Chapter Text
This was all so far from his original plan.
After failing to keep alive at least nine different orchids—watching each one wilt and die—Heeseung had finally given up on his dream of caring for flowering plants. Instead, he shifted his focus to non-flowering, low-maintenance greenery.
While browsing, he stumbled across a cluster of Calatheas—plants with large, elongated leaves painted in vivid colors and intricate patterns. Heeseung honestly thought some of them had been hand-painted by the sellers.
Enchanted by their beauty, he began researching every variety he could find that would bring his studio apartment to life.
One plant in particular caught his eye: the Calathea White Fusion, or what online plant forums lovingly—and mockingly—called the “Tissue Maranta.” According to the community, they were a nightmare to care for—fussy, sensitive, prone to spider mites, and under no circumstances should be anyone’s first official houseplant.
Naturally, Heeseung opened multiple websites in search of one.
Eventually, he found a site offering the delicate plant at a decent price, with packaging that promised it wouldn’t die during transit.
It arrived looking... well, Heeseung couldn’t think of a better word than “miserable.” He winced, fully aware he was part of the reason it looked that way. Being stuffed in a dark box without sunlight or hydration was hardly a spa day for any living thing. Still, he’d ordered it anyway.
With the gentlest touch, he set the plant down on the small table beside the only window in his apartment and began misting it with nutrient spray.
Alright. Now all he had to do was wait for it to recover from its travel fatigue. If he could nurse it back to health, that would mean he could take care of it long-term... right?
___
Surprisingly, he managed to bring the plant back to life. After a week of carefully pruning away the dried and wilted leaves left from its time in the box, he finally began to see signs of recovery. Tiny young leaves unfurled—vibrant, healthy, and, dare he say, happy.
(He really needed to stop assigning human emotions to his plants.)
Slowly but surely, the signs of near-death faded completely, and Heeseung would often pat himself on the back with quiet pride whenever he paused to admire the Maranta.
The Calathea White Fusion turned out to be a rather good companion. Between long shifts at the veterinary clinic and attending open university classes online, Heeseung didn’t have much time to socialize. Most days, it didn’t bother him—he met enough people at work—but on the rough days, when emergency cases left him emotionally drained, the silence of his apartment felt heavier than usual. On those days, he longed for someone to talk to.
Luckily, the Maranta never once protested his sudden late-night ramblings (not that it could, being a plant, but even if it was annoyed, it wouldn’t say anything). He liked to pretend it enjoyed listening to his online lectures too, which played softly through his speakers every evening.
Sometimes, on quiet nights, he could swear he saw a few of its leaves shift slightly toward the screen. But maybe it just wanted the light—or the warmth.
Whenever it happened, he’d chuckle softly and run his fingers gently over the foliage.
“Sometimes,” he’d whisper, “I think you understand what I’m studying and might even help me finish my assignments.”
There were nights, when sleep weighed heavier than usual and he struggled to keep his eyes open, that he could’ve sworn the leaves reached out toward him. But maybe that was just the drowsiness playing tricks on his mind.
___
That night, Heeseung had no idea why he still wasn’t asleep.
Work had drained him to the core. The clients that day had been demanding and clearly unprepared for the responsibilities of caring for animals. On top of that, the brewing drama among the staff had worn him out even more.
He couldn’t wait to graduate and move on to his dream: studying wildlife conservation. Working at the animal clinic was fulfilling in its own way, but it didn’t ignite the same spark he felt when thinking about exotic creatures and marine life—especially the dangerous ones. He had an intense desire to learn about predators.
So instead of finishing his assignment, he let himself get lost in daydreams of misty jungles where leopards lounged on thick tree branches, or of gliding peacefully through the ocean alongside a pod of dolphins. Drowsiness had been creeping in since late afternoon, and his eyes kept fluttering shut.
But oddly, even as he drifted in and out of sleep, the words in his open document kept increasing. Sentences were forming—coherent ones. Logical ones.
And it kept happening. Again and again. Heeseung wasn’t the type to question a stroke of luck, but this... this was weird.
Near midnight, he jolted upright, blinking furiously in panic when he realized the submission deadline was only ten minutes away. But his alarm turned to stunned silence when his sleepy eyes caught movement on his keyboard.
A figure—no taller than four inches—was crouched over the keys, stretching its tiny body to press down on specific letters, then turning its attention back to the screen. It nodded in satisfaction before resuming its typing, tapping the keys with remarkable precision.
Heeseung, frozen in disbelief, watched silently as the creature finished the conclusion of his assignment, the words flowing seamlessly from its work into what Heeseung had already written. Finally, it stepped on the 'ctrl' key and then threw itself forward to land squarely on the 's'—saving the document.
With a sharp inhale, Heeseung realized he had only five minutes left. He rushed to grab the mouse and hit submit, the sudden movement startling the tiny being. It jumped, sprinting toward the Maranta, clumsily scrambling up the pot with a hurried, almost comical urgency before vanishing into the dense cluster of leaves and stems.
Once he was sure his submission had gone through on time, Heeseung turned toward the plant. He hesitated. But eventually, with cautious fingers, he parted the foliage, leaf by leaf, peering into the shadows at the base of the stems.
A pair of narrowed, elegant eyes met his. With a tiny pout on his rose-colored lips, the creature glared at him, kneeling and hugging one of the Maranta stalks like a child clinging to a blanket.
They stared at each other for a long moment. Heeseung didn’t know how much of him the creature could see from that angle, but what he could see left him breathless.
The figure looked both human and not. His face was strikingly beautiful, and his hair—white as the plant’s variegated patterns—blended perfectly with his pale skin. Heeseung might have thought he was albino, if not for those vivid hazel eyes.
Small but sturdy hands gripped the young stems, nails tinted a deep forest green. Most of his body was hidden beneath a tiny pastel-green knit sweater (who made something that small?) emblazoned with the words Protect Nature, Save the Bees in gold lettering.
Heeseung tried not to stare at the smooth, pale legs folded beneath him.
“Uh...” Heeseung’s cheeks flushed pink. He was too tired to find the right words. “Th-thank... you?”
“What?”
Oh. Okay. He had a vague feeling the creature was male, but the low, clearly masculine voice still caught him off guard. How could a voice that deep come from someone so... miniature?
“Oh... uh... th-the assignment. Thank you? Y-you really helped me.”
The small being blinked at him, then stood, stepping out from the foliage to lean his hands on the edge of the pot. “Seriously? That’s it? No ‘who are you?’ or ‘what are you doing in my plant?’ Or ‘oh my god, I’ve gone insane!’ Not even a ‘Hi Sunghoon, how are you?’”
“Your name is Sunghoon? That’s... adorable.” Heeseung hadn’t meant to say that aloud.
Sunghoon huffed, and only then did Heeseung notice the translucent white wings fluttering softly behind him.
“You’re focusing on the wrong things. You really are more exhausted than I thought. Go to sleep. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”
“Really? Promise?” Heeseung didn’t know what kind of being Sunghoon was or why he was here, but honestly, sleep sounded like a fantastic idea. On any normal day, he might’ve questioned his sanity. But tonight? He was oddly calm about the whole thing.
“I promise. Now sleep, Heeseung-ssi.”
___
Turns out, Sunghoon had kept his promise.
When Heeseung woke up the next morning, he found the tiny figure sitting at the edge of the Maranta’s pot, one leg casually crossed over the other, swinging gently. His expression was softer than it had been the night before, though still tinged with caution. Honestly, Heeseung couldn’t blame him—if he were that small and living under the same roof as a human who could crush him without even noticing, he’d probably be a little wary too.
“Okay, so… who are you, and why are you living in my Maranta?” Heeseung finally asked while gently misting the plant.
Sunghoon didn’t answer immediately. He leaned against one of the plant’s stalks, letting the mist sprinkle over him, eyes closed, his face unusually serene. He looked ridiculously cute like that. If he were human-sized, Heeseung would’ve already pinched those cheeks.
After a few moments, Sunghoon finally spoke. “It’s hard to find the right words to explain what I am. Technically, this is my Maranta. But since you’re the one taking care of it now, that means... you’re also taking care of me.”
He shifted and sat on the edge of the pot, continuing calmly, “I—hmm, if I remember correctly, humans call me a fairy. But in truth, I’m the spirit of this plant. I live in harmony with nature when in the wild. But now that you're my caretaker, I live in harmony with you.”
“Oh.” Heeseung didn’t really know what he was supposed to feel—or how to respond to something like that. But oddly enough, he didn’t panic the way he thought he might. Sunghoon didn’t seem threatening, even if he was a bit cold and always looked like he was on the verge of frowning.
Then something hit Heeseung.
“Wait—do all plants have fairies?!”
“Only a small number. Otherwise, humans would've known about us a long time ago. Why do you ask?”
“No reason!” Heeseung silently begged that Sunghoon wouldn’t find out about the tragic fate of his orchids. “Just curious.”
Sunghoon clearly didn’t buy that, but chose not to press.
“So... if you’re connected to the plant, that means you’ve been here since the day it arrived. How come I didn’t see you before?”
For the second time, Sunghoon paused to choose his words.
“Technically... I have been here since the plant arrived.”
He let the rest of Heeseung’s question hang in the air, unanswered.
___
At first, Heeseung thought living with Sunghoon would be a big adjustment.
But surprisingly—it wasn’t.
After all, they’d already been living together before. Heeseung had just been unaware of it, oblivious to the tiny fairy sharing his space.
His routine remained mostly the same. He still watered the plant each morning before heading off to work, dealt with an endless stream of clients, returned home for online classes and university assignments, and repeated the same cycle the next day.
The difference was—he didn’t feel alone anymore.
Even though their initial introduction had gone well, Sunghoon still took his time warming up to Heeseung. Most mornings, the little fairy would be tucked behind the foliage, only visible if Heeseung looked very closely.
Heeseung had no idea what Sunghoon did while he was away at work, but when he returned in the evening, the fairy had usually relocated—often found basking in the sunniest corner of the apartment. Then, at night, he’d perch beside Heeseung’s computer screen.
Sometimes, Sunghoon would flutter around the apartment just to stretch his wings. And when he did, Heeseung couldn’t help but smile. How could he not? Sunghoon’s wings made the soft, delicate sound of dozens of tiny chimes—like the faint jingling of fairy bells, almost identical to what Tinker Bell’s wings would sound.
And apparently, he wasn’t far off.
Sunghoon had been listening to his online lectures after all—he even helped Heeseung with his assignments from time to time. And occasionally, their conversations drifted into curious questions about the little fairies himself.
(“Wait, I’ve never fed you! What have you been eating all this time?!”
“Hyung, I’m a plant.” Sunghoon had initially called him Master, but Heeseung had quickly corrected him, insisting he just call him hyung instead.
“We photosynthesize.”
“Why don’t your wings look like butterfly wings?”
“Because I’m a fairy, hyung. Not a butterfly.”
“So Tinker Bell is inspired by your kind?”
“I have no idea who that is.”
“I’ll show you.”)
Eventually, Sunghoon started asking questions too—about Heeseung’s life. And when Heeseung came home from the clinic, Sunghoon would listen attentively, offering dramatic reactions and snarky commentary as if Heeseung’s day was the most fascinating story he’d ever heard.
It was all so natural. So warm. So far from anything Heeseung had imagined.
He found himself thinking about Sunghoon at work—wondering what the fairy was doing in the apartment while he was away. Was he getting enough sunlight? Was the plant nutrition enough? Did Sunghoon think about him, too?
By late afternoon, Heeseung would catch himself checking the clock more often than usual, counting down the minutes until he could go home—something he’d never done before.
But the best change came one morning—and never stopped.
That morning, Heeseung woke to the feeling of warm breath brushing softly against his cheek. Slowly turning his head, he realized Sunghoon was curled up on the pillow beside him, sleeping like a cat, just inches from his face.
The sight filled his chest with quiet warmth. He longed to scoop Sunghoon into his hands, to press his tiny cheeks between his fingers—but he knew better. The fairy was far too small, too delicate. Even a gesture of affection could be deadly.
Heeseung hadn’t planned for any of this to happen when he bought that plant. But now that it had, he wasn’t about to let the universe take it away.
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