Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖

So, Chan is alive. Not that he remembers being mostly dead. Here’s what he remembers: falling asleep in Wonwoo’s bed, the weirdly scent-neutral sheets swallowing him up. Jeonghan and Joshua huddling close to him, their body heat warming him all the way through, and the fact that he didn’t dream. 

At least, he didn’t for a little bit. And when he did end up dreaming, it wasn’t the horrifying, wrestling in mud with Satan’s sentient snot kind of dreams he had before. These dreams were less exciting. Almost mundane. Only bits and pieces stick with him, or rather, maybe these fragments were all he had dreamed.

Chan, in the middle of a crosswalk, surrounded by darkness. A flashing sign on the other end, screaming DON’T WALK with its accusing scarlet glow. Around him, an ocean of ink, just a few scant metres away from his feet and leaving him in a wide circle of concrete. Sometimes, gleaming droplets would fall from a black sky and ping, hit the surface of the liquid around him. The ripples that occurred each had their own voices.

Chan, trapped in a limbo, could do nothing but wait and listen. 

Chan. He fell asleep three days ago…and he won’t wake up. Soonyoung-hyung.

Chan frowned down at himself. He certainly didn’t feel asleep, but what else could explain the…everything? He looked around at his surroundings, looked back at himself. This is the weirdest lucid dream he’d ever had. 

Ping. 

He’s not dead. He’s somewhere in between. A coma. A magical, uncrackable coma.

Ohhh. So it wasn’t a lucid dream. Chan was in a coma. It only barely made more sense, if he was being honest. Now, you might be wondering why Chan was taking everything he was hearing in this dream-state to be true. If you asked him, his only answer would be this: Those are his hyung’s voices. Why wouldn’t he trust them?

Ping.

It’s got a magical signature to it. I can taste it.

Now what the fuck is that all about? Chan doesn’t even have time to process, because another drop hits the water around him.

How long can he go on like this?

Without knowing the nature of it…anywhere from a couple days to years. I’ve heard of people being kept in magical comas for years.

Well, wasn’t Chan just a lucky fucking duck. He pouted at the barren landscape around him. He didn’t know if he had the mental fortitude to stay sane in such an unfamiliar place.

Slowly, slowly, Chan is drip fed information, and he learns…alot. He learns enough. 

He learns enough to the point where he can now look around at each of his hyungs, huddling in a circle around his body, and finally pinpoint what it was about them that made him so entranced in the first place.

Seungcheol’s wolfish charm and natural pack alpha instincts. Jeonghan’s mystical beauty and keen, cunning eyes. Joshua’s mischievous nature and tender guitar skills. Jun’s weather-bending ‘luck’ and colour changing hair. Soonyoung’s freaky intuition and knowing smile. Wonwoo’s aversion to food and his cold skin. Jihoon’s unnatural strength and ageless, pale looks. Seokmin’s angelic singing and ocean, sea spray scent. Mingyu’s puppy-like eyes and insistence to be helpful. Minghao’s bird-like elegance. Seungkwan’s hyper green thumb, and Hansol’s bizarre clairvoyance.

It all clicks like puzzle pieces.

However, he doesn’t learn enough to figure out why he’s now covered in a foul smelling paste with twigs and leaves and other stuff he couldn’t even recognize mixed in, on top of a weirdly warm painted pattern on the floor—the paint, of course, being equally suspicious.

“Chan.” It rips out of Seungcheol like a sob, and he rushes forward to hold Chan’s face in his hands. His callouses tickle at Chan’s skin.

“Hi, Cheollie-hyung.” Chan nuzzles into the touch. He had missed this, being stuck in that weird dream-limbo, and he fully intended to soak up everything that was ripped away from him. “I’m home.”

“H-how’re you feeling?” Seungcheol’s gaze sweeps over him, as if now that Chan was awake, his aches and pains would finally show up on the outside of his body. 

Chan gently lays a hand over Seungcheol’s, revels in his warmth, and brings his hyung’s eyes back up to his. “Better. Good.” He licks his lips. Wow, his mouth tastes awful, like dirt and blood and rancid Pocari Sweat. “Thank you,” he adds.

Seungcheol looks a second away from pouncing on him, but he doesn’t, barely constrained, and Chan is confused for a half-second. Why isn’t Seungcheol hugging him? Is it the gross-ass mud on his body? Then, he remembers the whole almost dying thing, thinks ah, right, and instead, holds his arms out and waits.

Seungcheol doesn’t even take a second. “Chan-ah,” Seungcheol whispers roughly, and folds Chan into his embrace. Seungcheol smells of forest, and peat moss, and smoky magic—because Chan knows, now, knows what that poignant burnt sugar smell is, can connect it with almost every interaction he has had with his housemates. 

Chan melts into Seungcheol’s warmth. He’s so dependable, Chan thinks dreamily. And so solid. Great for hugging, really. 

“Like a dumpling,” Chan whispers. He tightens his arms around Seungcheol’s waist, pushes his face further into the space between Seungcheol’s neck and shoulder. 

Seungcheol freezes dangerously. “What.”

“Hm?” Chan feigns innocence. This wolfy-magic hearing thing is definitely gonna be a rough learning curve. “I didn’t say anything. I almost just died, remember?”

Seungcheol huffs a sigh, but his voice is fond when he retorts, “I’ll let it go this time, but you’re on thin ice.”

“Can you also just let go in general?” A cross voice says. “You’ve gone over your time, old man.” Seungkwan, then. 

This time, Seungcheol really does launch across the circle, but this time it’s to give Seungkwan a hairline altering noogie with his fist, much to Seungkwan’s loud displeasure. 

As the two of them fight (correction: as Seungcheol play-fights with Seungkwan’s screeching body), Hansol holds a hand out for Chan to hold. 

“Chan,” Hansol says, and even though it’s quiet, Chan still tears up from the pure relief in Hansol’s voice. “You okay?”

“Thanks to you,” Chan replies. “Are you okay?”

Hansol shifts up with a grimace, and Jeonghan is there in a flash to help him up. “There we go, Sollie-baby.” 

“I’m…I’ll get better.” Hansol’s grip never leaves Chan’s fingers, and now, they trail up his forearms. “Can I…”

Chan tugs Hansol into a bone-wrenching hug, the kind that makes you feel as though all of your loose pieces have been pressed back into place. Jeonghan coos behind them, wraps them up in his own hug. Chan swears he feels warm fur tickling his back.

“My babies,” Jeonghan murmurs. “There, there. It’s all okay now.”

When the three of them are finally peeled apart, it’s because Soonyoung is worming his way into Chan’s arms. 

“Channie,” Soonyoung sobs. “We—I—I can’t—You’re alive, baby, you—”

Chan presses his nose into Soonyoung’s temple, inhaling that familiar scent of burnt sugar caramel. “Of course I am, hyung. You guys made sure of it. I’m okay, hyungie, really.”

Soonyoung clutches at him like he doesn’t believe it, so Chan makes sure to press it into his skin with his touch. 

Soonyoung rocks them back and forth, tears slipping down both of their torsos, streaking clean lines through the mud on Chan’s chest.

“Oh, right,” Soonyoung says between sniffles. “Let’s get you cleaned up, Channie baby.”

Without a word, Minghao pushes Soonyoung aside to cry into Jihoon’s chest, brandishing a clean, damp towel. Chan doesn’t even know where it came from.

“There we go, Channie-ah,” Minghao whispers, each wipe careful, considerate, and gentle. “Let hyung clean you, hm?”

Chan traces the planes of Minghao’s sharp, elf-ish features with his eyes. He can’t help the fond smile that spreads over his face (seriously, he’s been smiling for so long now, his cheeks ache with it) but what he can help, is the words he says next. “Thank you for taking care of me, Minghao-ge.”

Minghao cleans Chan’s forehead with concise sweeps, before cupping his cheek in one elegant hand. “Of course, Chan-di. It was my honour.” The mirroring smile on Minghao’s face makes him feel warm and bubbly inside.

Chan giggles, nestles into Minghao’s hand, and is delighted to find that his cheek fits perfectly in Minghao’s cupped fingers.

Someone attaches themselves to Chan’s back, nosing into his hair and laughing brightly. Joshua.

“Welcome back, Channie,” he says, voice thick with emotion. His breath stirs Chan’s hair, and his arms are secure around Chan’s shoulders. 

“Shua-hyung,” Chan breathes, before melting into the embrace. “I missed you.”

A pause, then, as quiet and soft as Chan has ever heard it, Joshua says, “I missed you too, Chan-ah. I’m so glad you’re finally awake and well. I never doubted it for a second.”

“Mmmmm well,” says Jihoon with a teasing curve to his lips. “Let’s not tell lies here.”

Joshua gasps, affronted, and Chan feels his embrace tighten. “I would never.”

Minghao finishes wiping off Chan’s skin. “You need a shower, and soon, but this will do for now.”

“Do I smell?” Chan asks, horrified. He tries to lift his arm to do a sniff check, but Joshua just clamps down harder.

“No moving, Channie,” Joshua demands. “I have days worth of hugs to catch up on.”

“And no,” Wonwoo says with his signature foxy smile. “You don’t smell.”

“Let’s not tell lies here,” Jihoon repeats, eyebrow cocked at Wonwoo. “Whipped behaviour.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “You don’t smell bad, how’s that?”

“You’d think Chan smells good even if he rolled around in dog shit.”

“Somehow, that feels targeted at me,” Mingyu whines.

“Whatever.” Wonwoo’s piercing gaze falls on Chan, and his eyes soften. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

“Oh, right! Here,” Seokmin exclaims, and he hustles out of the room and comes back with a platter of fruits, some crackers, a small bowl of soup, and a bottle of water. “Eat a little bit of everything—but water first. We don’t know how your stomach will react after a week of poti—of…nothing. Nothing at all.”

Chan hides his smile in the mouth of the bottle. Potions. So his hyungs don’t know that he knows, he stores that tidbit of info for later.

 “Slowly, Channie,” Jeonghan reminds him, coming up and carding a hand through his greasy hair. He looks drawn, and tired, but his eyes never leave Chan’s face for a second.

Actually, now that Chan takes a moment to look at them without the haze of nearly dying in front of his eyes, he realizes that each of his hyung’s look scruffy and exhausted. Mingyu had eyebags puffy enough to sleep on, and Minghao had stubble, which, if you know Minghao, you’d know is a cry for help. 

He swallows, and the water washes down the taste of guilt. 

“Soup, Chan-ah.” Mingyu picks up the bowl, and scoops up a little bit with a spoon. He blows on it, even though it’s not hot anymore, and holds it up to Chan’s lips. “Careful, careful.”

Chan accepts it gratefully. It’s a simple bone broth, the taste rich and mild on his tongue. It’s so much better than Pocari Sweat. “Mmm. Good.” 

Mingyu lights up at the praise, and Chan takes a minute to wonder at how he had never seen it before. If there were anyone alive to embody a high-energy, working class dog, it would be Mingyu, with his big, brown eyes, his soft whimpers, his tendency to be helping out, always, all the time.

“I’m so sorry, Channie,” Mingyu whispers as he feeds Chan another mouthful of soup. He looks as if he wants to say something else, but a weird look passes over his face, and his mouth stays closed.

Chan finally recognizes that face as a secretive, guilty expression. “Why are you sorry?” Chan asks, faux innocent. He tilts his head, smiles encouragingly when Mingyu just looks even more constipated.

“Look, Chan,” Seokmin says with a sigh. “We…haven’t been the most honest.”

The room quiets immediately. Seungcheol and Seungkwan stop tussling, Soonyoung’s sniffles fade, and Jeonghan’s hand pauses, abruptly, in Chan’s hair. Mingyu even drops soup into his lap, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“What is it, hyung?” Chan makes sure to keep his expression even.

“So basically, you’re telling me you’re all OP maxxed out level one hundreds?” Chan strokes at his chin after all twelve of his hyungs have explained their mysterious origins with the most guilty look on their faces.

Seungcheol looks at Chan with confused eyes. “Um. Sure.”

“Hmm.” Chan nods, projecting the aura of an unbothered monk on the mountainside. He carefully controls his expression, even though the urge to laugh at Mingyu’s adorably nervous face grows stronger by the second. “I see.”

No one speaks, and it’s like the whole room is holding its breath. Seungkwan looks on the verge of exploding. Chan is pretty sure Wonwoo is about to pop a blood vessel.

Finally, Chan breaks. He laughs, loud, and then even harder when all of the hyungs just look at each other, lost.

“I already knew,” Chan gasps between cackles. “I could hear in my coma. Or, at least, I heard a little bit.” He frowns, laughter petering out. “I heard enough, I think. But thank you for the extra explanations. And for being honest.”

“You knew?” Joshua’s eyes bug out of his skull. “What?”

“Oh, you little shit,” Jihoon grouses. “I was actually worried we had overwhelmed you. Like a sucker.”

Chan chuckles, and shoots Jihoon a charming smile. “Thank you for thinking of me, hyung. But yeah. I heard little bits and pieces in my coma.” He explains about the crosswalk, and the droplets, and the voices.

At the end of his explanation, Seungkwan turns beet red and hides his face in Hansol’s shoulder. “Ah,” his voice comes out tiny. “So how much did you…did you hear?”

Chan smiles and pulls at Seungkwan until he has a blushing ball of witch in his arms. “I know you love me a lot, Boo Seungkwan.” 

Seungkwan scoffs and tries to push him away with halfhearted cat swipes, but Chan only laughs in peals, because despite his grumbly act, Seungkwan actually is leaning into him. “Shut up.”

“Never.”

“We all do,” Jeonghan adds, putting his chin in his hand. “Love you, that is. But I assume you knew that too.”

Chan joins Seungkwan in being a big, blushing mess under Jeonghan’s soft eyes. “I did know that. I think I knew that even before all of this happened.” He takes in a big breath. “And I love you guys too. I’m just some guy, so I don’t—I don’t really get it, but. I’m greedy. I want all of you. Even if I’ve done nothing to deserve it.” 

Like seriously, why would a literal mythical fire-wolf shifter, a centuries old gumiho, a kind and caring dokkaebi, a freaking entire dragon, not one, but two vampires, the most powerful witch in Seoul, the cutest dog shifter ever, a powerful siren with a heart of gold, an elegant crane-shifting-water-controlling witch, a talented green witch, and Chwe Hansol want to be with him? Lee Chan, university student and dancer? And on top of that, their wildly successful human personas, too. Make it make sense.

But Chan has eyes bigger than his stomach. He wants to soak in his hyungs’ love until it comes out of his pores, until people on the street look at him and think wow, I wish I was dating whoever that guy is dating. Before, he had thought himself a scrounger of scraps, fighting for crumbs of attention at the feet of twelve lofty men who probably shouldn’t be so kind to him. Now, he realizes, he’s completely full of love, and he wouldn’t want it any other way. So what if Chan’s wings melt and he crashes down into a cold, unforgiving sea? The warmth from the sun makes it all worth it.

“You’re not just some guy,” Minghao says in his blunt way. “You’re Lee Chan. We love you because of that. Because you’re kind, and driven, and stubborn.”

“Plus, adorable dimples!” Seungcheol adds.

“With a passion and grit that we can only admire, the hardest worker I’ve ever seen,” Soonyoung says.

Hansol gives his own two cents. “And you’re funny, and sweet, and you stand your ground. Watching you be yourself has been so amazing. We just want more of that.”

“Great butt, really. Honestly. Amazing ass.” Seokmin beams brightly. Wonwoo smacks him. “What? I thought we were listing things we like about Chan.”

Chan is moved to tears. “Guys,” he babbles, unable to stop his voice from getting choked up. “I—”

“Urgk!” Seungkwan gurgles when Chan squeezes him too tightly. “Ow! Ow!”

“Oops.”

“I might be a witch, but I still need oxygen.”

“What’s up with you?” Jihoon asks, suddenly. Chan looks up from where Seungkwan is steadily choking in his arms, and sees Jihoon facing Junhui. 

Junhui, who has been silent this whole time, sitting in the back. Chan had almost missed him. He has a look on his face, like he’s staring at an equation he just doesn’t understand, and when he directs it at Chan, Chan’s smile falls off his face.

“Jun-hyung?”

“I don’t think…” Junhui breaks the intense eye contact, and looks down at his nails. “Chan. I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

“What?” It’s not just Chan who voices this. Almost everyone is looking in some state of shock.

“We nearly killed you, Chan.” Junhui is deadly serious. “We’re a hazard.”

No one speaks. Then, Wonwoo adds, “He has a point. Channie, take it from me. You would be in a lot of danger all the time, if you stick with us.”

Chan is silent.

“Well, we would protect him,” Soonyoung argues. “Obviously.”

Junhui explodes. “What if it’s one of us? What if we’re play fighting, or fucking around, and one of us hurts him? What then? Will you take responsibility for that?” Would you fight us if that happened? goes unspoken.

“We wouldn’t—not on purpose,” Seungkwan refutes.

“Well, obviously not.” Wonwoo swallows. “But accidents happen.”

Junhui gestures at the ritual circle. “Clearly.” The room is tense and quiet.

“It’s our fault,” Mingyu says in a low voice. “That you went through this, Chan. If we weren’t around you, this wouldn’t have happened. I’m so, so sorry.”

Then, the man lays his forehead at Chan’s feet, bowing to him. “We can’t even ask for your forgiveness, because I don’t think we deserve it. Nothing can make up for this.”

“Woah, okay.” It’s enough to shock Chan out of his daze. “We don’t have to—Mingyu-hyung—”

“He’s right.” It’s Seungcheol, this time, his eyes weary and sad. “It is our fault. Chan-ah, I’m sorry. Hyung hurt you, and—and you went through so much pain because of it.”

“Guys, wait—”

Seungkwan, still nestled in Chan’s lap, bonks his head against Chan’s jaw, and holds it there. It means Chan can’t see his face when he says, “You almost died, Channie. Jun-hyung’s right. We’re really, really dangerous. Especially to you.” His voice wavers as he speaks.

“Can you guys just let me speak?” Chan says crossly. “I get it—you left your magical signatures on me, you attracted this parasite, coma for a week, whatever.” He takes a deep breath, and says, with as much conviction as he possibly can, “I forgive you for that. You guys didn’t know it would happen—As far as I can tell, no one knew that that was possible. So it’s not your fault—but even if it was, I forgive you for it.”

Chan slaps his hand over Seungkwan’s mouth when the older looks like he’s about to fight him about it.

“Just listen to me. I’ll say it forever if I have to. You guys might’ve taken away my life, sure, but you also gave me a life I never thought I could have. You gave me the life I always wanted. That’s why I love you. That’s why I will continue to love you even if you threw me out of here with nothing but the clothes on my back and twenty bucks. I love each of you, knowing that Seungcheol could bite through my neck, knowing that Wonwoo could drain me of my blood, knowing that Minghao could drown me on dry land. I choose it. I fully accept these risks, because you guys are too—too wonderful, and too easy to love, for me to not have you guys in my life.” 

Each of his hyung’s have wide eyes at his confession, but he keeps going. “I want it all, and I want you all, all the time. So you could throw me out to try to protect me from yourselves, but you could also…also keep me, and love me, and we’d all be happier for it. I’d think. That’s my proposal to you.”

Chan coughs a little, throat hoarse from the sudden onslaught of use. “I’m fine—I’m—alright, okay.” He accepts the water bottle Hansol shoves into his hand. “Thank you.”

“Chan, are you…sure?” Joshua tilts his head, staring into his eyes. “It might sound easy on paper, but…maybe it might be different in practice.”

“I’ve already done the practice.” Chan rolls his eyes. Silly hyungs. Hundreds of years of knowledge and they still were just a bit stupid. “I lived with you guys for months. And you guys didn’t hurt me or anything. In fact, you guys protected me, even though I was just a roommate.”

Junhui opens his mouth, but Chan cuts him off. “This whole…event…doesn’t count. It wasn’t your fault.”

“It kinda was,” Junhui retorts.

“Did you create the parasite? Did you force it into my body?” he challenges. Junhui has the decency to look chastised. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Chan shakes his head. “Hundreds of years and you guys are still a little slow, huh?”

“Hey!” Seungcheol pouts, but he still crawls towards Chan with his big, pleading puppy eyes, holding his arms out for a hug that squishes Seungkwan between them.

“Help! Heeelp!” Seungkwan warbles. “I’m dying!”

This time, when Seungcheol separates from him, Chan subtly pushes Seungkwan into his arms. He needs his arms to be free for this.

“Now, if you just don’t—don’t love me the same, that’s fine, I can understand that, and we’ll have another talk about it.” Chan brutally kills the voice in him that screams that’s not fine! what the fuck! because it should be fine, because Chan is an adult who can live with one person not loving him romantically, because he knows Junhui still cares about him, even if it’s not the way he desperately craves. “But if it’s because it’s some bullshit about keeping me safe, even though staying with you, being loved by you, is arguably and proven to be the safest thing in the world, then don’t. Don’t let me lose you for that.”

Junhui stares at him, and Chan can see the emotions warring behind his eyes. Then, Junhui dips his head, and Chan feels a sinking loss in his chest.

“I’m so scared we’re gonna hurt you again,” is Junhui’s confession.

“I know. But I’ll forgive you over and over. Because I know you won’t mean it.” 

“That’s probably not the healthiest thing.”

“Let love be a little grey, hmm, hyung? Why is it always black and white?” 

Soonyoung nods, mouth a captivated O. “That was a good one. I’m on Channie’s side.”

“Shut up, hyung,” Seokmin says, equally as invested. His eyes are ping ponging between open, earnest Chan and guarded Junhui.

“I guess…I was being a bit cautious, huh.” Junhui looks up then, and his face is apologetic. “Hyung does love you, Chan-ah. In any way you want. In every way you want.”

“Then come over here and hug me already.” Chan holds his arms out, and Junhui barrels into them, carefully wrapping Chan in a tight embrace.

“Awwwww,” everyone says, and then there are eleven bodies piling on top of him and Chan is being smothered a little. But it’s okay. He thinks his silly hyungs deserve to smother him a bit after the ordeal they had, and deep down, he doesn’t really hate it. Deeper down, he actually really, really likes it. 

“Marmot-Chan is so happy right now,” he sighs.

“Sorry, what? The fuck?”

Chan steps out his very deserved and needed shower and a thought hits him so hard he skids on the wet floor and almost eats straight tile. He yelps, scrambling to catch onto anything, and then Hansol is there, somehow, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him up.

Chan screams again, but for a different reason this time. “Where the fuck did you come from??” Chan grasps his thundering heart, staring at Hansol with wide eyes.

“I heard you screaming and then a bunch of crashing noises!” Hansol replies. His eyes flick down to Chan’s bare chest, and then…lower…and his handsome face turns so red so fast Chan wouldn’t be surprised if he faints from the lack of blood. “I’lljustbeoutside!” Hansol meeps, and then he’s gone.

Chan chuckles, wraps a towel around his waist. He isn’t really surprised his hyungs are protective of him, but teleporting straight into a bathroom is risky stuff. Then again, Hansol would usually be unfazed by a lot of what goes on in this house, so maybe he thought he could take it.

“So what were you so scared about?” Hansol shouts through the door.

Chan rolls his eyes and opens it. Hansol is standing right outside, and Chan ignores the fact that he has to tilt his head up just a little if he wants their lips to touch, and he definitely ignores the fact that his heart skips three beats thinking about it. “I was just thinking about my exams.”

Hansol looks at him quizzically, before snapping. “Oh! Right.”

“I mean, I technically have one…tomorrow. Or today? I might’ve had one today.” Chan frowns. “Where’s my phone?”

“Jihoon-hyung can take care of that,” Hansol says easily. “If they don’t give you academic concession for this, we can just sue.” He shrugs, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Let’s do it baby, I know the law.”

Chan snorts. “Okay, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’d need a doctor's note or something for a concession.”

“I mean, you did technically have a doctor,” a new voice says. Chan looks around Hansol’s body, and sees Wonwoo walk into his room.

“Why are you here?” Chan tilts his head quizzically.

“I heard you scream.” Wonwoo looks at him with a completely neutral expression. “Anyways, I think Jeonghan-hyung and Jihoon already took care of it.”

Huh. Now…what does taking care of mean in this context? “What does that mean…in this context?” Chan asks, eyes narrowed.

Wonwoo shrugs. “I dunno. They just said they talked to the dean or something when you didn’t wake up on the second day.”

Chan is no less confused, but he nods anyway. “Huh.”

“You can ask them about it,” Wonwoo says, and then his eyes trail downwards a little. The next time he speaks, his voice is a little rough. “Just…put some clothes on first. Jeonghan and Jihoon might eat you.”

Chan flushes red all the way down to his bare stomach. Hansol laughs, flicks his forehead, and then he and Wonwoo are padding out of his room with matching sly smirks.

“What do you mean you talked to the dean and now I can do my exam whenever?” Chan’s mouth is on the floor. “Whenever? When is whenever??”

Jihoon snorts. “I’m pretty sure whenever is whenever.”

Chan makes a series of incomprehensible noises, arms flapping. They (him, Jeonghan, and Jihoon) were sitting around the kitchen island as Chan (fully dressed) grilled them about their supposed “connection” with the dean of Seoul National University. Around them, everyone else is cleaning up. Apparently, messes pile up when a person is in a magical, uncrackable coma. Who would’ve known.

Jeonghan sighs, and then he shows Chan his phone. On it, a text thread on KKT. In particular, the message “let him off the hook kekeke” and then a sticker of a cartoon rabbit shaking its tail stands out like a fluorescent road sign.

“You kekeke’d the Dean of SNU?!” Chan can feel his blood pressure rising.

“He wasn’t the Dean of SNU when he worked part-time in my club.” Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “I can craft a more formal email for you if you’re so worried.”

Chan sits back in his seat as he comes to terms with just how influential his hyungs were. “I…I don’t know. Would that do anything? Like. Do they have me in the system as ‘he came down w a fever lolol’??  Would it be on my transcript? My record?”

Jihoon sighs, and reaches a hand across the island to grasp at Chan’s twitchy fingers. For second, Chan is caught off guard at how cold Jihoon is, and how he had never noticed it before. 

“They would put that you had a health related academic concession in your record. They don’t write anything else down. Jeonghan might’ve handled it casually—” Jihoon takes a moment to side-eye Jeonghan. “But the Dean is very professional.”

“And now he knows my name…” Chan murmurs, a little bit in shock.

“Well, yeah.” Jihoon winces. “I’m sure Hansol could do something about that, if you wanted.”

“Hm?” Vernon, who has been going from the dining room into the kitchen with a towering stack of dishes in his hands, and a giant ball of trash floating behind him, stops and looks at them expectantly.

“Wow.” Chan stares. Magic is so… magical. Then, he snaps out of it. “I mean—I don’t think we should erase this guy’s—the dean’s memory.”

Hansol looks at him, then Jihoon, who just shrugs, and then Jeonghan, who winks. Hansol just moves on, face impassive as always.

“So what?” Jeonghan asks as Hansol steps around him. The big pile of trash floating behind him obediently dodges Jeonghan, too.

“I guess…” Chan chews his lip. “If the alternative is fucking with his memory…I guess it’s not that bad that he knows my name…and who I am…and who my hyungs are…”

“Attaboy,” Jeonghan praises. He ruffles Chan’s hair. “Just let me know when you feel ready to reschedule. You don’t have to worry about the other two exams either,” he explains. “Although, the dance showcase…that one is harder.”

“I’m gonna do it,” Chan says without even thinking. At Jeonghan and Jihoon’s concerned looks, he powers through. “I practiced for months! I have people who are counting on me. Tzuyu, and Changbin, and Yeonjun—” Chan’s hands fly to his mouth. “Fuck! Everyone probably thinks I’m dead! I—I have to text them, they probably…think…why…do you two look like that.”

“Look like what?” Jeonghan says, as he refuses to look Chan in the eye.

“We aren’t looking like anything,” Jihoon says, yet he resembles a dog who is about to be caught having chewed up their owner’s slippers so much that it’s hard to remember that Mingyu is the dog around here.

“Guys.” Chan stares at them.

It’s Jihoon who breaks first. “It’s…not our place to say…but we talked to Yeonjun and Changbin. To ask if they knew anything about what happened to you.”

Chan blinks. “Okay?”

“And they’re human!” Jeonghan butts in. “Don’t get us wrong!”

“Good…to know,” Chan says, wildly lost. “I guess. I feel like there’s a but here.”

“You have a great butt,” Seokmin says, randomly deciding to make his presence known from the door. He beams at the three of them, double fisting two trash bags and carrying one more around his neck.

“Go away.” Jihoon doesn’t even look at him.

Seokmin wilts, and the skrcshh skrcshh of trashbags dragging along the floor to the back door is loud.

“But…they have their own secrets.” Jeonghan levels him with a steady gaze. “It doesn’t directly affect you, which is why we haven’t said anything about it. But yeah. They know what happened.”

“Huh.” Chan taps at his chin, deep in thought. “I guess…that makes sense. Well, that’s one thing down. Anyways.” He sits up straight. “Back to my main point. I’m gonna perform. At the showcase.”

“That’s a week from now, Chan-ah,” Jeonghan protests. “Joshuji! Get in here and back me up!”

Joshua appears almost instantly, and Chan has to wonder if he had been waiting outside for someone to bring him in. “Yes, dear?”

“Chan wants to perform in less than a week,” Jeonghan explains.

The force of both of their concerned, beautiful faces is almost enough to break through Chan’s walls, but he holds on. 

“I can do it. I don’t feel weak, or sore, or anything right now.” Chan flexes his bicep to prove his point. The effect isn’t as potent thanks to Mingyu’s hoodie drowning him, but you get the point.

“Sweetheart, we’re just worried,” Joshua says, his pretty features drawn tight with unease. “We don’t want you pushing yourself and getting hurt.”

“I won’t.” Chan crosses his arms, before realizing how childish it looks and hurriedly uncrossing them. “I know my limits. I won’t take it too far.”

“That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one.” Wonwoo steps up to the doorframe with a troubled twist to his mouth.

Chan throws his hands up out of frustration. “Oh, let’s just invite everyone to this party, huh?”

“Chan, you used to sleep in the studio,” Wonwoo states. “I don’t think any of us trust you not to go overboard.”

“I should’ve never let you pick me up,” Chan hisses, glaring.

“Look. Clearly, this showcase means a lot to you.” Jihoon speaks up, a voice of calm amongst everyone else's fretting.

“It’s my chance to show everyone that I deserve to be here, that—that me transferring in wasn’t a stupid idea. My first time performing for all of these new people.” Chan is desperate for Jihoon to understand. “I need to prove that I belong.”

Jihoon nods, considering. “I know, Channie.” He wets his lips, and then, “How about this. You will use our home studio, here, to practice, so we can keep an eye on you. If, by the end of the week, you feel up to performing, then by all means.” Jihoon makes a vague gesture that Chan takes to mean carpe diem. “But if at any point, and I mean any point.” The vampire holds his gaze with intense eyes, and Chan gulps. “You feel weak, or dizzy, or tired, and yet you keep overworking yourself, I will tie you down to a chair in that audience so all you can do is watch everyone else's performance.”

And sure, Chan hears the last part, can tell Jihoon means it with every inch of his soul, but his mind gets stuck on the you can perform part of it.

“Yes!” Chan bounces out of his chair, grabs Jihoon by the shoulders, and shakes him violently. “Thank you so much hyungie! I won’t let you down, I promise!”

“It’s like he didn’t even hear the last part,” Jihoon says to the room at large. He’s remarkably fine with being shaken up.

“I have to go do some conditioning—and, and I should text Tzuyu and ask her about practice, and—” Just as Chan is about to scamper out of the kitchen, Seungcheol picks him up by the back of Mingyu’s hoodie and brings him back to his chair.

“Hang on, tiger.” Seungcheol deposits him in front of an amused Jihoon. “You’re gonna have to ease into it slowly. And one more doctor check up before you start doing anything, to boot.”

Chan pouts, deflated like a three week old birthday balloon. “Aw man. Killjoy.”

Seungcheol makes a face at him, before shaking his head. “Kids these days. I’ll call Dr. Yang and get him to get over here ASAP. But before that, you should eat an actual meal.”

“I just had some soup!” Chan is itching, squirming in his seat. “Hyuuuuung, come on.”

“Nope. Mingyu’s making gamjatang. Go rest on the couch for now.”

Chan heaves a big, pitiful sigh. “All around me are familiar faces,” he warbles. “Worn out places, worn out faaaaaceeees.” But he lets Wonwoo pull him out of his chair (which Seungcheol just put him in, what was the thought process there) and towards the couch, where he gets a clingy vampire cuddling up to him and sapping away at his body heat while they watch some drama or other.

So, maybe it’s not too bad.

Dr. Yang makes an impressed face. “For someone who was being decomposed actively like, seven hours ago, you’re not lookin’ too bad.”

Chan perks up. “Really?” 

He’s sitting on the couch as Dr. Yang takes his vitals, doing wacky stuff with all sorts of magical instruments. He’s pretty sure a unicorn horn wand was used to take his oral temperature, but what does he know?

“Really?” Minghao asks, in disbelief. He’s also on the couch, intently watching Chan’s check up, and so is every other hyung. Chan has a working theory that they have all developed separation anxiety and refuse to let him take even one step without at least one set of eyes on him.

“Mhm.” Dr. Yang slaps a hand onto Chan’s bare shoulder, and when he pulls away, a glowing handprint remains. They all stare as the handprint stays strong and bright, before the fae waves and it fades to nothing. “Yes, yes. Very good. You seem to be back to normal, no malnutrition, no weakness, maybe a little muscle atrophy, but.” Dr. Yang shrugs, as if to say what can you do. “Your restoration potions are quite effective.”

Soonyoung and Seungkwan preen.

“And what about dance?” Chan presses, leaning forward excitedly. “Can I dance?”

“I don’t see why not.” Jeongin makes a thoughtful face. “Just don’t go too overboard. Technically, we still have no idea if this…parasite…thing…has any long term effects. Just…be careful.”

“Yes, sir,” Chan says, but he’s already bouncing off the couch, eager to rush down to the dance studio.

“Thank you, Dr. Yang.” Seungcheol says, sensing that the check up has come to an end. “Here are your talismans.”

An envelope is handed over, and Dr. Yang brightens when he looks inside. “It’s nothing. Changbin would be happy to know that his friend is well.”

Chan freezes. “Seo Changbin? You know him?”

“He’s my troupemate.” Jeongin puts the envelope in his seemingly magic briefcase. “I thought you knew? You had met Minho-hyung and Hyunjin-hyung before.”

“Lee Minho and Hwang Hyunjin are magical?!” Chan’s jaw drops.

“You’re even younger than Lee Minho?” Jeonghan asks. He looks at Jeongin as if seeing him from a new light.

“Yes, and yes. Although, I'm not sure how that last one should be interpreted.” Jeongin’s eyes narrow.

“Oh, nothing.” Jeonghan waves the issue off, but his face has the smirk that says he is categorizing the information as you speak.

“Where is my fucking phone?? Why did this loser keep this from me?” Chan pats his whole body, looking for his phone, before Soonyoung tosses it to him. “Thanks, hyung.”

Seungcheol and Jeonghan show Jeongin out and, distantly, the three of them hear Chan’s appalled shout.

“YOU’RE TELLING ME CHOI SOOBIN IS A WITCH??”

Chan has just ended a gruelling dance practice under Minghao’s keen eye when he hears a prolonged, strangled shout from upstairs.

He frowns, mopping at the sweat on his forehead. “What was that?”

Minghao, who has been watching with keen eyes from where he was sitting against the mirror, just waves his hand. “Ignore it. Cool down stretches, Channie.”

Chan rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.” He settles into a butterfly and breathes in through his nose.

Over the last couple days, Chan has learned that out of all of his wardens—hyungs, he means hyungs, Minghao was one of the most rigorous. If Chan even breathed too hard, missed even a second of stretches, he would shoot Chan this look, absolutely and lethally deadpan, and Chan would quietly go back into his straddle split stretch for another ten seconds. 

But Minghao was also one of the most lenient. He got it, in a way some of his other hyung’s didn’t. He knew the thrill of having your muscles ache and your lungs clean and clear and pressing against the slats of the ribs, your heart thumping with the music, knew the satisfaction of having your body finally move just right.

Chan touches his nose to his knees in a fold stretch as another, louder shout is heard.

“No, really, what is that?” Chan turns his head to the side and watches as Minghao grimaces.

“I think it would be better if you just went to see for yourself,” is Minghao’s ominous answer.

Chan moves to get up.

“After your stretches.” Minghao shoots him that look, and Chan, having learned to not argue anymore, sighs and touches his toes.

“One, two, three, four, remember to breathe, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.”

When Chan and Minghao finally get up the stairs, the sound of arguing becomes very clear. Several voices are overlapping, each one sounding as frustrated and whiney as the other.

“What the…” Chan looks at Minghao, who looks exhausted.

Minghao silently waves for Chan to go into the living room.

“You didn’t even talk to him for months!!”

“yOU DIDN’T EITHER?!” 

“GUYS, obviously, the choice has to go to me, I’m the oldest!”

“GO DIE IN A DITCH GRANDPA WE’RE HAVING A SERIOUS CONVERSATION.”

“What the f…” Chan walks into absolute chaos. 

Everyone sans Minghao is clustered in the living room, a rolling whiteboard at the back of the room standing over them like a saint.

Seungcheol, Seungkwan, Soonyoung and Mingyu are standing chest to chest to chest to chest in the middle, eyes blazing and spit flying. Seokmin and Jeonghan are having a spirited conversation off to the left, Wonwoo, Jun, and Jihoon watching from the sidelines with exasperated faces. Joshua has Hansol in a chokehold, but his face has the cutest smile curved over it.

“I met him first,” Soonyoung argues, stabbing his finger into his own chest. “It only makes sense!”

“I gave up my fucking memory!! I don’t see you running around going amnesiac for this!” Seungkwan smacks away Mingyu’s hand as it tries to cover his mouth.

“Hit me with a bat then, huh?” Soonyoung splays his arms wide, a universal come and get me motion. “I’ll prove it to you since you think you’re so goddamn special.”

Seungkwan lets out a string of expletives so foul Chan thinks he whites out for a second. Seungcheol and Soonyoung howl with laughter.

“Wow,” Chan says faintly. “I didn’t know he could do that.”

Minghao places a hand on the small of Chan’s back, guides him over to an armchair. 

“Just sit and watch,” Minghao murmurs to him. 

“I just wanna—HEY! I just wanna say,” Wonwoo interjects. “I ate with him when he still thought we all hated him.” He shrugs. “Where were you all, huh? Explain.” Wonwoo’s smug smirk only incites them more, which Chan is starting to think was his actual goal.

“Well, I was the one who kicked all of your asses into actually thinking about him,” Jeonghan reminds everyone, his voice sounding clear and loud through the din. “I deserve some credit, at least.”

“You shut the fuck up,” three people say at once, and Jeonghan just cackles, not at all apologetic or chastised. 

Suddenly, someone is sidling up to his armchair: Joshua, with giant eyes and a pleading grin.

“Hi, Channie,” he drawls. Chan looks past him, sees Hansol unceremoniously dumped on the couch face down. Chan takes a minute to mourn the guy. “Fancy seeing you here. Give hyung a kiss?”

Shua puckers his lips innocently and Chan instinctively leans down, despite being more lost than he’s ever been. Just as their lips almost touch, Joshua is kicked aside by an irate Junhui.

“Hong Joshua!” Junhui shouts. “Play fair!”

Joshua, laid out on the floor, just laughs and laughs, holding his belly.

“Jun-hyung, what the fuck is going on?” Chan asks, clinging to Jun’s sleeve like Rose to the door.

Jun sends him a sheepish grin, before pointing at the whiteboard.

CHAN’S FIRST KISS is scrawled in messy black marker.

“Oh…” Chan brings a hand to his lips. “Wait, they’re fighting…”

“For the chance to be your first kiss.” Junhui nods. “Jeonghan brought it up, Mingyu turned it into a competition, and Seungcheol, Soonyoung and Seungkwan made it a fight.”

Chan stares, dumbfounded. 

It’s at that point that others start noticing that Chan is sitting amongst them. 

“When did he get here??” Soonyoung asks, falling over himself, shrieking with laughter.

Jihoon, who at that point had been laughing so hard his face is a rare shade of red, points and cackles even harder.

“What’s going…on?” Chan asks, only a little bit more in the loop but still feeling incredibly overwhelmed.

“Who do you wanna kiss?” Seungcheol insists. “Pick someone.”

“What?” Chan blinks furiously, eyes darting from face to face.

“Ooooh yeah, we should just ask him who he wants to kiss first.” Jeonghan bats his eyelashes, quickly crossing the room to pet Chan's hair. “Well, Channie?”

“You better not be laying your sexy magic on him,” Seokmin grumbles. “Cheater.”

Jeonghan has half the decency to look offended. “I would never. You know that, right Channie?” The last part is directed with a wink and a smirk at Chan, and, gumiho seduction or not, Chan feels his heart race a little.

“I—I mean. I wanna kiss all of you. Why does it have to be a competition?” Chan asks, plaintative.

Jeonghan’s face flickers with disappointment. “Okay, he’s not gonna be any help. Go back to fist fighting.”

Seungkwan promptly turns and kicks at the back of Seokmin’s knee.

As the sound of arguing rises back up around them, Chan can’t help the worry and concern that fills his chest.

“It’s okay, Channie,” Jeonghan whispers, still petting his hair. “They’re not actually being very serious about it. We just like to mess around, y’know? It’s fun.”

“Don’t listen to a word that harlot says!” Mingyu complains as Seungcheol pulls at his clothes. 

Chan, confused, asks, “So you guys are doing this seriously?”

The room stops. 

“Oh, is that what he said? Nevermind then.” Mingyu presses his lips together, the embodiment of oops!

Seungkwan, half laying on top of Seokmin while Seokmin clings to Seungcheol’s ankles, coughs.

“I mean. It’s kind of serious.” He looks down at Seokmin, who shrugs the best he can in his awkward position. “We kinda also just like to fight for the fun of it. Stress relief for the whole family.”

“It’s been really stressful these past few days,” Jun agrees solemnly. “Obviously.”

“We’re all just kind of used to this,” Jihoon pipes in. “Sorry, Chan-ah.”

“Were we scaring you?” Joshua pops back up, his eyes wide with concern. “Shit, sorry, baby. We do love each other, I promise. We can argue about something else, I think I can convince Seungkwan that Soonyoungie ate his leftovers.”

“You what?” Seungkwan turns to Soonyoung, who scampers away to hide behind Jihoon.

Chan laughs, relieved. “It was a little bit crazy,” he admits. “But now I’m kind of invested.”

“So you think it should be me, right?” Seungcheol brightens.

A cross look settles on Mingyu’s face. “When the fuck did he say that? Don’t make shit up on your own, hyung.”

“Yah, Mingyu, I will—” 

And then a border collie is yelping as it runs away from a giant wolf who spits fireballs.

“No fire in the house, Cheol-hyung,” Minghao scolds, using the water from a cup on the table to extinguish the sparks before they singe the furniture.

“Y’know,” Chan says to no one in particular. “I have no idea how you guys hid your magic from me for this long.”

“A lot of duct tape,” Seokmin says to him, looking relieved to be free of a certain witch, Seungkwan having been redirected to pout and whine at Hansol. 

(“No one around here listens to me,” Seungkwan sulks.

“Aww…sorry were you saying something?” Hansol asks, mischievously innocent.

Seungkwan grabs Vernon’s nose with his thumb and finger and squeezes.)

Mingyu the border collie jumps onto Chan’s lap and, using the newfound height, barks right back at Cheol, who looks caught between not wanting to hurt Chan, and absolutely tearing Mingyu a new one. 

“Don’t get Chan in the middle of this,” Jun argues, pushing at Mingyu’s muzzle. “Go away.”

Mingyu whines, sad and wanting and pathetic, and turns to face Chan with the biggest puppy eyes he’s ever employed.

“Awww,” Chan giggles. “Hi baby.”

Mingyu brightens up, and a pink, slobbery tongue is trying its best to lick at Chan’s face.

“MINGYU’S CHEATING!” Jihoon shouts from the couch, and several pairs of eyes turn to glare at Mingyu.

A giant wolf paw lands squarely on Mingyu’s spine, and the border collie flattens like a pancake with a whimper.

“Off you go, puppy,” Joshua tuts. “No doggies on the furniture.” He tugs Mingyu to the floor and laughs when Mingyu howls at his foiled plans. 

Seungcheol curls his lip back, bares giant canines in a doggy cackle, and licks a big, fat stripe over Mingyu’s face. Even as a dog, Mingyu’s disgust is obvious.

“Okay, okay, order in the court.” Hansol stands, Seungkwan tumbling onto the couch beside him. “Let’s do this like civilized people.”

“People,” Minghao directs at Mingyu and Seungcheol. “Like people.” 

Mingyu turns from a sulky dog to an equally sulky human, sitting on the floor at Chan’s feet. Seungcheol follows suit, but not before fitting two huge jaws around Mingyu’s wrist and pressing lightly. Mingyu, surprisingly, takes it without complaint.

“Can everyone take a seat on the couch?” Vernon extends a hand, fully in his judge persona.

Joshua looks at him with narrowed eyes. “Hannie put you up to this, didn’t he.”

Jeonghan, this time, has the grace to look caught when Hansol nods, breaking character to grin sheepishly. Chan doesn’t even remember when Jeonghan had stepped away from petting his hair.

“I like when we all have roles!” Jeonghan exclaims, taking a seat on the couch and immediately cuddling up to Seungcheol. “Come sit, Shuji.”

Joshua huffs, but his eyes crinkle with his smile and he obediently takes his place on Jeonghan’s other side.

Slowly, all the hyungs pile onto the couch, leaving Chan sitting opposite them on the armchair, feeling like he had somehow wandered into a spotlight that he didn’t quite know how to perform under. 

He waves nervously, and Junhui waves back.

“So, we shall start listing our reasons from this end, and Chan will pick who should kiss him first at the end of all of it,” Hansol explains. He points at Jihoon, at the very end of the U-shaped couch.

“Me? I’m first?” Jihoon lounges back, looking a little confused. “Well. I’m not too worried about it…I know we’ll all get to kiss him eventually.” He looks at Chan then, and smirks.

Chan’s face turns a bright, bright red. (Spoiler: it doesn’t stop for the rest of this.)

“Get this motherfucker outta here,” Seungkwan complains. “He doesn’t even deserve to be in this lineup!”

The rest of the couch explodes, people arguing to kick the vampire out, people arguing for free speech and equal rights, and people (Seokmin) chanting about death to patriarchy.

“I will say—I WILL SAY—” Jihoon shouts over the clamour. Everyone quiets down, waiting expectantly for Jihoon’s next words. He clears his throat, looks Chan right in the eyes. “I am the best kisser, so Channie, pick wisely.”

The ensuing shouts are so obscene and loud that Chan momentarily blacks out. 

When he comes to, Mingyu has Jihoon in a tight squeeze, nose pressed against Jihoon’s cheekbone as he squeals over Jihoon’s confidence. Jihoon doesn’t blush, but his eyes are as shut as they possibly can be, exposing how flustered he is even to himself.

Seungkwan and Seokmin are laughing, but they have a tilt to their brows that say they won’t just take such a remark lying down. 

Seungcheol is huddled close on Jeonghan’s lap as he screeches with second hand embarrassment.

Above all, a voice can be heard. “BULLSHIT!” Soonyoung cries. Joshua is futilely trying to hold him back as Soonyoung does his best to stand up.

“Don’t believe me?” Jihoon taunts.

“There is no better or worse in this universe!” Soonyoung finally manages to break free from Joshua’s grasp. He stands, and it’s like the force of his speech rises too. “We are all beings with preferences and unique personalities! There is no such thing as best in a fair and equal society!”

Everyone cackles at his serious tone, someone oooooh-ing at his speech, but Seungcheol shouts, “You just want to kiss him!” He points between Soonyoung and Jihoon accusingly.

Jihoon nearly falls off the couch as he screeches with laughter.

Soonyoung looks around, and then his shoulders fall just a bit. “...So what!” he concedes loudly, to great uproar. “Is it a crime to want to kiss someone?”

Jihoon gets pushed closer to Soonyoung by a whooping Wonwoo and Seokmin, and with a great, begrudging sigh, he yanks Soonyoung down by his collar and smashes their faces together.

“Damn,” Mingyu whispers, getting a front row seat.

Chan’s jaw is resting comfortably on the floor, and he makes no moves to pick it up as Jihoon kisses the absolute fuck out of a surprised Soonyoung. The witch whimpers into Jihoon’s mouth, melting so easily, and Chan doesn’t need vampire eyesight to see the uptick of Jihoon’s smirk as he pushes his tongue deeper past Soonyoung’s lips. 

At some point, the pair separate thanks to Jihoon’s shove. The noise that occurs is so vulgar that Chan has to shift in his seat. 

“There.” Jihoon wipes his mouth, turns, and sits back down in his original spot next to Mingyu. He has a sexy, confident look in his eyes as he rakes his gaze up and down Soonyoung’s flustered form, and Mingyu bites at his hand, kicking his feet and fangirling with the best of them.

“Wow.” Seungcheol adjusts himself in his pants. Jeonghan notices and laughs, but he, too, has two bright red spots on the apples of his cheeks.

“Wow…I…I think I concede,” Soonyoung says in a quiet, awestruck voice. “Damn.”

Everyone sits in silence for a bit, stewing in their own thoughts, and then Hansol clears his throat.

“So…um. Who’s next?”

Mingyu snaps out of his daze of staring, awestruck, at Jihoon’s unbothered side profile. “Right! Yes! Defendant number two here.”

“We’re getting really into this courtroom bit,” Minghao whispers to Seungcheol.

“I think I deserve to be Chan’s first kiss amongst us for this one simple reason: Chan,” and then Mingyu pauses for effect, “likes me best.” Mingyu shrugs nonchalantly, and shoots finger guns at a speechless Chan.

“Boo!”

“Boo!”

“Booo!”

“BOO!!” 

“Security, kick this guy out!”

The crowd goes wild. Seungcheol even gets up just to push Mingyu back down into his seat. Seungkwan’s frantic thumbs downs could punch through stone. Seokmin’s jeers are so loud the cup on the coffee table rattles. 

Mingyu laughs as people shout over him to bypass his turn.

“Judge,” Chan says. He points at the door. “Please take Mingyu outside.”

Mingyu clutches at his heart in despair. “NOOOOOO!”

“Okay, okay, Wonwoo, go.” Jeonghan, clearly impatient, gestures for Wonwoo to continue.

“Me?” Wonwoo looks around, points a finger at himself.

“What other Wonwoo?” Minghao snipes.

“Well, my argument is that I was there for Chan when everyone else was avoiding him. I was the first one to pick him up from school, and I ate dinner with him, and frankly, I was being brave when you were all cowering away.”

Jeonghan oooh’s and everyone else looks just a bit ashamed. 

“That’s all I have to say, Your Honour.” Wonwoo sits down, and even Chan nods, impressed.

That dinner with Wonwoo had been a lighthouse in the dark ocean for him, he remembers. 

“Oh shit,” Chan breathes, remembering. “I forced you to eat human food and then you threw up, didn’t you?”

At Wonwoo’s reluctant nod, Chan slaps two hands over his face. “Oooooh my godddd I was so stupid. I’m so, so, so sorry, Wonu-hyung,” Chan bemoans. 

“It’s no biggie,” Wonwoo brushes off. A sly look crosses his face. “Kiss me and I’ll call it even.”

“That’s extortion!” Seungkwan argues. “You can’t make deals like that!”

“What else am I supposed to do then, huh? Making deals is like fifty percent of all cases!” Wonwoo argues with his signature foxy smile. 

“Okay, okay, order in the—order in the court!”

“Isn’t that just bribery?” Seokmin asks Shua, who shrugs and waves him off, fully invested.

“Sit down, Jeon Wonwoo-ssi,” Hansol demands, sweeping grandly over the scene in front of him.

Wonwoo complies, pushing his glasses up his nose with one hand. “Yes, Your Honour.”

“He’s really into it,” Minghao whispers, eyes narrowing. “I feel like we’re in some kind of foreplay for them…”

“Next, Lee Seokmin,” Hansol intones. “Please take your stand.”

“Yes, Your Honour.” Seokmin rises, smooths out his Pochacco patterned pajamas. “I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

“What do you have to confess?” Vernon asks.

Chan’s brows furrow. “When did this become an actual court case? Wait, am I the defendant?”

“All I have to say, is that Chan—” Seokmin looks at him then, serious and intense. “Chan, if you pick me, I won’t waste this opportunity.”

“Ohohoh.” Chan smiles into his hand. It really is ridiculous, if he stepped back and looked at it with fresh eyes, but he’ll indulge his theatre major of a hyung. “Okay, okay. I’ll consider that, for sure.”

“Thank you. That is all I have to say.” Seokmin wraps up neatly and sits back down. 

“Kwon Soo—” Vernon starts.

“Yes, thank you. My name is Kwon Soonyoung from Gyeonggi, I’m, like, several hundred years old, and I am the most powerful witch in Seoul.” Soonyoung stands, flashing a smarmy smile at whoever can look him in the eyes. “My hobbies include making charms and potions for profit, dancing, travelling, and long walks on the beach. I have an eighty digit net worth, a ten inch dick, and I’m not afraid to cry.”

Chan doesn’t even know what to say. Shua and Jihoon screech with laughter, and Minghao’s giggles overlay everything like a cloud.

Soonyoung nods at him, flashing pearly whites, and then winks at him with both eyes. “They call me tiger cause I’ll claw up your back and you’ll like it.”

“I feel violated,” Seungkwan says, shaking his head in disgust.

“Yeah, that was a little…” Mingyu waves his hand in a so-so motion. 

“Just sit down,” Seokmin says, one hand covering his face and the other pulling at Soonyoung’s tiger print pajamas.

“Right. Okay. Next.” Hansol points for Soonyoung to sit down.

Soonyoung, too busy trying to hook Chan in with his eyes and failing, doesn’t take a seat.

It takes the combined force of Seokmin and Shua sitting next to him to drag him back into the couch cushions.

“Your Honour,” Joshua says in perfect English, standing and holding his hand up, palm forward, oath taking style. “I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God.”

“Californians,” Vernon sighs. Then, he says in Korean, “Yes, defendant. Please rise to the stand.”

Seokmin slaps his hand over Shua’s palm in an opportune high five.

“I would like to submit the evidence that Chan likes me best because—BECAUSE—” Joshua shouts over everyone to be heard. “Because, he called me to pick him up when he was stuck in Bucheon, and I think that was very telling about what cards he has. The cards being my business cards, because he likes me the best.” Joshua bows neatly, once to Vernon, and once to Chan. “Thank you for your time.” 

Jeonghan looks as though someone just told him that the Earth is flat. He stands quickly and puts a hand on Joshua’s shoulder. “I’m afraid that poor Jisoo here has mistaken being thought of as convenient, and being valued, as two different things.”

Mingyu, Wonwoo, and Seungkwan all react exactly the same: Their mouths purse into a shock O, and they start smacking the person beside them. Mingyu and Wonwoo lucked out, smacking each other, but Seungkwan slaps Junhui’s thigh, and Junhui yelps.

“I propose that Chan’s first kiss should go to me, because Chan came to my club, and I took him home, and cleaned him, before any of you—barring Wonwoo—even talked to him one-on-one.” Jeonghan nods, secure in this fact. “He opened up to me, and told me that he wanted to move out, and did I not immediately move to rectify this? Did I not immediately call everyone for a meeting, and kick your asses into gear?”

Chan did not know that, but…it actually does make a lot of sense now, why, where there was once no hyung, suddenly there were eight.

“Therefore, I believe I am the most deserving of his first kiss.” Jeonghan blows a kiss at Chan, winks with the full force of his charm, and Chan can’t help it. He bites at his lower lip, flustered.

“See, he’s already reacting very positively to me.” Jeonghan nods at him, smirks.

“Sit down,” Seungcheol complains. “My argument is that I deserve it, because Channie likes dogs. Right, Channie-yah? Hyung is your favourite, right?” He makes cajoling faces at Chan, who giggles at Seungcheol’s clear desperation.

“That’s your best argument?!” Seungkwan sounds appalled.

“So what am I then, a cat?” Mingyu flings his arms out, staring at Seungcheol in betrayal.

“I’m twice the dog you’ll ever be!” Seungcheol argues, flinging fingers and spit everywhere.

“I’M TALLER THAN YOU!” Mingyu shouts back, standing and towering over Seungcheol.

“SO WHAT?” Seungcheol yells back. 

“You guys should measure dicks to prove it!” Soonyoung pipes in happily, kicking his feet in excitement. He’s perfectly eye level with both of their hips, but no one says anything about that.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Jihoon asks with great exasperation. 

Then, Seokmin says gravely, “Seungcheol-hyung has lice.” 

“I DO NOT—”

The decibel level in the room reaches a number that could rival even a healthy, well fed jet plane.

(“If Seungcheol-hyung had more than two dicks I think I’d scream,” Soonyoung states to Shua and Jihoon while Seokmin, Seungcheol, Mingyu, Wonwoo, and surprisingly, Minghao, argue in the background about Seungcheol’s possible lice problem.

Joshua stares, face contorted into a thoughtful expression. “And if he had only two dicks?”

Jeonghan snorts, joining their conversation. “He’d share, duh. And it better be with me, Soonyoungie. You know how I feel about hemipenes.”

“Duh.”

Jihoon’s face screws up in disgust. “You’re all sexual deviants with a deep need for therapy.”

“Okay, daddy.”)

Chan lowkey wishes he had a basket of popcorn right now, but he settles for spinning his chair back and forth, letting the sounds wash over him. 

“Order! Order in the court!” Hansol rolls up a notebook and smacks the table with it. 

The room quiets, but not before Seungcheol stabs in the air with his finger one last time with a barely hushed threat of neutering Mingyu “for real this time”.

“Next…” Hansol looks windswept, but he keeps his composure perfectly. “Hao-hyung.”

“Oh, no, I’m not playing.” Minghao holds his hands up. “It’s bad for my blood pressure.”

“What’s wrong with your blood pressure?” Jeonghan asks.

Mingao regards him with calm eyes. “Nothing, yet. And I want to keep it that way.” 

No one comments on the fact that Minghao has a fine sheen of sweat over his forehead from arguing about Cheol’s (retracted) lice problem. 

Hansol blinks, and then quickly moves on. “Okay, Boo Seungkwan.”

“Yes, thank you. I have waited very patiently for this moment.” Seungkwan stands, nearly falling over the coffee table in front of him, but Seungcheol catches him before he does. “Thank you. I would like to put this—” he fishes a vial out of his pants pocket. “Forward as evidence.”

A collective, muted gasp echoes around the room. Chan frowns. It looks like a regular tiny bottle, one you would find on airplanes serving shots of liquor, nothing special. At the bottom of Boo Seungkwan’s bottle, about a half tablespoon of milky, glowing white liquid rests.

“These, for those unfamiliar, are organic, cruelty free tears from this generation’s Moon Rabbit,” Seungkwan explains. 

“Fuck, he’s definitely gonna win,” Seokmin groans.

“Oh, shit!” Jihoon gives Seungkwan a frantic thumbs up and a wide, proud smile. “This is good, this is good!”

“Yes, I can see several of my competitors already know where this is going. As many of you know, I was tasked with acquiring these tears in the saving of one Lee Chan.”

“No one tasked you, you decided to do it all by yourself,” Mingyu complains. 

“I was the one best suited for the challenge, don’t you agree?” Seungkwan juts in. “Anyways. These tears required me to make a trade.” The witch looks right at Chan, who’s hanging onto his every word. “One happy memory, for one bottle of tears. And I know now, the memory I gave up had to do with you, Channie.”

Chan’s eyes blow wide. “Really?”

“Yes.” Seungkwan nods vigorously. “I asked Ji—the Moon Rabbit, afterwards, and she confirmed it. So what I’m saying is, if you give me this chance, I could possibly maybe get my memory back.”

See, Chan hadn’t been very conflicted before, but now he truly is gnawing at his lip in thought. 

“Don’t just kiss him because you feel like you owe him, Chan,” Cheol argues. “That’s a manipulator’s tactic.”

“The mutt’s got a point,” Wonwoo says, and has the audacity to grin when Seungcheol looks at him, shocked. 

“Okay, okay. Sit down, Boo.” Hansol points at the last person. “Moon Junhwi. Please take to the stand.”

“Hm?” Junhui jolts suddenly, like they haven’t been going around the couch and he was the only one left after Seungkwan. “Ah, right. Well. This hyung doesn’t care if you don’t choose him, Chan-ah. Just kiss me before I die, okay?”

“Ooooh, Moon Jun,” Jeonghan drawls, impressed. “Applaud him,” he demands.

The couch erupts in cheers and Chan’s cheeks start to ache from how long he’s been grinning like a lovesick fool. Crazy to think that less than half a year ago, he had been so desperate for their attention, and now he’s at the centre of it, being wanted and loved like he had dreamed of for years. 

“Okay!” Hansol brings everyone back. “Now, it’s time for Chan to—”

“What? What about you?” Seungkwan leans over Junhui’s lap to smack at Hansol’s arm.

“The judge can’t be in the case,” Vernon argues.

“Leave him out!” Seungcheol insists. “Less competition!”

“I also am with Jun-hyung on this, I don’t think this is that big of a deal.” Vernon turns to Chan. “No offense, Channie. I’ll kiss you when everyone else is done.”

“Sloppy seconds,” Wonwoo teases, waggling his eyebrows like a dork. 

“Now, Chan-ah. Who do you want to pick?” Shua gestures at the line up, each face expectant and attentive.

“Hmm…” Chan taps at his chin. “Can you all stand and close your eyes?”

“This guy knows suspense,” Seungkwan praises, and he stands, obediently shuts his eyes.

Everyone else follows suit. Just to make sure they all have their eyes closed, Chan holds a stark middle finger in front of all of their faces, mouthing curses until he’s satisfied. 

Glad that they’re all following his order, Chan finally takes a second to really, actually think about it. It takes a minute, enough for some people to start shifting in their spots, but eventually, Chan comes to a decision.

“Now, I want you all to remember that I love you all equally,” Chan is quick to preface. 

“Get on with it,” Mingyu whines, squirming in place.

Chan steps up to his chosen person, and slowly, slowly, slowly, leans in and presses a soft, featherlight kiss on his lips.

Seungkwan gasps, opens his eyes, just in time for Chan to grin and go back in for a deeper kiss.

Around them, voices sigh in disappointment and defeat.

“Fucking trump card,” someone complains.

“I knew it—as soon as he pulled out that fucking bottle.”

Chan closes his eyes, tilts his head, and lets Seungkwan swipe his tongue over his bottom lip. Hands come up to grip at Chan’s shoulders, Seungkwan subtly massaging at his biceps. Seungkwan tastes like his precious tangerines, like sticky lip gloss and delicate orange blossoms, so Chan moans, pushes harder, and Seungkwan responds in kind, with a sweet, keening whine.

“Fuck, they’re hot,” a voice whispers.

And maybe it’s because they’re doing it in front of people, in front of their hyungs, but that same burn that he craves from dance and performance ignites even here, when he takes a risk, peeks an eye open, and spots Minghao’s intense stare and wet lips. 

So maybe Chan is an exhibitionist. He’s a dancer. That’s like, the whole point. 

He lets his hands run up Seungkwan’s chest, swallows up Seungkwan’s candy-flavoured moans and echoes it right back to him, but rougher, deeper, louder. 

A smack echoes through the room, and Seungkwan whimpers, his leg hiking up automatically at the unexpected spanking. Chan catches it thanks to his reflexes, and pulls Seungkwan closer, until Chan’s fitting snugly into the cradle of his hips. The implication of it has his head spinning, and he leans further into the kisses, holding Seungkwan up with one hand hooked under his knee and the other splayed across the small of his back.

When the pair finally pull apart, Seungkwan is flushed, his eyes dark and half-lidded in pleasure, his fingers twitching against Chan’s chest. Chan drops the hold he has on Seungkwan’s leg, but he keeps his hand securely on Seungkwan’s tiny waist. 

“Wow.” Neither of them had said it, so they both looked to the side. Hansol is standing there, mouth agape. He’s half hard in his sweats, Chan notices, and he’s equally proud and shy about that fact.

Leave him alone, he thrives off attention for a living. 

“Enjoying the show?” Chan asks, and his voice comes out hoarse. Used. 

Vernon just gives him a thumbs up. Classic Vernon. 

“Don’t waste all your energy too quickly,” a rough, deep voice says. Seungcheol.

Chan turns to his other side, towards the couch, and sees ten pairs of dark, hungry eyes, and ten plush, pink mouths. He shivers.

“I think it’s only right for the rest of your precious hyungs to get a turn now, hm?” Jeonghan purrs. “Who do you want next, Chan-ah?”

Chan swallows. “I don’t care.” He holds his hands out. “Someone just freaking kiss me already.”

Seungcheol sweeps him up before he even finished talking. His mouth is hot, and wanting, and Chan feels a little consumed by it as he fights to keep up. 

“Don’t try so hard, baby,” Seungcheol murmurs, lips sliding against his jaw. “Just let yourself be devoured, hm?”

Chan whimpers, goes slack against his will, and opens his mouth for Seungcheol to explore.

“There we go, aegiya. I’ve been wanting to do this for months, sweetheart.” Seungcheol swipes a tongue over Chan’s teeth, bites lightly at his bottom lip. Chan yelps, and Seungcheol eats that up too. Seungcheol groans. “Tastes so good, Channie.”

“He never shuts up, huh,” someone says from behind them.

“Shh. I’m enjoying this.”

“Hear that, Chan-ah?” Seungcheol breaks away from the kiss, sloppy and wet and messy, to fit sharp teeth over the curve of Chan’s cheek. “Your audience loves you.”

Now that Seungcheol isn’t dominating his field of view, Chan can see that everyone on the couch is watching with rapt eyes. He moans, imagining what kind of debauched scene they’re making, Seungcheol leaving red bite marks on his skin, his face flushed and eyes hazy.

Seungcheol kisses him once more on the lips, this time sweet and tender, a severe contrast to his previous actions that left Chan’s head reeling, whining for more. Then, he trails kisses down Chan’s neck, using a gentle hold on his hair to nudge Chan’s head back for easier access. Finally, when Seungcheol’s satisfied with the marks he’s left all over the column of Chan’s throat, he fits his teeth into the divot between Chan’s shoulder and neck, and bites.

“Ah!” Chan gasps, hands scrabbling at Seungcheol’s back as the pleasure-pain blends perfectly into ecstasy. “H—hyung!”

“Now you’ve done it,” a voice says from behind him. Wonwoo. “He’s gonna wanna renew that mating bite every couple months, now.”

Seungcheol growls, teeth still in Chan’s neck.

“It’s not a true mating bite until he knots, remember?” Mingyu saunters up to them. “You know what that is, Channie?” He tenderly sweeps back some hair from Chan’s forehead and the juxtaposition of the sweet gesture and the teeth still in his neck leaves Chan gasping.

Surrounded on all sides by tall men with powerful stances and eyes dark with desire, Chan barely manages to shake his head once. 

Mingyu grins wolfishly. “You’re in for a real treat, then.”

Seungcheol extricates his teeth carefully, lapping at the mark until he’s satisfied, and then moving aside for Mingyu to take his place.

“You’re gonna get mauled, Channie,” Vernon says. He’s standing just off to the side, looking intense in the way he does sometimes. “Are you ready?”

Mingyu snorts, but his face is already buried in Chan’s neck. “I’m not that bad,” Mingyu whines, as his spit-slick tongue traces over Seungcheol’s bite. 

Chan can’t find words in him anymore, doesn’t know how else to express that he needs Vernon closer, like now, without just holding his hand out and making vague, whining noises. Hansol obliges, because he’s Hansol, and threads their fingers together. 

Swear to God, a spark of magic zip zap zops up Chan’s arm, and he pulls Vernon closer with a gasp.

Vernon is the one who captures his lips next, despite the fact that Mingyu has his nose pressed to Chan’s skin like he’s trying to sniff out his very bones (the dog with a bone joke is not lost on him here).

Vernon kisses softly, bluntly, honestly. He fits his mouth over Chan’s and Chan reciprocates, mouthing at Vernon’s tongue, begging without words for him to come back. 

“Fuck,” Hansol groans in stuttered English. Chan loses himself in it, eyes pressed close and hands roaming, squeezing and tugging and stroking. 

Then, suddenly, a new person is pressing gentle lips to his, and Chan cracks his eyes open. Mingyu. To the left, Hansol patiently waits his turn, his mouth slick and red and wet, as Mingyu positively devours him whole.

“Mingyu—ah!” Chan gasps as Mingyu slobbers over his mouth. It’s hot, in a feral, primitive way, and Chan squeezes his thighs together.

“Easy, puppy,” Wonwoo says. At some point, he had walked from behind Chan to stand behind Mingyu, now, and with a firm hand in Mingyu’s hair, he directs their kiss like a puppetmaster. Like a trainer. He chooses when Mingyu presses in, chooses the angle of the tilt, all of it, all while soothing the pair of them in his low, low tone.

“Sorry about him,” Wonwoo apologizes, condescending. “He gets a little excited around new people, but we’re training him to be a good boy.”

Both Chan and Mingyu whine at his words, and Mingyu pants as he’s separated from him.

“Now, now,” Wonwoo commands. “Let Hansollie have a turn, hm?”

Vernon just rolls his eyes at his hyung’s roleplay, and ducks back in to clean Chan’s lips and cheeks from the spit. He presses light butterfly kisses to Chan’s cupid's bow, nips at Chan’s bottom lip, and absolutely sweeps the inside of Chan’s mouth with his tongue.

Vernon kisses like he’s trying to make Chan confused yet horny, and honestly, it’s working very well. 

The pair switch off a couple more times, the whiplash between ultra-controlled, ultra-refined Vernon, and messy, slobbery, excited Mingyu with Wonwoo whispering filth into his ear making Chan lightheaded.

“You’re gonna make him stand the whole time?” Jeonghan’s teasing voice calls out. “How cruel.”

The sound Mingyu and Chan make when they separate is unapologetically vulgar, a thin strand of spit tying them for just a split second longer.

“It’s not my fault,” Mingyu whimpers. 

“Come here, Chan-ah,” Jeonghan tuts. “Hyung will let you sit on his lap, hm?”

Chan looks between Vernon, Mingyu, and Wonwoo, and, seeing only dilated eyes, red cheeks, and wet mouths, he shrugs.

“Coming, hyung,” he trills.

“Wait.” Wonwoo grabs at his arm, and pulls Chan into a kiss of his own. It’s quick, but thorough, and when Wonwoo pulls away, Chan is stuck, frozen, swaying in place with shock. “That’s just a teaser, Channie. Don’t count that as my turn.”

Chan squeaks a confirmation, before Wonwoo is chuckling and pushing him into Jeonghan’s lap.

“Hi, baby,” Jeonghan coos, guiding Chan to straddle him. He’s dropped a bit of his glamour, and a white fox tail flicks Chan in the face. 

“Tickles,” Chan complains, batting at the tail. 

“Sorry, Channie,” Jeonghan’s leaning back against the couch, and Chan suddenly remembers that night in the club, when a pretty, pretty Jeonghan had devoured him with his eyes as blue-pink lights caught on his cheekbones, his eyelashes. “Come here and hyung will kiss it better.”

Chan, entranced, leans forward. Jeonghan kisses lazily, as if he had all the time in the world. He lets Chan take the lead, but Chan has no disillusions about who is actually in charge. Jeonghan giggles sweetly as Chan accidentally bumps their noses together too hard.

“Slow, aegi,” Jeonghan commands, and Chan takes a minute to nod, breathing in to calm himself.

This is no frantic, rushed Mingyu, no practiced, sweet Hansol. He has a faint sense that Jeonghan wants him to prove himself. So Chan does. He kisses softly, first, each corner of Jeonghan’s smiling mouth. Jeonghan’s tail wraps around Chan’s back in approval. Slowly, slowly, Chan eases into it, curling fingers around Jeonghan’s slender neck, letting Jeonghan’s claws dig into his thighs just a little. 

Soon, Jeonghan rewards him, pushing forward and taking back the reins just a bit. Chan slumps, relieved, and lets Jeonghan do whatever he wants with him, with his mouth. 

“You’re doing great, sweetheart,” Joshua purrs. 

Chan leans back a little. He’s been kissed so much, so thoroughly, that his mouth feels red and raw, tender and sensitive. But still, he whines and reaches for Joshua too. He wants to know if Joshua kisses as sweetly as he talks.

“Aw, baby,” Jeonghan murmurs. “Still so needy, hm? You’ve been kissed by so many of us already, and you still want someone to use you?”

Chan moans into Joshua’s mouth at the dirty words, wriggling in Jeonghan’s lap. Joshua does kiss sweetly, Chan learns, but he also likes to bite, and each time it takes Chan by surprise. 

Joshua’s hand cups the nape of his neck, and he squeezes twice. Chan melts, going boneless, and Jeonghan huffs a surprised laugh.

“You’re just a kit, aren’t you? Going all limp and weak after a small scruffing.” Jeonghan traces the seam of his pants, getting dangerously close to Chan’s dick, before pulling away. “Look so pretty, my Channie. I want to eat you up.”

Joshua smiles at him, that signature eye curving smile, as he pulls away. “Wanna give Seokminnie and Soonyoungie a turn, too?” Joshua sits back on the couch, and reveals a hungry looking Soonyoung, and a determined looking Seokmin sitting behind him.

It might’ve been a joke before, but maybe tiger isn’t the most incorrect nickname for the witch. And one glance at Seokmin, and Chan feels thrown into the sea, fighting to keep up.

Chan nods, blindly, and crawls over Jeonghan and Joshua’s laps at their insistence.

A whistle sounds from behind him, and Chan makes sure to arch his back just that little bit more.

“Hi, hyungie,” Channie whispers, his voice wrecked with just some kissing.

“Hi, baby,” Seokmin croons back. “Did you need something from us?”

Soonyoung says nothing, just pins him down with the stare of a hunter.

Chan feels his brain short circuit. They want him to beg, he realizes, they want him to ask nicely for them to ruin him. And he delivers.

“Please, hyungie,” Chan asks, still on all fours. He pushes his ass out a little more, laughs internally when their eyes track the motion immediately. “Kiss me?”

Soonyoung, who’s closer, ascends on him with a growl. One hand cups at Chan’s face, and the other tugs him up and forward, until Chan’s kneeling on the couch, Soonyoung matching him bend for bend, as he furiously kisses the life out of Chan.

Chan gasps in between kisses, loving the clash of teeth, of Soonyoung’s smoky magic smell invading his nose, of the heat of their breaths, mingling. Soonyoung’s hands explore, tracing down his sternum, rucking up his sweaty dance shirt, counting each dip and divot in his skin. 

Chan swore, except it came out in six syllables, each letter stretched to its max as Soonyoung sank teeth into Chan’s pulse point, humming.

“He sounds so pretty,” someone whispers, rapt, and Chan’s head whirls with the attention.

Soonyoung pulls him by the back of his neck over to Seokmin, biting at his neck all the while. He fits his teeth over old marks, from Mingyu, from Seungcheol, but also makes new ones, finding space amongst the battlefield of Chan’s throat. He loves it. He feels like a painting, covered in brushstrokes of his masters.

“Ask me?” Seokmin breathes, and he sounds desperate, but he keeps his hands by his sides, and his mouth away from Chan’s. Which. We can’t have that, now can we?

“Please, Seokminnie-hyung,” Chan gasps. “Please kiss me. Want you so bad.”

Seokmin groans like the admission rips something from him, and crashes into Chan. They make out over Soonyoung’s lap, the witch’s hands carding through both of their hair, a soothing, grounding touch.

Seokmin makes the prettiest noises when he’s kissed, Chan delights to find out. But maybe that comes with the job. He decides, as Seokmin lets out a moan so rhythmic it could be sampled into a song, that Seokmin sounds like Seokmin, and he sounds like that because he’s Seokmin, not because of any heritage that made him predisposed to sounding pretty.

The lack of oxygen is getting to him, maybe, probably, because Chan is starting to lose his train of thought. 

“Channie, baby,” Seokmin gasps, keens. Chan nods frantically, pushing up against Seokmin’s chest.

“Yeah, yes, yeah,” he agrees blindly. Had Seokmin asked him a question? He doesn’t remember.

Seokmin just laughs into his mouth, his smile interrupting their kissing, but it’s okay, because Chan’s smiling now, too. Soonyoung notices, and grips their hair gently.

“What’re you two laughing for?” he admonishes, shaking them by their heads, but he’s grinning wider than either of them.

Chan collapses into a puddle onto Soonyoung’s lap, a fit of giggles overcoming him.

“What?” Seungkwan asks from across the couch. “Why’re you—” he turns to Junhui. “Why’re they laughing?”

Junhui shrugs.

“Nothing, nothing.” Chan heaves himself up, slides off the couch. “This is no laughing matter,” he says to the room, but mostly to Wonwoo, who he stands in front of. 

“I’m here to collect on a promise,” Chan says. 

Wonwoo gets up to match him, and Chan swears his eyes flash red. “I’m ready to pay in full.” He’s taller than Chan, looms over him, and his spicy cologne that he wears to hide the fact that he doesn’t actually smell like anything clings to Chan’s nose.

Chan parts his lips and waits.

Thankfully, Wonwoo doesn’t leave him waiting for long: vampire speed means Chan has Wonwoo’s mouth on him in no time.

He’s cold, Chan thinks, a fact he barely had time to recognize before, but Chan gladly shares the heat of his own overkissed, used, heated mouth with him. 

Slowly, Wonwoo traces each ridge of Chan’s teeth, as if trying to learn him via tongue, and then sweeps lower, pressing kisses to Chan’s chin, his jaw, his neck. He pauses over Chan’s artery, and Chan holds his breath in anticipation.

“Wonwoo,” Jihoon’s calm, quiet voice says. 

If Wonwoo is Mingyu’s trainer, then Jihoon is Wonwoo’s, the vamp pausing and moving away from Chan’s tender, vulnerable neck.

Chan whines, disappointed.

“I know, baby, I know,” Wonwoo apologizes, and to his credit, he does sound sorry. “But I can’t—not until we talk about it some more.”

Chan heaves a breath, shudders. He’s more let down than he thought he’d be, but he files that away for later. Now, he just focuses on returning the favour and memorizing Wonwoo’s mouth back, tracing gently over too-sharp canines that (supposedly, he has been told) are nothing like real vampire fangs, which are deployed at will.

Wonwoo kisses him one last time, a bruising, heart stopping kiss. “Come back later to collect your interest,” Wonwoo says, smirking. His glasses lay askew on his face, slightly fogged, and Chan feels a little thrill inside. He looks like that because of me! He looks a mess and I did that with just some kissing!

“I hate that they’re flirting with bank terms,” Soonyoung complains. “He’s such a nerd.”

Wonwoo just rolls his eyes, passing Chan over to Jihoon, who has been waiting patiently this whole time. 

“Hi, Channie,” Jihoon greets him sweetly. He looks completely unaffected, and Chan pouts a little.

“Kiss me,” Chan not-so-politely demands. At Jihoon’s eyebrow raise, he demures. “Please.”

Jihoon nods, once, and steps up to press a single, quick kiss to Chan’s lips. 

Chan stares at him, half-shocked, half-waiting. “That…that’s it?”

“You asked me to kiss you.” Jihoon has a teasing smirk on his face, and it colours his words with an undeniably charisma. “I did.”

Chan huffs. “Again?”

“Why?” Jihoon asks.

Chan swallows, caught. “Huh?”

“Why should I?” 

If Jeonghan was making him work for it with his mouth, Jihoon is making him work for it with his brain.

“Don’t make me think, hyungie,” Chan pleads. “I’m, like, deprived of oxygen or something. This is mean. Just—please, please, please, can you kiss me again?”

Jihoon huffs a laugh, and then folds, pulling Chan down into a searing, indulgent kiss. So this is why Soonyoung had looked so dazed after Jihoon pushed him away, Chan realizes. He gets it now. 

Jihoon pushes an insistent tongue into his mouth, and Chan really gets it now. He’s cold, like Wonwoo, but he uses it to his advantage, making Chan gasp as he presses cold lips against his temple, his nose, the corners of his mouth. 

Jihoon even pricks just the tiniest cut at Chan’s mouth with his extra sharp canine, and groans when Chan’s blood fills his mouth.

“So sweet, Channie.” Jihoon laps at the wound, neatly cleaning it with his tongue. “Tastes good.”

Chan moans, high and full in his throat. It didn’t hurt, was just a little pinch of pain, but the idea, the concept, had his head spinning. He’s being eaten alive. 

Jihoon deftly kisses Chan until he’s gasping, until he’s sure the wound has closed, and then Chan is being spun away by strong, yet delicate hands.

“Ack!” Chan yelps, stumbling over his feet. He’s pretty sure he ends up on the other side of the U-shaped couch, from one arm to another, which is pretty impressive, if you ask him. 

Junhui catches him, sweeps him into his arms like a swooning maiden. “I see you’ve made it, I was just on the brink of death.”

“Huh?” Chan says, the combination of the spins and Jihoon’s bite still leaving his head a bit fuzzy. Then he remembers. Just kiss me before I die, okay? 

Chan snorts. “Dork.” But still, he goes up on his tip toes to kiss Junhui thoroughly. Junhui tastes like fresh water, and he kisses like a thundering river, absolutely overtaking Chan’s senses.

Two hands come up to cradle Chan’s jaw, and Junhui uses the leverage to hold Chan still, taking his mouth over and over.

Oh, Moon Junhui, you sucker, Chan thinks, because he’s seen this move before, because Junhui kisses like this in the dramas he’s in, the ones Chan has poured over like they were scripture. Dominating, controlling, sweet yet hot. Chan can’t help but feel like one of Jun’s love interests, swooning under his talented tongue, clutching at the lapels of his suit jacket (ratty cardigan). 

Junhui sucks on his bottom lip, tongues over the wound Jihoon had made, and Chan sucks in a breath. However, instead of pulling away, Chan presses harder into it, letting himself be worn down with nothing but spit and force and lips.

Junhui hums, content, and pulls away. Chan stares up at him with what he’s sure is needy, wide eyes.

“So pretty, Chan,” Junhui states, thumbing at the slant of his cheekbone. His eyes are intense as they trace Chan’s face, and Chan can do nothing but stare back, caught in Junhui’s magnetic current.  

Then, Junhui is handing him off to Minghao, who smiles at him so prettily that Chan forgets his lips are still aching, rubbed raw and red.

Minghao doesn’t spare any words, no cheesy lines, no callbacks, nothing. He just tilts his head, fits their noses together so perfectly, and then waits.

And waits.

And…waits.

Minghao’s breath ghosts hot over Chan’s sensitive lips, his eyes flickering with amusement over Chan’s face, which is slowly growing with impatience. 

“Hyuuunngg,” Chan whines. He feels like he’s hovering scant centimetres above a landmine, so close to exploding that a simple breath could all but change his fate. 

“Okay, okay.” Minghao finally fits their lips together in a gentle kiss.

Chan hums happily, opening up the kiss out of eagerness. Minghao lets him, tilts his head to accommodate, and licks at the seam of Chan’s mouth. 

Where Jun was a crashing waterfall, Minghao was a controlled tap. He drip-drip-dripped his kisses carefully, pulling back every couple seconds before diving back in. He reminded Chan of Hansol, how refined and strategic it all is. Chan bites back a smile, thrilled at how he actually knew that now, how he could confidently compare the two. Because he knows. Because he’s been kissed by Hansol, and Minghao, and everyone else sitting in the room. 

Chan smashes his lips onto Minghao’s with the force of his happiness, and Minghao makes a small sound of surprise.

“Hm?” Minghao pulls back to look at him, confused yet fond. “What is it?”

Chan grins, all of his teeth showing. “Nothing. I’m just really, really happy.”

Minghao smiles, and then he’s cupping Chan’s neck, dragging him back in for a searing kiss. As time goes on, Minghao gets more and more wild, his defenses cracking with each of Chan’s whines. It's like watching the temperature rise in real time, the way Minghao’s breath speeds up, the way his hands grow needier, touchier. He bites, and sucks, and licks, and Chan is getting dangerously fuzzy-headed.

It gets to the point where Chan is clutching at Minghao’s thin shoulders for support, his knees shaking and his eyelids fluttering. Minghao peppers kisses over his face when Chan leans back for a breath of air.

“Holy shit,” Chan huffs. He feels like he’s on fire. His lips, at this point, are numb, and he says as much.

“Oopsie!” Minghao giggles. “Too much at once?”

“Just—” Chan bonks Minghao’s forehead with his own. “Let me get a waterbreak.”

“Last one,” Minghao promises, and then the final kiss that Chan gets is filthy, the culmination of all of Minghao’s dredged up desires. Minghao licks into his mouth, makes a high, gasping noise that Chan can’t help but echo, and palms at Chan through his sweats.

It’s the first time anyone had touched him down there tonight, which is Chan’s excuse for the broken keen that launches itself out of his throat. 

“Fuck,” Chan gasps.

Minghao leaves him with one last kiss on the nose, sweet and completely at odds with the sneaky hand he puts back into his own pocket.

“Wow,” Seungkwan finally breathes. “I didn’t get my memory back, but this sure was a much better one. I think I made a profit here tonight.”

Chan, winded, just sinks into the couch. Maybe a little debate between honest men isn't so bad, he thinks. 

The roar of the audience filters in slowly, like water through a dam. Chan heaves a big, gasping breath, sweat stinging his eyes, making his mouth taste of salt and hard work. If he squints through the stage lights, he can see his pack, his coven, his hyungs, his family, cheering louder and harder to the point where people around them look scared for their safety.

His body aches, but the good kind of ache, the pain of a job well done. Because he had done very well tonight, Chan allows himself. Only a couple of minor mistakes, ones he’s sure his hyungs will berate him for even noticing. Chan slides out of his ending position and folds into a deep bow. The crowd stands for him, Soonyoung and Seungkwan gesturing for everyone to get up out of their seats.

“I LOVE THAT GUY!!” Seokmin shouts. “HE’S ONE OF MY BOYFRIENDS!”

And because Chan’s performance was the last one, he waits patiently for everyone else to join him for the curtain call. Yeonjun and Changbin sidle up to him, grinning proudly and hoisting water bottles for Chan to drink from. 

The three of them, while being close before, had only bonded more thanks to the fact that they were humans in magical situations. Chan can see Changbin’s pack off to the left in the audience, and Yeonjun’s coven a little bit behind. 

The Faculty Head comes out, and gestures proudly at the cluster of students behind her. “Please give it up for the dance classes of 2025!” 

The audience explodes, and it’s not even Chan’s absurdly loud hyungs this time—at least, not just Chan’s hyungs. 

He takes a minute to engrave it in his memory, the hot, blinding stagelights, the thick makeup on his face, the laughter of his friends around him, the cheering of his hyungs in the audience, bite marks that twinge hidden under his clothes, from wolves and dogs and vampires alike.

It’s crazy how, just a couple months ago, Chan had been sobbing into his pillowcase in a cold ghost house filled with people, wishing desperately to go home. The best decision he’s ever made was not turning back, he thinks. Unstoppable force (Chan’s immovable grit) wins again. 

Chan takes a deep breath, and bows with his classmates one last time.

Chan’s riding shotgun in Seungcheol’s car after their giant celebration dinner when they pull up to the house. Chan is hit with a memory, the first time he had seen the mansion in person, his absolute flabbergastedness of it all. Oh, Chan, he thinks, shaking his head at his past self. You had no fucking idea. 

“Why’re you staring?” Soonyoung asks, making a face. “We’re home, come on.”

He slings an arm casually over Chan’s shoulders, urging him up the long driveway. The scent of burnt sugar magic fills Chan’s nose, and he nuzzles into Soonyoung’s warmth. Behind him, the clamouring of his hyungs as they chatter, and laugh, and bicker fill the night air. Chan should be cold, but he finds that Soonyoung’s heat charm, slung around his neck, does its job well. And maybe it’s not just magic that keeps him warm—at least, not the smoky sugar kind, the kind that sparks rainbow colours and glows in the dark. No, it’s a simpler kind of magic. A more common kind of magic, that warms Chan from the inside.

Home.