Archive of Our Own

There is a human standing in the middle of Zhang Hao’s tattoo parlor. 

Scratch that. There is a very good-looking human standing in front of the check-in counter, peering curiously at the array of dried flowers and herbs hanging upside down near the windows. His face is rather expressive, eyes round and mouth parted, a glint of his front teeth poking under his upper lip. A simple white shirt clings to his frame paired with blue jeans, with the collar unbuttoned, revealing a smooth expanse of skin.

He looks out of place among the black minimalistic decor of the tattoo parlor. White and blue amidst the dash of black.

Zhang Hao stares at the way the veins on his exposed forearm tense as he casually runs a hand through his black hair, looking every bit like a runaway prince escaping from the worn pages of a fairytale book. 

Humans aren’t a rare sight in his parlor. They get human customers once in a while. Sometimes bystanders peek through the windows to see what’s going on inside, their faces squished and funny against the plane of glass. Every now and then they will stumble into the shop, looking dazed and confused as they ask for directions. Zhang Hao will usually point them to their destination and send them on their merry way, but other than that humans hardly ever come up and knock on their door.

The tiny tattoo parlor sits at the edge of the street, wedged between another store and a tall commercial building, so obscured and hidden that people often pass by without blinking an eye. Their windows and the door are protected by a two way mirror, shielding the tattoo parlor and the secrets it holds from the mundane world. 

Only Zhang Hao is on shift today, both Ricky and Taerae have the day off but he isn’t attending to anyone at the moment. Time to serve the customer.

“Those are just for decoration,” Zhang Hao smiles as he walks out from behind the backdoor. The stranger is startled, turning away from the window to face him. “You like flowers?”

“Uh, yeah. Those are snapdragons and dill. I recognize them.” His chin curves into a soft jaw, and woah —his eyes are even prettier up close, warm and brown, long lashes casting shadows every time he blinks. Zhang Hao needs to stop staring unless he wants to embarrass himself in front of the boy.

“These are for decorations, they fit in well with our color scheme,” He lies through his teeth. Those plants are far from being decorations, but his customer doesn’t need to know that. “How may I help you today?”

Zhang Hao braces himself for another question on directions, or walk-in tattoo appointments. God, he feels so bad when he has to turn away hopeful customers since they only do pre-booked appointments. Ricky has told him to ditch the rule, but Zhang Hao likes to keep his schedules neat and precise. Plus, he doesn’t want to instigate any bad tattoo decisions made by drunken teenagers.

“Right, I’m the owner of the flower shop next door. We just opened up.” The boy searches his back pockets to pull out a business card. “Here, this is my card.”

Zhang Hao holds it up for a closer look. Say Yes! Flower Studio, it reads, and underneath there  is a phone number under the name Sung Hanbin embossed with black ink into thick cream cardstock. The name suits him, he thinks, it already sounds like royalty.

He’s about to compliment the card design but the next sentence that comes out of Sung Hanbin’s mouth stops him in his tracks.

“Is the white Honda Civic parked outside yours?”

Zhang Hao cranes his head to look outside. Sure enough, his white car is parked outside near the curb, right in front of the store next door. The car is a hand-me-down from his mom since he was eighteen, and he has tried to keep it as pristine as possible. “Yeah, what about it?” Zhang Hao asks cautiously. 

“I have two shipments of flowers coming in twenty minutes and they have to be parked right outside my shop for easy unloading. May I ask you to look for another parking spot? I know the rest of the street parking is full, but it’s just only for today,” Hanbin asks, his voice tinged with unease.

Zhang Hao’s mouth drops open.  

First of all, the nerve. He didn’t even bother to let Zhang Hao introduce himself. Second, while he understands the urgency of the situation, it is also currently lunch break, so office workers are parked on their block looking for places to eat, hence finding a place to park during this period is harder than ever. Third, Zhang Hao’s own lunch break has just started, and he is dying to sink his teeth into the sandwich he pre-packed for himself at seven o’clock in the morning.

In other words, Zhang Hao is starving, and also slightly annoyed. 

“Nice to meet you too, my name is Zhang Hao and I’m the owner of this parlor.” He puts on his best customer service smile and ignores the grumbling in his stomach. “You do know that parking is publicly accessible and it is first come first serve?”

“Yeah, but this is important.” If Hanbin was impatient before, he sounds downright desperate now. He feels around his pockets for his wallet. “Here, I’ll even pay for your next parking fee,” he looks at Zhang Hao with pleading eyes, resembling a pitiful puppy. “I know we just met, and this is a lot to ask for but can you please do me a favor?”

Zhang Hao falters. He was never great at dealing with pretty boys that occasionally ask for favors, and he needs  to work on that. This is not the first time this happened, his mind floats back to his friend Jiwoong who happened to also ask for a favor. That damn vampire hasn’t returned the volume of hexes he had borrowed a few weeks ago. Maybe he should give him a call soon. 

He weighs his options. One: he can refuse and eat his lunch in peace, satisfy his gnawing stomach straight away and risk a grudge his hot neighbor might hold over him for the rest of his time here. Two: eat his lunch in the car pathetically while driving around, looking for spots that are ninety-nine percent guaranteed to be taken already, but in return the parking fee is free and he could ask for a favor from said hot neighbor next time as compensation.

The decision is straight-forward, he caves in. “Fine, but you owe me a favor.”

“Yes! You’re a lifesaver, I’ll make up for it.” Zhang Hao gasps in surprise as strong arms engulf him into a tight hug, smothering his face into the crevice of Hanbin’s broad shoulders. Zhang Hao stands on his tippy toes from the way he is balancing himself over the counter. Hanbin smells like flowers with a hint of natural musk. Is he wearing cologne, Zhang Hao asks himself. Nevertheless it makes Zhang Hao want to dig his nose into the gap of his collar and just—inhale. Hanbin pulls back and his face stretches into a whisker dimpled grin, so bright that Zhang Hao feels like he’s staring at the sun.

“I promise you won’t regret it. Thanks again, Zhang Hao!”

Hanbin leaves in a hurry, and with a ring of the bell the door closes behind him, leaving a faint floral scent. Zhang Hao stands there in shock, processing what just happened. His stomach is fluttering and he forgets how to move. That is probably the most unexpected afternoon he had in a while. 

He surrenders himself to another lunch break spent in the car, eating half-heartedly as he searches through gaps of parked cars. All of the spots nearby are full, he might have to park far down the block and walk back to his shop.

But he isn’t annoyed. No, not at all, because now when he thinks about parking spaces and business cards, he remembers broad shoulders and a bright smile. Those two things have no relation to one another and yet, Zhang Hao couldn’t help but think of Hanbin and replay the way Hanbin scooped him up into his arms, over and over again until it was seared on the back of his eyelids. He feels flustered, and when his eyes snag at his reflection on the rear-view mirror, his cheeks are sporting two identical spots of red.

Damn you, Sung Hanbin.   

✿

Zhang Hao was born into a family of witches.

Witches, people may question. Doesn’t that label only apply to females, and the male counterpart of that is called wizards? That is entirely untrue, and Zhang Hao resents J.K. Rowling for it. Witches don’t wield bumpy sticks that humans call wands, nor do they parade everywhere in big capes and robes. They draw power from their bloodline and resonate with one type of energy; while wizards dabble in alchemy and chemistry, and their affinities lie with non-living materials. 

So yes, male witches exist.

Zhang Hao is a rune witch, specializing in protection and enhancement magic. His roots go back to thousands of years ago, when his ancestors in China were wielding spiritual energy and talismans to fight monsters and demons. The same magic techniques were passed down his bloodline generation after generation, through word by mouth and papyrus scripts printed in ancient language to prevent it from falling into the wrong hands. 

Then the witch trials came, slaughtering thousands of innocent witches all because humans feared that they had power over them, and that witches worshiped the devil. Zhang Hao’s ancestors had no choice but to run, vanishing off the grid. Eventually the art of rune magic was forgotten, lost in the modern world. 

However, the rest of the supernaturals still require assistance from witches, as magic doesn’t adhere to the boundary of technology. Magic is limitless, as technology will not save you from the lethal poison of a deadly basilisk, nor will it help you escape from the mind control of an alluring siren. It is like bringing a knife to a gunfight, fruitless and ineffective. To help the supernaturals assimilate better into the modern society, Zhang Hao wracked his brain for solutions and came up with a better way to incorporate ancient rune magic into technology. 

Rune magic is complex. Each stroke, each curve of a symbol holds significant meaning. A downward stroke might mean strength, a vertical stroke might give you luck. An upward curve can curse you with either terrible hearing or gift you heightened agility. Runes are the physical cluster of blessings that activate once it is finished, and the intentions behind the person drawing the rune must be pure and true for it to work. In battle, Zhang Hao’s ancestors illustrated these runes onto slips of paper and slapped them onto themselves to gain enough power to suppress demons and other dark beings.

Zhang Hao thinks that this method is entirely impractical.

Paper is fragile, it tears easily. What if it does exactly that at the height of fight? What if it flies away just as he's about to apply the enchantment to himself? What if he distribute all his talismans to his allies, but then finds out he ran out the last one for his own? The action of pulling out a piece of paper is slow and cluttered, it gives the enemy plenty of advance to attack during that vulnerable time period. It would be an anti-climactic way to die in a fight, and Zhang Hao refuses to let that fate befall on him.

The most convenient way to apply a rune would be to have it directly on his skin.

He spent days and nights, hours upon hours inspecting  thousands of rune structures, and figuring out how to redesign them into adequate tattoo designs that blend into human society without anyone batting an eye. Test trial after test trial to experiment whether the re-designed runes can hold out on its own. 

He had almost squealed in delight when finally one of the 56th (or was it 59th? He had lost count) tattoo trials he had done was successful, glowing dimly on the prosthetic skin laid on the table. The rune —protection —was the first rune tattoo he had done on himself as a present, a souvenir that marked his first success. 

Budgeting was also a habit he got used to, he saved money from college by eating off scraps, balancing several part time jobs such as a wedding violinist and a music tutor, earning just enough to buy equipment and rent a small space right in the middle of the city and run his business. 

Thus, the Overdose Tattoo Parlor was established. It became his pride and joy; a project that flourished under his patience and diligence, and he will forever be proud of it.

Customers started trickling in days after the opening as the news of a rune witch selling enchantments spread across the city by word of mouth. Werewolves, vampires, the fae and other supernatural races were amongst the first to knock on Zhang Hao’s door, commissioning a tattoo. They were leaving the shop hours later as happy customers, with a clear plastic wrap covering their new rune tattoo for protection.

His clientele began to pile up, and soon it was too much for one person to handle. Zhang Hao had put up recruitment posters around the city, hiring any witches who were interested in being mentored by a tattoo artist. The posters had to be discrete, written in common supernatural script decipherable to witches only so humans won’t accidentally turn up at his door. 

Three days of complete silence, then a hurricane in the form of Kim Taerae showed up.

“Hi,” said Taerae, completely out of breath, sounding like he just ran across the city to get to the shop. Zhang Hao came out from the back door to see him standing in the middle of the parlor, dripping water into a puddle at his feet. “I heard you’re hiring?”

He was wearing a simple shirt and beige trousers with a green varsity jacket unzipped, looking wet and disheveled from the pouring rain outside, the recruitment poster in his hand. Zhang Hao frowned in concern, and directed him into the washroom to dry up.

“I am, and what can you do?”

Kim Taerae, he learned, is a witch that enchants with voice, he specialized in persuasion and hypnotization. He hailed from a small coven in Cheonan, and only moved to Seoul for his studies.

His voice, a smooth deep vibrato, hooked you in and compelled you to do any command he willed. Witches of this pedigree faced some sort of stigma being masters in manipulation, however Zhang Hao could feel in his gut that Taerae wouldn’t use his power for greed. He didn’t seem to be the type to command people to serve him. 

Taerae hummed a low consistent frequency that vibrated through his throat, with his mouth hovering above a basic rune on a piece of paper as he tried activating it through the frequency of his voice. The humming vibrated, casting ripples across the cup of water set beside them, higher and higher; a never-ending note that spiraled into a crescendo as it hit the highest pitch. The rune flared up at once, signaling it was successful.

“That’s it, you’ve done it,” Zhang Hao whispered in awe. Taerae grinned, proud of himself.

“I can draw too, if that’s a plus.” He proceeded to doodle a cartoon shark at the corner of a paper. It was surprisingly detailed for a cartoon. He was hired on the spot, and Zhang Hao was giddy with delight and the revelation that he was no longer working alone.

Ricky, however, came in much later, their duo of two gradually morphed into a trio. Ricky didn’t show up to Zhang Hao’s door like Taerae did, hands clutching the recruitment poster and eyes full of hope at the chance of a job. No, Zhang Hao found him instead.

It was a fine day in May when Zhang Hao passed by an alleyway on his way to get groceries. The residential area he lived in was relatively quiet. 

He heard a faint noise, and stopped. Did he just hear a groan?

Zhang Hao resumed walking. Maybe he was just hearing things, plus stopping by an alleyway seemed like a terrible idea. That’s usually what happened to the main protagonist who got kidnapped in a thriller movie.

“Help… please, anyone…”

He flinched. 

Backtracking his footsteps, he glanced back into the narrow alleyway to see a body slumped against the wall at the far end. Any sign of hesitation was gone, he needed to check it out. 

Armed with only the protection rune tattooed on his left bicep, he slowly approached the body, bracing himself for an attack.

The body was just a boy, younger than Zhang Hao himself. A boy with strikingly blonde hair and feline eyes looked up at him in fear as he clamped down hard on his side, thick red fluid leaking profusely under his hand.

“Please help me,” he gasped, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. “I’ve been stabbed.” Zhang Hao jolted into action.

He didn’t have much first-aid experience, but his knowledge in runes made up for it. He pulled up the boy’s shirt, exposing the skin where the knife was embedded. The wound looked gruesome, so Zhang Hao took off his own jacket to press gently against it. “This is going to hurt,” he stroked a hand down the boy’s arm to comfort him. “I want you to press down on the wound once I pull out the knife, can you do that for me?”

The boy nodded feebly, and without a warning Zhang Hao pulled out the knife. The boy gritted out a pained moan, doubling over. 

“Fuck, why didn’t you warn me?”

“The element of surprise makes it less painful,” Zhang Hao offered him a strained smile. “Bear with me.” He pressed his jacket harder against the wound, and swiped two fingers on the blood-stained blade. 

Blood is potent with magic. One lifeforce can replenish another, but the probability of it being able to replenish itself is low. He hoped—pleaded his power was strong enough to enhance that.   

Zhang Hao pressed his fingers to the unmarred skin on the other side of the boy’s torso, and drew.

Heal.

The rune slowly came together, glowing faintly as Zhang Hao engrained his magic into the boy’s skin. Please work — he wished, eyebrows furrowed in concern. I need him to be well.

He felt the boy sigh, tension seeping away from his body. Zhang Hao opened his eyes, the wound before him was left with a pale pink scar, the skin uneven and raised. The boy glanced at the scar, and raised his head to glance at Zhang Hao.

His eyes rolled back, and he abruptly fainted.

Zhang Hao carried him back to his apartment, completely forgetting his groceries. He could sense the boy he held in his arms was definitely not human, and was curious to how he got in that predicament to begin with.

When the boy woke up, it was late at night.

He startled awake, eyes shifting in panic to take in the unfamiliar surroundings as he pushed himself back against the wall. Zhang Hao moved closer to talk to him. “Don’t come close,” he warned, hand raised with unsheathed claws. 

His nails were slightly translucent and curved at the sharp tip. He must be a cat shifter, Zhang Hao thought.

He backed away slowly, his hands in front of him to keep them in sight. “Hey, remember me? I’m the guy who fixed you up.” He pointed at the boy’s scar. “This is my home, and you are safe. Here, you must be thirsty.”

The boy eyed him in skepticism, but lowered his guard. “Thank you,” he said as he took a sip of water Zhang Hao gave him. “I almost died, man.”

Zhang Hao grinned. “Just helping out a fellow supernatural. What happened back there?”

The boy spoke, making Zhang Hao’s heart drop to his gut.

“You are a witch, right? I’m a shifter. A bunch of crazy witches tried to make me into an animal sacrifice. They grabbed me off the street while I was in my cat form, I didn’t see it coming.” He grimaced, a heavy-hearted look in his eyes. “When they took me back to where they were planning to do the ritual, by some chance I escaped. Not without a knife in my body, though.” 

Zhang Hao felt a fit of rage rushing into his head. As time passed and witches began to integrate into modern society, animal sacrifices or any other sacrificial ritual with a living being was deemed inhumane and unnecessary, as sacrifices of this scale were only needed for dark magic like necromancy. Raising the dead upsetted the balance of the natural law. Retrieving something from the dead realm threw order into disarray as they were undoing the strings of fate. The High Council of Witches in Seoul had forbidden such practices and any supernatural being who violated this law faced a life sentence in prison.

“How dare they,” Zhang Hao seethed. “Do you remember how they looked like? We can report to the High Council.”

The boy shook his head. “They had hoods and masks on and the room was dark. Although…” he frowned.

“What is it?”

“They had a symbol of a flower on their lapel. A white flower. I don’t know which kind because I don’t know much about botany.”

Zhang Hao nodded, having some information was better than having none at all. “We better get that reported. Meanwhile, do you have someone to stay with?”

The boy paused. “No,” he said softly. “I’m of age now. My orphanage kicked me out last week.”

An orphan. A pang of sympathy hit Zhang Hao’s heart. He felt an instinctive urge to take him under his wing, so he reached out and patted the boy on his back. “It’s okay, you can stay with me. What do I call you?”

For the first time since Zhang Hao saw him, the boy smiled, and it made him look a lot younger. Such a pity that he had to go through so much at a young age.

✿

Overdose Tattoo Parlor is a small business managed by only the three of them, with Zhang Hao and Taerae as the in-house tattoo artists and Ricky working as the receptionist. Work is busy, but it is fulfilling.

Zhang Hao leans in to re-ink a small part of the symbol. He’s in the middle of touching up a customer’s tattoo on her back, an intricate speed rune that allows her to fly faster. Touch ups are needed depending on the rate wearers are utilizing the rune, as magic within the tattoo may run out after a few months and it may need to be re-inked to refill it then. 

The client, who is a harpy, lies on the massage chair face down as she idly gossips with Zhang Hao; the large bird-like wings on her back twitching ever so slightly when the tattoo needle hits near her bones. Her orange iridescent feathers shimmer under the bright studio lights, morphing from red to yellow. He enjoys talking to her, as the harpy works as a bounty hunter, he never gets tired of her stories.  

“You know how work is these days,” Xiaoting sighs with her face pressed into the pillow. “So chaotic and hectic. Seoul is overflowing with criminals, the police won’t do shit about it, so us bounty hunters have to pick up their slack. We are just a small workforce, but the Commission expects us to clear up ten criminals a week on average? Impossible. My girls and I are so tired.”

“That’s so unfortunate, Ting-jie. I’m sorry about that,” Zhang Hao dips the tattoo gun into ink to refill the cartridge. “Were there any complicated cases?”

Xiaoting lets out a groan. “There’s one that has been driving me crazy for weeks already, and the Commission wants it cleared as soon as possible. Word on the street says that there is a cult going around in Hongdae recruiting supernaturals, apparently one of my marks is involved too. I can’t divulge too many details for your own safety, ah-Hao, but don’t go near that area for the time being.”

“A cult? For what, a religion?”

“Most likely, but they are so hard to track. One of my girls only caught the tail end of a cape. Said they were wearing hoods with a flower on the breast. If you see one of them, you better turn the other way.”

Zhang Hao inhales a sharp breath, the needle hovering inches above Xiaoting’s skin.

No. It can’t be.

Ricky’s incident had happened eighteen months ago. Zhang Hao thought it was a one time thing, since they reported it to the High Council and no news about the group of attackers came out after that. He thought it was over, that Ricky doesn’t have to look back over his shoulder out of pure instinct every time they walk near a street curb, that he wouldn’t need to flinch every time he sees supernaturals with a strapped knife on the street.

“That’s interesting,” Zhang Hao chooses his words carefully. He doesn’t want Xiaoting to catch on because he’s intrigued by the case. “You said a flower on the chest?”

“No, the breast, like the upper left part of the ribcage. Too bad Bahiyyih didn’t catch what kind of flower it was.”

“Oh.” Zhang Hao tries not to show his disappointment. “I’m sure you will find out soon.”

“Mhmm. Hope so.”

They both lull into a stop, letting the whirring of the tattoo gun fill up the silence. Zhang Hao inks in one last stroke before putting the gun down to lather on a thin layer of ointment. “Ting-jie, it’s done. You remember the aftercare procedures, right? Or do I have to remind you again?”

Xiaoting sits up, rolling her eyes. “That was just one time, let it go.”

He snickers, wrapping a film of plastic around her shoulder. “Thanks for coming, it was nice catching up. Ricky will have your payment ready at the counter.”

“Of course, anything for my favorite tattoo artist.”

“I’m your only tattoo artist.”

Xiaoting laughs, waves goodbye and heads out. 

Zhang Hao lets out a sigh he has been holding in. Well shit, that changes things. A supernatural cult is running rampant in Seoul, no one has caught them yet. Plus, it’s probably the very same cult Ricky had a run in with. No, he shouldn’t tell Ricky about this yet. Not when he isn’t a hundred percent sure about it. He needs more intel to confirm if his suspicions are correct.

His work ends for the day, as his last client was Xiaoting. Zhang Hao cracks his bones and stretches his stiff back muscles from being hunched over for a long period of time. He looks around, double checking the supplies to see if he needs to prepare anything new for the batch of customers tomorrow. True to his hunch, the inkpot feels light; it’s almost empty. He needs to prepare more ink.

The type of tattoo ink he uses on supernaturals is different from that on humans, it’s a liquid medium that amplifies the transfer process of witch magic into the rune, and acts as a catalyst for rune activation. Without it a rune tattoo would simply not work to its full potential. It’s also harmful to human skin as only one drop would cause poisoning, so Zhang Hao stores his stashes far away from the supplies he uses on humans.

He enters the backroom, a small cluttered storage unit where they make ink and store ingredients vital for potions and remedies; turns on the stove, and heats up the contents that are already in the black ceramic pot. Those were leftovers from the last batch and could be reused.

Absent-mindedly, he stirs the pot, watching the ingredients sink into the black, slurry concoction without a sound, dissolving into the liquid. His mind drifts back to his conversation with Xiaoting, her words playing back and forth over, and over again.

A cape… flower on the breast… upper part of the ribcage. It can’t be just a coincidence, there are too many specifics that match up Ricky’s description. Zhang Hao needs to reconfirm the color of the flower; if it was white indeed, he needs to make another report to the High Council, maybe with more detail this time to make sure the cult is captured. But, how, where does he even start? He doesn’t have many connections to the supernatural underground market—that’s where discreet information gets traded. He doesn’t even know where it is. All he knows is that the market is ran by a faceless vampire and—

He gasps. Jiwoong. Jiwoong is a vampire. Maybe he can help. He might have connections.

Zhang Hao makes a mental note to call him after he finishes up the ink.  

He pinches another sprig of lilac from the table and adds it to the bubbling pot in front of him. Taking a deep breath, he sniffs the air to detect any change in scent. He knows the recipe by heart. Every portion and every measurement. He developed it in the small confines of his college dorm. Sometimes, he alters the recipe via instinct—like a sixth sense, as witch magic fluctuates under different phases of the moon; some ingredients might be more needed than others. 

Dill, lilac, beetle wings, the branch of a cherry tree… Maybe he should add a little bit more camellia petals. Afterall, today is a half moon, the atmosphere is severely lacking in vitality. Right. Pink camellia will increase its dosage.

He moves to the other side of the backroom to the wall filled with drawers from top to bottom. Each holds an ingredient of witch herbs that Zhang Hao has spent way too much time sourcing and getting his hands on. If he held a certificate he could run an apothecary right here. He takes the ladder propped up against the wall to reach where he stored his pink camellia flowers.

Row C. Fifth column. He finds the drawer, and pulls at it. There are only two petals left inside, collecting dust. 

Shit. Taerae must’ve forgotten to mark it down for re-supply. That definitely isn’t enough, he needs more to make the ink. He’s sure his usual herb supplier has already closed too since it’s night time. He needs to find the closest flower shop that is still open. Which is right next door. Run by Hanbin, who is probably on his shift.

Zhang Hao groans, climbing off the ladder to turn off the stove. He sometimes catches himself thinking about Sung Hanbin. His mind unconsciously strays towards his glittering round eyes, radiant personality, the way he fills the room with his presence when he walks in… He wonders what his favorite flower is and what he’s up to, if he’s tending to his flowers right now—his hands, strong and nimble, putting the same amount of care into every leaf, every petal. 

Whether he treats people the same way he treats plants, with dexterity and respect; gentle when he needs to, or rough when he wants to. Placing roses gently into a pile to be wrapped into a bouquet. Scissors clipping away harshly at overgrown leaves and thorns. Fingers grabbing, palms kneading, pushing past layers of cloth, sliding up to cup at the sharp wing of his shoulder, and another dipping to smooth down the curve of his spine—

He needs to turn off his brain.

Zhang Hao knows he’s been acting a little too desperate for a boy he only had one mere conversation with, but as the saying goes—curiosity killed the cat—he’s dying to get to know more about their neighbor next door.

He fans himself, double-checking his appearance in the mirror to make sure he isn’t flushing like a tomato before heading out to the counter where Ricky is still sitting, scrolling through his phone.

“Ricky, you’re free to go. I’ll lock up tonight, don’t worry.”

Ricky jumps up from his seat and beams. “Really? Thanks, man. I’ll see you later.”

“There’s leftovers in the fridge,” Zhang Hao calls after him. “Leave some for me, too.”

“Got it!”

Zhang Hao flips the sign on the door from opened to closed and steps outside. The gust of wind feels cooling on his face. The streets are silent, not one person is seen; most stores on their street are closed, save for two squares of light in the middle. Say Yes! Flower Studio and Overdose Tattoo Parlor.

The store was newly renovated, the artificial smell of paint still lingers in the air. It clashes with the floral scent of the store, causing Zhang Hao to wrinkle his nose. In contrast to the ambiguous impression Overdose Tattoo Parlor gives off with its reflective windows and sleek black walls, Say Yes! Flower Studio stands in its bold, ivory glory and see-through windows. 

Flower pots hang under the sign plate of the shop, dotted with multicolored sweet peas and curling vines of ivy. In the day, flower stands would line up the sidewalk, attracting people who pass by with its vibrant colors and brilliance, but since the shop is on the verge of closing for the day, they were all taken back into the store. Under the moonlight, with its rays casting down on the white concrete exterior, the flower shop looked ethereal, a Parisian dream plucked right from the mind of a sleeping child. 

He peeks through the entrance of the flower shop. In the middle of it all, stands Hanbin. He is near the back aisle, meticulously spraying every pot of plant with a pump of water, white shirt pushed up to his elbows. He looks even more dashing, being surrounded by flowers—his natural element. Hanbin looks up as he hears the door open.

“Zhang Hao?” He sounds surprised, voice lilting up at the end in question.

Zhang Hao lingers at the doorway, for some reason it feels nerve wracking to take another step closer. “Is the shop still open?”

Hanbin places down his spray bottle and smooths his hands down his apron, walking towards him. “No, but I don’t mind one more customer,” he smiles as he stops right in front of Zhang Hao.

They stand eye to eye, roughly the same height, sizing each other up. There’s something in the air, a type of tension that Zhang Hao thinks wasn’t there when he first met Hanbin. It’s not awkward, not hostile either; it feels like something that’s entirely new to him. Maybe it’s the fact that the sky is dark, the streets are empty, there are no errands they have to hurry off so finally, finally they can look at each other with all the time in the world. Their exchange in his tattoo parlor doesn’t qualify as a first meeting anymore, this does. 

“I want to buy a bouquet of pink camellias, do you happen to have any?”

For a moment, Hanbin’s expression is indecipherable. He is silent, studying Zhang Hao’s face. Zhang Hao feels exposed, naked, under his piercing gaze but doesn’t back down. He has nothing to hide.

“Who is the lucky recipient?”

“Just a client.”

Hanbin’s lips tug up, but there is no mirth in it. “I see. I remember having some at the back, come follow me.”

Zhang Hao feels offbeat, like he did a misstep. Hanbin leads him to the back corner of the store, stopping before a white door. He pulls it open.

Pink light spills across the floor. In a hundred and eighty degrees shift, the shop transforms into a mysterious, cyber futuristic place as if Hanbin has opened a portal into another universe . There is another garden within the garden of flowers that is the Say Yes! Flower Studio. Inside, pink neon lights lined the nook of every wall and shelf, barely tucked out of sight. They cast a faint pink glow over rows of plants and flowers, stacked into shelves which tower above their heads. 

“I thought florists only sell and arrange flowers?” 

“I like gardening too, turns out there was enough space to run a tiny conservatory, a space that cultivates plants that are not currently on display. It’s not much, but I’m proud of what I got here,” Hanbin explains.

Zhang Hao gazes around in awe. He doesn’t think he has seen anything quite like it. Perhaps from a sci-fi movie, but not in the real world. He steps into the conservatory, and his vision flickers. His perception now only exists in shades of black and neon pink, sucking out all other variations of color. He glances down at his hand, mystified that it is gray.

“What’s with all the pink neon lights?”

“Oh, those? They’re called sun lamps, it’s for the plants at the back who don’t get enough sunlight. Plants love pink light, it promotes growth as it gives Vitamin D. Be careful with your elbows, I don’t want anything knocked over.”

Hanbin weaves between the maze of shelves, carving out a path for Zhang Hao to follow. Zhang Hao trails his eyes on Hanbin’s broad back, the way his shoulders almost touch the sides of the narrow corridor they’re navigating. He feels like he’s a kid again, like he’s breaking the rules by exploring a forbidden area of the school. It’s fun, thrilling, because isn’t this what it is? He doubts ordinary customers would be allowed back there. 

“Think about it this way, plants get seasonal depression if they don’t get enough sunlight, so the lights here act as their therapist,” Hanbin continues.

Hanbin is kind of a nerd, Zhang Hao realizes. A horticulture nerd, because he goes on and on when he talks about plants. It’s cute. 

Zhang Hao smiles shyly, “I get it though, winter can be awfully dull.”

“It can. Do you get sad during winter?”

“No, do you?”

Hanbin halts. Zhang Hao almost stumbles onto him, but catches himself at the last minute. Hanbin turns back, and glances at him. “We’re here, the pink camellia tree.”

They stop in front of a row of small trees, dotted with pink camellias. Hanbin cranes his head to gaze at the budding flowers, but Zhang Hao isn’t looking at them. He has his eyes on Hanbin.

When Hanbin speaks again, his voice is mellow. “Snowboarding is fun, skiing as well, but there are times when I look out of my window, with the whole landscape covered in white, and I just think that winter can be lonely sometimes. The city falls silent when it snows; no cars, no people.”

“That’s kind of poetic.” Zhang Hao says quietly, looking at him in a new light. 

“Mhmm,” Hanbin takes out a pair of shears and starts clipping out several camellias, his eyes focused on his hands. “I tell my friends about it, but I don’t want them to be burdened too much with me. I’m used to it.”

Zhang Hao blurts out before he can stop himself. “You can come to me. I’m right next door.”

Zhang Hao offers, because he understands him. He understands that emotions sometimes can be too much, too overwhelming, too strong that it feels like it’s way too heavy to carry on his shoulders. But he has to, because they are his own and it would be unfair to put them on someone else. Someone being extroverted, like Hanbin, has nothing to do with the amount of loneliness he might feel, because one can still feel lonely even surrounded by friends. He would love for Hanbin to visit him if he ever felt lonely. He has his own heavy emotions too, maybe they could support each other.

Hanbin looks surprised. “You don’t mind?”

“Nope,” Zhang Hao shakes his head. “I seem to enjoy your company, plus I can brew tea, it always helps me.” He knows a recipe or two that balances emotions, even though temporarily. 

“I doubt tea could fix loneliness,” Hanbin huffs out a faint laugh, “but thanks.” He clips off the last camellia, and with the bouquet in hand, he begins walking back. 

“You would be surprised what tea can do.” Zhang Hao pauses, swiping away the hair that has begun to fall into his eyes. “How did it start? The whole flower shop.” He asks, and falls a step behind him. 

Hanbin’s eyes twinkled, “My mom always loved flowers, but growing up we never had enough space for a garden. We could only accommodate one tiny pot of a yellow tulip on our balcony. I watched my mom water it everyday, she cared for it as though it was one of her children, and the results were obvious. The joy of nurturing a plant with your own two hands and seeing it grow is unequaled and addicting. That’s how I fell in love with gardening. Oh, come here.” He grabs Zhang Hao’s hand and pulls him towards another shrub. This one is littered with white flowers, small clusters of petals that carry a heavier floral scent.

Hanbin snips off one of them. “Here, this is for you. A gardenia. Native to parts of South-East Asia, it’s hard growing the tree here.” 

His hand reaches out, and with a gentle caress his fingers brush against Zhang Hao’s ear as he slips the flower behind it. His touch sends a tingling sensation down Zhang Hao’s back, lighting up his nerves. The gardenia feels heavy behind his ear, even though it’s barely the size of his palm. Zhang Hao swallows.

“There,” Hanbin whispers. “Perfect. It suits you well.”

It’s easy to get lost in Hanbin’s eyes, for they are pitch black under their monotone surroundings. He can’t help but to get sucked in.

Without breaking eye-contact Hanbin continues, “have you grown anything before?” His voice is so soft, like he doesn’t want to shatter the moment. 

“I did.” Zhang Hao replies, throat dry. “Once, during Chinese New Year. It was a gift from my mother’s friend, a pot of orchids. I was fourteen, and my mother entrusted me with it. ‘Let’s see if you have a green thumb,’ she said. ‘It will be easy, after all it’s just a flower, how hard can it be?’ Well, she was very wrong.”

Hanbin giggles, a melodic sound that tickles Zhang Hao’s ears. He wants to hear more of it.

“The first week I was already struggling. The orchid kept withering, no matter how much I followed instructions. One day it would look healthy and the other day it would look wilted. But in the end, I managed to keep it around for a few months.” 

Zhang Hao doesn’t mention how it died during the first week in his hands which was bad luck in Chinese tradition. He had to secretly make a special fertilizer and revive it before his mother caught on. 

“Orchids can last for years, but it’s reasonable. You were just fourteen and orchids are known to be hard to manage.” Hanbin snickers. “How did your tattoo parlor come to be?”

Zhang Hao was wrong, he takes what he was thinking before back. He does have something to hide. He realizes he has never been asked by a human about the origin of his parlor before, so he is utterly unprepared. His brain scrambles for an answer, throwing together hopefully a coherent sentence.

“Oh, um, I just find the idea of having illustrations on your skin that represents something, something that is important to you, really cool. It’s liberating to choose what to put on your skin, then that becomes a part of your identity. It, uh, stays there forever, unless you decide to remove it.” Zhang Hao clears his throat. “Being good at drawing is another reason, although I play around with typography more.”

Despite his shit excuse of an explanation, Hanbin doesn’t question him further. They slowly meander towards the storefront, preparing to leave. Zhang Hao casts one last look at the conservatory before the door closes behind him. It feels like a spell just lifted, and now they’re back in the present.

Hanbin rounds the corner behind the counter and starts assembling the bouquet. He pulls out a large sheet of paper before setting down the camellias he picked. “You know, I’ve thought about it. I want a tattoo too someday.”

Zhang Hao is taken aback, he didn’t peg Hanbin to be the type to like tattoos. He sets his elbows on the counter and watches while Hanbin works. “Really? Have you thought of what you want?”

Hanbin frowns, “Hmm, I’m not sure. But I do know where I want it.”

He unbuttons his collar with one hand, revealing a smooth strip of skin down to his chest. A finger taps over the area near the delicate hollow of his throat.

“Here.”

Zhang Hao scans his face for any sign of hesitation, he wants to make sure Hanbin knows what he’s getting into. “That will be painful, it’s close to the bone. Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” the corner of Hanbin’s lip quirks up. “I think it will look pretty. Besides, I know a great tattoo artist next door and I trust him to design a good piece for me. I know I’m in good hands.”

Hanbin has a way with words, Zhang Hao notices. The way he phrases his thoughts so eloquently and yet, it’s the confidence and flattery in Hanbin’s voice knocks him right off his feet. There is nothing more charming than being praised for his craft, the type of admiration that makes his pulse flutter and ears flush, paired with the undeniable conviction in his tone. Zhang Hao is blown away. 

He makes up his mind right there: he will design the best tattoo for Hanbin, something that suits him well.  

Zhang Hao feels faint, but he leans forward to nudge at his statement. “Oh, really? I don’t think I know him. Should I see him as a potential rival?”

“Don’t worry, he’s nothing compared to you. I’ll make sure to come to you for my tattoo.” Hanbin smiles, his posture relaxed as he wraps the pink camellias into the paper. 

Oh, he’s playing coy.

“And how are you so sure I’m going to take up your commission? Work is busy nowadays, I might refer you to Taerae.” Zhang Hao counters, stoking the flame. He watches as Hanbin’s expression shifts to amusement.

Hanbin doesn’t back down. He meets his question with a steady gaze.“I see that look in your eyes. You’ve already made up your mind.”

There is a pause, something unspoken passes between them. If Zhang Hao didn’t know how to read between the lines, he would’ve missed it. The tingle, the awareness, it ignites his blood; and Zhang Hao burns for the person standing in front of him. 

“Touché.” Zhang Hao exhales, licking his dry lips. Hanbin’s eyes drop to follow the motion, lashes fluttering. “Tell me when you are sure you want a tattoo.”

He feels raw, torn open, laid out for Hanbin to scrutinize. All that is foreign to Zhang Hao,  nobody has poked through his layers so quickly before, unraveling him with one sentence. It fascinates him that this person exists.

Hanbin breathes out a soft laugh.

“What is it?” Zhang Hao begs, his dignity hanging by a thread. 

“Nothing, it’s just funny how we got off at the wrong start.” Hanbin’s eyes curve into crescents. “I’m sorry again for the inconvenience. Remember your favor, have you thought of what I should do for you?”

Truth be told, he has thought about it. He thought about using it to ask for a casual lunch date, or a free bouquet of flowers, or even free tickets to the movie Kuanjui is begging him to go watch with him… However, something in his gut is telling him to save it for emergencies. He decides this is the most logical choice of all. 

“Not really, I’ll tell you when I do.”

Hanbin ties the bouquet together, finishing up with a neat knot in the center. “All done,” he hands it over to Zhang Hao, who is feeling around his pockets for his wallet.

“It’s fine, take it.”  He waves the bouquet in front of Zhang Hao’s face. “It’s on the house.”

“Hanbin, it’s just a bouquet.”

Hanbin takes Zhang Hao’s hand and wraps it around the stem of the bouquet, his warm hand enveloping him. “It’s fine, I’m serious. Consider it as a thank you gift for the parking.”

“I’m saving up my favor for something else, don’t argue with me on this.” Zhang Hao says firmly as he pushes the cash into Hanbin’s hands and heads towards the entrance, leaving the flower shop. He knows if he stays any longer Hanbin will try to persuade him. 

“Whatever you say, Zhang Hao!” Hanbin calls after him. “Good night.”

With one hand on the doorframe, Zhang Hao turns back, lingering at the boundary between the shop and the street. The white gardenia behind his ear contrasts with the night sky above him.

“Goodnight, Hanbin.”

✿

Ricky pokes his head in through the doorway of the tattoo studio.

“Hao-ge, there’s something for you at the door.”

Zhang Hao looks up from where he’s sketching on a notebook. “Is it him?” He asks, breathless.

Ricky smirks, and this is the only answer Zhang Hao needs. Giddy with anticipation, he feels a smile spread across his cheeks as he stands up from his chair.

He approaches the glass door and notices a square piece of paper stuck to the outside. A pink post-it note, with a single purple iris pasted next to it with tape. Excited, he opens the door to take it in.

It reads:

Hao-hyung,

Thanks for offering to cook dinner yesterday! I enjoyed your rendition of pasta carbonara, even though the bacon was slightly burnt. Let me cook for you next time. What would you like to eat?

Waiting for you,

Hanbin

The butterflies he has been suppressing comes flooding back, whipping up into a frenzy. It’s almost funny how a tiny piece of paper could evoke such a reaction out of him. Zhang Hao feels no better than a teenage girl. 

“What does it say?” Ricky adds, his grin growing impossibly wider. 

“I’m not telling you,” Zhang Hao retorts, hiding the piece of paper to his chest. 

Ricky groans, throwing his hands up in the air. “Ugh, ge, you’re no fun.”

Zhang Hao doesn’t care, because he’s already placing the purple iris into a vase full of other different single flowers. He grabs the stack of post-it notes near the cashier, scribbles an answer back and folds it into a tiny square.

“Ricky, you know what to do.” His hand retreats slightly as Ricky reaches out to take it. “And no peeking.” Ricky pouts, snagging the note out of Zhang Hao’s grasp and heads out the door. 

“When will you guys stop making me play carrier pigeon? Why do I have to be the one to stick the post-it on his door?” Ricky grumbles. “You know, he’s literally five steps away and you can just walk over to have a conversation.”

Taerae giggles from his perch on the sofa next to the door. He teases, “more like a carrier cat,” and earns himself a slap on the arm from Ricky.

Zhang Hao’s face hurts from smiling as he walks back into his workspace. Back at his desk, he opens the middle drawer and pulls out a brown box. He flips off the lid, revealing a pile of post-it notes stacked crudely together, a multicolored collage of messages.

‘Hao-hyung, want to go out for lunch together later?’ writes one. There’s another note, written on lemon yellow paper, attached to the bottom of it. Zhang Hao peels off the former, ‘You’re right, that blend of tea you gave me is so good, where did you buy it?’ Hanbin writes, his loopy handwriting underlining his light-hearted tone. Behind it, one aquamarine blue note says: ‘Hyung, is it okay if I come over later? It’s one of those days again.’ with a squiggly sad face drawn underneath his words. He runs a finger over it, a faint smile at the corner of his lips.

He remembers Hanbin coming into the tattoo parlor shortly after receiving the message, shoulders hunched down with dark circles around his eyes. He looked tired, a little more drained than usual, as if the gray skies had sucked up all the energy his body was holding. Zhang Hao had sat him down at the waiting area, and asked him if he needed anything.

“I just want someone to hold me,” Hanbin said quietly, looking everywhere but at Zhang Hao’s face, embarrassed for his request. Zhang Hao had reacted instinctively, hugging him to his side and pressing his head into the crook of his neck.

“Rough day?” His hand came up to stroke Hanbin’s head.

“More like a rough month,” Hanbin sighed, nudging his face into Zhang Hao’s shoulder. “It’s winter.” They sat in silence, finding solace in each other’s presence.  They didn’t exchange any words, there wasn’t a need to. 

Zhang Hao can be Hanbin’s pink light if he needs it. He isn’t going anywhere.  

There wasn’t an event that marked the turning point where they got more comfortable with each other. It was natural, intuitive—the way they slowly took up a part in each other’s life. Like finding a puzzle piece that is recovered under the bed and placing it back into the whole picture with a click. Zhang Hao sometimes would go up to Hanbin’s apartment which is right above the flower shop, just to hang out and talk about everything and anything in between. 

Keeping his identity a secret from Hanbin was like a chore Zhang Hao didn’t want to do. It was so hard, when all he wanted was to share the gossip his clients dumped on him with Hanbin. As much as he wanted to tell the other boy he was a witch, at the end of the day Hanbin was still a human. He knew Hanbin would believe him but his identity and safety came first, he couldn’t risk exposing himself for the sake of one person. He lived all twenty-three years of his life with his identity as a secret and that was how he survived. He didn’t want a modern witch trial to happen to him.

That didn’t mean Hanbin hadn’t gotten close to discovering the truth, because he had. Many times. Maybe too many. There was one time where Hanbin had walked in on him making a potion for Taerae, who had lost his voice to a nasty flu. He was in the process of grinding a dragon claw with a pestle, the tip of the claw poking out of the mortar when he heard someone say, “What are you making?”

Zhang Hao jumped, turning around. Hanbin was standing right next to him, staring at the dragon claw oddly. His mind went blank, he hadn’t heard him come in, not like he was expecting Hanbin to show up at all. It was his first time in the back room too. Hanbin’s eyes flickered from the claw to the rest of the room, taking in the wall of drawers, cauldrons and hanging herbs.

“Hey,” Zhang Hao laughed nervously, pushing the mortar behind him. “What are you doing here, aren’t you still on shift?”

“Just popping in to say hello,” Hanbin answered vaguely. “So, what is it?”

Damn it. He didn’t fall for his bait to change the topic. Zhang Hao felt cold sweat beading the back of his neck. “Oh it’s nothing, just grinding up some uh, brown rock sugar for soup.”

Hanbin nodded, mouth parting into an o-shape. Zhang Hao thought he was let off the hook until he spoke up again. “And what about that? What is it?” Hanbin pointed upwards.

Shit. Fuck. Double fuck. Zhang Hao was finished, because how the hell was he going to explain the exotic lionfish, which could only be found in deep seas and was known to be venomous, hanging near the window to dry like it was no big deal. There was no way he could tell him its actual use—curse breaking.

“Oh,” Zhang Hao said weakly, feeling faint. “Uh, that’s actually dried codfish. Also for the soup. It’s um, the main ingredient.” He winced at the shitty excuse of a lie.

He waited with bated breath as Hanbin paused. He smiled. “Okay, that’s really interesting!”

Zhang Hao didn’t understand how Hanbin had accepted that explanation. He felt like he aged ten years in five minutes. 

The post-it note thing started out as a running joke between them, when Hanbin laughed about forgetting to eat because he was so busy arranging flowers for a client’s big wedding. The next day, Zhang Hao woke up bright and early to paste ten post-its around the flower shop as a reminder for Hanbin to eat.

Once it started, it never stopped. Everyday without fail, Hanbin would stick a post-it note on Zhang Hao’s door, usually sharing something he found funny. Zhang Hao would reply by sending Ricky to put one back. 

He stows the notes back into the drawer. They do pile up, but Zhang Hao is too sentimental to throw them away. The act of leaving the visual evidence of their budding relationship in the trash irks him, so he decides to keep them for the time being.

Zhang Hao turns his focus onto his sketchbook. It’s covered in a mess of doodles. Harsh charcoal lines criss crossing over the page stains his palms and fingers. Sometimes a wooden pencil aids him more than a mechanical pen does. He likes feeling the sturdiness of the wood between his fingers. Brushing away a stray eraser crumb on the edge of the paper leaves a smudged fingerprint. He is still not used to how messy charcoal pencils can get. 

He’s trying to come up with something for Hanbin’s tattoo. So far, he came up with four possible designs, not including the ones he scrapped, and it still isn’t enough. The trash can under his desk is overflowing with crumpled up paper. He’s working hard so Hanbin can have more options to choose from. Inspiration comes easy to him when he’s working in the studio usually, but for some reason he’s struggling to come up with something that encapsulates Hanbin as a whole.

What is Hanbin? Who is Hanbin?

Sung Hanbin is the florist next door. He is a human. He is kind, generous, so well spoken as if he has swallowed volumes upon volumes of poems and books and started regurgitating the flowery words back out. He’s humorous in a way that is witty and isn’t too corny. Makes exaggerated expressions when he’s shocked by something. Well mannered, polite, would never hurt a fly. Has sensitive emotions, will cry when they’re watching Titanic. He gets sad sometimes in winter, but blooms in summer. He is very dedicated to his work. When he commits to something he goes all in, and never regrets it. 

He is also the person who looks devastatingly handsome in his white shirt with rolled up sleeves. His lips, the way they purse when he’s deep in thought, the lower lip plumper than the upper. When he smiles, his eyes arch; mouth stretching into a wide grin, revealing his white teeth. He has dimples, oh, those whiskers going across his cheeks in the most endearing way possible, resembling a hamster. Broad shoulders and delicate collarbones, tapering down to a small waist that looks inviting to touch. His voice, rich and soothing when he’s speaking, airy and lilting when he laughs; but it’s when he drops his voice down an octave to mimic a character on screen that makes Zhang Hao feel things in his chest.

Most of all, he understands Zhang Hao. They share the same values. Bantering comes naturally to them, as well as deep conversations about life over a cup of coffee in the middle of Hanbin’s apartment at midnight, lights dimmed low. It’s so easy to share thoughts with him, knowing he won’t be judged in return. 

He’s beautiful, and Zhang Hao thinks he’s… in love.

Oh. He’s in love with the florist next door.

Zhang Hao’s heart lurches. He bites his lip to hide the smile that is trying to take over his face. He thought he had a harmless crush that would fade over time but no, it was real. He buries his head into his arms to process all of this. These feelings he just became aware of—woah, they're intense. He feels like he is getting slammed by a massive projectile that holds all of his affection for Hanbin, and Zhang Hao goes down, helpless in the face of this overwhelming emotion that is too big for his body. 

He wants to hold Hanbin’s hand. He wants to make him smile, make him laugh, take him out on dates and have fun together. He wants to know more about him, as if he doesn’t know enough already. He wants to take pictures with him, shower him with gifts and affection. He wants to kiss him, and kiss him, and kiss him until his lips are bitten red to match the blush on his ears, until Zhang Hao’s mouth learns what his moans and whimpers taste like.

He’s in love with Sung Hanbin.

Zhang Hao’s eyes fall onto the desk. He flips to a new page in the sketchbook with a renewed vigor and he starts to draw.

He holds Hanbin in his mind, marking down his affection for the boy into every stroke of his sketch. Hours slip away, the sun sets. It’s already close to midnight by the time he adds one last line behind the star and leans back to put his arms above his head to stretch. Zhang Hao looks at his work, satisfied with the progress he has done.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Zhang Hao yelps, spinning around. His heart almost falls out of his chest. “Jesus christ, you scared me! God, do vampires not know how to knock?”

Jiwoong grins lazily from where he is propping up against the doorframe. “I’m not well versed in human etiquette, thought you knew about that.” He strolls to Zhang Hao’s table. 

It’s been a while since Zhang Hao had seen the vampire. Their friendship blossomed when they bonded over a problematic professor during their college days, being in the same class and unaware of each other’s supernatural background. Imagine Zhang Hao’s surprise when Jiwoong appeared in his tattoo shop one day after graduation for a rune tattoo. ‘ I’m holed up in an office for a nine to five job, I need a glamour rune for my fangs’ —Jiwoong had said.

“You can’t pull an ‘I am a thousand years-old and I don’t conform to modern customs’ excuse again, I know you scared me on purpose,” Zhang Hao pouts. “Other than that, I'm doing just fine, thank you very much.”

“Good.” Jiwoong visibly relaxes. “Given the current state of the streets…”

“I assume you come bearing good news?” Zhang Hao says, perking up eagerly.

“Yeah,” Jiwoong nods in affirmation. “Pulled some strings and got what you asked for. I know where the underground market is.”

“Where?” Zhang Hao tips forward in anticipation. Knowing the location of the market is vital to him. He needs information so he can prevent what happened to Ricky from occurring ever again.

“Hao-ya,” Jiwoong says, any trace of jest is gone from his face. “The market is dangerous. The supernatural law is overlooked there. You won’t be protected. Are you sure you can find whatever you need?”

“It’s the only way.” Zhang Hao begs, he needs Jiwoong to understand. “I’m looking into something for Ricky, it’s personal.”

Jiwoong nods. “You have to promise me you will be careful, and make sure you don’t get scammed.”

Zhang Hao puts a hand on his shoulder to reassure him. “I will, don’t worry. I’m leaving at the first sight of violence. Besides, you know where I’m going. If I don’t text you after 6 hours, you know something went wrong.”

“If you say so.” Jiwoong still doesn’t look convinced, but he lets Zhang Hao be. “The market opens at 8 PM. There’s a club called NINTYSIX located near the edge of Itaewon. You go in, sit at the bar. Slip in a twenty dollar note, order a vesper and say that it should be stirred, not shaken. Then the bartender will point you to the entrance. Take your drink and head there, the drink is your proof of payment, from then on you’re on your own.”

“Thanks, hyung.” Zhang Hao grins at him, he appreciates the help. It will be a smooth investigation, he’s just going in to eavesdrop and leave. Simple. 

“Don’t ever reveal personal information, where you live, or who you are. Blend in with the crowd, you don’t want to stick out.”

“Got it, I’m not a child.”

Jiwoong squeezes him on the arm. “Stay safe out there. Text me if you need help. If you get kidnapped, who else would lend me spell books for free?”  

Zhang Hao gapes at him. The audacity of this man. “Don’t think I forgot about the volume of hexes. I’ll start charging you a late fee every day until you return it.”

Jiwoong only laughs.

✿

The streets of Itaewon are surprisingly busy on a Monday night.

People mill around on the sidewalk, sipping out of beer bottles and chatting with their peers. Music blares from bars, loud and uplifting, the bass thumps against Zhang Hao’s eardrums. It clashes with the bar next door which is blasting a different song, creating a cacophony of grating noise. He winces and slinks further into the alleyway, hiding under the shadows of an overhanging neon sign board until the sound gets muffled.

The watch on his wrist shows 21:15 PM. It’s time. He fastens a black cap onto his head and leaves, walking away from the main street and deeper into the concrete jungle.

NINTYSIX sits at the corner of the street, its neon sign a shocking purple against the rest of the retro-styled exterior. It gives a quiet and unassuming impression despite its flamboyant display, with only a few people mingling near the front. Two bouncers stand in front of the entrance, guarding the door, Zhang Hao focuses on them. One of the men’s glamor flickers, revealing two bull horns protruding from his temple before it vanishes. A minotaur.

Yeah. He’s definitely at the right place. 

Zhang Hao squares up his shoulders, and approaches the two men. “Here’s my ID.” he pulls it out. The bouncers give him a nod and let him pass.

He stops right before the doors, taking in a deep breath to center himself. Once he steps through this door, he isn’t leaving without a lead on the cult who attacked Ricky, a lead he can take to the High Council. It will be fine, he reassures himself, it will be like taking a stroll around a new fair. Best case scenario he won’t even need to talk to anyone, and might even make it back soon enough to pay Hanbin a visit.  

Thinking about Hanbin makes him a little more brave. With the burst of courage, he pushes the heavy doors open.

It’s like he traveled back in time and entered an 80’s American diner. The room is dimly lit by neon purple lights that lined the perimeter of the room, the floor is checkered with black and white tiles, walls are covered with retro advertisements, complete with elegant booths of red velvet for patrons to sit. Metal poles connect the ceiling to raised platforms around the booths where four girls, faeries judging by the markings on their faces, grind sensually against them; hips rolling to the intoxicating pulse of music. 

He walks to the center of the room where the bar is, the counter designed to look like it serves milkshakes. Zhang Hao plops himself onto one of the tall stools and waves the bartender over. The bartender is a tree nymph, the tag on his jacket reads “Woongki”.

Here goes nothing.

“May I get your order?” Woongki asks, a picture perfect grin on his face. His sleeves are rolled up, showing his forearms which are brown and textured like a tree bark. Zhang Hao's vision flickers a moment later and the texture reverts back to human skin, veiled once more by glamour.  

Zhang Hao tries to keep his voice smooth. “Can I get a vesper please? Stirred, not shaken.”

Woongki’s smile doesn’t fade, but he eyes Zhang Hao with renewed caution. “Is that all?”

“Yes,” Zhang Hao pulls out a twenty dollar note from his pocket and slides it across the table. “Here is my payment.”

Woongki takes the paper note and turns back to make his drink.

As Zhang Hao waits, he surveys the club once more. There aren't a lot of people, half of them are probably human. He spots a siren at the corner booth charming her human companion, webbed hand with claws stroking the companion’s neck as she croons into his ear. The siren sees Zhang Hao staring and shoots him a glare, probing him to look away.

“Sir, here is your drink.” Woongki comes back with a translucent cocktail with a strip of lemon peel curling around the rim of the glass. “The VIP room is down the hallway to the right.” He points down a corridor that Zhang Hao has assumed leads to the kitchen, but apparently not. “Enjoy.”

“Thank you,” Zhang Hao manages, taking the cocktail in hand. The VIP room must be a code name for the entrance. 

The hallway looms before him, a dark tunnel that seems to go on forever until the sharp turn that veers to the left on the far end. His footsteps echo as he proceeds deeper into it, the sound of music and glass clinking fades away as he turns into the corner. 

There is a heavy set of mahogany doors in front of him with carved accents of gold. No guards are stationed at the door to Zhang Hao’s surprise, given that this is an exclusive event, but there is a boy in front of him, crouched on the ground as he pops bubblegum between his teeth. Zhang Hao makes out the name Haruto from the name tag of his uniform.

“Oh,” Haruto’s eyes roam over his face before settling on the cocktail Zhang Hao is clutching. “I haven’t seen you before. First time?”

Shit. Zhang Hao doesn’t think telling him the truth is a good idea. “No, it isn't.” He lies, staring at the boy.

Haruto squints, but doesn’t press on. “Whatever you say, newbie.” He opens the door for Zhang Hao. “Welcome in. Fair warning, if you try anything funny like calling the authorities, there will be consequences.” He smiles, a ring of light green flares in one eye while the other remains brown. The mark of the Wild Hunt. A band of fae marksmen who roam the skies on horses, experts at hunting down people. There is no running from the Wild Hunt even from the four corners of the earth.

Zhang Hao isn’t planning to get on his bad side. He gives Haruto a nod before surveying the scene in front of him. 

Underground is an understatement. He isn’t in Itaewon anymore, high rise buildings and neon lights have vanished, overtaken by towering pine trees surrounding the glade. The area is lit up by torches, its flames casting shadows that flicker menacingly on the tents sent up by vendors in the middle of the clearing. It’s crowded, bustling with supernatural creatures weaving between the stalls to bargain for deals before they are snatched up by someone else. 

Zhang Hao looks back at the club, just in time to see the doors closing. There is no club, no bar, no building behind him, just a lone set of doors attached to nothing, standing at the edge of the trees that stretch as far as he could see. He’s truly in the middle of nowhere.

“Buy two get one free! These monkey paws are the best quality around here, harvested straight from Mount. Bukhan!

“Rare mermaid scales! Freshly plucked!”

“Bid on the last unicorn horn in the market! The auction price will be starting at 70,000 won!”

He delves into the crowd, keeping a keen eye out for anyone in hoods or with a white flower on their lapel. As he slips in between people, a merchant selling seashell dust kombucha in a tray barrels into him, and he ducks just in time so it passes right over his head. A gust of wind blows, there is the smell of charcoal grilled chicken in the air, intermingling with wafts of pungent floral fumes coming from the potions sector of the market.

Two hours and several close encounters with small accidents later, Zhang Hao still has nothing. He has already made four rounds around the entire market, munching on beef skewers as he observes the crowd.

He spots a cluster of women, crystal witches judging by the amount of gemstones they have on their necks and waist, loitering near a stall and gossiping in a heat. Bingo. The cult is run by witches, so surely zeroing into them would be a safe bet. Zhang Hao usually refrains from eavesdropping but he has to for the greater good. For Ricky. He slips behind the stall in the shadows, barely out of sight, and listens in.

“Oh my god, where did you get that? Is that shungite?” One of the women inspects a black oval gem hanging at the other’s waist. “It’s called the wonder stone, right?”

“Yeah,” The other puffs out her chest proudly. “I earned it myself.”

“Where?” The first woman gasps. “How? I’m dying to have one in my collection.”

The witch pauses and crooks her finger to motion her friends to lean closer. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone,” her voice drops into a dramatic whisper. “But I’ll tell you since you are my coven sisters. Someone recruited me into an exclusive membership club in Hongdae. I got this gemstone for free after I signed my name. The membership also comes with a lot of other perks like free flights and hotel stays. Can you believe it?”

Hongdae, Zhang Hao figures. That’s where the cult is based. Could this exclusive membership club be it?

Her companions titter in excitement next to her. “How can we join?” 

“You’re free to accompany me in the weekly meeting this Saturday night, we have a ritual to prepare for.” Her lips stretch into an insidious grin, a red smear against pale skin. “Lupercalia is coming soon.”

The witches giggle, while behind the stall Zhang Hao is clutching his wineglass, eyes wide in dread. He doesn’t know what Lupercalia means, but he does know one thing.

He just found the cult.

“But where is the club exactly? I will have to go there by myself, I have an appointment earlier that day.” One witch speaks up.

“It’s at the church in Hongdae. You know the one near the metro?” The witch giggles. “What’s a better place for the club than the house of Christ who condemns our kind.” 

Zhang Hao has heard enough. He walks away in a daze, mind clouded with the information he gathered. What is Lupercalia? Where is the church? The questions muddle up his brain, making it hard to think. Somehow he makes it out of NINTYSIX in one piece. Next thing he knows he’s scrambling for keys to unlock the front door of his apartment, far away from the underground market. He has a lot of unpacking to do, and that can be done the next morning.

He fails to notice a dark shadow lurking at the corner of his peripheral, watching his every move.

✿

There are many things Hanbin wants to say out loud but can’t.

No, he isn’t shy, he would think himself as outspoken actually. It has something to do with matters close to his heart. 

The sentence ‘I like how your hands look against mine’ sits at the base of his chest, simmering in warmth. ‘I wish you could hug me longer, so your scent seeps into my clothes’ crawls up his throat, like vine tendrils inching up a wall. The most devastating of all, one that Hanbin tries his hardest to keep in, ‘Hao-hyung, I like you so much you have no idea’ sits at the tip of his tongue. Nothing is preventing him from opening his mouth and letting those words fall out, other than the crushing embarrassment he might face if he gets misunderstood. The longer he keeps them in, the harder it feels to control them too, so Hanbin is perplexed.

He has read a fictional disease  somewhere that can convey this emotion perfectly. The Hanahaki disease. The victim harbors so much love for the subject of their affection, but the love is unrequited. In return, a flower grows in their lungs. The victim begins coughing up petals as the flower slowly takes up more and more space, squeezing out all the air until they succumb to asphyxiation. The only way to cure this disease is to surgically remove the flower from the lungs, uproot the problem, but the consequence is that the victim will never have feelings towards them again. Not love, not hate. Just cold, neutral indifference.

Hanbin understands. He relates to that feeling. The affection he feels for Zhang Hao is sometimes so overwhelming that he feels like he is physically choking on it. The only difference is, he isn’t coughing up petals or dying. He’s just not sure if Zhang Hao likes him the same way. It’s not like he doesn’t know what a crush feels like, he has crushes before, here and there. On a classmate who defended him against bullies in elementary school. The cool senior in his dance class when he was twelve. His friend on the volleyball team years later, whom he felt guilty for thirsting over. 

But not to this caliber. This thing with Zhang Hao is unlike any other crush he has ever had. There has never been a person in his life that matches so well with him, that every moment with this person makes him feel that there’s so much more to learn together. A graceful pas de deux. Two steps forwards, one step back. Footsteps echoing with the rapid thumping of their hearts, following its rhythm as they circle each other. Sometimes Zhang Hao reaches out, bold in his affection. Then it switches, like a tide receding from the shoreline he withdraws, smiling demurely as he teases him, making Hanbin think, oh, maybe there’s something more than just friends between them. The dance is slow, so infuriating that it’s gradually scraping away Hanbin’s sanity like chipping old paint off a wall. 

Another thing Hanbin wants is to take Zhang Hao’s hand, put it to the left side of his chest so Zhang Hao feels his pulsing heartbeat and ask desperately and fervently. What are we? This tension between us, do you feel it too?

If Zhang Hao doesn’t see him the same way, well… Hanbin will take his own clippers that he uses to cut thorns to pry open his chest, and extract the red rosebush from his lungs by himself. The pain does not matter. He will not force his feelings on Zhang Hao if he doesn’t want it, but that doesn’t mean the possibility of Zhang Hao not returning his feelings won’t faze him. Hanbin has been taking it easy, littering his affection in the form of post-it notes and flowers, hoping Zhang Hao will catch onto them someday. 

A purple iris on Monday. Daffodil on Tuesday. Dandelions on Wednesday. Blue violet on Thursday. Forget-me-not on Friday. Hanbin passes on little messages of things that he is too hesitant to say.

So if he’s able to do these gestures, what is stopping him from speaking them out loud? 

“Hello? Hyung, you have been staring into nothing for the past five minutes,” Matthew waves a hand in front of his face, snapping him out of his thoughts. “What’s up with you? You seem more spaced out recently.”

Hanbin shakes his head. “I’m fine, Seokmae. Just thinking.” He glances at the red rose he is holding. One of the sharp tips digs into his thumb under his gloves with a dull pressure. He is in the middle of de-thorning a bunch of red roses for a client’s engagement party, stems and leaves scattered in a circle around him on the floor.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you overworking, hyung. You are always staying behind to lock up even though your shift is already over,” Matthew chides, coming next to him. He takes the rose and clippers away and sets them on the table. “I’ll take it from here, you can go back upstairs to your apartment and rest. You don’t need to rush it, the client needs it by next week.”

Matthew is right, Hanbin thinks, he needs to rest. His mind is going foggy from the way he puts his entire focus on the flower in his hands. And on a certain tattoo artist next door, too. 

“I’ll go take a break, thank you Matthew.” His footsteps carry him to the tiny washroom hidden at the back of the shop, only letting a heavy sigh fall out of his mouth as the door closes and locks behind him. 

The fluorescent light flickers on. He leans over the faucet, turns it on and splashes water onto his face. The water feels cool on his skin, his mind turns clearer as he looks up to the mirror. His reflection stares back at him as he smooths a wet hand through his bangs, pushing his hair back from his forehead.

Maybe he should relax a little. Let himself breathe. Stop putting so many restrictions on himself, on how he should act and what he should say. Maybe if he lets himself live a little, do something that is the opposite of what’s expected from someone with his image, he will feel less constricted. 

He knows what exactly he should do.

He leaves the washroom, snatching his apron off with one hand. “Matthew,” he says, hanging it up near the front counter. “I’m heading out early. Can you lock up for me later?”

“Yes, hyung.” Matthew yells back from the place near the conservatory. “That’s what I’ve been trying to do this whole time. Go get some rest.”

“Tell Gyuvin, Gunwook and Yujin to clean up the mess they made today.” Their intern assistants had been helping out in the backroom with putting together congratulatory flower arrangements for store openings. “I want to see the place spotless by tomorrow morning.” 

The next thing Hanbin knows, he’s pushing open the door to Overdose Tattoo Parlor, meeting Ricky’s eyes over the top of the computer monitor he is studying. Ricky gestures towards the tattoo studio, signaling that Zhang Hao is inside. Without removing his eyes from Hanbin he calls, ”Hao-hyung, my shift just ended. I’m leaving.”

“Sure,” Zhang Hao’s voice comes back muffled. 

“Hanbin-hyung, he’s a bit cranky today.” Ricky whispers, keeping his voice low as he tidies up his space. “Tread carefully, man.”

“Thanks,” Hanbin smiles, not even worried in the slightest. “Get home safe, Ricky.”

Ricky scurries off, leaving Hanbin standing at the entry of the studio.

Zhang Hao is hunched over his table, as Hanbin usually finds him on most days, sketching on his touchscreen tablet. Silver rimmed glasses sit on the delicate bridge of his nose highlighting his brows frowned in concentration behind its reflective sheen. His teeth nip at his plush bottom lip. He lets out a frustrated sigh as he shifts in his chair, one hand scratching the nape of his neck while he taps on the tablet in quick succession, clearly agitated about something on his screen.

Hanbin moves closer, his footsteps quiet until he’s standing right behind him. Zhang Hao pays no attention, his pen scratching the surface of the tablet as he continues to draw.

Hanbin lays a hand on his shoulder. “Wha—oh, Hanbin,” Zhang Hao jolts, shooting back a startled look before relaxing in his hold. He turns back to his work after taking a sip of his coffee on the table. “Is it time already?”

“Mhmm,” Hanbin runs his palms on the top of Zhang Hao’s shoulders. “Hyung, you know sitting in this position is bad for your back right? Your spine is going to end up curved like a cooked shrimp.”

“Okay, fine.” Zhang Hao sits up straighter, shoulders pulling back. His eyes are still on the screen. “There, are you happy?”

“Yeah, much better.” Hanbin uses both hands to cup his shoulders, digging his thumbs into the crease near his shoulder blades. He begins to rub gentle circles into the area, while squeezing Zhang Hao’s muscles in long intervals. “I’d rather be massaging a human than a shrimp.”

Zhang Hao moans, a soft, pretty sound escaping his lips as he slumps back and melts under Hanbin’s hands. It sends a spark up Hanbin’s nerves, but he ignores it. “Nobody wants to be a shrimp, that’s the lowest in the food chain,” Zhang Hao sighs, resting his head on Hanbin’s abdomen. His eyelashes flutter close, mouth parting to show a sliver of teeth. “God, yeah—right there, Hanbin. Press harder.”

Hanbin moves his thumbs to the base of his shoulder blades, eyes on the absolute bliss that is Zhang Hao’s face. He presses in, following Zhang Hao’s command, aiming at the tight knot there. Zhang Hao lets out a faint whine, so high pitched that he almost misses it. Hanbin focuses his ministrations in that area, drunk on the sounds he draws out with every rotation of his thumb. He feels powerful, coaxing those noises from Zhang Hao’s throat as easily as he breathes. 

“Yeah—just like that.” Zhang Hao groans, that husky sound seeps into Hanbin’s bloodstream and pools hot and heady in his core. “Your hands feel so good, maybe I should sit improperly more. So you will massage me whenever I want. Twice per week.” Zhang Hao opens his eyes to look straight at Hanbin. “How did you know I need this?”

His gaze is soft, but the intention behind it is clear. “Demanding, but you can ask me for massages whenever, I don’t bite.” Hanbin swallows, withdrawing his hands to settle them by his sides. “A little bird told me you’re stressed.”

“Ricky.” Zhang Hao states almost immediately, running a hand down his face. “I feel bad for snapping at him earlier, but I just can’t get this design right.” 

He peers down at Zhang Hao’s tablet. There is an unintelligible symbol drawn on the tablet, neither in Chinese nor Hangul. A structure of slanted strokes and circles crossing over each other. Hanbin assumes this is the design Zhang Hao has been losing his mind over. “It looks perfectly fine to me, but then again I’m not the one with artistic talent”

“You know nothing about design.” Zhang Hao playfully holds a fist up to punch him in the arm. “Hanbin, I can tell that you want to ask me something. What is it?”

He almost forgot that Zhang Hao was scarily perceptive when he wanted to be. 

Hanbin shakes his head. “No, hyung, it’s okay. It can be done another day. You’re tired.”

“No, I’m serious.” Zhang Hao presses on, sitting up and rolling his right shoulder back in circular motions as a mock impression of a warm up. “See? I’m not stressed anymore, your massage recharged me. Tell me. You can’t leave me hanging.”

Zhang Hao can also be very persistent. Hanbin smiles, endeared by the petulant display. He takes a deep breath and out it goes:

“I think it’s time for me to finally get a tattoo.”

Hanbin has been putting off getting a tattoo for several months now, out of fear and intimidation of getting something permanently marked on his skin, even though he admires the art of inked illustrations on bodies. A decision that can’t be reversed, and it scares him a little.

Today is the day he will combat that irrational fear. 

To Hanbin’s surprise, Zhang Hao’s face splits into a bright smile, nose scrunching up cutely. “Oh, you have no idea how long I was waiting for those words to come out of your mouth.” He lets out a squeal of excitement that vaguely sounds like a crow and begins to shuffle through files on his tablet. His energy is a 180 degrees switch from ten minutes ago. “Do you want to discuss the design first and do it now or we can discuss and do the tattoo on a later date?”

Zhang Hao’s enthusiasm is infectious, bubbling to the surface like foam in a bottle of champagne has just opened. Hanbin straightens up, mouth set in determination.

“I can do it today. I’m prepared.”

“You’re still set on the collarbone tattoo?”

“Yeah.”

“Great! I have some ideas for you to decide on. Here, I’ve already scanned them.” Zhang Hao hands him his tablet.

Illustrations cover up the entire page, black lines against the shock of white canvas. They are diverse, styles ranging from simple symbolic depictions to realistic drawings of an object. Hanbin lets his eyes roam over each and every one of them, taking in and savoring every detail.

“Do you… like them?” Zhang Hao asks cautiously, biting his lip while he drums his fingers on the desk in anticipation. 

“I do.” These two words don't measure up to the amount of awe Hanbin holds for the other. He looks up at Zhang Hao, mouth dropping open in wonder. “Woah, hyung, this is more than I could ask for. How long did these take?”

“Did these over the course of a few weeks, no big deal. I feel like illustrations suit you more than my typical typographic style tattoos.” Zhang Hao blushes at the praise, eyes cast down onto his feet while he smiles bashfully. He had dedicated a few weeks to design a whole page of tattoos just for him after Hanbin said he wanted one, and he had made it clear that he wasn’t sure about it too. 

Hanbin gives into the urge. He reaches out, one hand on the back of Zhang Hao’s head and the other around his waist and gathers him into his arms, his face hooking over Zhang Hao’s shoulder. He hugs him tight, transferring every amount of gratitude into Zhang Hao’s narrow frame. Zhang Hao lets out a small oof in surprise, then slowly, his arms come up pat at Hanbin’s back.

“Thank you. Thank you so much, Hao-hyung.”

Warm. Hanbin feels warm. Is this what holding comfort in his arms feels like?

Hanbin releases Zhang Hao, his smile splits from ear to ear. He returns his attention to the tablet he is holding, his eyes falling onto the bright yellow flower at the center of the page.

“You remembered,” Hanbin whispers, zooming into the sketch.  

“Yeah. The yellow tulip you had as a child.” Zhang Hao sounds breathless near his ear. “Thought you would like something from your past that holds dear to you.”

Hanbin hums, gaze settling on the illustration at the corner of the tablet. It seems displaced from the way it sits on the canvas, like it is falling off the page. His curiosity piques. “What about the idea behind this one?”

“Oh that? Just something I doodled that I think represents you well. It’s entirely my interpretation.”

“Tell me.” Hanbin’s voice comes out eager, hungry for food that is Zhang Hao’s thoughts. Zhang Hao inhales, and relents.

“The sun, star and the moon, all from outer space. Your personality is like that to me. You have this perfect, untouchable aura at first, not going to lie I was intimidated.” Zhang Hao’s words caress his heart, eyes dark as he holds Hanbin’s gaze. “But then I got to know you and you’re funny, and cute, and sweet—sometimes a little quirky. Your smile is as radiant as the sun. The stardust in your eyes glitter. Your temperament is as calm and serene as the moon.” 

“Together they make the universe, and that’s what you are. A vast galaxy with a lot more to explore.”

Zhang Hao grins.

Hanbin is rendered speechless. He runs a finger over the sun, star and the moon, over the celestial symbols that rule the heavens. That’s what Zhang Hao compares him to, something that is equivalent to the divine beings that make up the solar system they inhabit.

Magic is just a mere fairytale, but for a moment Hanbin lets himself think it’s real—he prays to whoever that’s listening up in the skies, and wishes that it will lead him to Zhang Hao in every single lifetime. Let fate tie a red string on his pinky finger that connects him to Zhang Hao, bounding them close together. In a world where reincarnation exists, Hanbin hopes that he will find Zhang Hao in his next life, and the next; if they don’t meet then Hanbin will keep looking for him, he’s missing half of his soul if Zhang Hao isn’t there.

“I love it.” He breathes out like a sigh, surrendering himself to quiet revelation. I love you.

“Really?” Zhang Hao brightens, he takes the tablet back into his hands and begins to crop out the sketch. “Do you want any changes? I can alter it if you want.”

“No, I choose this. Nothing needs to be changed.” Hanbin reaffirms, itching to reiterate how perfect the tattoo is. “I want this on my body.”

“Okay.” Zhang Hao’s gaze lands on the dip of Hanbin’s throat for a while before flitting away, turning to his desk to search for transfer paper to trace the design on. “Just wait in the massage chair. I’ll prepare the stencil.”

Hanbin moves to the chair in the corner and lies down on it, his upper body propped up at an angle. The hard leather cushions his back, areas protruding to support his waist and his neck. There is a stool for Zhang Hao to sit, a tray nearby for Zhang Hao to set up his utensils, as well as a lamp arching over his body to provide enough light while Zhang Hao works.

A while later, Zhang Hao turns back, the design etched onto the paper he pinches between his fingers. “All done. Is the size alright for you?”

The design is roughly the size of his index finger. Hanbin nods, satisfied with the dimensions. The corner of Zhang Hao’s mouth curves up and he says, “I’ll apply the stencil now. Are you ready?” 

“As I’ll ever be.” Hanbin murmurs back, peering at the person who crashed into his life and flipped it upside down. 

Zhang Hao sits in his stool next to the massage chair, and motions Hanbin to pull the collar of his t-shirt down so his collarbone is exposed. He snaps on a pair of latex gloves, his fingers flexing and reaches out to his tray to take a piece of cotton and squirts some antibacterial soap into it. “What I’m doing right now is preparing your skin for ink transfer.” The cold cotton touches the delicate skin on his bones, a sudden shock to his system. He then pulls out a tube labeled numbing cream and starts spreading it on his skin.

“Here we go,” Zhang Hao sticks the transfer paper onto the area, and pats down lightly to make sure the ink adheres. “Let it sit for a while so it stays.” Hanbin can hardly breathe, because Zhang Hao is leaning over him, his pouty lips inches away from touching Hanbin’s jaw.

The intoxicating proximity does him in. Hanbin cranes his head up, baring his neck. He tries not to imagine the ghost of Zhang Hao’s lips trailing up his skin, a sensation that is so faint that he shivers, before they press against the patch of skin where his neck meets his jaw. Zhang Hao licking the sensitive spot, dragging his lips up and down before sucking his skin into his mouth—

“That’s enough time, let me remove it.” Zhang Hao’s voice jolts Hanbin back to the present. His hands deftly peel back the layer in one smooth motion, from one corner to the other, and the design stays on, purple ink on his skin. He takes a handheld mirror from the tray and holds it up for Hanbin.

“Hanbin, please check if the stencil is to your liking. This is the final look, and once I put the tattoo gun on your skin there’s no changing it.”

Hanbin gulps, inspecting the design. It looks perfect, like it’s made to fit right between the gaps of his collarbones. And it is, because the tattoo is designed just for him. He waits for the tinge of reluctance and hesitation to come, only to find none, and he realizes he feels comfortable in his skin. It feels right, and he’s finally ready for a tattoo.

“Go ahead,” Hanbin says. “It looks good.”

“Alright.” Zhang Hao smiles, turning away to fill up the ink cartridge in his tattoo gun. After he’s done, he moves to sit back on his stool, but hesitates. “Hmm, the angle isn’t right,” he mutters under his breath, and stands up. He puts one knee up on the massage chair and dips down so he’s eye level with the stencil, breath puffing against Hanbin’s skin. One of his hands presses down on Hanbin’s shoulder to support himself. 

Hanbin shuts his eyes, willing his heartbeat to calm down. His throat feels dry, being so close to someone so gorgeous and witty and smart like Zhang Hao is turning his brain to mush. He can’t think.

“This isn’t right either, my arm is strained. Sorry, I just need to find the right angle that’s comfortable for me.”

Zhang Hao swings his leg up the chair, straddling Hanbin and maneuvers himself right onto Hanbin’s lap, firm thighs bracketing either of Hanbin’s side. “Ah, got it. This is perfect for me,” Zhang Hao beams, angelic, unaware of the turmoil he is causing. “Is this comfortable for you?”

Hanbin chokes. 

Zhang Hao’s entire weight is on his lap, heavy and grounding. In his lap. Sitting directly on his dick, which is beginning to harden under the delicious pressure. Hanbin swallows a moan, feeling sweat starting to bead his forehead. Quick, he needs to think unappealing thoughts to will his chubbing erection away— uh, dead flowers, beard shavings in the sink, the smell of expired vegetables, muddy socks, gross underwear, sweaty hands, sweaty bodies, preferably his and Zhang Hao’s, grinding on this chair—

His dick gives an interested twitch. Fuck.

“Yes,” he grits out, hoping Zhang Hao doesn’t notice. “This is fine.”

“Is it?” Zhang Hao says, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “Maybe I should teach you how to use a tattoo gun so you can tattoo me too.”

“No thanks,” Hanbin wheezes. “I’m perfectly okay with being a customer.”

“If you say so,” Zhang Hao drawls, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “I’m going to start on the tattoo.”

Zhang Hao dips forward, eyes focused on Hanbin’s collarbone, his hand coming up to prop himself on Hanbin’s chest, the latex gloves brushing the skin that isn’t covered by the t-shirt. He switches on the tattoo gun, the whirring of the machine fills up the silence. Hanbin keeps his body completely still, bracing himself for the sharp pain of needles. 

It doesn’t come. 

“Wait,” Zhang Hao says quietly. The machine stops. Hanbin lowers his head to look at Zhang Hao, taking note of the indiscernible look in his eyes. His face is neutral, and Hanbin can’t read into what he’s feeling that made him pause.

“Hmm?”

“Your t-shirt,” Zhang Hao fiddles with the collar of Hanbin’s shirt, not meeting Hanbin’s eyes. There’s something alluring about the way he is toying with it, as if he finds it offensive. “The collar is getting in the way, can you take the shirt off?”

Oh.

Hanbin doesn’t recall ever seeing Zhang Hao so flustered. Not even when Hanbin teased him about his clumsy blunders or his questionable fashion choices in high school back in the day. Perhaps, Hanbin has more influence on Zhang Hao than he thought, judging by the way Zhang Hao’s ears are gradually edging past pink and into red.

Hanbin leans forward, forcing Zhang Hao to look up into his eyes out of instinct. Without breaking eye contact, he reaches back and pulls his shirt over his head, the muscles on his arms flexing as he wrangles the material off his body. Cold air hits his bare skin, making goosebumps rise. He disposes the shirt off to the side and faces Zhang Hao again.

Zhang Hao’s pupils are dilated. They are not looking into Hanbin’s eyes anymore. They are running over Hanbin’s body, tracking across the broad width of his shoulders, the delicate arch of his collarbones, the soft curve of his pectoral muscles down to his lithe torso, and the v-line of his hips barely visible from the way he is sitting. Hanbin knows he looks good, the hours he has put into lifting weights at the gym has done wonders.

He sits back, a smirk tugging his lips. “Go on.”

Zhang Hao’s throat bobs, captivated, and leans down once again to start tracing the tattoo. He places both hands on Hanbin’s chest, the heat from his palm searing through the thin layer of his gloves and onto Hanbin’s bare skin. Zhang Hao’s forehead dips close to his lips, and Hanbin can place a kiss there if he stretches his neck far enough. The tattoo gun switches on.

The first stab of needles penetrating through his skin makes him gasp and tense, hand coming to bunch Zhang Hao’s cardigan up at his hips, knuckles white with pain. The numbing cream has definitely helped, but the agony of needles repeatedly poking close to bone sends shocks of pain up his nerves. He clenches his teeth to bear it.

“Shh, keep still.” Zhang Hao soothes, the cadence of his voice is low and hushed. “I know it hurts, but once you get used to it, the process passes in a blink of an eye. I’ll try to make it better.” He traces tiny circles on Hanbin’s right pectoral as he speaks, the light caress of fingers emitting tingles of pleasure over, and over again that dulls down the ache he is feeling on his collarbone. His mind quiets. 

“More,” Hanbin groans, voice hoarse from straining. He arches his chest slightly into Zhang Hao’s hand, careful not to jostle the tattoo gun. “Don’t stop.”

Zhang Hao shoots him a glance to check if he’s alright, and continues his ministrations, the circles his fingers are drawing gets bigger, and bolder, until it swipes near his areola—the smooth texture of latex dragging deliciously over his pebbled nipple. 

Hanbin chokes out a stifled moan as the touch shakes him to his core, part of him wants to grind his hips up to satisfy another kind of ache in his pants but no, he tells himself he can’t do that because he has to stay still for Zhang Hao to finish his work.

“The sun is done, you’re doing so well, Hanbin.” Zhang Hao coos, lifting the tip of the tattoo gun away from his skin for a moment. The buzzing stops. “Do you need a break?”

They’re so close. Hanbin doesn’t realize it until his chin almost brushes the tip of Zhang Hao’s nose as he tilts his head down. Zhang Hao has really pretty eyes, they go round with wonder whenever he gets surprised; but right now they are intense, the shape narrow from the way he fixates on the tattoo. Three beauty spots decorate his face, one under his eye, another on the apple of his cheek, and the last one, so faint he almost misses it—on the bridge of his nose, connecting all of them into a constellation. 

Funny how Zhang Hao describes Hanbin as the star when he is one himself, evidence right there on his face for anyone to see. 

“I’m fine,” Hanbin pants, and Zhang Hao reaches out to wipe away his sweat from his temples. “The quicker I power through this, the sooner it gets done.”

“Just tell me when you need one, we can always stop for a while.” Zhang Hao pushes Hanbin’s bangs away from his forehead with a concerned look, the hand trails down the side of his face and falls back on his chest. 

The buzzing starts up again, and Zhang Hao dips back down to work on the star, his eyes sharpen with focus. The circles he traces languidly into his skin picks up, and every now and then the fingers make sure to trail over his nipple, daring Hanbin to buckle his hips. His head feels fuzzy, his thoughts take a while to congregate, pain melts into pleasure and pleasure melts into pain until they both cancel each other out and he can’t differentiate which is which anymore, he just knows that he is high on a sensation. 

Hanbin watches as Zhang Hao works, eyes heavy lidded. Their pelvises are pressed flush together, leaving only a sliver of space between their faces to breathe. Zhang Hao’s body is propped up against his own, caging him into the massage chair in a way that it makes Hanbin feel small, cornered, and it is insanely hot. Not everyone is lucky enough to have an attractive tattoo artist who is also his crush, tattoo an illustration that he personally designed just for him, while sitting in his lap. 

It’s the intimacy behind Zhang Hao’s careful touch that snatches his breath away from his lungs. He holds Hanbin delicately, like he should be loved and cherished as he carves his tattoo, line by line into his skin, a design that represents his point of view of Hanbin. When it is done, it will be as clear as day that Hanbin loves Zhang Hao to the point he carries a mark of him on his skin. 

And in return, Zhang Hao tattooing Hanbin is perhaps the highest form of body worship of all—etching his perception that Hanbin is comparable to the universe on skin by himself, permanent and on display. Showing the world how highly Zhang Hao holds him in regard.

Hanbin yearns for him. For his eyes and his smile and his intelligent mind. To hold him in his arms so tightly and never let go, until his arms are tired and they have to separate. To capture his pouty lips and kiss him thoroughly until he learns the shape of his mouth, over and over again so it ingrains into his mind. He is overpowered with love, with adoration for this person that it spills out of his heart in rivulets. 

The whirring of the tattoo gun stops. Hanbin feels like he is resurfacing after being submerged in water as Zhang Hao gently strokes his cheek, his voice echoing like he is at the end of the tunnel, waiting for Hanbin to join him.

“Hanbin, it’s finished. The tattoo is done, do you want to take a look?”

“Zhang Hao,” the name falls out of Hanbin’s mouth, its rough edges scratching the tip of his tongue. It’s the only word in his mind. “Hao-hyung,” he tries again, latching onto Zhang Hao’s retreating face, cupping his soft cheeks gently as he implores with his eyes for Zhang Hao to understand. He doesn’t know what he is pleading for exactly but the emotion is so strong that he is swept away by it. 

Zhang Hao looks puzzled but leans into his hands anyway, his own hands coming up to cover Hanbin’s.

“Hao-hyung—” Hanbin gasps, one last time, before he tips forward and finally, presses his lips to the smooth skin of Zhang Hao’s forehead. It is like time froze, the world has gone silent as he channels his desperation, affection and appreciation into the kiss. 

He lingers and withdraws, eyes fluttering open. Then it hits him what he had just done. 

Zhang Hao is staring at him with wide eyes. Hanbin opens his mouth to offer a hurried explanation, but nothing comes to his head. He closes it stupidly with a click of his teeth, eyes wide in mortification. How is he going to put an explanation to what he just did? He doesn’t go around kissing his friends on the forehead for fun. 

Zhang Hao’s blush returns in full force, he sweeps his bangs from his face shyly with a finger as he looks at Hanbin with doe-eyes. “I’m going to take that as a thank you.”

No, Hanbin thinks, more like a ‘thank you, for choosing to stay next to me’.

✿

They don’t talk about the kiss. 

Hanbin isn’t ashamed of it, but neither of them have the chance to bring it up again. It’s January, which means it’s almost Valentine’s season, and Hanbin has been swept up in fulfilling orders for couples who are planning to woo their significant other or to propose. It is one of the busiest times of the year, and Hanbin enjoys watching people leave with a bouquet in one hand and a ring in the other, happy with anticipation.

His mind comes back to his own (hopeful) Valentine, working several paces away from his shop. Zhang Hao is also busy with his clients, but they still keep up with their post-it note system, passing light-hearted messages to each other daily. Hanbin is relieved that nothing has changed. 

The tattoo heals up quickly, the red irritation fading back to a smooth patch of skin after Hanbin follows the aftercare procedure religiously. He finds himself wearing his usual work uniform with two spaces unbuttoned from the collar, exposing the elegant tattoo on his collarbone. He notices a few more customers trailing their eyes on his chest, and he preens slightly under the attention.

Look all you want, he thinks giddily, my best friend (and possibly the love of my life) designed it for me.

Gyuvin had done a double take when he first saw the tattoo. “Hyung, is that real? It looks so cool, what’s the meaning behind it?” He asked curiously.

Hanbin didn’t tell him the true meaning, because that is too personal and intimate to share. The knowledge should only exist between him and Zhang Hao, thinking about other people knowing about the meaning behind the tattoo makes him cringe in discomfort. “I like the universe, that’s why I decided to get one. There’s something mysterious about it, don’t you think?” He had said.

Gyuvin had accepted his explanation with a smile and a nod. “I never thought you would be someone who wants a tattoo, but the reverse charm looks good on you. It’s like you have a different personality underneath,” he wiggled his eyebrows knowingly. “If you get what I mean.”

Hanbin had tickled Gyuvin’s sides in revenge until he was gasping for air and begging Hanbin for mercy.

The sky is still saturated blue outside, but Hanbin is already up early and awake in the flower shop, setting up for the day. Perks of having his apartment right above where he works. It’s going to be only him on shift, as Matthew is on a scheduled vacation and Gyuvin, Gunwook and Yujin have school, so they only work in the late afternoon. 

He doesn’t notice a plain white truck pulling up and parking in front of the entrance until a man walks in wearing a delivery uniform, with a brown cardboard box with holes in his arms, so large that it hides half of his face. 

“Hello,” Hanbin greets, putting down the checklist he is going through for the day. “Delivery?”

The man opens his mouth, his voice comes out gruff. “I have an order of calla lilies, where should I place it?”

Matthew didn’t tell him an order is coming in today, but perhaps he had forgotten. Mistakes happen sometimes. He shrugs, saying, “Leave it here on the counter, please.”

The box is heaved onto the table with a soft thump, and Hanbin peeks through one of the holes to check briefly if the flowers are damaged, and finds none of them are.

“Sign your name here to confirm you have received the delivery,” an order receipt is thrusted into his hands, along with a pen. Hanbin quickly scans the details, only to see nothing looks out of place. He signs his name in a flourish on a blank space, and hands it back to the delivery man.

The man leaves without another word, and Hanbin watches as he drives the truck away. His attention returns to the cardboard box sitting innocently on the counter in front of him. He grabs a cutter and starts to slice up the pieces of tape that seals the box, and pops open the lid. The pot of calla lilies are quite hefty to lift, so Hanbin cuts out the side of the cardboard box, and pulls it out. 

The white calla lilies stand tall and proud, with their trumpet shaped spathe facing the sky. They nestle in a clump of long leaves that flare out like spikes, drooping down slightly at the ends. The yellow spadix in the middle pokes out like a finger, a dash of vibrancy against the muted palette. Hanbin runs his index along the rim of one spathe, marveling at the velvety texture he feels. 

The calla lily shivers, as if it is alive. Hanbin frowns, thinking his eyes are playing tricks on him because flowers are plants, they don’t have motor muscles to move by themselves, and they certainly don’t recoil from Hanbin’s touch like they’re doing right now. The lily tips back, before springing up again to blast a cloud of pollen into Hanbin’s face.

Hanbin coughs, fanning the dust away from his face. The particles swirl in the air, visible under harsh white light. What the fuck, and what the hell is that? He has never seen a plant pollinate so aggressively before, as if it is lashing out like a defense mechanism. 

Thinking about it, he’s pretty sure no flowers react this way, even the fierce venus flytrap takes on a more passive approach, luring its victims into the maw before digesting it with its acid. He squints through the haze, eyes watering, and inspects at the offensive plant. There’s no way it’s an ordinary calla lily. 

He doesn’t expect that after one explodes, it triggers a chain reaction. 

One by one, they set off their own burst of pollen, rushing up to engulf Hanbin in white fog. Hanbin staggers back, choking in the heavy scent of lilies. His lungs are burning from the amount of pollen he had inhaled, and even though he isn’t allergic to it he can feel it sticking to the walls of his trachea. 

He stumbles to the back of the shop with his hands covering his nose, hands fumbling for the doorknob to the conservatory as he frantically escapes the imminent gloom behind him. The door creaks open, and Hanbin shoves himself inside before shutting the door behind him.

He’s safe now. The air in the conservatory is uncontaminated as it has its own ventilation system, disconnected from the main system that supports the store. He will wait for a few minutes for the pollen to disperse before going back out. 

What the fuck just happened.

This isn’t normal. The only plant he can think of that reacts immediately to touch stimulation is the shameplant, which leaves fold in into themselves after being touched. Calla lilies have no records of behaving the same way. He slumps against one of the shelves, mind buzzing over what had transpired, making sure not to knock over any pots as he slides down to sit, hands touching the cool floor to ground himself.

He can’t wrap his head around the incident, because there is no logical explanation to it.

Is it just him, or the temperature getting hotter? Hanbin pulls his apron over his head, throwing it to the side and unbuttons his shirt to his sternum. The conservatory is kept at moderate to high temperature to facilitate the best environment for flowers to grow in, but he should be familiar with it by now with the amount of time he spends working in it. The hot temperature has never bothered him before.

He could feel the shirt sticking to his arms, sweat beading the back of his neck and his forehead. His top is rolled up to his elbows and his pants are made with light material, so he folds them up to his knees. The heat is getting unbearable, but Hanbin can’t go back out just yet because he knows the pollen hasn't fully disappeared yet. 

So, he is stuck here for a while.

Liquid warmth coils in his gut, the mild ache intensifies between his legs. He shifts, sitting in a more comfortable position, the movement pulling the fabric tight at his hips. Hanbin groans at the sudden pressure of material stretching over his dick; the slight touch shoots a heady, intoxicating sensation into his bloodstream. He slips a hand down to cup at himself, only to find it hard, and pushes his palm down on it.

The fuck. How is he turned on right now?

Pleasure rushes into his head, and his hips unconsciously lifts up to grind into it, chasing after the sweet relief. His mind fogs up and he can’t think, doesn’t want to think, because he’s feeling so horny that he wants to crawl out of his skin. He desperately yanks his shirt off his body, struggling for a while from how it sticks to him due to it being soaked in sweat. The air on his bare skin only does a little to soothe the aching need in him. 

Hanbin knows that he should feel ashamed, hips jerking up in sharp movements to get himself off on the floor of his workplace, when a customer could walk in at any moment and hear him whining and whimpering behind the thin door. Right now he couldn’t care less because it feels so good.  

The problem with the pot of flowers outside is pushed to the back of his head, irrelevant and forgotten as his hand slots in the right angle, making his mind go blank. What about pollen? What calla lilies? Who cares. He topples sideways, his body hitting the cool ground with a thud. The contact provides a temporary relief to his heated body, but he continues to satisfy himself, body turning onto his front to rut his cock into the hard surface of the floor, so desperate that he doesn’t bother to free his erection from his pants.

It’s not enough. It’s still not enough to push him over the edge.

His mind wanders, going back to the thought of someone standing outside the door. The thought of someone standing there, unaware of what is going behind it. The thrill of being at risk of getting caught and humiliated by someone, someone like Zhang Hao—

Hanbin chokes on a moan, grinding his hips faster. What if Zhang Hao sees? What does he think? What if he pushes open the door to see Hanbin on the floor, shirtless, rutting his cock down like a bitch in heat, making a mess of himself? Zhang Hao would smile, his eyes glinting with mischief and it looks so attractive, because Hanbin knows him well enough to see that Zhang Hao would tease him in such a state.

“You don’t even need a hand to get off? Desperation looks good on you.”

His mind whites out.

✿

Zhang Hao puts his head into his hands, and sighs.

He doesn’t want to be the person to break the news, which is why he is currently sitting cross-legged on the floor of his studio, going through a crisis. Hell, he doesn’t want this day to come, but he eventually has to. Ricky deserves to know.

He opens his mouth and calls, “Ricky, can you come here for a sec?”

A tiny white head pokes into the studio, followed by two paws and a small body with a black patch of fur in the shape of a heart on the side. The cat pads towards Zhang Hao, his tail swishing lazily in the air. He jumps into Zhang Hao’s lap, curling up into a ball as he settles comfortably on his legs.

Ricky looks at him with curiosity, and meows.

Fuck. How is Zhang Hao going to break bad news to that adorable face? He doesn’t want to be cruel. If he’s going to do it, it has to be now since Taerae is away on his lunch break, sparing them some privacy. 

“Ricky,” he starts gently. “I have something to tell you. Can you change back for me?”

If cats can frown, Ricky is definitely doing it. Zhang Hao can tell that he senses it’s something serious by the tone of his voice; without dawdling he leaps from Zhang Hao’s lap to the space behind the desk, and re-emerges in his human form. 

“Ge, what is it?” 

Zhang Hao sighs. “You might want to sit down for this.” He waits for Ricky to settle down in the space next to him, shoulders pressing together. Ricky eyes him expectantly, waiting for him to speak.

“The witches who attacked you last year,” he starts, taking Ricky’s hand in his. “They’re back.”

Ricky’s face grows pale. His hands clenched into a fist. “No. How do you know? But I thought they stopped?”

“I caught wind of a cult going around recruiting people, and their description matches up with yours. Of course, at that time I wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but I looked into it myself and confirmed it.” Zhang Hao says quietly, feeling forlorn. “They’re back, Ricky.”

“Are you sure it’s them?” Ricky searches Zhang Hao’s eyes, begging that it isn’t true. His body language is tense, knees pulled up to his chest as if he is protecting himself.

“Yes, they have a white flower on their lapel and they’re based in Hongdae, which is near where you were found. I heard they’re doing rituals again, and I hope that there won’t be another sacrifice.”

Ricky’s head tilts back against the wall with a faint thump. Zhang Hao couldn’t imagine how Ricky is feeling now, knowing that the people who had ambushed him in the past are roaming the streets, searching for another living being to gut. “What are we going to do about it?” He asks, biting his lip.

Zhang Hao reaches over to tangle his fingers with Ricky’s, loosening his grip. He can see crescent shaped marks from where Ricky’s fingernails are digging into his skin. “I’m going to the Council later today to report it myself, and hopefully with the clues I’m going to provide they will finally be arrested. It ends here, you don’t need to worry anymore.”

Ricky offers him a weak smile. “Thanks, hyung. I appreciate you doing that for me.”

“Anything for family.” Zhang Hao gives his hand a tiny squeeze, smiling back. In a short time, he has already considered Ricky and Taerae as his little brothers as he himself has no siblings. Growing up alone has taught him how to be resourceful and independent, but he has never known the joy of bickering and sharing with siblings until now. He feels protective of them, and if anyone else causes them harm, they will pay.

“Be aware of your surroundings when you go out again and avoid Hongdae for a while. Wouldn’t want a repeat of last time.”

Their conversation lulls to a stop, but none of them moves to get up.  

“I’m back. The new Vietnamese restaurant down the block is so good, it’s Taerae approved.” Taerae announces as he saunters through the door, back from his break. He stops in his tracks and blinks owlishly at the two of them. “Why are you guys sitting on the ground when there are chairs?”

Zhang Hao feels embarrassed, but he doesn’t want it to show. “The floor is looking a bit cozy, do you want to join us?”

“It’s winter. The floor is ice cold.” Taerae says in a deadpan voice, not buying into his explanation. 

“That’s exactly the point. See how we’re cuddled up here?” Zhang Hao leans closer to Ricky. “I guess you don’t want to join. Oh Ricky,” He exclaims, covering his face dramatically with a hand. “Taerae doesn’t like us anymore, how are we going to run the studio?”

“No!” Taerae laughs and throws himself between the both of them. Ricky gasps as they go down in a pile, arms and legs tangled. Zhang Hao can feel a knee jamming into his ribs. “Don’t put words into my mouth, I didn’t say that!”

The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. Zhang Hao is thankful that he gets to call these two his family, even though they aren’t blood related. Afterall, the bonds that he chooses for himself means much more to him than the ones he didn’t have a say in. 

His mind floats to a certain florist next door, feeling the phantom press of lips on his forehead. Zhang Hao’s stomach does a somersault. “Taerae, did you see a note from Hanbin outside the door?”

“Nope.” Taerae shakes his head. “I didn't see Hanbin in the shop today either, he usually waves at me when I pass by. They aren’t closed though, the door is open.”

Strange. Hanbin told him in the post-it message yesterday that he will be on shift today, and that his colleague Matthew will be away for the week. Zhang Hao plans to visit him after work to keep him company, but he guess he should move that earlier.

He stands up, patting his jeans down. “I’m heading over next door, be right back.”

True to Taerae’s word, the door to Say Yes! Flower Studio stands ajar. The shop is devoid of people, it is quiet except for the occasional rumbling of cars from outside. Zhang Hao shuts the glass door behind him, and the sound muffled. It feels eerie to walk through the shop without hearing Hanbin’s lilting laugh or Matthew’s funny comments. A pot of flowers sits at the countertop where the florists usually work, with an empty box next to it.

“Hello?” Zhang Hao calls, raising his voice. “Hanbin, are you there?”

No one replies.

“Hanbin?” 

The station looks like it has been left in a rush, which shows that Hanbin was here earlier today. Zhang Hao knits his brows, confused. He checks the backroom, peeking through the archway to see it empty. It’s where they store their belongings and work on larger projects when they don’t have enough space at the storefront. A cup of coffee is left at one of the tables, half full. It has gone cold hours ago. He recognizes Hanbin’s wallet next to it, and if the wallet is here, then where is the owner?

Of course, Hanbin could be in his apartment upstairs, leaving his post for a while and there isn’t a problem to begin with, but he isn’t the type to leave his things unattended. This feels weird, but Zhang Hao couldn’t put a finger on it.

There’s only one last place in the shop to check. Zhang Hao approaches the conservatory with light footsteps, heart pounding in his chest. He feels like he shouldn’t be going anywhere near it without Hanbin’s permission, but he’s looking for Hanbin and that’s a valid reason to why he’s doing this. The metal doorknob feels cool to touch, he pushes down and the door swings open. 

Pink light spills out, but to Zhang Hao it looks red. Hanbin lies not far from the door, shirtless and unconscious, face down on the floor. He isn’t moving.

“Hanbin!” Zhang Hao’s blood freezes, his stomach drops to his gut.

Alarms blare in his head as he runs to his side, dropping to his knees to turn him over, propping him up against the shelf. Shit, he’s burning up. Zhang Hao hisses as his hands come into contact with Hanbin’s skin, the heat feels searing against his typically cold hands. At a second glance Hanbin isn’t completely unresponsive, his eyes move frantically under his closed eyelids as he lets out small whimpers every now and then. Zhang Hao cups Hanbin’s face with his hands, hoping the cold will jolt him awake.

What happened to him? This is no regular fever.

“Hanbin,” he pleads desperately, shaking him slightly. “Hanbin, can you hear me? Please wake up.” He shakes harder. 

Hanbin groans, and to Zhang Hao’s relief, he opens his eyes.

“Fuck.” Zhang Hao huffs out a sigh and smiles. “Thank god. Hi, how are you feeling?” He strokes Hanbin’s hair back from his face so he could see him better. 

“Like I’m about to explode.” Hanbin grunts and arches his back, fingers grabbing at Zhang Hao’s thighs. His eyes are dazed, and he’s staring at Zhang Hao as if he’s an oasis in a desert. “Hao-hyung, help me—oh shit, it’s coming back,” he whines.

“What do you mean? What’s coming back? No,” Zhang Hao watches with alarm as Hanbin’s eyes flutter close again. “No, no, no, not again, stay with me.” He pats at his cheek, bringing Hanbin back from the edge. Hanbin focuses blearily on him. The fever must be forcing his body into shutdown, and he’s trying his best to stay awake. Zhang Hao needs a better way to keep him conscious. 

He has a plan, but he needs something sharp. He looks around him, at the flowers and plants that are in shelves and incubators until his eyes catch on a pot of thistles tucked at the very back of one of the shelves near his head. His arm reaches in and pricks two of his fingers on its sharpest thorns, watching as two dots of blood begin to swell up. He brings it back out, and looks at Hanbin.

What he’s about to do will expose him as a witch. It undoes every lie he has crafted for himself to hide his identity, revealing who he really is. It will change Hanbin’s entire perception of him. Zhang Hao realizes right there, kneeling on the ground next to Hanbin’s feverish body, that it’s a choice he’s willing to make, because Hanbin’s health is quickly deteriorating and that’s the only way to soothe him temporarily. 

Hanbin might not be able to understand now, but it’s okay. He will explain everything later.

Magic can be done on humans, but personally Zhang Hao has never marked one before. Hanbin will be his first, and it has to work. He presses his blood-stained fingers above Hanbin’s heart, and traces a rune.

Clarity.

He winces at the twinge of pain as he drags his fingers across the expanse of his skin, causing friction on the wound. He ignores it, focusing on finishing the rune. Zhang Hao watches as the cloudy look in Hanbin’s eyes clears up, lucidity returns to his mind as he looks around groggily, shaking off the haze in his head. The rune only lasts for a short while, Zhang Hao hopes it buys them enough time to figure out what’s going on. 

“Hao-hyung?” 

“What happened to you?” Zhang Hao breathes, feeling devastated from the way Hanbin was struggling. He tips forward to pull Hanbin into a hug, burying his head into his shoulder. “I’m so worried.”

“I don’t know. I touched a flower,” Hanbin croaks, his voice hoarse from disuse. “And it made me horny. Fuck, my dick is aching, what is going on?” He squirms in Zhang Hao’s embrace, hands rising up to fist at the back of his shirt.  

“Excuse me?” Zhang Hao leans back to stare at him with wide eyes, feeling his cheeks blush. Hearing the vulgar words coming out of Hanbin’s mouth feels like a whiplash as he rarely hears the other boy swear, and it’s so unlike him to. He isn’t going to admit that the words make him feel a little bit hot, that there’s something about polite boys cursing that gets him going. “What did you just say?”

“Yeah, you heard me right.” Hanbin looks down and catches sight of the rune on his body. “Why is there dried blood on my chest?” He scans Zhang Hao’s frame in panic, checking for any injuries. “I don’t feel pain anywhere, are you hurt?” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll explain later. You mean a flower got you like this?” Zhang Hao furrowed his brows, his mind running a hundred miles per hour. Something definitely isn’t right here, the whole situation is starting to seem like it’s tampered with magic. Pieces start to come together in his head, and the outcome doesn’t look good.

“I know it sounds ridiculous but trust me, I’m not lying. The calla lilies are still outside.”

It must be the pot of white flowers on the counter. Zhang Hao needs to check for himself. He gently props Hanbin back against the shelf, running a thumb over his cheek. “I believe you. Stay here, I’ll be back.”

Hanbin huffs out a tired laugh. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Zhang Hao runs out of the conservatory, towards the calla lilies sitting innocently in its round clay pot. He would’ve admired their beauty any other day, but now he’s a man on a mission. He inspects the flowers carefully, searching for anything that’s out of the ordinary while millions of questions run in his head. 

Who sent this? Why did they target Hanbin? If his suspicions are correct, then the soil should feel hard and lumpy with the remnant of an aphrodisiac potion. He digs a hand into the soil, feeling its texture. When he lets the handful of dirt fall between his fingers, they clump together like rocks and hit the ground, shattering into tiny fragments. Zhang Hao sniffs his hand, picking out the sweet scent of pomegranate which is commonly used to make aphrodisiacs.

It isn’t a common fever that’s messing with Hanbin’s inhibition. It’s sex pollen.

Zhang Hao hears his heart pounding in his ears. Sex pollen. The amount in one flower is already enough to last a few hours, and seeing there’s five calla lilies in the pot Hanbin must’ve been infected with a dosage five times greater. That’s the reason why he’s burning up so much, his body is trying to combat the foreign infection.

This isn’t looking good. Zhang Hao swallows back a gulp. 

An object protrudes from the soil in the middle of the pot, partly hidden by the tall leaves of the lilies. A black card with only the corner poking out, its color so similar to the dirt around it that Zhang Hao almost misses it. He pries open the tight gap between the stems and fishes it out. The card is written in common supernatural language, and it isn’t addressed to Hanbin.

It is addressed to him. Zhang Hao swallows. With apprehension gripping his heart, he reads.

Mister Zhang Hao,

We hope you find our gift to your liking. Tell your human friend we said hello.

There is no signature. He flips the card, and embossed on the back is an emblem made up of flowers. Three white calla lilies fanning out like a shell. 

“No,” Zhang Hao breathes, eyes wide in horror as he stares down at the card. No. It can’t be. How did they find me? Fear, hopelessness and despair comes crashing down onto him all at once, a lethal concoction that sends him into a downward spiral. The image of Hanbin when he first found him, lying unconscious on the floor, sears behind his eyelids. “What have they done to you?”

The cult is behind this. Ricky might have mistaken three calla lilies for one flower, but there is no doubt it is their doing. This entire incident reeks of it, from using the pot of flowers as a Trojan horse to having the gall to infect a human with magical sex pollen. They sent this to Hanbin as a threat to prevent Zhang Hao from reporting them to the High Council. They sent this as a show of power of what they can do if he doesn’t stop. They must have seen Zhang Hao eavesdropping at the underground market, and decided to dig into his personal information. 

Zhang Hao curses at himself, fingernails digging into his palm. The initial mortification gradually morphs into white hot anger, licking up his skin. How dare they use Hanbin’s vulnerability against him, dragging him into affairs that have nothing to do with him. How dare they. Zhang Hao should’ve seen this coming, because what did he expect? Hanbin is human, while he’s a witch. Anyone who wants Zhang Hao gone will see Hanbin’s humanity as a weakness and exploit it. Hanbin’s relationship with him has put Hanbin in danger, and he agonizes over the fact that he failed to protect the other boy.

He feels something in him crack. First Ricky, then Hanbin. They hurt the two people that are closest to him. It got personal, and Zhang Hao swears that he will raze the organization to the ground. He can plot out his sweet, sweet revenge later, but right now, he has someone to take care of.

Zhang Hao pulls out his phone and quickly types a text to Ricky. ‘Cancel all of my appointments today and tomorrow, Hanbin is sick and I have to take care of him. Tell Gyuvin when he comes in for his shift that Hanbin won’t be available today and tomorrow either. I think the cult was in this area, stay close to Taerae.’ Without checking for a reply, he slips it back into his pocket along with the black card.

He heads back to where Hanbin sits slumped against the shelf. He’s breathing a bit heavier than a few minutes ago, but his eyes are still clear. “Hey,” Zhang Hao says quietly, crouching in front of him. Hanbin reaches for his hand, encasing his bigger palm with lithe fingers. The familiar pressure of Hanbin’s hands offers him little comfort. “I found out what happened.”

Hanbin glances at him, eyebrows raised with hope. “Tell me.”

Zhang Hao debates on a proper approach to break the news to him, one that isn’t too jarring to hear. ‘You got infected by sex pollen’ sounds too ridiculous, like an opening scene to a bad porn movie. ‘I was investigating a cult and they caught wind of it, so they sent you flowers that made you painfully horny for days to threaten me to drop it’ is too overwhelming for a conversation starter, one that involves too many questions.

He settles with, “The pot of flowers is infused with an aphrodisiac, you inhaled it when it sprayed pollen on you. Makes you feel so aroused that you want to crawl out of your skin.” He notes down Hanbin’s expression, hoping Hanbin takes the news well. 

Hanbin stares at him, lips tight with disbelief. His face looks gray under the rose tinted filter of the conservatory. “This is possible? I got poisoned? Who would do such a thing, I don’t even know what I did to deserve this.”

Zhang Hao stares back, silent. It’s time, he thinks, I have to come clean.  

He got Hanbin into this mess in the first place, it would be irrational to keep him in the dark. If Hanbin’s perception of him changes after this he will accept it, because this was his doing. It’s going to take a lot of courage to admit this, even though he isn’t ready yet.

“It was my fault. They did this to you to get to me.” He swallows, and let the words free fall out of his mouth. “I was looking into something that I wasn’t supposed to know so they sent this to you to threaten me. I’m sorry.”

He dips his head, anticipating the disappointment in Hanbin’s gaze that strikes him heavier than a blow. 

The blow never comes. Hanbin gapes at Zhang Hao, eyes sharp with concern. “They? Who’s they?” He pauses, then shakes his head. “You know what, that isn’t important right now, it already happened. We’ll address that later. What we need is a cure to this aphrodisiac because you’re right—I feel like crawling out of my skin and I need someone to touch me.” Hanbin grits out roughly, his grip on Zhang Hao’s hand clenches tighter. “How do we stop this?”

Zhang Hao’s mind kickstarts into motion. He shuffles closer, sliding his free hand up Hanbin’s torso. The skin is still boiling to touch, peppered with beads of sweat. Hanbin sighs, eyelashes fluttering, and grasps onto his wrist. 

Even without the influence of the pollen, Hanbin’s body had run hotter than his. Zhang Hao had always disliked the cold, he kept a jacket in his car just in case he felt chilly that day. His hands had the tendency to stay cool, no matter how hard he shoved them under his arms to warm them up. Hanbin had noticed this, because sometimes he cupped both of Zhang Hao’s hands in his and brought them near his mouth, huffing out his hot breath to warm them.

Maybe his cold hands aren’t a hindrance anymore, because Hanbin’s sighs of pleasure are addicting to hear. Zhang Hao tips forward, mesmerized by how Hanbin’s body arches under his touch, as if the loss of Zhang Hao’s hand physically pains him. 

“There are two ways,” he whispers. “One, I can make a remedy to instantly cure this, but I would have to source ingredients and that takes several days because some of them are rare.” Hanbin follows the motion of his hand with a groan, like a doll on strings, manipulated by a puppeteer. “The second one is more traditional, you just basically uh, fuck it out to expel it physically until it's gone.”

Hanbin’s eyes shoot open. “Oh,” he says dumbly, freezing in place.

The implications of it hangs heavy in the air, an elephant crammed into the room that is too small to hold it. Zhang Hao feels himself flush, unsure of what to say to alleviate the tension that is steadily growing between them. Two boys, sitting close together in a small space, shelves full of plants towering over them, hiding them from the world. One is infected with an aphrodisiac while the other is in love with him. The solution is obvious to them: they should fuck it out together. 

Zhang Hao looks into Hanbin’s dark eyes to find them simmering with pure, unfiltered want; they flicker slightly, and he assumes Hanbin is tracing over the contours of his face. Hanbin’s gaze drops to his lips, and stays there. 

He swallows, his throat turning dry. He wants to help Hanbin. He wants to wipe the need and frustration off Hanbin’s face and watch it fall slack with rapture instead. Knows when he kisses Hanbin, he will be infected by the pollen as well, consumed by the raw, vehement need to kiss and touch and fuck. Zhang Hao isn’t worried, because he won’t be going through it alone. 

Hanbin blinks, he clenches his jaw in restraint and looks away. “I’m going with the first option.”

Zhang Hao whips his head up, appalled. “What?” He demands. “Hanbin, you can’t be serious. You will be in agony the whole time, it’s going to last for days if you just sit it out. The fever goes higher the longer the aphrodisiac stays in your body.” He doesn’t want to imagine how Hanbin will go through it alone, writhing and shivering in his bed as his body gets wrecked with pain. 

He feels desperate, he needs Hanbin to understand he is here for him, and would do anything for him. In one quick motion, his hands cup Hanbin’s chin. “I’m right here, aren’t I? Let me help.” Zhang Hao pleads, his voice soft. Sex under the influence of sex pollen is strenuous, he once overheard a bunch of women gossiping at a club. It’s long, tiring, his sense of time will be muddled, hours merging into minutes but he will experience an euphoric high that he can’t even fathom. He knows what he’s getting into.

“Hao-hyung, I can’t subject you to this,” Hanbin chokes out. “If you don’t want me to be alone, I’ll go find someone else.”

“ No. ” Zhang Hao hisses, possessiveness gripping his heart. The sight of someone taking Hanbin home, getting into his bed triggers a pang of jealousy curling in his gut, thick and sludgy. It doesn’t sit right with him. He clamps down onto Hanbin's wrist. “You don’t like sleeping around casually, I know you. Why? What’s stopping you, why go out of your way when you have someone who’s willing right here?”

Hanbin frees his wrist, the expression on his face devastatingly tender. He strokes the side of Zhang Hao’s cheek, thumbing over the beauty spot right under his eye. “Because I care about you too much to put you through this. I don’t want you to feel obligated to do this for me. 

Zhang Hao’s heart melts, but he’s still determined to get through to him. “You’re not forcing me to do anything. I want this.” A faint memory of business cards and parking spots comes floating back. “You remember the favor? The time back when we first met?” He presses on ardently, “I’m choosing to use it now. Let me help you through this.”

“Help.” Hanbin squeezes out an incredulous laugh, and looks away while biting his lip. It sounds cold and grating against Zhang Hao’s ears, and he never wants to hear that again. Zhang Hao gets a sinking feeling that he made a misstep, that there’s something he’s missing. When Hanbin looks back, he has a wretched look on his face. “Because that’s all there is to it. You’re just helping me to get through this, out of kindness. As a friend should.” His voice cracks at the word friend.  

Zhang Hao opens his mouth, and closes it again. The memory of the forehead kiss sits fresh at the forefront of his mind, the unspoken intention behind it is apparent. He isn’t blind. He sees how Hanbin looks at him out of the corner of his eye when he is focused on other things. He had laid in bed, tossing and turning, thinking how he should make the first leap out of the friendzone. He thought they had enough time to take it slow, figure out where they stand, but the pot of calla lilies had pressed a pause on his plans. 

“I can’t do it, Hao-hyung, don’t you understand? I can’t have sex with you without any meaning behind it. It’s personal for me. If I can’t have all of you to myself, then I’d rather not have you at all.” Hanbin’s eyes are bright with unshed tears and dripping desperation, his long lashes clumping together at the ends. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to go, damn it.” He adds bitterly, like an afterthought as he takes his hand back to wipe his face.

Outside, a car honks. A petal flutters down from a withering flower. A water droplet falls from the head of a faucet, hitting the porcelain basin with a sharp plink. The world keeps spinning, but in the flower shop, Zhang Hao has been frozen in time. “Forget about favors,” he breathes. “How would you like it to go?”

Hanbin peeks at him through the gaps of his fingers. “What do you mean?”

“What would you do if you were given another chance to confess to me?”

Hanbin drops his hand, eyes round in a daze. He moves closer, slowly, steadily; Zhang Hao feels like a butterfly pinned on a wall, hypnotized, unable to turn or look away. And maybe he likes the feeling. “I would’ve done it properly. Ask you out on a date first with a note. If you accept, we’ll go to the aquarium because you mentioned you want to see dolphins before.” 

Words spill out of Hanbin’s mouth, unfettered and unbidden, a confession that has been kept in for far too long. Zhang Hao could feel his breath puffing against him with every word he said. The effects of the clarity rune is fading away, his inhibition has been weakened by the onslaught of the aphrodisiac. “Or the observatory so I can learn more about the solar system you marked on my collarbone.” His voice softens to a whisper. “And if I’m lucky, I get to kiss you under the stars.” 

Affection spills out of Zhang Hao’s chest, all for the boy who has captured his heart since he stepped foot into his tattoo parlor. For Hanbin, who is someone who treasures romance and loves love for what it is; Zhang Hao swears to himself that he will spoil Hanbin after all of this is over. 

“Yeah, I would like that. I want to do all of those things with you.” His eyes curve into half-moons, looking at Hanbin through his lashes. “You have been giving and giving, always making sure I feel loved and cared for. And I do. I feel it all, Hanbin, and I just think that it’s about time that I give you something back, honestly and wholeheartedly. The date you planned can happen later, but right now I want you to focus on yourself.”

Hanbin gazes back, stunned.

This is a new territory Zhang Hao is stepping into. He’s right there, toeing the line, right before putting a foot past the boundary and free falling into something entirely new. He welcomes it, embraces it with open arms, the excitement he has for it is unparalleled. He knows when he falls, Hanbin will be at the bottom to catch him. 

He steps forward into the unknown.

“Think about your dreams,” Zhang Hao murmurs, voice leaking with ferocity as he trails a finger down the side of Hanbin’s neck, stopping as it lands on the star between his collarbones. Hanbin shudders, pupils blown. “Your fantasies. Your needs. Tell me, Hanbin, what do you want?”

“You.” The groan Hanbin let out is raw, desperate. “I want you—”

“Then fucking have me.” Zhang Hao rasps, wrapping his one hand around Hanbin’s neck to pull him down onto his mouth, allowing himself to get infected by the pollen too.

He could pinpoint the moment the rune’s enchantment wears off. Hanbin gasps against his lips and kisses back, his mouth moving in an urgency that makes Zhang Hao cling tighter to him. The way Hanbin kisses contrasts with the preconceived impression Zhang Hao has of him. It isn’t slow, nor steady and sweet. No, Hanbin kisses hungrily, greedily, with a desperation like vines twining and gripping tight to the walls they are climbing up in search of sunlight. Zhang Hao gets swept up in the passion of it all, his mind goes blank, and he gets lost in the motion of lips sliding against each other; of Hanbin’s hands snaking around his waist, pulling Zhang Hao tighter against him. 

“Hanbin,” He says, but he doesn’t know what he’s calling his name for. The name falls from the tip of his tongue, his mouth shaping the pretty vowels. He likes the way it sounds, a pretty name fit for a pretty person, so he calls it again. “ Hanbin. ”

“Hao-hyung,” A voice echoes back in disbelief in between kisses. Zhang Hao opens his eyes for a slit to see Hanbin squeezing his eyes shut. “Is this real?”

The line between fantasy and reality blurs, and Hanbin must’ve dreamed about Zhang Hao before that to be confused whether the person in front of him is real or not. Zhang Hao needs Hanbin to understand that he is. “Yes,” Zhang Hao breaks away, pressing his forehead to Hanbin’s. “This is real. What I said is real, you didn’t imagine it.”

“Oh. It would be a pain if it isn’t, I don’t want to let you go.” Hanbin manages out before chasing his lips again to seal them together again. The aphrodisiac’s effects are starting to sink in, turning Zhang Hao’s brain fuzzy. He feels hot, his skin is extra sensitive, the slight brush of Hanbin’s hand on his skin sends his brain into overdrive. The hand on his waist creeps lower, pulling his shirt from where it is tucked into his jeans and slips in, sliding up his back. The heat of Hanbin’s palm feels searing on his bare skin, melting away his brain.

Desire drips like honey and pools in his gut. His dick throbs in his underwear, fully hard and aching to be touched. He grapples for the last bit of his sanity before he succumbs fully, and pulls away from Hanbin.

“No,” Hanbin gasps, catching his wrist before he gets too far. “Come back.” 

“ Baobei, we have to get upstairs now,” Zhang Hao shakes his head, fighting the craving to sit on Hanbin’s thigh and rut into it, relieving some pressure on his dick. “Unless you’re planning to fuck me right here.”

He accidentally triggers something in Hanbin because he bites his lip, looking ravenous as if he is a dog tempted by a piece of steak in front of him. “That wouldn’t be a bad idea,” he swallows, eyes dark. “It sounds hot. Taking you apart in this shop, in the middle of petals scattered on the floor. When people walk by they’ll see how well you're being fucked.”

“You’re so far gone.” Zhang Hao moans, the thought of it paints a clear picture in his head and only intensifies the state of arousal he is in. The idea that Hanbin might be into exhibitionism weighs heavy in his head, and he wouldn’t mind delving deeper into that later on. But now, he needs to get Hanbin into his apartment because riding out the wave of sex pollen in the middle of an opened flower shop isn’t a great idea. His mind whirs, a hasty plan slowly coming to form. Yeah. That will do.  

“If you want to fuck me, you better catch me.” Zhang Hao watches Hanbin’s expression change into shock as he turns, yanks open the conservatory door, and runs.

“Hao-hyung!”

Zhang Hao isn’t a fast runner. He isn’t gifted in the sports category at all, as he often comes last in athletic heats his high school had held. The only sport he tolerates is swimming, but that’s an aquatic sport. Still, he pumps his legs as fast as he can as he rushes out the store, making a sharp right turn with Hanbin hot on his heels. The adrenaline that rushes through his veins, combined with the excitement of trying to not get caught is intoxicating to him. A healthy competition wouldn’t hurt anyone. 

The entrance into Hanbin’s apartment building is right next to the entrance of the flower shop. He quickly plugs in the password to the gate, and swings it shut behind him before Hanbin catches up, his face looking betrayed between the metal gaps of the gate. “Too slow!” Zhang Hao winks and runs for the elevator far down the hallway. He slams the elevator button open as he hears the click of the main gate opening behind him. Hanbin is not far away.

He runs into the elevator, presses the button to the third floor then the close button repeatedly, giggling as he watches the doors close. He hasn’t had this much fun with something so childish since he was in middle school.

A hand wedges between the closing gap, prying the doors open. Hanbin squeezes through the small space, eyes fixated on him. “Hao-hyung,” he slowly crowds Zhang Hao to the corner of the elevator, a hand placed on either side of his body. His height is slightly shorter than Zhang Hao, but he feels much broader, blanketing his own tall and lithe stature. “Did you have fun?”

“Oops, you caught me.” Zhang Hao shoots back with a cheeky grin, and pulls Hanbin forward onto his lips to lick into his mouth. Hanbin kisses him rougher than before, and he loves it.

They only pull away briefly to exit the elevator when they reach their floor, feet stumbling as Hanbin walks Zhang Hao backwards to his door. They part again for Hanbin to dig his pockets for a key, Zhang Hao plasters himself to the broad expanse of his back, nipping at the crook of his neck. It’s getting harder to breathe, to think; he can feel his cock straining against his underwear. He subconsciously grinds his hips into the divot of Hanbin’s bottom, moaning as the pleasure adds to the haziness in his head. “Hurry,” he whines into Hanbin’s ear. “Don’t you want to fuck me? I’m waiting for you.”

It feels intoxicating to whisper dirty thoughts to distract him as he focuses on another task. Zhang Hao loves seeing how affected he makes the other boy, who’s gripping his keys with white knuckles as he inserts it into the keyhole. The door clicks open and Hanbin pulls him in, pushing him up against the wall as the door swings shut again. 

Hanbin isn’t faring any better. Sweat dot at his temples, his face is tinted red from the blood rushing to his head. He’s breathing heavier and when he lifts his head, his expression is intense. “You’re really mouthy today,” He grits out.

That’s the thing, Hanbin rarely gets mad. Zhang Hao has never seen him get angry, or lose control, and knowing there’s a hidden side to him excites him. Perhaps it’s the aphrodisiac that shortened his patience. Looking at Hanbin’s determined face now, he can’t help but to find his glare and the solemn set of his jaw attractive. He wants to see more, to know which buttons he could press to rile up him, to make him snap. Push him to his limits. 

“What are you going to do about it?” Zhang Hao stares back, feigning nonchalance.

Hanbin paused.

Then he moves. He rushes forward, hands on Zhang Hao’s jaw, and crushes their lips together in a fierce kiss. It’s intense, mind consuming as their kiss downstairs, as if their game of tag had heightened his urgency to take. And Zhang Hao is happy to give. He will give Hanbin everything he needs until it drains him out. He lets Hanbin set the pace, melting into his arms. 

He feels hot, his skin is extra sensitive, the firm grip of Hanbin’s hand sends his brain into overdrive. He could feel the power behind those hands, hours and hours of hauling heavy pots of plants and trees around the shop. The mere thought of them pushing him down in place, on the sofa, on the bed, against the window entices him. 

Zhang Hao wants so bad.

“Please.” Zhang Hao gasps as he breaks away from Hanbin’s lip, a string of spit separating between them. His toes scramble to touch the floor, his hands clamping on Hanbin’s shoulders for balance as his entire weight is supported by Hanbin’s knee pinned under his crotch. Eyes heavy lidded, looking at the person he wants the most. He understands how Hanbin felt in the conservatory now. Hanbin is close, but he isn’t close enough. “Please—touch me now.”   

“Always so demanding,” Hanbin grunts. His hands grab, pulling Zhang Hao’s shirt off his body; fingers undoing buttons deftly, and pushing down his jeans and underwear down in one go. Shoes are kicked off. Zhang Hao thinks he hears a button popping off from how roughly Hanbin is tearing off his clothes, and it only makes his cock give a violent twitch against his stomach.

He doesn’t mind. He would gladly buy more clothes just for Hanbin to tear them off his body.  

Hanbin quickly undoes his own pants, undergarments pooling at his ankles. He takes both of their cocks in one hand, the amount of precum leaked out is enough for the friction to slide smoothly. Zhang Hao drops his mouth open into a silent moan, eyes fixated where Hanbin’s hand is engulfing them. Hanbin’s thicker cock pressed flush against his slimmer one, his thumb swiping over the head of his cock before massaging the pearly liquid onto the shaft. It feels too good, all his senses are heightened tenfold. The way Hanbin’s rough calluses on his hand drag against every bump and vein on his cock makes Zhang Hao whine, squirming against the wall. Hanbin tightens his grip, and begins to stroke it from tip to base. 

Fuck yes.  

A raw sound tears from Hanbin’s throat, and he bites his lip to stifle it. Zhang Hao lets his head land in a thump against the wall as Hanbin begins to fist desperately at their cocks, foregoing any rhythm. It is hard, fast, relentless, the lewd schlick where the skin meets the palm sends his mind into a frenzy. “Yeah, just like that, go at your own pace baobei. ” Zhang Hao slurs. It hasn’t been long, but he’s so pent up that he’s going to come soon at this rate. 

“Hao-hyung,” Hanbin gasps. He looks ruined from so little stimulation, eyes glassy from the way he stares at Zhang Hao. “I’m com— oh. ”

Hanbin climaxes, his come spurting four, five times over both of their cocks. His moan vibrates across the small space between their lips, and he doesn’t stop pumping his wrist. Come slides down their shafts, making the friction slicker, the sensation of it is so hot and Zhang Hao wants to come. He wants to come, and come, over and over again. He wants to be claimed and taken against every inch of this household. He wants to moan so loud that the neighbors know how well Hanbin fucks him.

It pushes him over the edge.

Zhang Hao comes with a cry, his body writhing against the wall. Hanbin slows down his wrist as he rides out his orgasm, pressing gentle kisses on his shoulder. The tender gesture makes him melt, and yet—

He realizes his release didn’t offer any relief to his body. It’s not enough. He’s still horny as hell, the need to be fucked aches deep in his core. Panting, he opens his eyes to find both of their cocks still hard, covered in the copious amount of their come, dripping down the side of Hanbin’s knuckles. Zhang Hao runs a finger through the pale liquid and sucks it into his mouth, his eyes flickering up to look at Hanbin.

It tastes different. Salty and sweet, instead of the typical bitterness. An effect of the aphrodisiac.

Hanbin swallows, looking at where Zhang Hao’s lips fit perfectly around his index finger before his gaze falls down onto their erections, still standing tall. “But how—” He trails off, stunned. “How am I still hard? What happened to my refractory period?”

“The aphrodisiac isn’t out of our system yet.” Zhang Hao levels him a heated look. “Probably takes several rounds. You haven’t come twice in a day before?”

Hanbin’s ears turn red. “I—I never tried. I just know that right now I need more.”

“Yeah,” Zhang Hao isn’t looking into Hanbin’s eyes anymore, but lower. ”Yeah, me too.”

They are kissing again, hands clawing at each other’s skin. Hanbin’s tongue licks into his mouth, tasting their release on his tongue. Another swipe of his tongue against the roof of his mouth and Zhang Hao’s thoughts fly out of the window, his head is empty and the only thing that matters is Hanbin.

“Fuck,” Hanbin gasps against his lips and he walks them backwards towards the couch on the opposite side of the room. Zhang Hao follows blindly, having full trust in Hanbin. “Hao-hyung? What do you—I want—”

“ Yes. ” He gasps, confirming what Hanbin is thinking.

Hanbin’s knees hit the seat and he goes down, so Zhang Hao climbs onto his lap, kneeling over him. “We can do whatever you want, it’s all about you today, baobei. ” He whispers, grinding his bottom down teasingly so Hanbin’s cock nudges at the smooth skin of his butt. Hanbin runs a palm down his torso, stopping at the base of his dick to scoop up the leftover come, and tugging his member a few times to coax out more precome. The amount of fluid he produced is enough to substitute as lube.

“Relax for me.” Hanbin says as he reaches down to pat at the rim of Zhang Hao’s hole, and sinks a come-drenched finger in.

Zhang Hao short circuits.

“Oh fuck — ” He rasps, thighs quivering to hold himself from fucking down immediately. Zhang Hao needs this. His body is singing from the pleasurable sting of the intrusion, the slow slide of the finger drags deliciously against his walls. His eyes are shut, mouth dropping open in a groan, but it isn’t enough. “More, moremoremore — please, Hanbin.”

His rim stretches wider to accommodate another finger as the second one slides in, and Zhang Hao fucking sobs. “Yes—” He hisses as Hanbin scissors the tight cavern, testing the give. “Your fingers are so thick.” The two fingers feel so, so good; slick and soft, prodding at his muscles, and pressing in. 

The tendons in Hanbin’s forearm bulge as he moves in a harsher pace, delivering slow, deep thrusts; Zhang Hao watches Hanbin’s face when he fucks himself down on Hanbin’s fingers to meet it, noting down his hungry gaze and warm hued skin. Hanbin looks majestic, hair tousled with bitten lips. He sits back casually, watching Zhang Hao making a mess of himself. Zhang Hao feels aroused, and he hopes Hanbin is turned on as well by the sight of him being impaled on his fingers.

The sting of two fingers melts away, and he’s already craving for more. Zhang Hao’s thighs burn in exertion, slowing him down. “Hanbin come on, fuck me. Fuck me harder.” He goads, looking down his nose at Hanbin as he prods at his competitiveness, daring him to rise up to the challenge. “I bet you can’t make me come twice in a row.”  

It’s impossible to come in such a short time and he doesn’t expect Hanbin to actually follow through. It’s supposed to be just encouragement, but he feels his stomach swoop as his world flips and he’s lying on his back on the couch with Hanbin hovering over him.

Hanbin’s eyes glint. “You asked for it.”

He slips three fingers back into his hole, and angles up. Zhang Hao arches his back, thrashing as the fingers rub relentlessly at his sensitive prostate. His fingers claw at Hanbin’s shoulders, leaving parallel red lines. “Yes,” he chokes. “ Holy shit — ”

“Your chest is so well defined,” Hanbin whispers as he traces the groove of his pectoral with his free hand, scraping the brown rosebud of his nipple with the edge of his nail. Zhang Hao whines when it sends a sharp jolt of ecstasy, legs scrabbling to ground himself. He feels like he’s being inspected under a magnifying glass. “They almost look like tits.”

“Suck on them then,” Zhang Hao demands. 

He cries out as Hanbin leans down and fits his mouth over it. His hips kick up involuntarily, his nipples so sensitive that he doesn't know whether to lean into the overwhelming pleasure or shy away from it. Hanbin immediately pins his slender hip bones down with his hand, fingers thrusting nonstop at his sweet spot. It’s hot and fast and messy, and with a harsh wet suck on his nipple—

Zhang Hao spills over his abdomen untouched, twitching from aftershocks. His orgasm catches him by surprise, as he is so high in delirium that he misses the tell tale sign of it. His head fogs up, thoughts moving sluggishly. 

His cock is hard. He still doesn’t feel sated.

“Again,” Zhang Hao pleads, a wet sound in his throat.

If Hanbin looked hungry before, now he looks absolutely ravenous. His voice is even, calm almost, nothing like the fervid expression on his face. “Look at you, already begging for more. So insatiable.”

“Says the one who was rutting into the couch as he was sucking on my nipple.” Zhang Hao bites back.

Hanbin pauses, then smiles angelically. “I wanna see how many orgasms I can pull out of you until you stop talking,” he says, giving Zhang Hao’s nipple one last flick. 

Oh shit. I shouldn’t have said that. Zhang Hao’s heart hammers in his throat as Hanbin sits back upright, getting off the couch to stand. He squats and heaves Zhang Hao’s whole body into his arms, one supporting his back and another under his legs. Zhang Hao grasps onto his shoulders to balance himself, eyebrows raised.

“Wha—Hanbin, where are we going?”

Hanbin walks towards the curtained windows, and sets him down on his feet. Zhang Hao wobbles as he touches the ground, his legs shaky from his release. Hanbin steadies him with an arm across his waist before positioning him close to rough fabric, his front flush against Zhang Hao’s back.

The curtain is white, made of thin cotton. If Zhang Hao focuses hard enough he can see the blurry view of the street through the gaps of interwoven threads, of people walking on the pavement, going on with their lives. The building facing them on the opposite side of the road is a small commercial building, their windows reflective to block out unwanted attention.

Hanbin presses down on Zhang Hao’s neck, making him splay his fingers out in front of him to keep his balance, feeling the coolness of the glass seep into his palm. His back drops into a delicious arch, his bottom nudging insistently against Hanbin’s hard cock. He wiggles his hips, teasing Hanbin, just because he can.

Hanbin slaps his hand down onto the smooth skin of Zhang Hao’s butt in a resounding crack, watching him jerk back with a moan. He runs his hand over the heated flesh, watching as redness blossoms on his skin like watercolor. “What would the people below us say if they saw you like this?”

Zhang Hao’s eyes roll back, imagining the burning weight of a thousand eyes on him, scanning his body that is pinned in such a degrading position. He feels needy, used, like an object just for Hanbin to fuck into. It stirs heavy in his gut, setting his body ablaze. 

Hanbin’s palms spread his cheeks and sheathes his cock in with one smooth thrust, pressing Zhang Hao into the window. Zhang Hao jolts forward with the momentum, a raw sound tearing from his throat as his sensitive cock hits the hard surface of the glass, the head scratches lightly on the rough texture of the curtain and leaves a damp spot of precum. He rolls his hips forward again to chase the sensation, his head is empty except for the need to be fucked.

“Exactly, I know you’re thinking about it.” Hanbin pants hotly into his shoulder, lips dragging across his skin as he rams into his hole repeatedly, each thrust harder and deeper than the last. Zhang Hao shudders, his sanity held together by a thin string. “Fuck, you’re so tight. Don’t think I didn’t notice your expression downstairs in the flower shop. You like the attention. You love it when people see how much you love getting fucked on my cock, how much you need it. God, Hao-hyung, you’re gorgeous. Fuck—”

Hanbin groans as he comes, a gush of heat rushing into him. He doesn’t stop fucking. Zhang Hao lets out a keen as Hanbin yanks his body back onto his cock, grinding into him just right that makes his toes curl. He fucks into him harder, his cock stretching and filling every inch of him as if it’s carving out a space to stay. It feels slick and wet, and with every plunge Zhang Hao can feel some of Hanbin’s come sliding down his thighs, splattering onto the floor. He feels himself slipping away, sinking deeper in the pool of ecstasy, sandwiched between the hard surface of the window and the sturdy frame of Hanbin’s body. There’s nowhere to escape, nothing he can do but to take it. 

“Do you think they notice? The way you’re bunching up the curtain at your fists makes it really obvious, and I bet if they look closely they can also see the wet spot where your precum is leaking.” Zhang Hao glances down, mortified by the sight of his drooling cock above the damp spot where it seems to grow bigger and bigger as time passes. His head is turned to the side, his ear pressed against the window. The glass barely blocks out the hustle and bustle of the streets, the faint sounds of people talking and laughing only feeds into the growing humiliation he’s feeling.

He’s acting like a slut and if he slips, everybody will know. The realization hits him just as Hanbin thrusts forward, and Zhang Hao comes in a tortured whine. He shakes apart, his release dripping onto the curtain, and there’s no way people won’t notice now when they look up. 

“Holy shit,” he gasps. “Hanbin, you’re a menace.” 

Hanbin only hums behind him as he continues pumping his hips, chasing his own pleasure. Zhang Hao cranes his head to look at him, running his eyes over his starved gaze and broad shoulders, the wide expanse of his chest which moves with every breath he takes. He looks beautifully disheveled, like an angel getting his first taste of cardinal sin, indulging himself fully in his vices before tipping over the edge, head first into hell— 

Hanbin slams up into him, his cock jamming right into his prostate, and Zhang Hao wails.

His vision goes white as he comes for the fourth time, only minutes after the last orgasm. “Fuck,” he thrashes, his legs threatening to collapse. ”Fuck, fuck—”

It’s overwhelming. Unlike his previous climaxes where it crests and recedes like a wave, this comes out of nowhere and hits like an arrow shot by a fae huntsman, sharp and precise through the heart. He watches as his dick spurts out more come, shooting one, two, three times; landing on the ground in splotches. 

Hanbin actually did it. He made Zhang Hao come twice, no, three times in a row, within a short period. Zhang Hao set up a challenge and Hanbin had delivered, had even overdone himself. That fact alone makes Zhang Hao want to yank him down and fuck him again.

“Hey, hey, I got you.” Hands hook around his waist and pull him back into a warm chest. Zhang Hao melts into the embrace, his legs finally giving out. He feels a press of lips on his temple, quick and fleeting, before being guided backwards. He hears a sharp click of a door closing and he’s lowered onto a bed—Hanbin’s bed.

Hanbin smells woody. He smells like sandalwood and vanilla near the edge of a fireplace, warm and spicy. It intensifies, infiltrates Zhang Hao’s lungs when he falls back on the bed, pulling Hanbin down with him into a messy kiss.  

He tastes like raw, unbridled desire, and Zhang Hao can’t get enough.  

“Hao-hyung,” Hanbin sounds desperate, his hands curling into the covers next to Zhang Hao’s head. “I need you. I want—”

“More,” Zhang Hao whimpers into his mouth. “Do it please—”

Without breaking the kiss, Hanbin hooks Zhang Hao’s knees on his arms, spreading his thighs wide to expose his wet hole. He burns with humiliation as Hanbin slaps his cock teasingly on it, anticipation clawing out of his throat in soft moans. “Hanbin, stop teasing or else I’ll— hnng. ”

Hanbin slides home with a relieved sigh, bottoming out in one go. His walls stretch around Hanbin’s cock easily as if it had never left, and Hanbin resumes the pace, fucking into him in as if he never stopped. “You were saying?” He croons, staring down at the pleasure on Zhang Hao’s face. 

Zhang Hao doesn’t reply, because his thoughts have slipped away from him for a moment. He’s being fucked stupid, and he loves it. He loves the feeling of Hanbin pressing down on him, his weight blanketing his body, the power he puts behind every shove of his hips. Hanbin’s cock rubs insistently over his sensitive prostate, so satisfyingly thick that he feels a dribble of saliva trickling out from the corner of his mouth.

“Yes, Hanbin.” He whines, trying his best to angle his hips up. “Fuck me harder. Fill me up. Breed me. ”

He hears a strangled gasp. 

“Oh fuck. ” 

Hanbin comes without warning, he thrusts in hard and stays buried inside that Zhang Hao scoots up several inches on the bed. He can feel Hanbin shuddering through the tremors of his orgasm as his cock pumps him full of come, moaning incessantly in his ear. Hanbin slowly rolls his hips again after a brief rest, his come overflowing past his rim, squirting out onto the covers under him with every squelch of skin slapping together.

“Holy shit, you can’t just say things like that.” He wheezes, shocked by the sudden climax that is yanked from him. 

Zhang Hao feels powerful, as if he has discovered some secret information that he’s not supposed to know. The concept of it is so hot, and he latches onto it. “Is that what turns you on? Breeding me?” He purrs, acting coy. Hanbin lets out another groan, hips rutting frantically. “It is, isn’t it? You wanna fuck me so hard that you plug me full of your come. Make sure I get pregnant even though I physically can’t.”

“ Hyung. ” 

Zhang Hao persists, stoking the flame of Hanbin’s fantasy. He arches his back from the bed, sitting himself deeper onto Hanbin’s hard cock. “I’d like to see you try. You, fucking me so thoroughly that my stomach is bulging with it.”

“Hyung,” Hanbin begs, leaning down to suck a dark bruise into his neck. Zhang Hao feels a hint of teeth pressing against his skin. “Gege, you’re going to be the death of me.”

Zhang Hao’s heart lurches. The honorific sounds deliciously lewd in his ears, Hanbin enunciates it with a hint of adoration and reverence, as if his walls are futile against any advances Zhang Hao makes. “Again. Call me that again,” he breathes.

“I’ll call you that as many times as you want.” Hanbin whispers into his ear, his voice low and raspy. He hitches Zhang Hao’s legs higher, each roll of his hips making him tremble. How quickly the tables have turned, a minute ago Zhang Hao had Hanbin whining into his ear but now he’s the one on the verge of coming. “Gege. Gege, I’m going to fuck my babies into you . ”

Gege.

And with that Zhang Hao shatters on Hanbin’s bed, reduced to fragments by a mere mortal. The sensation is no less than the power surge he felt as he stood under the blood moon, when magic was the most potent. He comes dry, his cock twitching and shooting blanks, his body unable to produce any more fluid. It heats his blood knowing that his body has physically given up on him, yet his thirst for another orgasm is still palpable. 

“ Yesyesyes— ” He chants, nails digging into the muscles of Hanbin’s back as he shudders uncontrollably through his ecstasy, addicted to the endorphins that electrifies his entire being. He clings tighter to the body above him, legs locked over Hanbin’s back to keep him sheathed in deep. Keep any of his come from spilling. “Don’t stop, Hanbin, please. ”

Hanbin lifts his head from Zhang Hao’s neck to fit his mouth over his in a sloppy kiss, slick lips brushing with every pant into each other’s mouths. The rhythm slows to a sultry grind, a persistent pressure against Zhang Hao’s oversensitive sweet spot that is no less intense. Hanbin runs a hand down his side, gripping his fingers into the plush of Zhang Hao’s thigh so possessively that fingerprints will show the next day. 

Zhang Hao lets go. 

He stops fighting the haziness in his mind, letting his inhibition run free. Choked sounds fall from his mouth, broken syllables of a name and litanies of pleas and desires he has in the heat of the moment, they don’t make sense but he’s too fucked out to care. He’s babbling words mixed with Mandarin, repeating gàn wǒ, gàn wǒ, hǎo shuǎng, over and over again; and somehow Hanbin seems to understand because he hikes his legs over his shoulders, bending Zhang Hao in half, and fucks into him so tenderly until he is writhing through another dry orgasm.

His vision goes blurry when Hanbin slides his fingers through his to pin his hand on the covers, palm to palm. A droplet slides down his temple as he licks into his mouth, lazily and languidly, with devotion and care. He sobs, throat thick with tears while a hand reaches up to play with his nipples, overwhelmed by the different sensations. He savors the raw sound Hanbin lets out when he comes, cock throbbing as he feels it spill inside him. 

The incessant itch within him left by the sex pollen is finally sated, ebbing away. 

He feels lips pressing on his face, once on his forehead and another at the corner of his eye, kissing away his tears. Fingers stroke his damp hair from his ears and Zhang Hao follows it blindly, nuzzling into its warmth. “Gege?” Hanbin’s voice echoes.

Zhang Hao melts into the covers, surrounded by the smell of sandalwood and vanilla, in the arms of the person he trusts the most. Exhaustion pulls him under, and the world fades to black.

“Hao-ya?”

✿

Zhang Hao wakes up to his face squished against a wall of firm muscle. 

His arms and legs wrapped around Hanbin’s sleeping body like an octopus clinging onto a rock, spooning him. Which is a first, since Hanbin runs hotter than a heater under the covers and Zhang Hao likes to sleep with a leg over the covers for cool air. Habits can change if he likes someone enough. 

He nuzzles into Hanbin’s nape to rub off the sleep from his eyes. The sun is high up in the sky, it’s mid noon. He watches the sunlight spill across the room, landing a strip on Hanbin’s arm. It moves along with the steady rise and fall of Hanbin’s chest.

Hanbin shifts in his sleep, turning in his hold to face Zhang Hao, his eyes still closed. His lashes flutter lightly in his sleep. He looks godly, blessed by the sun with the way it backlights his hair and skin, framing him in a fiery halo of gold.

If Zhang Hao could stop time, he would. He would stop it right here, in this cocoon of bliss where he has Hanbin in his arms and he doesn’t have any errands to hurry off to. 

Hanbin shifts again, taking a sharp breath. He squints, his eyes bleary with fatigue as he rouses from his sleep. “Hey,” he mumbles. The low raspy timbre scratches Zhang Hao’s ears in the most satisfying way. “Good morning.”

Zhang Hao can’t take it anymore, he tips forward and fits his lips on Hanbin’s. 

Hanbin inhales in surprise before he reciprocates, soft and pliant. This is all Zhang Hao needs. Trading slow and lazy kisses under the comfort of Hanbin’s bedroom, tasting the soft whines that slip out of Hanbin’s mouth. He reaches up to brush the soft, silky strands of Hanbin’s hair away from his face. “Morning,” he smiles. “How are you feeling?”

Hanbin groans, stretching his arms out. The covers fall to his waist, revealing the pale expanse of soft skin. “Terrible. Sore. Like my entire body is rubbed raw, I’m thankful that my dick didn’t fall off.”

Zhang Hao winced, feeling the pain echo in his bottom. He can feel his thighs burning and he’s sure if he tries to get off the bed to stand, he will crumble like a baby fawn learning to walk. On the bright side, the aphrodisiac is gone from his system, and he doesn’t feel the need to fuck everyone on sight anymore. “I get it. I feel like I’ve been put through a pasta press.”

“Yeah,” Hanbin giggles, and kisses him again. His heart thumps in delight, bathing in the affectionate display. “Dumb ways to die. Defeated by an aphrodisiac spawned from flower pollen. Kinda ridiculous to me.”

Oh. Right.

“Um, not that ridiculous, actually.” Zhang Hao swallows a gulp. His hands are clammy, but he smooths them over the covers. “I gotta tell you something.”

Hanbin looks at him, taking in his serious expression. “Go on,” he murmurs in encouragement and curiosity and as always, with patience.

Zhang Hao takes a deep breath.

“Hanbin, I’m a witch.”

✿

“So what’s the dried lionfish for?”

“I knew you didn’t fall for that! My excuse was so bad.”

“Yeah, I just didn’t want to embarrass you. I bet the mysterious rock sugar you had was something else too.”

“Alright, I give up. They’re for potions and curse breaking.”

“I knew it!”  

✿

(An online article published on The Planet News website on January 25th, 2023. Transcribed to English from the common supernatural language.)

Witch Cult Arrested For Illegal Animal Sacrifice and Attempted Assault
Written by journalist Seo Won from The Planet News 

The Seoul Supernatural Police Department (SSPD) raided a Christian church in Hongdae on the night of January 24th, 2023 and arrested an alleged cult run by witches along with their leader. The cult, which called themselves The Order of Faunus, was accused to have committed illegal animal sacrifice and attempted assault, according to police records.

This case is connected to another case earlier this week on January 17th, 2023 when there was a report of an assault attempt using sex pollen in a flower shop. An anonymous package containing a pot of calla lilies which carried the pollen had been sent to the shop, targeting the owner. Eyewitnesses in the area had said the owner is human and has no ties to the supernatural world. 

SSPD officers arrested a total of thirteen men and eleven women, all witches ranging from ages twenty four to fifty six. The arrest is a culmination of a months-long investigation that began after the High Council of Witches had received a tip in May 2022 on the cult spotted to be committing illegal animal sacrifice for a ritual. The SSPD will be investigating further into the case to determine whether there were additional crimes committed prior to this. 

The Order of Faunus was a cult that worshiped the Roman god Inuus, a sex deity. It often practices unethical rituals in pursuit of pleasure and immortality. The accused will be awaiting trial on February 27th, and the charges for illegal animal sacrifice and attempted assault will be a life sentence of at least twenty five years and five years respectively.