. If he hadn’t been actively staring at the man, and Hyunjin hadn’t already dimmed the lights via an unseen remote, Jisung wouldn’t think he was doing anything out of the ordinary. But suddenly a gust of wind comes through the small overhead vent, and Jisung startles at what sounds like footsteps clinking upstairs. Hyunjin makes a show out of rolling his eyes back in his head so only the whites are to be seen, tilting his chin down and rubbing the fake crystal ball as if he were speaking to it.

“Oh powers beyond the veil, will Han Jisung ever get laid?”

Jisung almost scoffs, but suddenly the room is flooded with whispers from all sides. No speakers are spotted in the area, and both of Hyunjin’s hands are on the ball, so how-

As soon as it starts, it’s over. Hyunjin’s eyes go back to their normal honey brown, and the whispers stop along with the cool air. Hyunjin shrugs, tucking a stray blonde hair behind his ear. “They say they require one million won as sacrifice before they spill.”

Jisung clears his throat and wipes his sweaty palms against his hoodie. Joking about money had unknowingly prompted him to remember why he is here in the first place. He glances back to his friends, who nod in a show of moral support, and lets out a breath. Turning back to Hyunjin, “Okay, so… I’m broke, obviously.”

“It would seem so,” Hyunjin says primly, leaning an elbow on the table and folding his hand under his chin. “Tell me what’s going on, Jisung.”

With another breath, Jisung divulges his most recent horrors. Of course, he doesn’t mention the full extent of the haunting; Chan and Jeongin are standing behind him and he hasn’t shared many of the gory details. He mentions the night terrors and the book he unlocked from the warded box. What he does not mention is the link he forged between these events and the slaughter that took place that same night. He doesn’t say a word about the phantom touch of cold fingers against the contours of his face, or the shadow lurking in his apartment, or the teetering laugh he sometimes can still hear as he drifts off at night. Hyunjin takes the information he divulges in, nodding his head and gaining a small furrow between his sharp brows as Jisung rambles.

“Wait-“ Hyunjin murmurs, “So you broke the warding on this box, an unknown entity fell out, and you felt the energy of it so strongly that you physically choked. Then, nothing?”

Jisung copies that furrow of the other’s brows, although he is sure Hyunjin looks prettier doing it. “Well, no. I’ve been having sleep paralysis and night terrors.”

Hyunjin blinks, the wrinkle on his forehead growing deeper. “Okay, but that’s it?”

“That’s it?” Jisung does actually scoff this time, trying not to seem too defensive. “Yes, and I think that’s more than enough!”

Hyunjin considers him for a moment, legs crossed and bouncing one over the other slowly. Jisung feels antsy, like Hyunjin can see down to his very bones and mind and soul. Whatever he finds there, it makes him glance to the other two in the room before turning back to Jisung who is resolutely not meeting his eye. He has always been a shit liar, but he thought this time it had been going pretty smoothly.

“Alright, Jisung. I’ll help you.”

Jisung’s head snaps up, his wide eyes of disbelief meeting Hyunjin’s own half-lidded, nonchalant stare. His foot still kicks the air slowly.

“But, what about payment?” Jisung asks. Jeongin whispers something behind him that makes Chan deliver a resounding smack. Probably a porn joke.

Hyunjin ignores this though, instead glancing at Jisung's nervously fidgeting hands. When he looks back into his eyes, Hyunjin says, “I want you to show me what you feel at night.”

“I swear to god I’ve seen this on PornHub.”

“PornHub isn’t available in Korea,” Chan mumbles, obviously trying to ignore the youngest’s commentary.

Jeongin scoffs, “VPN exists, hyung.”

Jisung cuts both of them a harsh glare, Jeongin miming locking his lips and throwing away the key while Chan blushes with embarrassment, looking incredibly interested in the jars lining the wall by the door all of a sudden.

Jisung turns back to Hyunjin, who looks much less affected by the bickering from the peanut gallery. “How does seeing my memory benefit you?” He asks, wary.

Hyunjin hums, picking at skin around his cuticle. “It doesn’t, not really. But I am nothing if not curious, and you interest me, Sungie. I’ve never had a case like yours.”

Jisung is now the one left to blush, looking down to speak quietly to the table. “Erm, well- you’re really gorgeous and all, but not exactly my type-“

“I’m not fucking you, dumbass.” Hyunjin uses the same even tone, but Jisung can somehow feel his eyes roll back. “Are you going to let me pry your little brain open and look at your deepest, darkest thoughts? Or do you want to go back to your student apartment and speak to your hell spawn roommate about the sleeping arrangements?”

Jisung considers stepping back into his apartment, cold and alone and with no one to protect him from whatever is lurking within. He shivers outwardly.

“Fine. Get inside me.”

A gag, the most emotion Hyunjin has really shown since they met. “Please never say that to me like, ever again.”

Hyunjin dims the lights further, until the room is only basking in the light of the moon coming from the circular window near the ceiling. Now that the sun has disappeared from the sky, the aura of the room feels a lot more mystical- as if Hyunjin really is some all-knowing, powerful entity. With the way he turns his palms up to lay both of Jisung’s hands on his own, Jisung starts sweating like it’s true. Seriously- what lotion does this creepy bitch use? His hands are insane.

Hyunjin slowly inhales, exhaling just as slow as he gets comfortable in his chair. In the corner of the room Beodeul raises her head, suddenly becoming more alert as she watches her keeper focus his energy on Jisung. Hyunjin’s eyes meet his own, suddenly looking much sharper. Jisung can almost read his energy, even though he is sure the other has incredibly strong barriers built around himself and his home. Even without a reading, though, he knows determination when he sees it. “Last chance to turn back. Are you ready, Jisung?”

Jisung exhales a breath that is much shakier than Hyunjin’s had been seconds prior. He tries to invoke confidence as he says, “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Hyunjin’s lips quirk ever so slightly at one corner. Jisung has no time to think of anything else as he feels a pull in his mind, eyes rolling back in his sockets within seconds when his body goes lax and he is yanked into his own subconscious.

The cold caress of a phantom hand, fingertips grazing along the slope of his nose and tracing the line of his jaw. His eyes move rapidly through REM, following the body of energy passing through his room, bouncing off the walls, chasing the air out of his lungs. He is drowning in visions; flashes of dark tufts of hair, crimson pools of metallic liquid, low lights of a bar Jisung has never stepped foot in and the screams of strangers that cut into garbled, futile breaths of the near-dead. The reporter’s words from outside the bar resonate in his mind, flashing images of bodies he has never seen and the labored breathing of a set of lungs that is not his own. A strange feeling of elation, euphoria coursing through his veins which throb in his arms and neck.

“Now, the question is this: What exactly is prowling the streets of Seoul? Will this incident be an isolated attack, and are we safe to continue on as normal? While I am advised to not contribute to audience biases…”

His own body is standing stock-still, outside the bar, and he watches himself as his shoulder is grabbed by a police officer. Jisung feels jealousy unlike anything he has ever possessed, a carnal urge to rip the officer’s ribs out of his body and lick the blood clean from bone.

“I will only say, to the citizens of Seoul, be alert. Lock your doors, and care for your neighbors. While there is little to no information regarding the creature attack, the only thing we can do is hope and pray he has fled the city for good. This has been Song Hyeon-woo, now signing off.”

Then, a different voice- softer, higher pitched. Almost like a lullaby, but with the sinister undertone of a locked door in a monastery. You swear decay is lingering on your tongue.

“I want-“

Jisung gasps when he feels Hyunjin disconnect their hands, suddenly trapezed away from his mind and slammed back into the present. He is panting now, body fighting for air that has been stolen from his throat. When he presses a hand to his forehead, it comes back to the table wet with perspiration and trembling from wrist to fingertip.

Something heavy and warm settles over Jisung’s shoulders, wrapping him in comfort and safety. “Sung-ah, breathe,” Chan’s voice whispers by his ear, arms and back pressed over his frame and slowly rocking him. “You’re okay. You’re safe, shh.”

Jisung’s vision had been spotted when he first came back into reality. Now, as he slowly counts his breaths with the help of his friend, his vision clears. Jeongin is crouched by Hyunjin’s side, Beodeul in the man’s arms as Jeongin feeds him water from a mason jar. He looks off-kilter as well, hair falling onto his own sweaty forehead and chest moving more quickly than what is considered normal- though nothing like Jisung himself feels.

Jisung had expected Hyunjin to figure out he has not exactly been truthful about the events of the past few days. He expected Hyunjin to see what he had seen when he was walking by the bar, and to feel the phantom lingering in the corners of his apartment. But the memories he had just been privy to- they were not Jisung’s own. They were memories, for sure, but not Jisung’s. He had watched the visions as if seeing them for the first time, just as Hyunjin had. Jisung’s head aches with the implications of that, and he fights to keep his mind in the present instead of dwelling. Future Jisung can freak out about that when he is back in his haunted apartment.

Hyunjin blinks, seeming to snap himself out of a daze as he murmurs thanks to Jeongin and pulls away, keeping Beodeul seated in his lap. His eyes dart to Jisung, stare unreadable as he patiently waits for Jisung to gain his footing. Chan finally pulls away from his sweaty back as Hyunjin continues to stare at him for another minute, seemingly lost in thought. He rubs two knuckles over Beodeul’s head, Jisung hearing her rumble happily in response. Hyunjin clears his throat as he turns the lights in the room onto a brighter setting.

“Well- I can confidently say you are being stalked.” Hyunjin nods to himself, slowly slipping back into his facade of nonchalant boredom. “Sucks to be you, dude.”

Jisung’s mouth falls into a gape. “That’s it? No name for the creature? No identity, or how I’m supposed to get rid of it?”

Hyunjin considers him for a moment, shrugging to himself and standing to walk to the shelves behind him. Jisung watches him pull out two jars, an empty bottle, and a spool of thread. He sits back at the large round table, setting to work measuring ingredients using only his eyes and divvying them into the empty bottle.

“While I cannot tell you exactly what the entity is, I feel it is strong,” Hyunjin comments, pouring pink salt. He opens a jar of some sort of black ash, slowly tipping an unexplained amount into the mixture. “I don’t know a name, or an origination, aside from the warded box. My guess is you unleashed some sort of upper-level trickster, who then imprinted on you like a baby duck. It’s goal is unclear based on the,” Here, Hyunjin pauses. He glances at Chan and Jeongin, who look none the wiser to the inner workings of Jisung’s memories. Jisung would like to keep it that way. “Visions, you have in your memory.”

Jisung casts a grateful look in Hyunjin’s direction, the other man winking discreetly at him before he continues. He ties the bottle off with a piece of thread, snapping it off the spool with his teeth. “The only thing I am confident about is that this entity is feeding off of you directly. Not to satisfy it’s hunger, as it is clearly eating elsewhere, but to satisfy… some other urge.

“This bottle is filled with a protective mixture, my original recipe. Make sure to spread a line of it in front of your bedroom door and by any windows in your room, make sure they’re closed. The entity is already in your apartment, so there is no way to keep it out- but you can keep it away from your bedroom by taking the box and the text out as well as spreading this powder. It should help you sleep, at least until you can figure out precisely what you’re dealing with and how to expel it.”

Jisung nods, taking the small bottle from Hyunjin’s hands and holding it towards the moonlight streaming in. The pink and black specks inside are innocent in nature, but Jisung trusts Hyunjin not to lead him astray by giving him a fake product.

“Okay, good.” He says, stowing the bottle in his back pocket. “What happens when I run out?”

Hyunjin does not hesitate in his reply. “It should last two or three days. I’ll sell you the recipe and spell for ₩750,000.”

Jisung makes a noise somewhere between indignation and disbelief. “No fucking way! You know I don’t even have half of that amount of money in my entire apartment!”

Hyunjin shrugs, a mischievous glint in his eye that now reads as evil. Jisung should have never put his trust in this fucker. “Okay, good luck!” Now, addressing Jeongin, “Naekkeo, promise not to make me wait this long again. Come back soon, alright?”

Then they are dismissed. Motherfucker.

Jisung curses Hyunjin in his head the entire walk back to his apartment, Chan mimicking many of his thoughts allowed as Jeongin tunes them both out with hearts in his eyes. When the three of them split ways, Jisung promises Chan he will stay safe and call if he needs anything. Then, Jisung is suddenly turning the knob of his apartment door and locking it closed behind him.

His apartment feels cold. Frigid, even- enough to make a shiver pass through him. Jisung grips the bottle he had obtained in his hand tightly, fingers squeezing the glass so hard he faintly worries it would crack if he held any strength whatsoever. The space is completely dark, no lights being left on for his late return, and the only sound that reaches Jisung’s ears is his own slightly labored breath.

Jisung makes a beeline for his bedroom, tossing the wooden box and text lying within onto his couch in the living room before jogging back to his room. The window he definitely did not leave open is still cracked, so he shuts it before spreading a line of the pink and black mixture onto the sill. Then Jisung makes a run for his bedroom door, pouring the rest of the bottle out onto the floor and ensuring it is not broken before he stands back to his feet.

The now-empty bottle in Jisung’s loose grip falls to the floor, Jisung can hear it roll somewhere under his bed as he stares into his dark hallway. The shadowed figure he had seen in his window earlier has come to greet him, now taking form at the end of the hall with that same red glint right where a set of eyes could be.

Jisung doesn’t move. He is stock-still, watching the entity that is watching him from the other side of his apartment. It stands without movement, the tilt to it’s head much the same as it had been earlier. Now, the only other being there to calculate and assess is Jisung’s own form, shaking in his knees and turning in on himself in his fear.

A million scenarios run through Jisung’s head; ways in which the entity could harm him, blood pooled on his floor like it had been pooled onto the floorboards of the bar downtown. Labored breathing and ecstasy that isn’t his own bounce around in his brain like flashes of light in a dark tunnel. Still, the being does not move from it’s position down the hall. It stands, and waits, and does not make a sound.

Slowly, Jisung backs away from the bedroom door.

He settles into bed without taking his eyes off the doorframe, which is obstructed from view when he lays against his pillow. Jisung feels wide awake, waiting for the creature standing just on the other side of the wall to step foot inside his room with that same tinkering laugh. But the shadow never comes closer, it never touches cold fingertips to Jisung’s face.

He falls asleep eventually, into a dreamless slumber where he finds a quietness he hasn’t felt in days.

When Jisung wakes up it is not at some ungodly hour of the morning with sweat pouring down his back, it is to the sound of his alarm and morning sunlight greeting him from the window beside his bed.

Jisung groans, turning onto his side to blink bleary eyes and clear his vision.

The bottle Hyunjin gave him… worked. Jisung slept so well he feels hungover.

Tuesdays start at 10AM for Jisung, with his first class of the day being the Art of Dead Languages. Jisung makes it to the academy’s main lecture hall without a hitch, feeling well rested and content with his non-haunted existence. He breezes through his next class, Contextual Storytelling, and finds his friends at the mahogany table in the academy’s library when it’s time for their lunch break. For the first time in almost two weeks, Jisung feels normal.

“I swear to god, I think this Oni bitch is stalking me.”

Well, as normal as he can feel, given his line of work.

Jisung sits down across from Seungmin, who has been grumbling into his folded arms over the table top. Felix is beside him, rubbing at Seungmin’s back with a rhythm that is meant to be calming. If it were anyone else, Seungmin would have shaken the hands off of his body long ago. Jisung can only assume having special privileges comes with the job description of being the world’s prettiest pixie.

“You know for a fact it’s an Oni?” Jisung asks, startling when Seungmin himself startles, as if he hadn’t even heard Jisung sit down. The other man raises his head, blinking bleary eyes at him and adjusting round glasses on the bridge of his nose. Seungmin always wears contacts- he must be exhausted if he hadn’t even bothered to put them in this morning.

“I am almost positive he’s an Oni,” Seungmin grumbles. “Every single time I look at something out of the corner of my eye I see this massive, blue humanoid creature with horns, fangs, and a fucking loincloth. He is tailing me, and has been since I released him from that stupid text. I keep warding my apartment and locking my doors with every possible lock I can conjure, but somehow he still gets in at night. And the worst part is he just- stares at me. He only makes his presence known when he thinks I’m asleep, but I haven’t slept in a week because he’s always fucking there!”

Jisung blinks, unsure how to handle Seungmin showing so much of his annoyance on his face. Seungmin has always been the picture perfect example of being able to brush something off. Nothing has fazed him in the entire time Jisung has known him- nothing quite like this, at least. Jisung feels a pang of empathy in his chest, knowing the other is lacking in sleep and knowing how much of a bitch insomnia can be, especially at the hands of a creature he doesn’t know how to banish.

Jisung snaps the lid off of his sushi container, handpicked from the bottom shelf of the student center where freshness is guaranteed. He ignores the icy glare coming from Seungmin, popping a piece of Onigiri into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “You know, I had a similar problem.”

A snort comes from in front of him. “What, you had a ten foot tall creature stalking you and ensuring you know no peace?”

Jisung shakes his head, swallowing his food. “No, I had a shadow lurking in my walls and giving me night terrors. That’s why I said something similar.”

Seungmin is the one left to blink now. His glasses slip down the bridge of his nose, so Felix carefully pushes them back into place with one pointed nail. Jisung raises a brow at the two of them, ignoring the feeling of more of their friends coming to greet them and sit down. Jeongin and Chan show up together, laughing over some anime they have been watching.

“Okay, I’ll ask,” Felix smiles at Jisung, helping in any way he possibly can to ensure he does not meet an early demise at the hands of Kim Seungmin. “How did you fix your sleeping problems, Sungie?”

Jisung hums, sliding another piece of sushi into his mouth. He feels slightly guilty, but mostly prideful at the twitch in Seungmin’s eye. “I’m so glad you asked, Lixie. I actually went to see one of Jeongin’s… friends. In the Comms department. He’s a freaky guy, but he helped me a lot. Gave me this weird bottle with a protective powder. Now I sleep great!”

At Jisung’s confident grin and the mention of Jeongin’s name, the younger butts his head into Jisung’s space from his left. He looks awfully giddy to be talking about this, although Jisung would never say as much out loud. Jeongin threatened to tell their entire friend group about Chan’s so-called ‘secret crush’ if he called him out, and Jisung knows Jeongin has way more dirt on him than he does their oldest friend. He does have some self preservation skills.

“Are we talking about seeing Hyunjin again?” Jeongin asks, head tipped in Seungmin’s direction as he not-so-discreetly takes in the man’s tired expression. Then, he snorts. “Dude, you look like shit.”

Seungmin’s glare is icy, enough so that Jisung feels a shiver dip down his spine even though the glower is aimed at their youngest. “I don’t need to see some cuck to get some shitty powder to be able to sleep. Felix is making a tonic for me, that’ll be enough.”

Jeongin hums, an all-knowing stare encompassing his features that oddly reminds Jisung of Hyunjin. How much time do these two really spend together? Jeongin had made it seem like they rarely saw each other, but Hyunjin had spoken to him as if they met up regularly. Jisung wouldn’t dare to ask Jeongin, but maybe Hyunjin would tell him if he pays the right price.

“You know, Lixie is pretty good with potion brewing and herbal remedies,” Jeongin starts, an air of confidence surrounding his words. “But this isn’t just a sleep issue, right? You have a stalker, and you’re pretty sure he’s an Oni. You know better than I do that those guys never leave you alone once they pick you, right? They’re territorial creatures. I’m just saying- wouldn’t you want a protective spell in case he gets any funny ideas, hyung? By the time the powder runs out, you’ll have figured out how to banish him.”

Jisung watches the gears in Seungmin’s brain turn, cogs blowing steam out of his ears which have turned red with indignation. Seungmin hates when other people have a point, especially when he has adamantly disagreed. Jisung is curling his toes in anticipation of the impending war that he sees dance in Seungmin’s eyes.

But the other man, to everyone’s shock, exhales slowly and squeezes his eyes shut. When he opens them, they are weighed down with exhaustion. He turns to Jeongin, muttering, “When can we see this guy, anyway?”

And Jeongin grins like the cat that caught the canary.

Before Jisung can process what’s happened, Jeongin is picking Seungmin’s things up from the table and throwing his own bag back over his shoulder. He ushers Seungmin to follow him, the other man grunting and groaning and dragging his feet the entire time, and suddenly the two are gone from sight. Felix blinks between Chan and Jisung, pursing his lips.

“I hope Seungminnie gets some sleep soon,” he says thoughtfully. Then, to Jisung, “Did Hyunjin’s spell work really treat you well? You look much better than you did a few days ago.”

Jisung shrugs, playing with the lid of his now empty sushi container. “Yeah, it worked as far as I can tell. I slept better last night than I have in ages, even before all of this started. I think it’s safe to say I can focus on my academics without fearing for my life.”

At least, Jisung can do that as long as he stays in his room after dark. He doesn’t mention the figure still stalking his apartment, lurking just beyond the line of salt and ash keeping it at bay. The last thing he wants to do is worry his friends more, and Felix and Chan certainly don’t deserve to have the extra anxiety stored for his benefit. What could they do, anyway? No sleep tonic will help him, and Chan standing guard outside his bedroom would only put him in danger, although Jisung knows he would do it without hesitation if he only asked.

Besides, it’s not like the entity has really harmed him. Other people, most definitely- but not Jisung. If anything, it has just been an annoying presence in his life. Fear settles into his bones whenever the being is near, but it has never made an effort to hurt him, only letting him know it is capable of doing so if it pleases. Hyunjin had made a smart ass remark about the entity being his roommate, but really, that’s kind of what it feels like. At least, in some really sick, really twisted alternate universe where Jisung’s roommate is a cold-blooded killer.

Half an hour later, he leaves Felix and Chan alone in their own little bubble in order to arrive at his last class of the day, Worlds of Magik. Recently they have been discussing Purgatory, getting ready to start their exam and move onto the Underworld. Jisung is confident in his abilities to learn and to hold knowledge, he doesn’t feel anywhere near as guilty as he usually would for zoning out in the class. Besides, Seungmin can usually give him any notes he might have missed. The lecture is over before he really gets a chance to properly spiral in his thoughts, anyway. But at the very least, he is able to have a quiet walk back home and allot his time to properly thinking about his plans for the rest of the evening.

The air feels lighter today, somehow. While the sun is still high in the sky, Jisung feels like he can get real work done. He is able to make a kettle of tea, adding a small amount of calming tonic Felix had given him a couple months ago, and settles in for the next few hours to numb his brain. Jisung dawns his sacred gloves, pulls the top book off of the stack in the corner and starts to work on decoding.

Comparatively, his regular coursework is like a piece of cake compared to the Haitian-Sino bullshit he has spent the past week struggling to make sense of. While he is only vaguely familiar with the patterns and symbols in the ancient text Headmaster Kim assigned him, the books included in his regular academic study are comfortable. He is able to work through the rest of the text he had started earlier in the week, drawing similarities and contradictions to the small pile of books he has already read over. By the time the sun starts to set and his desk is bathed in golden light, Jisung’s hand is cramping and he feels a pleasant buzz in his psyche.

The setting sun means Jisung makes quick work of draining the last of his tea, already feeling the too-cold air seep into his kitchen. He crosses back into the threshold of his bedroom, over the line of salt and ash that has kept him safe, and resolutely does not look down the hall to see if a shadow is watching him. He checks the unbroken line by his windowsill, exhaling a sigh of relief and flopping onto his bed.

The thing is, Jisung hasn’t really given himself time to think. Avoidance and compartmentalization only work for so long before his weak, weak brain starts to do what it does best: analyze. Now that Jisung is alone in a quiet place and doesn’t have to worry about cold fingertips in his sleep, his brain is muddled enough that it can’t quite pull enough barriers up to keep his own thoughts at bay.

The nightmares, the bar, the visions of his own body from across the pavement- it is obvious those are not Jisung’s memories. He has never felt the dark euphoria of another’s insides held in his own hands, has never been able to smell blood so close it tastes like sugar on his tongue. That sick, envious feeling that had drowned him when he watched the police officer touch his own shoulder was not present when he actually lived through it, and he has never felt violence like that of a jealous entity. Jisung knows, he isn’t stupid, he just hasn’t been able to allow himself to think about it.

The entity Jisung released is inside of him. At least, it is in his memories. In his psyche, his deepest darkest corners. It wormed it’s way into his body and mind without Jisung even knowing. Like a parasite, it has taken host within him- yet somehow has a body of it's own.

A trickster certainly would be able to command his memories, bending them to it’s will. That would explain the feeling of being under surveillance at all times, and the figure that had materialized in his window. Low-level tricksters are unable to manipulate memories and vision like that, but an upper-level entity could easily accomplish the feat. It would explain the corporeal being in his apartment, and it explains the nightmares that feel too real to be completely in his mind. The thing about tricksters, though, is that they create a more chaotic environment than what Jisung has been on the receiving end of. Historically, a trickster could be haunting him for a number of reasons- food, energy, sexual resources- but the entity has not fed, and Jisung has not been manipulated into a more energetic or sexual state. If a trickster were feeding off of him, it would keep him… horny, for lack of a better word. Instead of arousal, all Jisung has felt is terror. It doesn’t make sense, because Jisung has not had visions of being manhandled or kissed with a wicked tongue, he has had visions of death! Decidedly the least sexy thing he can fathom.

Except the more Jisung thinks about it, the more he… thinks about it. And even if he is not one thousand percent convinced the entity is a trickster, a trickster would definitely attempt to worm into Jisung’s brain and change his psyche, Pavlovian condition him into finding the events that have happened to be less evil, and more erotic. The memories that had seeped into his own, to the point where he cannot envision the night that he walked in front of that bar without also smelling scorching sugar and feeling that swirl of euphoria and envy twist his insides, are far more palatable than the actual experience he lived. The nausea and horror of that night dissipated long ago, replaced by a palpitation in the beat of his heart when he remembers the urge to snap another human being’s neck just because he grazed Jisung’s clothed skin.

Jisung is self-aware enough to understand what makes his blood pump quicker in his veins. He can vividly recall when he and Chan had first met, on the first day of Security and Defense when they were paired as sparring partners and Jisung had almost crawled away from the wolf in his embarrassment to hide an ill-timed boner when Chan had flexed his muscles. Jisung spent the first month of the semester fighting moans every time Chan pinned him down during their sparring matches, and thank fuck they ended up becoming friends or else Jisung would still be fucking his fist at night to the feeling of taught fingers scruffing the back of his neck like a pup. Really, if Chan had displayed a single ounce of jealousy when he very intentionally flirted with Jeongin in the other man’s presence that first time (sorry, Jeongin) Jisung would still be yearning at epic proportions. But thankfully, Chan has never been rough with him outside of sparring. And his friend has never been the jealous type, even when he does actually have a crush on someone.

Jisung admits his depravity openly, he enjoys the feeling of being small and he enjoys being put in his place. Having someone feel like they have claim over him, feeling as if he has been branded by another without even realizing it, makes Jisung hot all over. He is sweating just thinking about it, willing away the twitch in his sleep shorts from the mental image alone. When he really thinks about it, starts to make connections like he has cracked open an ancient text, he feels something lock in place inside his head like it often does when he just gets it.

The cold caress of fingertips grazing along the slope of his nose and tracing the line of his jaw. Flashes of dark tufts of hair, crimson pools of metallic liquid, images of bodies he has never seen, and the labored breathing of a set of lungs that is not his own. The feeling of elation, euphoria coursing through his veins, jealousy unlike anything he has ever possessed, a carnal urge to rip the officer’s ribs out of his body and lick the blood clean from bone.

“The only thing we can do is hope and pray he has fled the city for good.”

Jisung jolts, sits up on his mattress with the sinking feeling in his gut that only comes with a horrifying realization.

The entity- the creature, the being, the whatever-the-fuck Jisung realeased from that damned ancient text which certainly is not a trickster, by any means. It- no, not it, he-

He has been circling Jisung. He was released from the box, and Jisung had been wondering when he would return but he has always been here. Lurking, breathing over Jisung’s neck in his sleep and prodding at his brain with cold fingers to warp his memories. He has reshaped the night Jisung’s reality tipped and turned on its head into something vastly different, has rebuilt the night in his image and pushed the want coursing through his inhuman veins into Jisung’s own psyche.

The entity is hunting Jisung. Slowly but surely, he is closing in. The salt and ash dusting his doorframe and windowsill are not going to protect him- nothing that Jisung has ever read about or studied could possibly do so. The creature is stalking him as a means to break down his defenses, nestled quietly just outside of his bedroom and watching him prance through his apartment without striking. During the day when the sun is out, Jisung has continuously felt much safer than he does at night. He has laid across his couch and studied his books, made his tea and kept the kettle unwatched on his stovetop, as if the entity cannot strike him during the day. That is not the case; the entity is simply choosing to leave him alone until dusk creeps in. Because if Jisung knows he is in the presence of a predator, his guard stays up. The being is standing on the outskirts of his mind and his home to groom Jisung’s guard into comfortability. He has been there for weeks already, and Jisung has only felt curious of his nature- not frightened of being harmed, but frightened of the unknown. He is toying with Jisung, waiting for his mental barriers to dissipate so that he can finally strike. And Jisung has been lowering his safety net this entire time. Now, he doubts it will be easy to maintain, let alone bring himself to pull it back up again.

Somewhere in his apartment, Jisung hears a soft echo of laughter.

He is so fucked.

Chapter Text

Jisung falls to slumber, mind racing but untouched by the entity circling him, shark infested waters lying right outside his bedroom door. In his slumber, Jisung dreams.

Unadulterated intimacy is experienced through too-sharp canines meeting the flesh of Jisung’s nape, devotion unlike anything he has ever felt. Jisung fights, his frail fists beating at the empty air and petrified breath stuck in his lungs, gasping without forming the courage to do anything more than feel the pounding of his affrightened heart like tremor-ridden prey. The teeth marking his tissue are dripping with honey, stickying his skin and priming him for the rapture. The tongue that follows their path is too hot, searing him and turning his bones to liquid. Jisung feels faint; he feels on the verge of collapse, but still yet the kicking of his cock against silk-pressed sheets is undeniable. His insides are alight with liquid lust, envy so palpable in the air it becomes tangible. The fog of incense flavored with wrath lands beside his terrified breath.

The hunger in Jisung’s bloodstream is overshadowed by the insatiable entity behind him, drinking him in deeply and sinking fangs in deeper. The hunger of the creature is burning a trench through his veins, in his stomach, where his insides are twisted up into knots in need of release. The being has no appetite to fill, only a bottomless pit of more, more, more that must be held to fruition. While his own cock is weeping, twitching pathetically, the shape of another is pressed to his ass. He mewls, instead of fighting the fogged air in front of himself he bends his back, arches into the need and yearning which threatens to overtake his body whole.

The hands that grip his narrow hips are clawed, sharp points digging into his bones like they want to possess more than his body. He is handled with rapt attention, devotion lying within the droplets of blood mingling with his sweat and seeping into his thighs. Pragmatism is for those who have never yearned, have never wanted anything as much as Jisung wants for this sensation coursing through his every atom. Sticky fingers bring the devout to their knees, and Jisung is suffocating in reverence. Consumption has never felt this warm, this all-encompassing, and beyond his own blood pumping through the seams of his being Jisung feels the need to be consumed.

The long, hard cock against him ruts further, slipping into sweet decadence and pressing against his clenching rim. Jisung whines loudly, a welcoming sound to the ears of the starved. One set of fingers reaches forth, pressing against the tender flesh of his throat, and Jisung feels the blaze in his muscles grow ten-fold. The hunger within him grows, the being behind him pressing in closer to instigate the famine.

Four words are whispered to him, into his ear as the touching and teasing of sensation brings Jisung to his boiling point. Four words which are repeated as Jisung wakes, panting for breath and covered in sweat, his own cum seeping into his shorts.

I want to eat.

Jisung hears the growl of a soft voice he has never heard in this realm reverberate in his mind, bouncing off the walls of his mental barriers and causing them to tremble in its wake. He blinks through the black dots prodding at his vision, wincing at the discomfort under his briefs. It’s morning, he realizes, the birds chirping from the powerlines outside tell him as much. Glancing to his door and windowsill quickly, Jisung confirms the lines of ash have not been moved. He feels relief, but also entirely confused- if no lines had been broken, thus preventing the entity lurking in his walls from entering his room and vessel, why did he…?

Shaking his head, Jisung clears his throat and blushes to his empty room. He takes a quick shower to wash away the sleep (and other grime) from his body. By the time he is ready to step outside his bedroom, he can only blink at the state of the rest of his apartment.

Of course. Naturally, when a probably-malicious entity realizes you have bested it and essentially grounded him from entering the room of the person he enjoys tormenting most, said probably-malicious entity will fight metaphorical fire with the blaze of one thousand suns. From his living room couch which had been flipped upside down and is now absent of cushions, to his kitchen cabinets which are barely left to creak on their hinges, Jisung’s entire apartment is in disarray. Really, he has no clue how he managed to sleep through the nuclear bomb that must have been set off. Surely, if he hadn’t woken to every CD and DVD he owns being slung to the floor, he would have woken up at the sound of the singular floorboard in his living room that has been ripped away from the insulation and concrete below. How is he even supposed to fix that, by the way? The toolbox his dad had gifted him as a joke surely cannot come in handy when he needs to, like, really repair things.

Exhaling loudly through his nose, Jisung crosses his arms over his broad chest and gives the air around him an unimpressed stare. Should he be frightened? Yes, absolutely. After the dream he had been subjected to (he refuses to believe his own mind conjured that) and the absolute tantrum that was thrown at the expense of his personal things, Jisung can only find it in himself to be irritated. You should never talk to a being haunting you, that is something every single one of his peers had learned in their freshman orientation seminar. The most basic rule of dealing with potentially threatening creatures is to pretend they don’t even exist. Jisung has, so far, done a half-decent job of pretending he does not have a shadowy figure following him around his home like a cat. However, his temper has reached a point where he feels the need to gain some semblance of control.

“Really, dude?” Jisung huffs, rolling his eyes and casting a glare towards the floorboard sticking out, jagged nails embedded deep in the wood. “How the fuck do you think I’m going to fix that?”

Silence meets his ears in reply. That’s fine, he had expected as much. So he continues, uncrossing his arms to throw his hands out to the sides. “Seriously, I was fine with you being a general nuisance in my apartment and laughing at me like a bitch! I was fine not bringing up the fact that you fucking murdered a bar full of innocent people! But I draw the line at potentially damaging my Scott Pilgrim director’s cut limited edition DVD!”

Silence again, as Jisung feels his ears and neck redden from his outburst. His eye has just started twitching when he gives up, groaning and looking at the clock on his wall- which is thankfully still untouched.

Jisung has about an hour to spare before class, waking up feeling energized for once and wanting to get a head start on his day. The original plan had been to spend some time with his ancient texts, but he guesses cleaning up his apartment will have to be done first. He petulantly stomps to his kitchen, kicking the uprooted floorboard on his way and trying his best to hide a wince behind his palm. That hurt, damn it.

He picks up what plates and mugs are not damaged, somewhat calmer at realizing only a few had been shattered and none were his favorites. If his Garfield mug had been broken, he would kill himself and take the entity with him downstairs. His cupboards also seem relatively fine, a harsh gust of wind could be their demise but Jisung thinks they will survive as long as he doesn’t slam them. He sweeps up ceramic shards and finishes in the kitchen, dragging his feet to the living room to see what can possibly be done to save the space.

His couch is a bitch and a half to flip back over, and Jisung’s irritation crawls back up his spine when he starts to sweat. Shaking it off, he throws pieces of fluff and miscellaneous papers into his trash and rights the furniture in the room, turning towards the bookshelf taking up the entirety of the wall between the living area and the kitchen to start organizing things back where they belong. Obviously, one can guess Jisung hoards books as an Ancient Lit major, but his CDs and DVDs are just as sacred to him. They all line up perfectly, organized by his favorite to least favorite, then by color- but one is missing.

Where is his fucking Scott Pilgrim Vs. the World Limited Edition Director’s cut DVD?

Jisung’s neck snaps to each side of his shelf, scanning over everything he has organized and unable to find it. He looks down to the floor where he had piled every misplaced piece of media and sees nothing left there, as he had cleaned them all up. His irritation from earlier spikes again, eye twitching as he whips his head around to call out to nobody.

“Are you kidding me right now? Fuck you!” Jisung knows he sounds whiny, face flushed with his anger, foot stomping- he is throwing a tantrum. Grown man or not, Jisung holds that DVD as one of his most prized possessions. Now, a definitely-malicious entity has taken it hostage. He’s going to burn this motherfucker, corporeal form or not.

Jisung feels pressure hit right behind his eyes, forcing himself to blink to avoid crying tears of frustration. He looks to his ceiling, taking one deep breath, then two, then losing count. He is genuinely getting his ass kicked by an entity he has no hope of controlling, because he has no clue what he is dealing with. When he looks back down all he can do is blink again, several times in quick succession.

On his coffee table, sitting perfectly unharmed, is an open DVD case with a shiny, scratch-free DVD inside. Michael Cera’s face stares back at him, and he finds himself wishing the character could tell him what the hell just happened. Jisung hurries to scoop the DVD into his hands, clicking the case shut and bending to his knees so the case is slid into his shelf, relief flooding his system just as much as confusion. He imagines the energy bar floating above his head gains one little tick knowing all of his belongings are back as they were when he fell asleep the night before.

Jisung is kneeling on the ground for less than a breath before he is yelping- pain flares at the bottom of his spine, muscles and joints all locking up before he falls to his hands, presented on his living room floor like a dog. Jisung grits his teeth as the abrupt smoldering sensation continues to spark, whining and whimpering at the feeling of flames pressing to his bare skin and scorching it down to bone marrow. His vision dots with black specks for the second time this morning, and this time he is sure he will pass out with the blistering nails clawing at his back. He was fucking tricked- baited, like a lamb to the slaughter.

“Hngg… Hah!” Jisung gasps, the pain suddenly elevating and causing him to face plant into his cool hardwood floor, tears streaking down the bridge of his nose to land beneath him as he pants for air, feeling the sensation stop just as quickly as it had started. He revels in the relief of no longer feeling pain. The sudden lack of blinding agony in his lower back makes his confusion double, shaking in his arms as he uses them to slowly lift up and glance around his living room with a caution he has never had.

The air is still, the apartment quiet aside from the ringing in Jisung’s ears. It is still frigid- apparently, someone is unhappy with him for locking them out of his room. Jisung rubs at his lower back, wincing at the tender flesh he grazes, and glares to the air again, albeit weaker than he had earlier.

Clearing his throat and dusting invisible dirt from his top, “Thanks for my unharmed DVD,” he starts, trying to sound less shaken than he feels. Grabbing his school bag, he opens his front door and throws over his shoulder, “And fix the fucking floorboard, you animal!”

 

Jisung makes it as far as his 2:30pm Security and Defense class before anyone clocks his bubbling nerves. Of course, Chan and his freaky wolf nose would be what alerted him to Jisung’s struggle.

“Channie, if you don't stop looking at me like that I am going to have no choice but to take offense,” Jisung sighs, dropping his defensive stance and watching Chan drop his own arms, gloved hands swinging limply. The older man huffs out a breath of his own, and Jisung watches the way he subtly tries to sniff the air as if he could discern exactly what is wrong based on Jisung’s scent alone.

“Sorry, Sung-ah…” Chan mumbles, still somewhat distracted. Jisung huffs out a breath, already easy to irritate due to his… eventful morning. He quickly delivers a probably-too-sharp jab to Chan’s unprotected pec and raises an eyebrow at the wolf’s resulting wince.

“Seriously! What gives, hyung?” Jisung borderline-whines. Chan is still rubbing his chest as if Jisung could ever actually hurt him, but seems to realize he isn’t giving up. Chan has been activating weird since class started, touching Jisung more than necessary and glancing over every inch of exposed skin available- and hey, Jisung would usually make a joke about his hyung wanting to get in his pants, which would usually be met by equally joking flirtations. But this isn’t quite the same as their normal banter. Chan is looking at him and touching him like he is worried, like Jisung has somehow been broken and glued back together, and the other is trying to find the cracks in his porcelain.

Chan sighs, long and tired. He shuffles his feet, suddenly looking awkward as he glances to the grass below. “Okay, okay- Look, do you ah, remember me talking about like, wolf stuff?”

Jisung snorts, halfheartedly using this time to stretch his arms. “Wolf stuff?”

“Yeah, like-” Chan starts, cutting himself off with a grimace. “Like, you know how wolves choose mates? And it’s like, a big deal to mate with someone? You exchange mating bites, everyone else in the pack can smell your combined scents, like-”

“It’s like wolf-marriage. I’m aware, hyung.” Jisung rolls his eyes again, moving his arms in a vague circle. “What about it? Are you asking me to be your mate? Because I love you and all, but I really don’t think of you like that.”

“No! What-” Chan huffs, then looks over Jisung’s body again, eyebrows furrowing in the center. He sniffs the air one last time before seemingly deciding to rip the metaphorical bandaid off. “Jisung, have you mated a wolf or something?”

Jisung, well, he chokes. He means to swallow, but it goes down the wrong pipe, and he ends up with his hands on his bent knees, gasping for gulps of air with tears in his eyes as Chan pats his back far too roughly. He glances up to his friend, vision blurry with his fight for breath, “What?!”

Chan groans, loud, looking skyward as he turns around to start pacing the mat they are supposed to be sparring on. “Look, I spent some time with the other wolves last night so I thought maybe my nose was just acting up, but I can’t pretend that's the issue anymore! You walked into class today and immediately I thought you were like, mated! And it’s not my scent on you, because there is no way I could ever be that possessive over someone who isn’t my mate- no offense- so I thought maybe you were dating a wolf and you just hadn’t told me. But then I realized you wouldn’t be able to shut up if you were dating someone, and you haven’t mentioned any potential crushes, so now I’m just confused! Have you interacted with any wolves recently? Or- I don't know- any other beings that take mates? Shifters, Vampires, Demons, Were-Cats, anything like that?”

Jisung is left blinking dumbly, mouth parted like a fish out of water as his body sways without the aid of his brain. Chan thinks… Not only does Chan think he has met someone he would consider dating and didn’t immediately run to his friends squealing about it, but Chan also thinks Jisung, what- Ran off and got hitched? Mated someone without so much as a mention of their name in passing? He isn’t sure if he is more baffled by the statement or offended that his friend thinks he would do that. Overall, he is just getting more and more confused as the day progresses. What the hell had happened to make Chan draw this conclusion?

“Genuinely, I think you need to see a doctor.” Jisung says, deadpan in a way that could rival Seungmin. Chan shakes his head, grabbing Jisung with his large glove and gently shaking his shoulder.

“Sung, I’m so serious! Okay, you didn’t get mated- really, I didn’t think that would be something you would do anyway, but your scent right now? You smell like you just spent your first heat with an Alpha who was also experiencing their worst rut ever- like, you would get the same message across if you just wore a collar with this mystery man’s name engraved in it. Are you sure you haven’t hooked up with anyone recently?”

Jisung laughs, the sound coming out as a startled yelp that makes Chan wince. “Hyung, I think I would remember if I slept with someone!”

Chan results to his placating nature as Jisung becomes more and more wound up, the older man gently shushing him while glancing around with pink cheeks. “Okay! I believe you!” Then, he sighs. Glancing over Jisung’s body again, he shakes his head as if physically ridding himself of the thoughts plaguing his worried mind. The smile he delivers is mostly faux, but Jisung can’t find it in himself to point that out. Something tells him Chan is already aware, anyway. “Like I said, I was hanging out with a couple wolves last night. My nose is probably just overly sensitive because I was around them for so long. Don’t worry about it, yeah? Sorry for the scare, Sungie.”

With that, Chan turns in a circle before crossing back to the center of the sparring mat they had stationed at for today's class. He shakes out his hands and cracks his neck, which Jisung takes as the cue that it is. They aren’t talking about it anymore. Now, they're really working again. Jisung chooses to follow Chan’s lead and snap back into their sparring match, suddenly very interested in using his fists rather than running circles in his mind. By the time class is over and Chan is handing him a water bottle, Jisung feels a little less wound up and a little more numb, skin buzzing in a satisfying way that only resorts from exercise.

He leaves his last class of the day and turns left past the main lecture hall where he would usually turn right. Usually, after actually putting effort into sparring with Chan, Jisung would be bolting back to his student apartment to shower and relax. Today, his back is still sore and his anxiety levels are peaking at any harsh noise that makes him jump. The small vineyard behind the agriculture building helps to even out his breathing, the brush and weeds piled higher beside the wagon off to the side than they had been last time. Walking down the long, cracked cobblestone pathway reminds Jisung of the first time he came to the cottage up ahead. It was less than a week ago, but it feels like it had happened months back. So much has been going on, between Jisung’s regular coursework, his licensure exam happening within the next few months, and the entity haunting his apartment- everything has blended together to muddle the sense of time in Jisung’s skull. He plans to get rid of at least one of his worries, though. And Hyunjin will have to help him. Attempting to break Jisung’s spine had been the last metaphorical straw on the camel’s back.

Jisung knocks on the large wooden door of the cottage, hoping he adequately remembered the numerical order Jeongin had used when he first led the other two here. Just like the first time, Jisung attempts to read an aura from beyond the door but finds nothing in his search. It is as if no one has ever called the cobblestone structure their home, and no one had ever left a mark behind. Also like last time, the door opens from the inside with the aid of an invisible presence. Jisung is prepared for it though, so he puts effort into looking like he is supposed to be here.

He steps into the same shop that had first gifted him what little protection he has now, blinking at the jewel tones of the overlapping rugs and lamplight coming from every direction. Looking at the small wooden counter, Jisung gasps quietly when he spots his favorite familiar dozing on her tiny cushion.

“Hi little baby,” Jisung coos quietly, watching as Beodeul lifts her sleepy head to squint in his direction. The ferret stands to her feet lazily, stretching her back and leaning forward as Jisung comes closer. Her tiny nose butts into the tip of his finger as she sniffs him, eyes blinking up to assess who woke her up from slumber.

“Is your owner around?” Jisung asks just as quietly as he had greeted the little ball of fur, jumping with a wince when she sharply nibbles his finger. “Ouch- Sorry, sorry. My bad, not your owner. Your… I don't know, partner in crime?”

Beodeul seems to take this as a much better answer, leaning forward more to allow Jisung to pet her under the chin. She rumbles quietly, casting her eyes towards the curtain under the stairs. It’s closed, with light peeking out from under it, and by the time Jisung manages to gain enough of Beodeul’s trust to be able to scoop her into his arms, the door is opening.

“Alright, just like we talked about. Put a scoop of this powder into your wife’s tea and she won’t know a single thing.” Hyunjin is grinning, shaking a small, transparent bag of orange powder in the face of the man that just walked out of the room with him. The man bristles at the sight of another person in the shop, quickly snatching the bag from Hyunjin’s hand and replacing it with a wad of cash. Hyunjin lazily counts the won, humming to himself with a wave of dismissal. Jisung has just enough time to move himself out of the way before the older man hastily brushes past him, Beodeul rumbling much more aggressively in his arms until the man is out of the shop.

Hyunjin finishes counting the stack in his hands, moving behind the counter and typing at the old register until it opens with a ding. After placing the money in the drawer and shutting it, he heaves a long, dramatic sigh. Looking up, “What are you doing holding my Beodeul, Han Jisung?”

“That man seemed really sketchy,” Jisung says, completely ignoring Hyunjin’s question as he rubs Beodeul’s head. Hyunjin shrugs, leaning elbows on the counter.

“He was.”

“What did he want?”

“I would never tell a client’s business,” Hyunjin scoffs, not missing a beat before continuing. “But hypothetically, if you had a wife that you cheated on and paid me a fat wad of cash to give you a roofie so she never gets suspicious, I would take your money and give you a roofie that actually gives her the ability to read your mind for a limited amount of time.”

Jisung whistles, nodding his approval. “That’s evil… but like, in a good way.”

Hyunjin shrugs again, nodding toward the ferret that has settled her body in the crook of Jisung’s arm. “Why have you kidnapped my familiar and manipulated her into believing you’re a good person?”

“First of all, I am a good person,” Jisung pouts. “Second of all, I need help.”

“Shocker,” Hyunjin drawls, rolling his eyes as he picks up a half burnt bundle of herbs by the counter, plucking a lighter from his pocket. “Walk with me while you explain, I need to sage the back room.”

Jisung follows the other man towards the back, stopping just outside the now-open curtain so Beodeul’s tiny nose doesn't let a lung full of smoke in. He knows she isn’t really a ferret, knows her real form would probably tower over him and could easily toss his body across the room, but the way she flops over in his arms makes him want to protect her. Little furry animals have always been his weakness, sue him!

“Okay, so, the protection spell you gave me has worked really well.” Jisung starts, eyes half heartedly following Hyunjin as he dances around the room, cleansing the energy of his space. Jisung isn’t sure if he does this after every client he sees, or if this man just had particularly bad energy. He supposes it may be a little bit of both. “The problem is that the entity in my apartment is now wreaking more havoc than before. I mean, he can’t get in my head anymore- at least, I don’t think he can- but he has completely turned my living room and kitchen upside down. I woke up this morning to my couch being flipped and one of my floorboards literally ripped out of the floor. I told him if he didn’t have it fixed by the time I’m home-”

“Jisung,” Hyunjin cuts him off, balking at him with wide eyes and dumbfounded features. “Tell me you didn’t actually fucking tell this creature anything.”

Jisung winces, cradling Beodeul closer as if she can save him from her partner’s glare. “Well… do you want the truth or do you want less work?”

Hyunjin squeezes his eyes shut, using a bowl of black sand to rest the bundle of sage on. He pinches the bridge of his nose, blonde bangs falling out of a half-up bun on top of his head. Sitting down in his ornately carved chair, he mutters, “Bring me my familiar.”

Jisung cautiously hands the limp ferret over to her favorite person, watching as she rumbles by his ear and curls up around the space by his neck. Hyunjin holds her there, eyes still shut as if he is using her to gain patience and strength. “Keep going before I change my mind.”

Jisung hesitates, but sits across from Hyunjin at the table with the gaudy crystal ball. Really, he has nothing to fear and no reason to hold back whenever this guy is his only hope to fight the evil in his apartment. “So, like I was saying, the protection spell works on my bedroom, but I need this thing out of my home altogether. Or at the very least, I need to know what he is so I can expel him myself. I mean, I can’t just spend the rest of my life wondering what he’s going to damage next and afraid of what is going to happen once the powder by my doorframe gets hit with a harsh wind!”

Hyunjin takes another moment to compose himself, nodding into his own fingers which are still pinching the bridge of his nose. Then he looks up, meeting Jisung’s gaze with that same bored look he usually dawns.

“Two things- one, why are we calling this being him all of a sudden? And two, I already told you my stance on the protection spell. My hands are tied unless you can give me something of value, and your Scott Pilgrim DVD doesn’t count. What can you tell me about the entity that you didn’t already tell me last time you came in here?”

Jisung tries not to feel offended at the mention of his most prized possession apparently not holding value, looking up as he thinks back on the past few days. “I don’t know- I know he’s a dude because the visions I’ve gotten have all referred to him as one. The book he was tied to was some Haitian-Sino bullshit, the only thing I can make sense of as it stands is that it talks about wardings and how to tie entities to certain objects, like locking the creature I got stuck with inside the warded box.

“There are a few references to black eyes, smoke, etcetera. I’m not sure what is going on in that section of the book, but it definitely mentions something about demonic possession. I know the entity I’m dealing with isn’t a demon though, because there is no sulfur smell or any weird phenomena going on in the area, like off-putting weather patterns or animal mutilation. So really…” Jisung trails off, frowning at Hyunjin in his best attempt to look pitiful and hopeless.

Hyunjin doesn’t seem to take the bait, but he does nod as if he understands, anyway. “Really, you have nothing.” Then he considers Jisung’s words, tapping a finger to his chin. “You said the book was Haitian, right? What if you got stuck with something gnarly, like Papa Legba?”

Jisung is like, ninety nine percent sure Hyunjin is joking about that last part. Still, he falls back into his chair with a loud whine of discontent. “Please don’t speak that into existence! I know it’s not some big bitch like that, but I’m already fucked. I can’t risk manifesting anything worse!”

Hyunjin giggles, the sound oddly warm compared to his usual cool, bored demeanor. Jisung can’t help but relax the slightest bit, feeling more at ease with the crinkle by the blonde’s eyes. Then his spine straightens right back up, frown pulled back onto his face as he remembers the events of the morning again.

“Wait, there’s one more new event,” Jisung mumbles. Hyunjin’s laughter dies down, motioning for him to keep talking. Instead of doing so, Jisung stands up and rubs lightly at his lower back.

“I- Okay, I don’t really know if I want to know the answer to this, but… this morning I felt this like, really painful burn on my back. I almost passed out, that shit hurt like hellfire. Could you maybe… look and see what’s going on?”

Hyunjin glances over Jisung’s frame, suddenly suspicious but also incredibly intrigued by the other’s words. He doesn’t ask Jisung why he can’t get one of his friends to look at his back for him, or why he even came back to Hyunjin’s cottage in the first place. Really, Jisung knows that Hyunjin is already aware of the answer. The blonde man is the only one who has successfully looked into the full extent of what Jisung has been dealing with, even though Jisung hadn’t purposefully told him. Somehow, Hyunjin has become the only person he can truly confide in about this entity haunting him. Now, Jisung is grateful to have someone to spill his guts to without the guilt of the other person worrying themselves sick like his friends would. Hyunjin doesn’t look exceptionally worried, not as he holds Beodeul closer and lifts his chin, motioning for Jisung to spin around. So, that is what Jisung does.

The startled gasp that comes from behind when Jisung turns around, lifting his shirt so that his lower back is exposed, makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Before he can turn back around there is a warm hand with elegant fingers lightly gripping his waist, the sound of a phone camera clicking alongside a flash soon after. Jisung feels the hand pull away from him so he takes the cue, turning back around to meet a pale-looking Hyunjin who is staring down at his phone in disbelief. Like this, he almost resembles a beautiful apparition haunting the space instead of a living, breathing human being. Jisung once again feels fleetingly jealous of his perfect features, but also recognizes he has bigger fish to fry at the moment.

“Dude,” Hyunjin mutters, voice half-shocked and half-hollow. His grip on Beodeul tightens as if he is using her to stay tethered to reality. “You have a fucking trampstamp.”

Jisung can only part his lips in shock, feeling his own skin discolor to mimic the state of Hyunjin’s. Hyunjin’s phone screen glows in the lowlight of the backroom, casting a blue hue onto their faces as Jisung looks at the photo displayed. His own body is pixelated, the flash of the camera making his skin appear less honey toned, in stark contrast to his lower back. His back, which has been imprinted with three wide, claw-like gashes- the skin already scarred, as if a wound had not properly healed and had left an impression within his vessel for all eternity. Above the deep pollutions to his tissue, there are two slashed lines moving inwards. It looks like an M, if it had been carved with lightning and seared down to his bone. His hand ghosts over his back again, now feeling the tender skin with a new light. Touching the tips of his fingers under his thin shirt, Jisung’s heart drops as he comes into contact with the raised skin around his new scar. The bumps and grooves of it feel oddly familiar, even though he has never touched anything like it. As Hyunjin had so kindly put it, he has a fucking tramp stamp. He has been branded.

Suddenly, he remembers what Chan had said earlier- about being mated. Chan was asking if he had been marked, because his scent held the possession of another being. Chan thought he had been mated because of the gashes in his spine. Chan thinks he has been owned.

Jealousy unlike anything he has ever possessed, a carnal urge to rip the officer’s ribs out of his body and lick the blood clean from bone.

Because he touched Jisung. The officer at the bar had touched Jisung, and the entity had felt envious because he felt he owned what was being touched by hands that were not his.

“Are you a gambling man?” Hyunjin asks suddenly, locking his phone screen. “Because I would bet money this is not good.”

Jisung, blinking back to the present, shoves at Hyunjin’s shoulder that is not currently occupied by his familiar. “Help me, dude!”

The other backs away, holding his hands up in defense. “Okay! Look, I really don’t think that simple little protection powder is going to do shit to help you right now, even if I did offer more. It seems like this thing has already deemed you as his bitch, respectfully. Instead, I’m going to open a connection with the Underworld and ask if they have lost a cat recently, then I’ll ask the veil if they have heard anything suspicious. Maybe I’ll get an answer that we haven’t thought of on our own, alright?”

Jisung furrows his brow, “Wait- you can actually talk to ghosts in the veil? I thought you just did that to give mortals a show?”

Hyunjin blinks back at him, as if this is the last question Jisung should be asking given the current situation. Honestly, he might have a point. Jisung does have a tendency to latch onto the least important details in a given circumstance. “Duh, Communications major? My mother was an Other Kind Linguist and taught me everything she knew. She often communicated with other realms to seek divine knowledge. Anyway, let’s talk payment.”

Jisung groans, stomping his foot a little petulantly. This is by far his least favorite part. Shouldn’t he be getting a friend discount by now? Surely, he and Hyunjin qualify as friends. But before he can try to convince Hyunjin they are besties, or to reconsider his Scott Pilgrim DVD, the other holds up a hand to stop him. “I know you’re a broke college student, Jisung. I’m not taking your stupid DVD, I just want information.”

“...Okay, I know things,” Jisung nods. Hyunjin rolls his eyes.

“I’m sure you do. Let’s talk about Jeongin. What does he think about that Seungmin kid?”

Hyunjin tries to ask the question nonchalantly, busying himself by laying Beodeul on her cushion and letting her sleep soundly. He sits back down at the table, picking at invisible dirt under his pristine nails as Jisung’s brain slowly turns its cogs.

Hands on his hips, Jisung lets his grin manifest slowly. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say I sense a hint of jealousy in your tone, Jinnie.”

Hyunjin throws a glare in his direction that would have made Jisung hide behind Chan, if this were their first encounter. Now, he just feels satisfaction at having caught Hyunjin in a rare display of actual, human emotion.

“I do not get jealous. Have you met me? What could I possibly have to be jealous about?” He scoffs. Jisung shrugs, trying to hide his laughter and his shaking shoulders.

He feels like he has already pushed his luck a little here- Hyunjin has done him too many favors to count at this point, and really all he has asked for in return is a little bit of gossip. Jisung remembers how much money he had seen the man from earlier hand over, and he decides he should count his blessings.

“Okay, I’m fucking with you. Truly, you don’t have anything to worry about. Jeongin doesn’t like Seungmin, and Seungmin has never liked anyone, like, ever. Plus, he has his hands full with that whole Oni thing. They’re just friends, and Seungmin wouldn’t even admit to that if you held a gun to his head.”

Hyunjin is smirking smugly when Jisung looks up again, nodding and looking off to the side as if remembering his interaction with the two. “Ah, yes. That Oni thing. Tell him I said good luck with that, by the way.” Then, Hyunjin is pulling the curtains shut over the small window to his left, sitting back down and dimming the lights with the under-table controls. “Okay, you have paid your toll. Now get out of here, I’ll text you if anything pops up from my communications.”

“Don’t you need my number to text me?” Jisung asks, tilting his head in thought. Hyunjin doesn't look at him. Instead, he flutters his eyes closed and adjusts his position so he is sitting criss-crossed on the chair.

“I already have it, don’t ask me questions.” He says, and with that, Jisung is prompted to leave. He is probably better off not knowing the answer, anyway.

The walk home passes quickly, Jisung taking a faster pace than usual so he can make it back to his apartment before the setting sun fully disappears behind the small shops and taller buildings that make up the skyline. Even knowing the entity lurking within his space could get him during the day, as evident by this morning's activities, Jisung still feels better being in his room by the time dusk settles. The entity is far more active at night, as if he were innately a nocturnal being. The more Jisung thinks about it, the more he is convinced he just has a big cat infestation. When he unlocks his front door and steps inside, he tosses his shoes in the vague direction of the rack before turning to his home, humoring the idea of buying a cat tree just for shits and giggles. Then, he promptly halts that train of thought.

Something is… Off.

Jisung’s original plan had been to make a bee-line for his bedroom, hop over the protective line of dust under his doorframe, and curl up in his bed while sending out a silent prayer to whoever is listening that his home is still in one piece tomorrow morning. However, now barely inside his front door, Jisung pauses to glance around his apartment.

The floorboard is fixed. Jisung notices the way it looks to be shoved back into place, as if it had never been pulled up to begin with. One nail is missing from the board, but otherwise it looks as it usually would. That isn’t the only thing that is different from this morning, though. His apartment seems… alive, somehow. Jisung can’t explain the way the air feels like it is vibrating around him, but the energy in the room seems like it is barely being held together by a thread. It is as if one wrong move could snap the final string, and his whole world would collapse in on itself. He almost fears breathing, worried the movement of his chest will be enough to pull everything into disarray. Slowly, he inches past his front door and inspects each room, heart already pounding so hard his neck is pulsing with the thump, thump, thump of it.

His kitchen looks the same as he had left it that morning. The cabinets barely hanging onto the hinges, all of his favorite mugs neatly lined up inside. The living room is fine, more or less- at the very least, his Scott Pilgrim DVD is still sitting pretty on his shelf. He ventures down the hall, pausing to flick on the switch in his bathroom and turn it back off soon after when he finds nothing of interest, creeping up to his bedroom last.

His gut swirls with something in between dread and horror. His knees threaten to buckle. The color drains from his face. Goosebumps skitter up and down every inch of Jisung’s exposed skin.

A single nail, crooked and rusty and barely the length of his pinky finger, lays in his doorframe. The line of salt and ash which has been keeping the eldritch horror at bay, the line that had created Jisung’s safe haven, is broken by a single centimeter.

“No,” Jisung whispers, weak and pathetic and feeling tears build up behind his eyes, anxiety and fear and helplessness drowning his insides. “No, no, no!”

Jisung hurries to move the nail from his living room floorboard, frantically rearranging the salt in front of his door to recreate the line he had left unbroken. Even as the line is fixed, the doom spinning around his vessel does not quell. Jisung quickly snaps his head up, eyes fixated on his windowsill across the room. The windowsill which he had left firmly closed and latched, now open with only miniscule specks of the protective powder left clinging to it. The rest has blown to the wind, much like Jisung’s safety net.

His mind is reeling as he panics, full body trembling and hands useless as he tries to scoop up as much powder from his doorframe as he possibly can while still keeping the line in tact, tears cascading down his cheeks when he realizes it isn’t anywhere near enough to repair the broken line by his window. In his agitated state, Jisung runs his hands through his already wind-swept hair, sliding down to the floor under his window and sitting with his legs splayed out limply. Oddly enough, he thinks he probably looks similar to a body sat on the floor of the bar downtown.

Prey-like instincts settle in Jisung’s core. With his legs splayed wide, soft belly turned to the open air, gasping from his tears- he has been gnashing his teeth to appear larger but there will always be something with bigger teeth, something with fangs that glint prettier in the light. His teeth are bared but there is nothing stopping canines from wrapping around his neck like a vice. He has every instinct wired in his brain to run, to hide in a small, tight space and lay unblinking while he waits for danger to pass. But the danger has already spotted him, has been tailing him for weeks, and now Jisung is a sitting duck. Now, his body is tired and his mind is exhausted and Jisung will sit here, slumped against his window with tears dried down on his soft, red cheeks and no sound to be heard aside from his beating heart. At least the blood is still pumping through him; at least he has not yet been bled dry. Now, he wonders if he would put up a fight to stop it. Jisung knows he is a lamb waiting for the slaughter with a pretty bow tied around his neck, and there is nowhere to run. He has not reached acceptance, but he is quickly running out of ideas that lead to his salvation. Even without seeing anything he should be fearful of, Jisung is terrified knowing it lurks just beyond his perception.

The ringing in Jisung’s ears now has company. Jisung remembers the first time he heard that sound, the one that has been haunting him much like the entity at the source. The twinkling laughter first came from inside the warded, wooden box, and now it is loose inside Jisung’s home and inside his psyche, warped into a siren’s song.

Jisung slowly pulls his eyes up from the floor, following the set of shiny shoes that step around the corner to his room, passing over the line that has given him protection as if it were nothing more than dirt. The whimper that builds in his throat comes to fruition without a second thought, the animal inside of his body waiting to be wounded.

The entity that has manifested in front of his eyes grins, lopsided with rows of sharp, white teeth. Jisung’s heart pounds.

“It is far past time we met in this realm, don’t you think?”

Chapter Text

Jisung has never believed in Angels. He still doesn’t, but the man- not man, the entity cosplaying in human form- in front of him comes close to converting him into religion.

The vessel he has chosen could not have possibly been someone walking Earth before, soul yanked out to make room for this creature in the empty space left behind. The amalgamation of all of Jisung’s wet dreams is too perfect, almost uncanny, not human in any way. His nose is too cutting, eyes too feline, voice too soft for how sharp the cadence is. He speaks like Jisung is a scared, furry thing; like Jisung could bolt at any moment, with any movement too quick, and the creature still hasn’t decided whether to give chase or let him believe he can hide. Jisung himself feels as if his legs have overflowed with lead. Petrified, paralyzed, and unwilling to look away from the prowling thing with razor-edged claws in front of him. The thing in question tilts his head, gaze locked on Jisung’s own eyes which are definitely too-wet and too-wide. The entity crouches down slowly, head still tilted, eyes still laser-focused. His shoulders are broad enough to make the taper into his waist have Jisung’s mouth watering. He wonders if the crouched form can see the pounding of his pulse in his neck.

“You were far less quiet when I was only a shadow. Has a cat caught your tongue?” The entity asks, clawed hands on the floor in front of his hunched shoulders. His knuckles are purple, as if recently busted. Maybe he likes to play with his food before giving into hunger. “How about we start easy, hm? Can I have your name, little lamb?”

Jisung is prompted to fill the silence and his vocal chords start to work before he has fully thought about his reply, or even the question he was given. “Ji-”

He cuts himself off by digging his blunt nails into his own thigh until the pain makes his teeth bite down on his tongue. Stupid- fucking stupid. The words the entity had sung finally hit Jisung’s comprehension, and his eyes widen just a centimeter larger. The entity hadn’t just asked for his name, he had asked if he could have his name. The single most important rule Jisung had ever been taught in his first year seminar course comes back to mind, the older master that had drilled the cautionary words into his head popping into his mind briefly. Jisung looks back to the entity in front of him frantically, watching the little quirk at the corner of his full, rosey lips widen until it splits into those rows of sharp, sharp, white teeth. He looks like he was expecting the other to catch his words, amused with lightning in his eyes. Jisung almost fell right into such a simple trap. He already has his guard dropped worryingly low from all of the time spent with this creature lurking in his walls. He is already used to the energy buzzing around in his skull, and his barriers do not comprehend it as a new, unknown thing anymore. He just needs to be that much more careful.

 

“No, you cannot have my name,” Jisung murmurs, eyes back to being cast downwards with his nervous psyche. “You may call me Han.”

“Han… Ji?” The entity asks, amusement lifting his grin wider as he teases the other. “What an odd name.”

Jisung can’t fathom why it happens, but his face heats until he is sure the apples of his cheeks are tinged with the color of his embarrassment. He clears his throat quickly, bottom lip stuck between his teeth where he is about to rip the skin raw. Just as quickly as embarrassment flushes him, agitation follows- great, now his ears are probably red, too. “My first name is Jisung.”

The entity hums, Jisung sees his hands creeping forward in his peripheral vision and suddenly he is moving- crawling- towards him on his hands and knees. Jisung, who is stuck sitting under his window with his soft underbelly vulnerable. All he can do is watch without a single breath entering or leaving his lungs, fearing the movement of his sternum will trigger something lethal. The being stalking towards him looks too similar to a panther Jisung had watched in a documentary recently. The big cat made the same movements, slinking forward with an arch in it’s spine in the thick grass of a fog-covered swampland. The entity would have just as easy of a time stalking prey there.

“You really tried to keep me away, right Jisung?” a soft purr wraps around him like a vice, still unwavering in the leisurely drag of his body, closer and closer still. Jisung presses his back as close to the wall as he can, trying to keep any distance he can manage in the small amount of space between them. “I admit, you’re quite the catch. Pretty and smart? I wouldn’t expect anything less of the person that freed me from my prison, especially after all these millennia.”

Jisung’s voice cracks when he speaks, voice nothing more than a quiet whimper with how close the entity has drawn. If he reached a hand out, he could touch the bridge of his nose. “I- I don't even know how I did that. The box was warded so heavily, I don't think I did anything to open it.”

Now the creature is fully grinning, eyes alight and shoulders shaken once. “Ah, you’re a funny man. Do you want to know the thing about that particularly tiresome warding? The receptacle is meant to be sealed shut until the organism inside is overtaken. My presence has been resonating within the wood, the box itself staying locked because my aura kept it as such.

“However, you came along. You started… speaking to the box, as if it could respond, and you sounded so pitiful, did you know you whine like that? Is it on purpose? Besides the point, I couldn’t stop the laughter from bubbling up. Apparently, my aura is not usually entertained. The warding had, to my knowledge, broken because it assumed I was no longer there. When there is no longer a threat, the box unlocks for the next poor soul it will ensnare.”

Oh, so Jisung had been so incredibly stupid when trying to open the box, he released an unknown malicious entity because said entity was laughing hard enough it made him look stupid. Got it- that will definitely boost Jisung’s ego, if he lives long enough to reflect on the words later. As for the time being, his heart palpitates in his chest and he is pretty sure his face gets three degrees hotter.

The entity has gotten too close- was already too close when he stepped into the room, but now he is so close that he moves fully into Jisung’s space. All Jisung can do in defense is let the whimper begging to leave his throat build and build until it falls out of his mouth, lips parted and eyes squeezed shut as the creature hovers over him. The feeling of two thighs, double the size of his own, bracketing his splayed legs makes him flush hot all over. Jisung is sweating in the middle of November.

“Well, I feel like I’ve talked your ear off, haven’t I?” The being asks rhetorically, voice lilted into the same tone of the laugh Jisung has been haunted by. “You must have questions of your own, right Hannie? Go ahead, go wild.”

Jisung swallows harshly against the hand that lifts to graze purple knuckles against the column of his throat, prompting his eyes to flutter open. The hand does not touch him beyond that, beyond a pet that is far too gentle. His skin is cold against Jisung’s flush, making him involuntarily shiver and exhale more forcefully. The touch might be the only thing keeping a fever at bay. He gets a sense of dejavú, reminded of the cold caress of fingertips on his face in the middle of the night. Except now it is no phantom- the entity is tangible and watching him like a hawk.

Jisung has, frankly, too many questions to ask. What are you? What are you going to do to me? Am I going to die? Are you handing the same fate to me that you handed to the people in that bar? Will you be as envious of the reaper that touches my soul as you were of that officer?

What he settles on is three words, choked out to avoid pressing further into purple knuckles. “What’s your name?”

The entity grins in full, pointed canines and shiny teeth, as if he had been running his tongue over them seconds before. Jisung idly wonders if his tongue is a similar color to the rose of his lips.

“Minho,” he says. A purr, a lullaby, music etched into a single word. Jisung cannot fathom why, but Minho almost seems proud of the question he chose to ask first. As if this was a test, and Jisung had passed. “Call me Minho, lamb.”

Then, Minho’s head turns upward at a speed that leaves his neck to crack at the joint. He narrows his eyes at the wall, squinting like he is concentrating. The next thing he does is audibly huff through his nose, once again reminding Jisung of a big cat, annoyed this time rather than on the hunt. He rolls his eyes so far back into his head that Jisung only sees the whites of them for a solid two seconds before he pouts his full lips, looking down his sharp nose to meet Jisung’s eye.

“Don’t worry, my Hannie. I won’t be hurting you unless you beg for it. I have bigger plans for you. I do, however, have to go for the time being. You’ve made me hungry again and I doubt you would appreciate your acquaintances becoming my dinner.”

Jisung blinks up at Minho, dumbly staring at the tilt of the creature’s head. His dark bangs fall onto his forehead, soft and feather light. Then he laughs, and hearing the sound so close to his ears makes Jisung see white for a brief moment. It’s real.

“Don’t look so disappointed, lamb. I’ll be back, I just prefer to not have company when we speak. Some would call me a tad bit possessive. I’ll see you soon.” Minho raises the same hand that had been brushing against Jisung’s throat, making the human flinch sharply as he pokes a fingertip to his nose in a teasing manner, completely ill-fit for the situation at hand where Jisung’s life is being dangled in front of his eyes. Before he can comment on that, or ask what Minho means by he’ll be back, the entity has already vanished completely. There is a brief cloud-like fog of crimson red, but Jisung blinks once and it is gone. He looks down at his hands as if the stain of it would be there, some sort of proof that what he had just experienced was not a delusion brought on by countless anxiety-filled days and nights. He knows it isn’t though; the hand that touched him and the thighs that had encircled his own are still tingling against his skin.

Before he has time to throw himself into another panicked state, turning the first real interaction he has had with the entity over and over in his head as he so often does, there is a loud bang on his front door.

Jisung has barely managed the feat of getting to his door with wobbly knees and shakily counted breaths when it swings inward, bouncing off the wall while a gigantic humanoid brushes straight past him with a menacing growl. A face full of solid black fur is all he is met with before the sound of massive paws clicking against his floorboards is noticed. Next, Jisung sees a smaller, though just as frantic, blonde pixie.

“Sungie! Oh my god, I’m so glad you’re not dead!” Suddenly, Jisung has an arm full of Felix- which can only mean the hurricane that had flown into his apartment was Chan. He turns around, Felix shuffling with tiny steps to avoid detaching from his front where he is gripping cloth tightly, and confirms that there is in fact one very agitated wolf pacing his living room. His poor downstairs neighbors go through so much.

“Why… wouldn’t I be okay?” Jisung asks meekly, watching Chan’s wolf form as he sniffs at Jisung’s couch, his floors, huffs in annoyance before turning down the hall and lumbering toward Jisung’s room. Having a two hundred pound black wolf stalking around his home isn’t even the weirdest thing to happen today, and it is one of his best friends, so Jisung chooses to help Felix settle onto his couch instead. Of course, this means Jisung also has to sit down, because Felix has still not removed himself as a human-ish blanket draped over his sternum.

“We got a call from Innie,” Felix starts, only pulling far enough away to bat wide eyes and wet lashes up at Jisung. “He was with Hyunjin, his friend from Comms, and he said- he told us we have to get to you ASAP because you were being murdered!”

Jisung balks, a shocked noise slipping past his lips as Felix’s already red-rimmed eyes start to water. He grabs his friend by the shoulders, shaking him gently just to remind him they are both still breathing. As he opens his mouth to respond, his front door rattles again.

“Lixie, I was not about to be murdered! Why would they tell you that?” Jisung yelps, horrified that his friends had to rush over to save his life- which theoretically was not in peril. Well, if he were to take Minho at his word, at least. Really, he is still split fifty-fifty.

“They never said he was being murdered, Lix.” A new voice; Jisung watches Seungmin meander into his home with the same level of urgency someone would use to pick up their morning coffee. “They said to check on him as soon as possible, because he may be in danger. Not a definitive threat on his life.”

Jisung frowns, crossing his arms to the best of his ability while Felix has one of his own looped through them. “Hey! Why didn’t you rush to my defense, then?”

Seungmin shrugs, flopping onto the loveseat adjacent to the couch and pulling his phone out to play sounds that are suspiciously similar to his Sudoku app. “Why would I run here and sweat my ass off when Chan was clearly going to get here first, anyway? Not only does he live closer, but he’s also a wolf shifter. Those meaty paws come in handy when he needs to save his pup.”

Jisung, full of dramatics now that Seungmin has shown exceptionally little interest, gasps loudly. “Seungmin, I could have died!”

From his side, Felix wails and drops his head to Jisung’s shoulder. “That’s what I said!”

A third rattle at Jisung’s front door draws everyone’s attention, though this time Jisung expects the two that burst inside. Well- Jeongin bursts into his home, panting and frantically glancing around before noticeably deflating his shoulders once he finds Jisung safe and sound, wrapped in a pixie-shaped burrito. Hyunjin wanders in behind him, somehow looking as if he hadn’t sweat a drop as he makes a b-line for the bookshelf taking up the far wall with a small, interested hum.

“Hyung!” Jeongin gasps out, panting and falling to the floor to splay his body wide. His stomach rises and falls quickly with his breath. “Thank fuck someone got here in time.”

Jisung, starting to become overstimulated with the amount of people in his apartment and still having no idea why said people are in said apartment, thumps his head back against the couch with a groan. The maximum number of friends he has invited into his home at once is two people, usually Felix and Seungmin. Now there are almost triple the amount, and Jisung feels a tad bit antsy. He didn’t even realize he had this many friends! “Can someone please explain why everyone thinks I’m a walking corpse?”

Everyone is silent for a beat too long, and when Jisung glances back to the room with confusion lining his brow he sees all eyes looking towards a vaguely fidgeting Hyunjin. The other man sighs, folding himself into the small chair no one has ever actually used while in Jisung’s apartment. Clearly, Hyunjin isn’t used to this much attention. Even if he claims to enjoy all eyes being on him, his hands grip his knees in an effort to keep himself still as he stares at the book he had plucked from the shelf, lying open in his lap. Judging by the cover Jisung had gotten a glimpse of, he had flipped open A Room of One’s Own to a random page in the middle.

“Well,” Hyunjin starts, clearing his throat and allowing his blonde bangs to frame his face so that his peripheral vision is blocked. He only glances at Jeongin when he speaks next. “Innie-yah came to the cottage to aid in my… communications, as we discussed earlier.”

Here, he glances at Jisung with pink tinted cheeks before looking back down. Jisung chooses not to mention the fact that they had never discussed Jeongin helping, instead discussing Hyunjin’s totally not-jealous line of questioning involving the two youngest members of their friend group. “The Veil didn't have too much to say about your new pet, but the Underworld had quite the fit, to say the least. I asked for a name, but whoever was speaking from below refused. When I gave a description of the unknown entity based on what Sung- Jisung had told me, they just- I don't know. They seemed… shocked, at first. Definitely thought I was lying. But then I spoke about…”

Hyunjin trails off, glancing between Jisung and Jeongin again, as if trying to decipher how much he is allowed to say on Jisung’s behalf. He gives the other man a tight smile, maybe a little awkward, but hopes he conveys the message well enough. He can’t exactly keep his massive trampstamp a secret. He had hoped to come up with some bullshit excuse before anyone saw the branding, but beggars can’t be choosers. Bigger fish to fry, and all that.

Hyunjin understands what he means to say, somehow. So he continues, speaking directly to Jisung this time. “Well, I spoke to them about the marking on your back. They laughed, told us you were already dead if what I said was true. Then the speaker told us to never contact them again, except they used way more colorful language to get their point across.”

Hyunjin rolls his eyes at his last comment, leaning into the reassuring hand Jeongin lays on his shoulder. Jisung furrows his brow deeper, ready to ask what the hell any of that could possibly mean, but someone else beats him to it.

“What do you mean, ‘marking’?” Chan’s voice is demanding, agitated still, as he comes around the corner into the living room. He is now back to his human form, wearing a pair of Jisung’s sweatpants that are way too tight in the thigh and a snug t-shirt that Jisung usually wears as an oversized piece. Felix feels warmer beside him when he shifts.

Jisung pauses with his mouth hanging open dumbly, blinking at Hyunjin as he tries to figure out how to explain himself while leaving out as many details as possible. Hyunjin is looking at him with a gaze that almost resembles… empathy. Like Hyunjin feels bad he is in this predicament, stuck between spilling his guts and allowing his friends to share his worries, or giving some half-baked excuse to save them the hassle of having to worry about his impending doom. Jeongin obviously already knows far too much, with the way his lip has been caught between his teeth, anxiously gnawing on the flesh while he awaits Jisung’s words. Seungmin is even looking at him with something that, dare he say, resembles worry. Really, what cracks Jisung’s resolve in the end is seeing Felix and Chan, two of his closest friends, both outwardly anxious and, in Felix’s case, one misstep away from falling into tears.

Naturally, when faced with all of his friends being concerned for his safety being in the same room, Jisung has no choice but to spill his guts. He has never been good at keeping secrets.

He explains everything- starts from the beginning, not leaving out a single detail that could be of interest. Once Jisung says those first words, it started with the warded box, the rest tumbles past his lips without invitation. He explains how the warding popped open, the events of the bar downtown that same night, his night terrors and less threatening, more heated dreams. He explains the details of the shadow lurking in his apartment, the taunting laugh that follows him everywhere, even the entity that took human form in his apartment less than half an hour ago. At the end he is standing on unbalanced footing, pulling his shirt back down to cover the brand on his lower spine and turning back to face the room. Jisung feels lighter, relieved that he is not alone in this mess, but also heavier than he has ever felt when his friends' faces come into focus.

Shock, worry, anger on his behalf- everyone is looking at him with a mix of unwavering concern and something else. Jisung lets out a shaky breath as he is pulled back into Felix’s arms, bracketed on his other side by Chan’s wide shoulders as the two hug him tightly. As if they are worried he might break apart without their embrace.

“Sung-ah…” Chan is stuck between a whimper and a growl by his ear, making Jisung shiver as he pulls away to face his friend. Chan’s eyes are a crisp, golden autumn color. The wolf living inside him is chewing and growling at the walls of his barriers, wanting to be let out again so that it can properly ensure Chan’s metaphorical packmate is safe. The older man reels himself in quickly though, taking a steadying breath and letting his eyes flutter closed as he concentrates. When he opens them again, dark brown irises blink back at him with a subtle gentleness. “Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you tell me- tell us?”

Jisung’s bottom lip wobbles as he addresses the room, shrugging into Felix’s chest. “I didn’t want to make you worry any more than I already do, hyung. I thought this would be okay for me to handle on my own, and maybe I could banish the entity and finish the codex on the ancient text, but now… Now I think it’s too late to turn back. Even if I were to give the text back to Headmaster Kim and hand over my current progress, there is no guarantee the creature would follow. He seems…”

Jisung trails off, feeling the phantom touch of cold fingers petting his throat.

“Attached to you, instead of the box?” Seungmin murmurs. No hint of sarcasm, no smart-ass remark, just the cold, hard truth. Maybe he understands, having his own entity linked to him via an unlocked box. “That’s what it sounds like, considering the trampstamp. And giving the text back now would mean giving up your only way of maybe getting answers.”

Jisung whines, high pitched and pitiful. “What do I even do now? I mean, he said he didn’t want to hurt me, for whatever that’s worth. I know there is no way in hell I should trust this thing, and I don’t, but he mentioned having, like, bigger plans for me. He said he would see me soon, but had to leave because he was hungry. What do you think that means, Jinnie?”

Hyunjin picks his gaze up from the book in his lap that had still not been moved past the page he opened it to. He shrugs, wincing a little as he does so. “I’m honestly not sure, Sungie. My communications didn’t help to identify what we’re dealing with or how to exorcise it. Really, the only thing the Underworld was good for was warning me in time to bring everyone here.”

Jisung slumps back into the couch, Felix moving to the kitchen for what Jisung assumes to be a kettle of tea. He doubts anyone would mind being dosed with a calming tonic right now, maybe even enough to make them all forget the glaringly obvious elephant in the room. Jisung has never been more of a sitting duck.

“Hyung,” Jeongin murmurs, staring at Hyunjin with furrowed brows. “The speaker from the Underworld did say something weird. Do you remember what it was?”

Hyunjin blinks up towards the ceiling for a minute, thinking back to the communications they had shared. After a long moment he shakes his head, brows now pinched to match the other. “I remember it vaguely. But it didn’t make a lick of sense, naekkeo.”

Seungmin, purposefully ignoring the term of endearment, raises his chin in acknowledgment. “What did the creature say?”

Hyunjin licks his lips, shaking his head with a growing irritation. “I can't remember the exact phrasing. Something about, though his armor may be rusty, he is well-oiled? Like I said, it made no sense. I chalked it up to the mad ramblings of an ancient demon. Or a demon of any age being a massive cuck, as per usual.”

Jisung snorts, a short sound devoid of humor. Honestly, either option is just as plausible.

Felix comes back into the room carrying a small tray Jisung once used to make jello shots the day after exams had ended some semesters ago. This time, the tray holds an opalescent tea in six mismatched, ceramic mugs. Jisung can’t help the genuine, albeit weak, smile that graces his features when he is handed his favorite Garfield mug, whispering his thanks as the pixie settles beside him with a gaudy, over the top unicorn mug of his own.

From Jisung’s other side comes a huff, and when he turns his attention towards Chan the older is shaking his head. “This is stupid- I’ll take watch outside Sungie’s apartment. I caught wind of his scent in Sung’s room, which is why I came back in here, anyway. If the creature comes back I’ll be able to sense it and I can tear it apart, easy as that.”

Jisung almost chokes on his tea. “Hyung, absolutely not! This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen! If you’re here, you’re at risk. The entity made it very clear he feels… possessive, or whatever. He could hurt you, and no offense, but I think he could easily overpower every single one of us at the same time while being blindfolded with one arm severed. His energy is like, insane.”

Chan looks like he is about to argue, but Felix beats him to it. Wrapping one dainty hand around Chan’s wrist, Felix points large doe eyes at the other with full lips downturned into a wobbly pout. “He’s right, hyungie. I don’t like this any more than you, but… no one can help Sungie if we’re all hurt, or worse, because we’re unprepared to face whatever this is. We need a plan.”

Chan’s anger and defiance all but crumble away when Felix touches him. Jisung watches the way they stare at each other, silent communication passing right over him as he rests between the two. Suddenly, he feels he might be interrupting something. Maybe Jeongin had been onto something when he mentioned Chan having some not-so-friendly feelings for one of their friends. Maybe, Felix can relate to that sentiment.

Finally, Chan breaks the prolonged silence with a grunt, looking away and running both hands over his short hair. “Okay, fine. You’re right, Lix. We need a plan.”

Hyunjin clears his throat, sipping his tea once more before speaking. “Innie and I will continue to work on finding information regarding the nature of the entity. The Veil was no help, but maybe we can speak to another representative from the Underworld. We can also look into other realms- Purgatory, the Heavens, any sort of divine realm that could possibly exist- anything that could help.”

Jeongin nods, Jisung sending a grateful smile to both of them. Seungmin is next to speak, sighing as he stands up to crack his spine. “Well, I can check in with the Headmaster. I don’t think Sung could do it without cracking and spilling his guts, as per usual, so I’ll tell her I’m working on an assignment for another course. Maybe she knows something we aren’t thinking of when it comes to powerful beings who seem to be unkillable.”

Felix nods, chiming in to say, “Perfect! I’ll study up on banishing potions, heavy protections, anything that could work to make you feel safe, Sungie. Channie-hyung will obviously be helping, and gathering what information he can while he paces a hole in my dorm carpet.”

Jisung huffs a laugh, blinking back a sudden wave of emotion. He is so grateful. He knows his friends would do anything for him, the same way he would for them. Keeping secrets had never been his strong suit, and for once he is grateful for that. “Thank you all, seriously. I love you, or whatever.”

His huff of laughter turns into a full belly laugh when he hears the three resulting gagging noises and feels hands pinching each side of his cheeks as the two culprits coo over their friends’ dramatics, Jisung’s face splitting into a grin that shows his gums. Once he has laughed to his heart's content and the tea kettle has mostly been drained, he feels much more at ease with the current state of his mind. Yes, there is a malicious entity with unrestricted access to his apartment. However, Jisung somehow feels confident that he will not be harmed. All he needs to do is stay sharp and out-smart the being. How that will happen, he isn’t sure, but he doesn’t feel pressured to figure things out on his own. He has help.

Speaking of entities, Jisung blinks as he suddenly sits up, pointing an accusatory finger at Seungmin. “You!”

Seungmin, who had been in the middle of draining the dregs of his mug, blinks back at him with his usual bored features. “Kim Seungmin, nice to meet me.”

Ignoring this, “What’s up with the Oni thing?”

Now Seungmin is the one that looks like he is being haunted, suffering in a way that feels fit for someone twice his age. “The Oni thing. You mean the humanoid beast that has completely taken me captive? He finally made his presence known two days ago. Ask me why.”

“Why?”

“Thanks, Felix. I would love to tell you.” Seungmin pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut as if the audacity of his Oni astonishes him. “The fucker flew into action to protect me from a monstrous beast that was rapidly approaching my vulnerable body while I relaxed on my sofa. At least- I’m assuming that is what his train of thought was, if he even had one. In actuality, a fly was buzzing by my ear and instead of smacking it away myself, a fist the size of my fucking head smashed it. I was saved from a fly by a fucking Oni.”

Jisung snorts, followed by similar amusement from the others. Seungmin holds a hand up to silence them, which works, oddly enough. “By the way, there is definitely a seven foot tall, blue humanoid outside your window right now. No, I cannot stop him. No, I cannot get rid of him. Let’s move on.”

Slowly, Jisung stands to his feet. He tilts his head at his best friend, simply unable to believe he isn’t being punked. Seungmin shakes his head slightly, splaying his hands wide towards the living room window as if to say be my guest, see for yourself. And, well- Jisung is a curious being, after all. Who could blame him for approaching the glass that leads to his tiny balcony? Certainly not Jeongin, who follows after him with something akin to excitement.

Jisung carefully brushes the curtains away from his living room window, glancing out into the empty, dark street below. He first looks to the right, then the left, and is about to turn around and accuse Seungmin of being a filthy liar when he spots it.

He isn’t quite sure how he didn’t immediately notice it, to be honest. Maybe Jisung should be more concerned he failed to see a seven foot tall, three hundred and something pound, blue man in a loincloth trying (and comically failing) to hide his frame behind a thin wooden telephone pole. But now that he spots the Oni, he can’t unsee it. Mostly because said Oni is staring a hole into Jisung’s window, looking right past him as if watching something farther inside his abode. Seugmin- the Oni is tracking Seungmin, even if he isn’t able to physically see him.

Jisung draws his curtains back together just as slowly as he had pulled them apart, turning around with a low whistle. Raising an eyebrow, he lazily throws a single shoulder up in a shrug, speaking towards Seungmin.

“Wanna trade demons?”

A snort from the other man, who shakes his head and moves to take Jisung’s spot between Felix and Chan on the couch. They curl around him just as they had Jisung, even though Seungmin’s life is in no way, shape, or form in danger. He wants to feel offended, but Seungmin is Chan’s pup in a very similar to what Seungmin had claimed Jisung to be, so he lets it slide. His friend doesn’t even look perturbed by the physically contact.

“No fucking way, dude.” Seungmin says, and the sound of him winning his latest Sudoku match blares soon after.