Archive of Our Own

Yunho is still boyish under the silver half mask, lips plush, cupid’s bow exaggerated by the lack of detail visible past his eyes. The mask is shapely, clearly expensive, detailed in blue, and made by an artesian from a nearby town who spent their days and nights creating priceless articles like the one sitting across Yunho’s cheeks. Yunho’s family is pretentious like that. His father demands the best from art and his mother is oh so giving and kind. It makes sense to fund creatives, to make everything the Jeongs’ own beautiful; a reflection of class and status. 

Yunho himself is beautiful, he supposes. He’s been told as much anyway. But at twenty-four, there has begun a distinctive waning of his beauty as it reflects itself in his reputation. Yunho meddles too much in the affairs of average folks in the eyes of the upper class. He prefers the company of burly barmen who spit on the ground and children who feed stray dogs outside the town’s temple over anybody who wears their money as rings or cravats. He cusses and drinks too much, likes to climb trees, and run, and dance, and enjoy himself. He had been given a chance to make his own way in life, but going missing for two years when you're a Jeong is shameful—despite the joy in it. The evasion of his first marriage has never been forgiven. A second has never come to fruition. It twists Yunho into a caricature, one he cannot oppose for fear of further besmirching his family’s name. 

Yunho has long since tried to prove that he does not crave a life as stagnant as one arranged. That he craves the lifestyle lead in its wake even less; the long dinners with conversations meandering through topics meant to entrap and shame, parties with selfish goals to accomplish, constant traveling to show off with no real exploration, and lack of any real purpose except to keep tradition exactly the same. He has little interest in people only interested in money and those people seem to be the only people interested in him. But that isn’t his fault.

So long as he is held under his parents’ golden thumbs, Yunho is intrinsically fucked. 

The sun lingers high on this evening of midsummer, but Yunho is losing time. With all eyes on him—his mother and father’s gaze locked to his ring finger in particular—he has to make choices. The solstice and its superstitions make the night important already, but the party downstairs serves one overarching purpose. In a crowd that gathers for dancing and revelry that may rival the faerie courts, Yunho is to find a partner. Tonight he is to amend his sins. 

But Yunho does not want a bride or husband. He wants a drink. His fingers move to untie the masquerade mask.

“Young master Jeong?” a voice rings out from behind the cracked closet door. Yunho, about to pull at the silken straps, stops. The door creeks open and Yunho’s hands fall at his side, resigned, but his fingers twitch with frustration nonetheless. The mask remains across his cheekbones as San’s neat appearance reflects itself beside him in the vanity mirror. 

“Yes, San?” Yunho says as the man—one of the newer servants Yunho would not hesitate to call a friend (despite the man’s refusal to call him anything but, young master)—fully enters the closet and closes the door. He stands somewhat hunched, a towel in his arms. 

“I come bearing a gift.”

The towel is pulled away and there in San’s arm is a large handle of gin, the deep emerald of the bottle reflecting the vanity’s gaslight. Yunho’s wish has been granted. Even seeing the bottle acts like a placebo, his nerves steadying themselves at the concept of wearing drunkenness like armor.

He grins wildly. “You naughty cat.” 

“Wooyoung nabbed it. I’m just the delivery boy,” San says humbily, his eyes crinkling upwards with pride. Yunho stands from his seat so swiftly the chair nearly tips and grabs San by the face. 

“I could kiss you right now,” he tells the servant, leaning forward and planting a loud smack on San’s exposed forehead. The man giggles and pushes him away. “You really are my saving grace, you know that? Have a drink with me, Sani? Just one? I swear this gin is the finest. It’s worth it, if only just to try it.” 

“You act like Wooyoung hasn’t been looting your father’s liquor for years.” San laughs. “I’ve had your finest gin and all it does is taste like sap and death.”

“Please, you’re grown,” Yunho retorts, but he is all too familiar with the pine aftertaste of his father’s gin. He finished a bottle last night, the empty glass hidden away behind a rack of clothes just behind him. There’s several other empty liquor bottles lined up next to it. Anything Yunho can get his hands on. Yunho’s never been fond of bitter tastes but he figures there are worse prices to pay for keeping his sanity intact. 

“Just one drink?” Yunho asks again, reaching out for the bottle. San presents it to him and Yunho busies himself with removing the wax and cork. His vanity rattles as he opens the drawer and pulls out a pair of crystal shot glasses. “You’ll need it when the guests fawn all over you.” 

“You mistake me, young master. All alcohol does is make a fool of me.”

“A fool with confidence is better than a fool with no confidence at all,” says Yunho ignoring how San eyes him when he pops the bottle open and puts his lips to it, taking a heavy swig of the gin. Yunho at least has the conscience to wipe his lips and pretend he was just tasting it instead of being so impatient with his own sobriety he cannot stand to wait until San has been convinced to join him. The act doesn’t seem to fool San, but he is in no place to tell Yunho what he can and can’t do. San serves his father most nights. If anything, he should be grateful that Yunho is such a mild drunk. 

“Aish,” San huffs, eyeing the floor. “Wooyoung will pour champagne down my throat all evening. I’ll be a fool regardless.” 

Yunho croons, “Then indulge me Choi San,” and watches as San crumbles. With a performative huff, he takes a seat at the vanity. He pouts, and Yunho pours, and the bell tower outside the estate tolls seven when they both tip their glasses to the sky. 

Gin tastes better when shared, Yunho thinks. 

San departs with an attempt at a smile in the following minutes—his expression still soured from the taste of the gin—busy with estate affairs and making sure guests are properly tended to. Yunho lets him go with only mild complaints, but San has always been stubborn and far too good at his job to indulge Yunho when he needs company. 

The door is shut. Yunho is left alone again with his reflection.  

His fingers do not reach for the mask again. Instead they reach for the bottle. 

Yunho struts his way into his party with his tongue still tasting of liquor. His vision hasn't quite blurred to the point of no return, but the mask limits his peripherals and is uncomfortable, even with its satin lining. Without clear vision, he's bumped into at least one woman, and a man who he believes to be his uncle on his father’s side. Yunho blinks heavily, feeling the weight of the garment across his brow. He itches to take it off, but a solstice masquerade is a sacred thing. Without a mask you are left vulnerable. 

Yunho’s mother preaches that on solstice nights, creatures of legend waltz through the veil in search of excitement. They parade the streets, preying on the vulnerable, so people gather or lock their doors. Yunho’s family had always attended or hosted balls during the solstices, the large number of people experiencing emotion supposedly warding off the evil of the night. The parties are kept loud and obnoxious, drinks heavily poured, and music constant. The Jeong’s lock their doors between 8 in the evening and 5 in the morning and nobody is allowed in or out of the main house. Masks are worn to conceal identities to strangers who may wish you ill—or perhaps a faerie from beyond.

But, as far as Yunho is concerned, it all is superstition to add to the dramatics of the night. 

Yunho had celebrated two solstices in the packed houses of close friends who made paper masks that fell from their faces when they laughed. There were few strangers there, but as Yunho’s head swivels through the solstice ball thrown in his name with his parent’s money, there are tight fitted masks upon every unfamiliar form. 

“Yunho!” Yunho’s mother squawks. He doesn't even see her coming. Her long nails are upon his face before he can turn to find the source of her voice and Yunho is pulled from his stupor with urgency as she adjusts his mask.

“Mama,” he says, trying to placate, while leaning his face away from hers but her nostrils flare. 

“Liquor?” she says and Yunho wishes he felt more than bone deep apathy. “Please tell me you're not–”

“No no no, it was just a shot with Yoon Jeonghan. He brought a bottle of that Shin Forest gin that father likes so much.” The lie rolls off Yunho's tongue with ease. “You know how he likes to spend his solstices.”

“Throwing up in our toilets,” Yunho's mother says and Yunho chuckles. His mother reaches up to futz with his mask again. “Make sure this stays on,” she says. Overly superstitious as always. Yunho indulges her with a smile. 

“Of course, Mama.” 

She pats his cheek. “Good boy. Now go make your rounds.” 

Yunho does as he’s asked, but his effort is minimal. He exchanges enough pleasantries, but aims to bounce between different trays of alcohol presented to him instead of sitting in long boring conversations or entertaining even the inkling of the idea that he may be interested in anyone past a greeting. 

Yunho had evaded his first marriage so slickly, there’s confidence on his shoulders that he just may be able to do it again. However, there is no longer the option to conscript, and after hours upon hours of thought, Yunho has come to determine he had played a losing game trying to escape his life overall. 

It has been two years since Yunho had lost his freedom. Upon being plucked from the quarters he had rented with military stipend and tips from fixing carriages, Yunho was dragged back into the manor and scrubbed of his chosen life so quickly, it was disorientating. His family once again became his only line of sight, just as overbearing as they had always been; all too involved in every aspect of his existence. Things had changed since Yunho was a child, though. Where Yunho had always been shamed for his unconventional behavior, it became the foundation of his relationship with his parents. Yunho had sullied himself serving his kingdom, in finding a place for himself into the ranks of regular folk. In an effort to fix him, to return him a place in high society, Yunho’s story was pried from his hands and rewritten. 

Rumors spread regardless. 

Arranged marriages were made and called off. 

There came equal parts dread and relief knowing there were few who would want Yunho Jeong when he was just an apparent troublemaker, possible adulterer, and seemed to put off every potential spouse he interacted with. He let words spread like wildfire—let himself be charged with a secret wife, secret child, failed education, or bad drinking habits. Only one was true, but Yunho figured it was out of his control. He thinks to himself that the reputation isn’t as bad as he thinks. He just wishes he had the ability to twist himself into an unwanted beast that not even his family could stand to look at. 

The night begins to spiral into typical solstice chaos. Yunho tries to count the people he meets with one hand behind his back, but there are so many he has to start over twice, fingers twitching up and down. Seven people… no, six. As he socializes, he drinks two glasses of rice liquor and starts on a gaudy chalice of red wine. The sun sets through the big windows lining the ballroom. 

As the clock nears eight and the sun dips below the horizon, ready to disappear and leave its subjects, Yunho stands with a crowd on the entry way steps. They chatter, excitedly. Looks are shot his way underneath fine masks. He can’t ignore it. Even drunk, he can’t ignore it. Yunho takes one final breath of fresh air before the staff begin to heard everybody inside. 

The clock tower chimes loudly and salt is laid before the entryway. No in or out for hours upon hours. To Yunho, the closing of the manor doors feels like the shutting of a casket. 

Yunho stumbles into the kitchen at a quarter of nine, sufficiently drunk. All of the staff wear identical black masks, shirts, and slacks. Yunho squints to find Wooyoung. Wooyoung finds him first. 

“A right mess you are,” the chef snarks as he throws an arm over Yunho’s shoulders, pushing him low and fixing all the out of place stands of hair upon his head. “Come to celebrate?”

Yunho smiles at Wooyoung before suddenly straightening up, an arm to the sky. “Shots all around!” he crows, looking around the kitchen at a sea of masks in mid stir or chop. The room pauses for a moment before Yunho hears voices whoop back. Tasks are abandoned, someone hands Yunho a bottle of liquor, and he holds it over his head as if it is a trophy. More cheers erupt. 

“I’ll pour,” Wooyoung says gently as he guides the bottle from Yunho's hands. Another kitchen staff member places shot glasses and cups on the counter. As Wooyoung fills them up, Yunho squints through his drunkenness and finds faces past the masks. He gives out hugs and asks questions. He meets new people and is reminded of familiar folks until Wooyoung grabs him by the side. A shot glass is pushed into his hand. 

“To my favorite Jeong!” Wooyoung cheers and Yunho roars with him. 

The vodka settles on his tongue, alcohol like water. Yunho supposes he might be ready to face the dance floor. He hopes he'll be too drunk to be wantable. 

“Yunho,” Wooyoung says over the buzz of the kitchen, leaning far into Yunho’s space. “Are you having a good night?”

“It's a night,” Yunho responds, turning his shotglass between his fingers so the crystal reflects a rainbow. It’s fascinating. “Beautiful one probably, but we're here.”

“Here?” 

“Inside,” Yunho clarifies and Wooyoung lets out a tittering laugh. 

“How else do you spend your solstices?” Wooyoung asks. Yunho has never spent one outside. He doesn't know anyone who has. But he wishes the cool night air was brushing by his cheeks. He wishes he were anywhere else but here. He whines and pushes his head into Wooyoung's shoulder. 

“I don't want to go back out there,” he mutters and Wooyoung pets the back of his hair. 

“Oh the burden of beautiful rich women and men vying for your attention.”

“Shut up.”

“It's such a hard life, my little Yuyu. Whatever will you do?” 

“Find a way upstairs and hide under my sheets.”

“I wouldn't go into your room if I were you. Sani said there were girls in various states of undress in your bed.”

“It's so early!” Yunho exclaims, bringing his head up to stare at Wooyoung in disbelief.

“Well, you're supposed to pick a fiancé tonight and many are convinced you'd rather fall for the wiles of the feminine form than a personality.” Yunho doesn't respond to the quip. He understands it should be funny, prodding at the assumptions made by stupid rich folk, but it doesn’t feel that way. It hasn’t for a while. He watches Wooyoung’s smile falter and the man takes a deep breath. “Cheer up mate,” he says, clapping Yunho on the shoulder. “Maybe sober up some as well.” 

Reminded of sobriety, Yunho groans and shoves his head so hard into Wooyoung, they both nearly topple to the floor. 

Yunho spends another ten minutes mingling with staff in the kitchen. He hangs off Wooyoung as they shuffle around the space, and is encouraged to taste the dishes prepared in the name of his family. He sticks his finger in a pot of soup to some giggles and makes a show of pretending to spit in it before Wooyoung tells him he isn’t as funny as he thinks he is. His fond smile towards Yunho completely negates the sentiment of the message and Yunho vows to keep on spitting in soups if Wooyoung delights in the act like this. 

When San appears in the kitchen doorway, the mood in the room declines immediately, many going back to tasks or lowering their voices. Only Wooyoung perks up. 

San is red in the cheeks and his eyes don’t display their usual sharpness behind his mask, instead looking washed in a somewhat pleased vacancy that must be a result of the alcohol dripping into his brain. Yunho wonders if Wooyoung really was armed with a bottle of champagne somewhere in the kitchen and was slowly feeding it to San until the man fell asleep in one of the closets like last fall equinox.

“Oh Sani!” Wooyoung hoots as he saunters towards the servant. “Don’t you look lovely tonight,” he says, reaching out to fuss with San’s collar a bit, situating his tie. “Was somebody tugging on this?” 

“It was one of the guests. She wanted to show me something,” San says in a voice so low Yunho barely catches the words as he approaches the two and their predictable intimacy. Yunho is as aware of the nature of their relationship as he is aware the moon will set and the sun will rise when morning comes, but as San registers Yunho’s presence, he pushes Wooyoung away a bit. 

“Young master,” San says, straightening up. Yunho fights not to roll his eyes. “Your mother would like to introduce you to Haram Kim of the Kim Tea Company. You are to accompany me to see them at once.” Upon entering a state of duty, San became more of a pain than a loyal friend. 

“But I’m having so much fun here,” Yunho tells him. He keeps a content smile plastered to his face, but plants his feet and uses the centimeters he has over San to loom. “I’d rather not go anywhere.” 

“Please don’t be stubborn,” San says, curt with his words. He sets his shoulders back and puffs his chest out, physique putting Yunho to shame. Suddenly Yunho doesn’t feel all that big and immovable. “Young master, it’s unbecoming and rude to your romantic aspirants if you hide in the kitchen all night. You can’t do such a thing.”

“I could if you let me.”

“If I weren’t the one to fetch you, somebody else would. Your mother is quite antsy. It’s best we report to her.” 

“Can’t she wait,” Wooyoung butts in with a whine. He clings to San’s suit sleeve. “I still haven’t had a drink with you.”

“I’ve had more than enough. The guests are feeling generous tonight,” San tells the other man gently, prying Wooyoung’s fingers from his arm. 

“No, no, Wooyoung is right, you must have something to drink,” Yunho tries and the look San presents him with is scalding. 

“Did you not hear me say your mother is antsy?” he hisses. 

“Then so be it. She has the soul of a restless squirrel.”

“Young master–”

“And stop telling me that it’s improper to be in the kitchen, I think it is very proper in fact.”

“Enough! You will come with me at once,” San snaps and Yunho blinks at the shorter man, dumbstruck. At San’s side, Wooyoung’s face flashes through several emotions and Yunho is too drunk to decide what it lands on by the time San’s brain has caught up to his mouth. “That was inappropriate of me. I shouldn’t have said that,” the servant mends but the impact has been felt. 

“Maybe you’ve had too much to drink–” Wooyoung starts, fishing for something to protect his lover, but Yunho stops him. 

“No, no, he’s right. I must engage with the party,” Yunho says, heavy with disappointment.

Tension unwinds itself from San’s shoulders. “You’ll come with me? No buts or ands or nasty tricks?” he asks, still treading lightly. 

Yunho doesn’t have it in his heart to say no. He has no interest in tea heiresses nor any other person recognized by their family name alone, but for the sake of San, Yunho might as well exchange pleasantries with the woman before slipping off to somewhere more isolated. Maybe next time his mother sends San to play scout, he’ll be nowhere to be found. 

“Lead the way,” Yunho says, readying himself to stumble forward into one of the smoking rooms his mother no doubt occupies. The drinks he’s had—which must number close to eight—make the idea of opium smoke swirling around his head more tolerable than it would be otherwise. 

“Come back once you’ve delivered him,” Wooyoung says to San and San nods, leaning forward towards the chef. Wooyoung rewards him with a brief peck on the lips before sharply patting San on the back and gesturing towards the door. Yunho feels rightly hollow as Wooyoung eyes him warily before stating, “Now take this fiend away.” 

Yunho is led from the kitchen with a hand tight around his bicep, as if aware that the second the surroundings opened up to the hallways smattered with guests, he thinks hard about running.

San clears his throat. “I apologize for my tone. It seems as though things are unmanageable this year. It’s been exhausting to keep guests in line. People are forgetting the customs,” he says, leading Yunho towards the middle of the manor and back. “I saw this girl with no mask. She tried to take me to the garden. Said there were no staff guarding the west exit. I had to politely get her to unhand my tie before she dragged me there or out one of the unbarred windows. Her speech was so slurred I could barely understand her and it’s only nine.” 

Yunho hums. “Sounds like a faerie to me.”

“You think?” San gapes.

“I would bet on it,” Yunho tells him, though he’s sure if faeries did exist, they would be enjoying the summer air and fireflies darting throughout the forests that bordered the Jeong estate instead of trying to lure poor servants to their death. 

The big clock in the main smoking parlor is likely perfectly timed, but as Yunho looks up past Haram Kim’s gaudy swan shaped mask, he’s inclined to believe the clock is slow. But he’s probably just drunk and unhappy; a dangerous combination. 

The parlor is packed with an older crowd, smoking opium from hookahs to satisfy addictions or perhaps experience a dramatic solstice hallucination. Though Yunho knows, Jooheon Lee—who sits around the central table with his partner clinging to his arm as they hold their long dark hair up in frustration from a game of cards strewn across the table—will experience one every half hour to gain a laugh. Others, like Jiwon Park will sit quietly before bursting into emotion with a story of what she saw behind her eyelids once or twice between now and sunrise. Yunho believed in her hallucinations even less than Mr. Lee’s. 

In the converted dining room, two to four people sit around the large ornate glass pieces, shimmering smoke snaking through the inside. They make bets with cards or dice, jewelry and coins passing themself between hands that hold hoses, ignoring how the room steadily grows hazy as they smoke and chatter away. Yunho’s mother hits her own mouthpiece regularly as she judges her son in silence. 

Yunho squints through his intoxication and tries not to make a fool of himself. He hopes she’s too high to realize how poor of a job he’s doing. 

“Do you ride?” Ms. Kim asks.

“Camels?” Yunho asks. “No, not particularly. In fact I’ve never ridden one. I’ve heard they trot well, but have a mind of their own. Is it true they keep water in their hump?” The joke earns him a disapproving look from his mother and a rather embarrassed titter from the mouth of Ms. Kim. She’s starting to avoid eye contact with him and Yunho wonders how many more bad jokes he can make before she’s stating that she needs to fetch herself a glass of champagne from another part of the manor. 

“Um, pardon, but I did mean horses,” Ms. Kim explains and Yunho opens his mouth to pretend he doesn’t know what a horse is despite having two in his name. His mother speaks over the impulse despite the far away look in her gaze. 

“Oh, please, dear. Our Yunho is quite adept at horseback riding. He really is just a darling with animals. I’ve never seen one dislike him! Especially our horses, and you know how stubborn those beasts can be. It’s shocking, really, the ease at which he works with them. Our old mare, Dahlia–” 

“Oh!” Mrs. Park cries from her table, cheeks reddened with blush and exhilaration. Yunho’s mother is startled into silence. “I see fairies! They've joined us for the festivities!”

“I see them too Jiwon! They're here to wed that stubborn eldest Jeong and take him past the veil!” Mr. Lee says loudly and laughter percolates through the parlor. 

Yunho blinks. 

The clock is ticking. 10:00. It’s ticking so slowly, but it makes its special, little noise. the ticking. Everything makes a noise. But it’s muffled, like hearing through a warm blanket, where the world goes soft. Dark. Everything is much softer than it should be. Yunho watches the clock’s hands move, entranced by the smoothness of the arc they create within their ornate glass frame as the noise grows softer and softer until it’s barely noise at all, just a weight upon Yunho’s thrumming mind. He inhales and feels the sting of smoke in his nostrils before the scene before him wavers. 

Notes play on a piano, but it’s so far away. 

Yunho blinks.

The ceiling of the dance hall looms above, high and painted. Deer chase rabbits and a wolf lurks among the foliage, illuminated by the candles upon the chandelier. A crowd packs into the space below the scene. Colorful dresses whirl and masks of all shapes fall over smiles stretched wide as Yunho passes his body along from partner to partner. The band plays loud, a whole army of musicians collaborating to create harmonious melodies that echo over the laughter and chatter of the room. 

This is more fun, Yunho thinks as he does his best to remember the dance steps. He swirls through the room, stumbling every other step, hands raised so as to grasp hold of others. A slew of masks; cats, harlequins, golden embellishments, great waves, brown eyes, high cheekbones, a slew of freckles, glittering gold earrings, hair the color of ebony. A man with no mask. Yunho stares at the pianist, whose face he can see before another body whisks past in their dance. Suddenly the man has the same dark mask as the rest of the staff. 

Yunho is unsure of what he saw. He toys with the idea… but no. He is drunk. His footwork speaks for him. 

Yunho looks back to his partner. 

The piano misses a note, so jarring it makes Yunho’s head spin.

Though he might have had all the warning in the world as the song’s measures pass, Yunho still manages to be shocked when he is passed on and his hand is taken by a woman with tightly braided hair and dark skin that shimmers under the light. The mask across her cheeks is brilliantly red like her dress. She leads their dance and tells him he's prettier than she expected. Her touch is direct, as if asking him to look at her. He doesn’t. Yunho stares past her towards the pianist, whose back is now to him, but unlike the woman, the musician is entrancing. He is sat straight as if suspended from the ceiling. Every note perfect, except for the one that still rings in Yunho’s ear. 

The woman pouts. Her touch grows rougher. Yunho wishes he were to be whisked away by the fairies so he no longer had to be in the presence of her. But there are no faeries. 

There are only selfish people.

A man shorter than Yunho, with shining brown eyes underneath a mask plastered with shells, grabs Yunho’s hips, more forward than any other partner Yunho has danced with, and within minutes—or seconds—maybe hours—Yunho is kissing him. And being kissed. And he has forgotten the point of the night was to hold his ground and kiss no one at all. His own selfish humanity emerges from a cocoon of stubbornness and he groans into the kiss, eyes fluttering shut, libido swaying with the alcohol in his stomach. 

Again, the piano plays something discordant. 

Yunho opens his eyes to a new room. It's the greenhouse, the patio area usually set for tea cleared to create a secondary dance hall that glitters under a slim crescent moon. A new chandelier Yunho’s father had imported from the west has been hung from the great glass ceiling and shines hues of blue and green over stone floors flecked with minerals that sparkle. Plants surround the band and tables as the pleasant smell of blooming flowers and wet dirt swirl in the air. The music is less gay in the greenhouse, the dancing more formal. Yunho would dance, but the world is shifting through the holes in his mask.

There are fingers reaching for his throat, but Yunho only looks ahead, the great square clock suspended from the entryway reading one in the morning. Below it sits the grand piano and its alluring player. The notes he hits are haunting, a waltz that draws Yunho in with its claws. 

From across the dancefloor, Yunho has a perfect view of the tight, short waves of dark hair, and a mask slipping down the side of a focused face, letting Yunho see, before it is fixed. Over and over again. Notes are missed. Poorly timed silence rattles Yunho’s skull like a blunt object to the head. 

With hands that twitch, Yunho brings his flute of bitter white wine to his lips and drinks. 

Hands wander over Yunho’s Adam's apple, two sets upon his body;  a mask covered in intricate ivy and one blotted in white like clouds. The glass weighs nothing when empty, and Yunho beckons towards a servant holding a tray for a replacement. The two women that press against Yunho giggle with delight as Yunho’s glass is exchanged for something much fuller. 

Champagne bubbles pop against his throat as the piano strikes him. A droning melody. 

Yunho closes his eyes to savor it. 

The piano echoes. 

Yunho’s eyes snap open. There is a body under his hands, smooth and soft, flesh indenting under his grip. Her breasts are so warm. He's so warm. Sweat from his damp hair falls under his mask and slips into his eyes as Yunho fucks forwards, hips snapping at a frantic pace. 

He looks up. The clock over the headboard reads 2:00. The base of the bed creeks. 

Yunho’s stomach grows tight. 

The girl under him caresses his arm and gazes up from under her familiar cover of clouds, beaming, before her expression contorts somewhat. Yunho slows himself despite the throbbing of his cock. 

“I'm sorry,” he pants. “I'm sorry, was I hurting you? I didn't mean-”

“I thought you were supposed to be adept at this,” she says. 

“No-” 

“It's alright. I don’t care. Just keep going.” So Yunho does. He imagines different thighs in his grip, ones slimmer, paler. Brown eyes instead of green. A sharp gaze instead of blown out pupils. Pleasure expressed differently. Yunho imagines how the pianist might look beneath him as his hips stutter. 

“Just keep going,” a male voice says from behind as small hands run over Yunho’s heaving torso. 

The piano crescendos. 

When Yunho opens his eyes, the world spins and he falls heavily against white swirling wallpaper, body sagging as nausea erupts through his stomach. The chips in the hardwood below let him know he’s in the basement of the manor; off limits for guests. The air is far heavier than in the greenhouse, oppressive in scent. It weighs on Yunho. He is lucky he is dressed, albeit messily; his white dress shirt open, tie and vest gone. Everything thrown on so haphazardly, Yunho wonders what he might have been chasing. 

A pair of polished shoes come into view and Yunho looks up, head spinning. There’s no mask on the pianist’s face as he gazes down from above, and Yunho can see every detail. How his freckles contort with the corners of his mouth, nose scrunching as he pulls Yunho to his feet. His eyes are deep, so deep, and Yunho falls into them easily. He gets up and leans over his savior, placing his hands on narrow shoulders. He blinks, eyelids heavy, and when the world sharpens once again, freckles disappear under black fabric. 

“Mask,” Yunho mumbles. Something that wasn’t there before. Things seem to click despite intoxication as the illusion solidifies itself across the pianist’s nose. Yunho can no longer afford to be a fool. 

The faerie before him does not have sharp teeth, pointed ears, or great butterfly wings, but he is a trickster. A faerie nonetheless. 

Yunho stares, heart picking up speed as the faerie says something in a voice so familiar it makes Yunho sick, a grin twitching into place, pulling his lips thin. Yunho’s gaze unglues itself from the creature and flicks towards the basement door leading to the back garden. The faerie says something else, but Yunho cannot hear it over his own heartbeat in his ears. The roaring of blood and adrenaline. He pushes past the pianist, launching himself for the door, rotting floorboards creaking under his weight. The need to get away from the dark haired man who lingers just a step behind is desperate. He runs, reaching for his escape. And once he has it… 

Everything shifts. The whole world shifts. There is everything past the door. There is nothing but the doorknob, his own sweat, and the basement’s sauna-like humidity. Yunho is frozen as the entirety of the universe folds around him, until he’s crumpled like paper and flattened out again. 

With a start, Yunho sucks in a gasping breath and fresh air enters his mouth. It settles on his skin, soaking through his thin cotton shirt. Yunho’s body relaxes at the scent of moisture on the breeze. He is still unstable where he stands and his head throbs, but the lack of artificial light around him makes the pain die down until it doesn't pierce a mushy skull. The rhythmic throbbing becomes more than a feeling. It becomes a sound. 

The pressing of a key. 

A piano. 

One note. 

Over and over again. 

Yunho opens his eyes to find himself on the brick path that leads out amongst the hedges to the patio hidden behind great willow trees. Flowers bloom over Yunho’s head, a sharp freshness to their smell, their blue petals glinting with moisture. Yunho looks up past the garden’s trellises, arches that lead his way, at the full moon. The clouds part as if running from its pale light. He ponders on if it was just a crescent earlier through the greenhouse’s great, glass ceiling. 

The piano beckons Yunho deeper—setting his gait forward with urgency. 

It’s upon a divot in the path that he tilts leftward into a bush, briefly inconvenienced by the poking of branches, when he hears it; a minor note, so stark against the monotony. High and perfectly tuned. Just once, then hesitation, the tension echoes in Yunho’s shoulders, high and wound to shit, and just when he takes a breath, the same note, barely sustained. Again. 

A bolt goes down Yunho’s spine, and in panic, Yunho presses his palms against the sharp hedge till he is standing. Stumbling to the left, his vision swims double. He is unsure what he’s seeing and sure all the same. 

The pianist’s delicate fingers dust the ivory keys of the grand piano he sits at, the large instrument taking up most of the circle of stone Yunho has stumbled into. Yunho rights his body, but he cannot seem to right his mind. The pianist is the man Yunho has seen all night. Familiar. The crystal clear vision of the faerie smirks in a way that makes Yunho’s heart race. There is no mask to cover him, just an expanse of natural expression.

Yunho stares. 

The faerie stands, gracefully, as if suspended from the ceiling like a puppet, held up by the finest thread of spider’s silk. He walks like that as well, each step weightless. His skin looks a shimmering pale under the moonlight. Suddenly, he is close, right under Yunho’s eye-line. He grips onto Yunho’s mask, fingers skating over the silken straps that keep him safe. Yunho lurches to hold them in place. The faerie looks puzzled, but stops pulling. They stare at each other. 

“Yunho.” The sound of his own name makes a chill go down Yunho’s spine. He doesn’t know much about faeries, but he knows enough to be aware that his name should not be on this creature’s tongue. “What is it you want?” 

Yunho opens his mouth, ready to answer, before closing it, jaw stiff. It cannot be opened even by the faerie’s coaxing touch. The faerie sighs, stroking his cheek once more. 

“To be wanted, to be unwanted,” he murmurs. “Can’t you decide?” 

“I don’t–” Yunho tries, but he can’t find the words he needs. His stomach is in knots of emotion, too tangled to be separated out. “Don’t kill me,” he decides on.

The fairy chuckles and pinches at Yunho’s cheek affectionately, but Yunho cannot bring himself to return the energy. His heart continues to hammer. Arrhythmic. Off beat. Once. Then again. He doesn’t know why his chest is so tight. 

“I’m Hongjoong.” The faerie leans down until his ear is pressed against Yunho’s chest. Yunho tries not to breathe; to not let his heart expose his psyche. “I won’t kill you,” Hongjoong says and Yunho’s heart jumps despite it all. Hongjoong gazes up at him through long lashes. “I promise.” 

“D-do you?” Yunho says and Hongjoong holds out his pinky. 

“I promise, Yunho.” 

Yunho doesn’t know why he does it. He loops his pinky around Hongjoong’s and the faerie presses their thumbs together in a promise. It’s binding. Yunho senses the finality in his entire body. It runs through him, grounding him to the spot as Hongjoong’s eyes twinkle. 

“You’ve never made a deal with a faerie?” Hongjoong asks and Yunho shakes his head. 

“I never thought I would. I thought–” Yunho stops himself before he can slip and admit he didn’t think faeries were real. That would be rude. 

“You have such a lovely garden,” the faerie says, saving him. “Vibrant. Your family must like the shade of blue.”

“It’s the color of our crest,” Yunho reveals and Hongjoong shoots him a knowing smirk before turning to one of the beds of white primroses. He saunters towards it and Yunho gets a glimpse of his backside. He stares at the faerie’s figure through the black, formal servants’ attire, the curve of his hips and ass. He doesn’t realize he’s been eyeing those parts until Hongjoong glances over his shoulder. 

“I always liked primroses,” he says, looking back to the garden as he bends over in a sensual manner. It can only be explained as much. The slow descent and way he purposely sticks out his assets makes Yunho blush. He swallows heavily and looks away from Hongjoong, though it quickly dawns on him that the faerie is focused on plucking one of the flowers in front of him, so Yunho allows himself a second glance. 

Alcohol never mixed well with his desires; exploiting them; revealing them; letting them run amok. He feels more sober now than he ever did inside, but it's easy to blame the drinks for how he devours Hongjoong's figure with his eyes. 

Yunho turns his head towards the trellises once Hongjoong stands, stem of the white flower in between his fingers. He beacons Yunho forwards and Yunho walks towards the creature, entranced by the way the moonlight falls upon his hair; the sharpness of his grin; how delicate he looks. He sticks out his hand without being told and Hongjoong places the flower in his outstretched palm. 

“What will you give me in return?” Hongjoong asks. Yunho barely has to think. It's like the answer has been there all along, so obvious, Yunho almost feels dumb for not handing it over to the faerie sooner. His fingers work at the silken strap behind his head until the mask over his cheeks loosens. Until it falls into Hongjoong’s hands. Until Yunho is vulnerable. 

With clear vision comes further clarity of mind. But it is too late.

It happens so quickly Yunho has to rub his eyes to comprehend what he's seeing through the haze of the night. Mist accrues in the garden, thickening rapidly until Hongjoong’s form is hidden. Until Yunho can no longer see his hands in front of his face. He inhales the damp air, noting how cold it is inside his lungs. Panic fills him, but dissipates just as quickly as the mist itself, and when it clears, Yunho’s mask is gone and Hongjoong has changed. 

The faerie has dropped his glamor. His human disguise shed for something Yunho recognizes from illustrations of the faeries. From the shape of a man to something different. No longer situated under Yunho’s chin, Hongjoong has instead become no taller than his palm. His head of dark hair is the size of  a pin before Yunho’s face. It makes his stomach lurch and his mind whirr from curiosity. Iridescent wings, clear but with a silver glint, stretch from Hongjoong’s shoulderblades like a dragonfly’s would. They twitch but don’t flap, Yunho’s fingertips doing the same as Hongjoong hovers gracefully. He trembles, laying out an open palm for Hongjoong to land upon. The faerie floats lower until his feet nearly grace Yunho’s skin. He remains suspended, but follows the movement of Yunho’s hand as Yunho lifts the creature closer to his face.

Hongjoong is bare, skin exposed under the moonlight. It seems to glitter the same as his wings, illuminated by the spirit in the sky. The moon looms over them both and Yunho wonders if the great spirit inside can read his thoughts and is condemning him for what he feels about a forbidden creation. Faeries are not of the light… Yunho knows this… but Hongjoong floats right over his palm, and Yunho is forced to observe something dangerous, otherworldly, and ultimately beautiful. 

Hongjoong’s thighs are thick, despite how slight he is, which means they’re not really thick at all. Barely the width of a quill’s tip. Yunho is fascinated in them in the way he might revere breasts. He feels like slapping himself at the comparison. Telling himself to get a grip. Yunho loves men and women, but the thing before him isn’t quite one. It is far too small. 

Hongjoong catches the tip of Yunho’s finger before it can make contact with him. The creature is chilled to the touch, fingertips frigid, and Yunho observes the light mist that arises from Hongjoong’s skin as something so cold is introduced to the humid atmosphere. Yunho blinks as Hongjoong tries to push him away. He hadn’t even noticed he was going to poke the faerie. It had been all instinct. 

“Don’t toy with me,” Hongjoong says. His silver wings bat impatiently, but he is suspended by something greater than their beating as he finally allows himself to land on Yunho’s palm. 

“I’m just curious,” Yunho mumbles and puts a little pressure behind his extended finger. Hongjoong stumbles back before digging his frozen feet into Yunho’s skin. Yunho doesn’t have to, but he stops his prodding, curling his pointer finger into a hand that can barely keep itself still. “So this is your true form…” 

Hongjoong scoffs and crosses his arms. His penis jostles slightly. Yunho looks at it. He can’t help but look at it. It’s uncut, but Yunho can see a pink tip. He swallows, thinking of what it looks like aroused; head peaking out, red and leaking. 

“Your staring is awfully uncouth.” 

Yunho clears his throat, mouth suddenly dry, but he does not stop staring. “Sorry.”

“Why apologize when you’re clearly not sorry at all.” 

“I might be,” he says.

“It will not serve you well to lie to me. Not while we are bound.” 

“Bound by what?” 

Hongjoong smirks and points towards Yunho’s other hand, the one that holds the primrose. It makes Yunho realize that the flower’s stem is no longer in his grasp. When he looks at the hand, he feels his face contort at what he sees. The band of the flower has sunken deep into the skin of his ring finger, spidery bits of his own flesh growing over a stem green with life. It seems to have molded to bone. The visage makes him squeamish. He wants to writhe, to rip it away, but Hongjoong is heavy in his palm, so Yunho turns his twitching to words. 

“You tricked me!” he sputters, “you…!”  Yunho has drunk exactly enough to let out a frustrated cry to the sky while he curls his hand around Hongjoong. He brings the faerie merely centimeters away from his face, furious. “What have you done?” Yunho hisses. 

Hongjoong’s surprisingly carnivorous teeth sink into Yunho’s skin and Yunho wonders how his blood must taste as he opens his hand in shock. The pain is terrible, and he fretfully observes the new purple hue upon his finger as frost spreads on the edges of the wound. Hongjoong flaps his wings lazily, so unlike any dragonfly Yunho has ever seen, and eyes Yunho with outright contempt. 

“Weren’t you looking to be wed? Your manservant said the party was for you to find a partner.” 

“I don’t want to wed!” Yunho cries, looking at the flower’s stem again. He shakes his hand as if that will somehow rid his finger of the ring despite the way it wraps around him. 

“Then think of it more like a partnership,” Hongjoong snaps, blowing his dark hair from his eyes. It’s longer than it was before, shaggy around the ears. His earrings are now just miniscule blots of charcoal upon skin. “I own you.” 

“Own me?” hisses Yunho, entire body tensing up with compounded emotion. “You are a–” 

The fairy snaps his little fingers, the noise deafening, like a discordant piano key. Yunho’s head rings. His body stiffens like wood, dense. His breath becomes visible before his face, and suddenly the luscious earthy smell of the garden is the sharp chill of a winter morning. Hongjoong floats in front of his face and Yunho cannot swat at him. His body is no longer under his control. 

“Treat me nicely, pet. There is so much that I can give to you,” says the faerie, and although it is demeaning in nature, the petname makes Yunho hot under the collar. With another snap, Yunho’s body is released. He feels his muscles unclench, sore as if he had gotten a bad night’s rest. 

Frustrated, Yunho gestures to the manor behind him. “What could you give me that I don't already have?” 

“Is everything you want in that house?” Hongjoong says perceptively. Yunho has nothing to retort with. Nothing he wants is in that house. He actively wishes he were away from it every second he spends in its halls. 

“No…” Yunho murmurs. 

“Then be daring with your desires. I can provide much more than items and wealth.” 

Yunho looks at the floating faerie, really looks at him. Hongjoong must be the most gorgeous thing Yunho thinks he’s ever seen. Otherworldly in his elegance. What Yunho wants at this moment, if he is to admit such a thing to himself, is to study the faerie further. Look at him closer and see what might make him writhe. It’s odd of him to think this, Yunho knows as much. He doesn’t quite understand why he might want Hongjoong like this, but there’s something about the faerie that enchanted Yunho when he was the size of a man, and now, with his iridescent wings and bare form, Yunho feels he can’t help himself. 

“You know what you want,” Hongjoong says, wrapping a hand around his own throat. Yunho wishes he could touch too as he watches Hongjoong run his touch lower, dragging his fingers sensually over his collarbones and chest. “I know what you want.”

“You do?” Yunho mutters as he reaches for the faerie. Hongjoong doesn’t flinch away, instead he floats closer. He embraces Yunho’s finger and runs his tongue over the chilly wound he inflicted earlier. Yunho shivers as if the frost has spread over every inch of his skin. 

“You make it obvious.” Hongjoong continues to lap at the miniscule bite marks. “So I’ll give you permission to touch me.” And so Yunho does. 

He traces the lines of Hongjoong’s body, running one gentle finger over Hongjoong’s chest. The faerie is so cold, electric in the humidity of the summer night. Yunho imagines pressing him against his overheated cheeks. Soothing himself… or maybe… 

Yunho’s dick twitches at the idea of Hongjoong’s entire body working to get him off; the sensation of something that temperature pressing against his cock. Despite having fucked already once tonight, it seems as though Yunho could go for another round. In fact, he feels more desperate now than he ever had with the girl from before. She had been lovely in speech, but her visage didn’t move Yunho like Hongjoong does. A full body shiver runs down Yunho’s spine and Hongjoong’s lovely mouth pulls up at the corners. 

“We could have fun, Yunho,” the faerie croons, climbing upon Yunho’s hand and walking upon it until he reaches Yunho’s wrist. Sitting with little grace, he straddles Yunho’s wrist and cocks his head. “Can we?” 

Yunho gazes down at the faerie, eyes half lidded as he accepts his fate. “What do you want in return?” 

“I have what I wanted. What I came for.” 

“Me?”

Hongjoong hums, running his hand soothingly over Yunho’s skin. “A hand in marriage. Yours in particular was not planned, but once I saw you, I knew you would be the one.” Hongjoong digs his little fingers into Yunho’s forearm and grinds down upon his wrist. Yunho’s stomach drops into the bricks below, though he can’t quite make out if its falling is because he is being reminded that he failed to stay single or because he’s so excited at the prospect of having such a delightful creature all over him. 

“What was it about me?” Yunho asks, unable to take his eyes off the way Hongjoong’s hips move, pushing his cock back and forth over his wrist. It's hypnotic. Yunho’s free hand itches to match the movement, pushing his palm against his slacks until he spills into his pants. They would never be worn again anyway. Such was the nature of a solstice outfit. His parents simply had too much money to let their son be seen in the same clothes ever again. 

“You seemed kind, and it helps that you have a delightfully handsome head upon those shoulders,” Hongjoong explains. “Besides, you want to escape, don’t you? That’s the true nature of your desire. You want something different. Something other. You are not vain like the others I met tonight, nor are you selfish, but you want, Yunho? Do you not?” 

Spit sits heavily at the back of Yunho’s throat and he swallows it down. “You’re right,” he admits out loud to the faerie. 

Yunho has said similar things to San and Wooyoung, but never something this clear. They are friends but they believe it to be a privilege to have access to the wealth and resources of the Jeongs. They offer little sympathy. Yunho is a golden boy who wishes to be tarnished down to the bronze of the ordinary. He no longer desires a life of gleaming opulence. He never really did. The gold upon him always felt more like chains than a pedestal. 

When Yunho evaded an arranged marriage at eighteen, he had run away to the military thinking that would be the end of it all. False hope presided over all other emotions. His parents hadn’t realized he had abandoned his high school dorm until they came to fetch him for the wedding, all of the necessary paperwork and arrangements completed behind their back so there was nothing they could do. Yunho stamped papers and marched for his kingdom, roughening himself up from a boy made of porcelain to one of clay. Expensive as he was, it became harder to notice, to smell on his shirtcuffs. His form became more natural, more moldable. People stared less. Yunho slowly fit himself in with the other pots. It was only two years of freedom—twenty six months to be precise—but in that time, Yunho decided life was worth living. He made friends, a home for himself, and choices. Then they were ripped away from him.

Returning to the Jeong manor was the most humiliating thing Yunho had ever experienced. It surpassed every strange look from family friends at his impolite, rowdy behavior. Yunho had never been afraid to be himself in their presence, but something shifted after he was dragged back into the halls of the building that looms behind. 

When Yunho was young, he was unapologetic. He did what he liked, though he was always kind in nature. He followed directions well if it made his parents happy. If it made his army captain happy. His friends happy. But he no longer had access to friends or captains and his parents were never satisfied with kindness. He had taken his father’s belt to his back more in the last year than he ever had as a child. Upon his return, there was something wrong with him where there hadn’t been before. His parents’ desires became impossible to mold to without sacrificing pieces of himself. 

Yunho is tired of compromises. 

“So you own me now?” he asks Hongjoong, who has stopped his grinding to look at Yunho thoughtfully. His eyes sparkle under the stars, irises impossibly dark.

“You’ve shown me your identity and taken my gift,” the faerie explains as if Yunho was well versed in the rules of the world beyond the veil where the fae reside. “But you have also willingly given me your trust. I am yours as much as you are mine. It’s a marriage, as I said.” 

“And you’ll take me away from this horrid place if I ask?” 

“I’ll grant every desire you have, Yunho. You serve me and I serve you. All I request is a companion,” says Hongjoong. 

Hongjoong’s wings flap, their shape reflecting the lights in a way that makes them appear like glass. Yunho can almost see himself reflected in them, mouth in a stern line and brows creased. He looks so serious, so old. He blames his parents. He blames the last year of his life. He is not unwanted because it is what he wants. He is unwanted because he has been turned into something he never wanted to become. His hand has been forced. 

Yunho takes a deep breath and raises his wrist closer to his face. “I’ll become your slave so long as you grant me freedoms in other ways,” he tells the faerie and a small smile spreads on Hongjoong’s lips. He moves forward, pressing a hand against Yunho’s jaw. 

“My dear, you will be far too beloved by me to ever consider yourself so lowly.”

Yunho closes his eyes as Hongjoong leans in. 

Kissing something a mere 10 inches tall is unlike what Yunho has ever experienced, but he finds the nearly imperceptible contact of Hongjoong’s lips on his fills him with more satisfaction than any other partner from tonight has. The temperature of Hongjoong’s mouth is slick and cool against the bruises his other partners have left, and his teeth are sharp where they nibble at Yunho’s bottom lip. It soothes Yunho into a state of ecstasy. He tries to be gentle, tries not to devour the faerie, but he wants so badly it makes his stomach hurt. 

“Are you still mad I tricked you?” Hongjoong murmurs after a moment, breaking contact. Yunho looks down the bridge of his nose at the creature straddling his wrist and finds, much to his surprise, that the anger is no longer overwhelming. It seems that much of his frustration has been quelled or overwritten by libido. Some lingers, feeding into the warmth that thrums through Yunho’s core. The overlap creates a pocket of desire that Yunho is regrettably familiar with. He hesitates to call what he wants to do Hongjoong torture, but the idea that he might hold the faerie down and pleasure him until he can no longer run his little mouth makes his cock harden between his legs. 

“I think it’s only fair that I be mad. It was awfully impolite of you not to ask for my hand properly.” 

“I’m not familiar with human customs.” Hongjoong blows his bangs away from his face and Yunho squints. 

“It will not serve you well to lie to me while we are bound,” Yunho says, repeating Hongjoong’s earlier words to the best of his ability, and the faerie laughs, the sound of icicles shattering. Delicate. 

The urge to touch overcomes Yunho, and he falls for it. He brings his free hand up, petting Hongjoong’s hair with his pointer finger. Hongjoong leans into the touch. 

“I might have pursued you with more honor if we were both men, but alas. Trickery is the nature of fae,” Hongjoong explains flippantly. He looks to Yunho to see if he’ll accept the answer, but Yunho’s head is full of ways that Hongjoong can make it up to him. Yunho wraps his hand somewhat around Hongjoong’s torso, being careful not to squeeze Hongjoong’s wings as he folds them against his back. Seemingly comfortable in Yunho’s grip, the faerie hums and Yunho rubs his thumb against the faerie’s cheek. 

“Make it up to me.”

“Hm?” the faerie goes and Yunho puts more pressure into his touch. 

“Make it up to me,” he repeats.

Hongjoong tries to lift his arms, but Yunho holds him firm. The faerie wiggles in Yunho’s grip, little grunts falling from his lips. 

“I already promised to grant your desires, gave you permission to touch, what more could you want?” 

“I suppose that’s enough then,” says Yunho. “Just don’t use that freezing trick on me again.” 

Hongjoong lets out a startled ha. “What do you plan on doing to me, you brute?” 

“I’ll pleasure you. You’ll pleasure me. This is mutual is it not?” 

“If it serves your desires, use me,” Hongjoong says severely, the words echoing like an order. He is sharp enough to leave Yunho bleeding until he softens, head lolling into Yunho’s touch. His lips press against the pad of Yunho’s thumb. “I will forgive you.” 

Yunho’s soul feels out of body, brain overwhelming itself as he flits his eyes around the garden for somewhere to lay Hongjoong. He hopes the piano might still be behind him, but when he looks, the grand instrument has disappeared, its illusion no longer serving Hongjoong. Another trick Yunho supposes. With that no longer an option, Yunho secures Hongjoong in his grip and begins to stride deeper past the manicured hedges. There is a pavilion and fountain hidden in the garden—a private place for Yunho’s mother to retreat to when her husband became too volatile. 

The moon shines down upon a fine sheen of mist that coats the ground, light nearly too bright, bouncing off leaves and dewdrops. Once again, Yunho peers upwards through the sparse clouds and towards the bright entity shining in the center of the sky. He really could have sworn it was a crescent earlier in the night. The full moon is almost too large with an unnatural greenish tint to it. 

Hongjoong looks bored when he brings him up to his face, both arms laid over the edge of Yunho’s fist, head laid upon them. 

“What’s wrong with the moon?” Yunho asks his companion and Hongjoong perks up.

“The veil is thin, darling. We are in my world, not yours.” 

Yunho doesn’t ask questions, but he does look back at the manor. The shadows of people he can see through the windows are dark but transparent, like shades moving through the rooms. Yunho escapes further and further from the manor behind him, and notices how the warbling sound of the party echoes away into nothing. 

With less sound comes more color. The garden begins to twist into something much stranger than it once was as the mist thickens around Yunho’s ankles. Flowers bloom to illuminate, their blue coloring suddenly vibrant enough to cast Yunho’s shadow long in front of him. Everything is far more beautiful in the realm of the fae, each piece of nature uncannily familiar yet unknowable all the same. Yunho’s head swivels around as he walks, taking in each new bed of flowers. Things he used to recognize as lilies grow enormous and drip tears onto a path slowly swallowed with moss. Tulips spread their petals open wide as their stalks bend and twist. Flowering vines scale the hedges until they’re swallowed by white blooms. 

The pavilion and fountain remain where Yunho knows they are to be, but they look as if they have not been maintained in years. Nature crawls over them, swallowing them up, and it’s beautiful. Yunho should feel wrong, but instead he is amazed. 

“Is this what you always see?” he asks Hongjoong.

“When I remain in my world. I spend time in yours as well, of course. It's… not as lush, but your settlements are exciting. Why? Do you like it?” 

Yunho nods as he steps onto the wooden steps of the pavilion. He brings Hongjoong to sit on the bench that encircles the pavilion and kneels down. Yunho has to hunch further to meet Hongjoong’s eyes. He’s always felt tall, but not like this. In front of Hongjoong, Yunho feels like a giant. The creature before him is impossibly animated for just how small he is. Yunho can see the slant of his eyes and the purse of his lips so clearly as Hongjoong lays himself out, bending his knees and opening his legs slightly. The movement is casual, but Hongjoong knows what he’s doing. Yunho has only known him a short time, but the faerie acts with intent. 

He is waiting. 

Yunho watches with bated breath as Hongjoong’s gaze wanders off towards some small white flowers that grow between the slats of wood building up the bench. They’re so small that Hongjoong is able to pick one and handle it as if it was normal sized, twirling it between his fingers. It’s with pure fascination that Yunho leans in as Hongjoong fastens the miniscule bloom into a ring. He raises his hand to show Yunho once he has finished, slipping it on. The band melts into his finger painlessly, but Yunho can see how the skin molds around it, just like his own ring. 

“I’m yours,” he murmurs. 

“You’re mine,” Hongjoong says sweetly. “And I’m yours.” 

Yunho uses his pointer finger to push Hongjoong’s thighs open further, until he finds resistance. “You really are so beautiful,” he mutters, lips close to Hongjoong’s cock. He flicks his eyes up, asking for permission to begin.

“Go ahead.” Hongjoong waves him on. Yunho doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until he needs to take one, his exhale rustling Hongjoong’s hair. 

Yunho groans as he goes down on Hongjoong, tongue first, a broad swipe that pushes between Hongjoong’s cheeks to taste his hole before running the length of his cock. It’s like licking an ice cube. Though smooth, Hongjoong is salty and herbal. The feeling of his cock against Yunho’s tongue is so odd that Yunho brings his fingers up to grasp it, checking if it really is that tiny. It fits perfectly between his thumb and pointer finger, and Hongjoong arches slightly when Yunho pushes the foreskin on it back. 

“Small,” hums Yunho. His own cock presses against his slacks, far bigger, likely thicker around than Hongjoong at the base. A bolt of arousal travels down Yunho’s spine at the thought of comparing them. 

He channels his enthusiasm into his tongue, returning to lap at Hongjoong’s hole as his fingers go to hold Hongjoong’s thighs apart. They’re quick to twitch, but it’s easy to keep them open. Hongjoong fights him, he really does—the faerie exerting every ounce of energy under Yunho’s mouth, writhing as Yunho puts his lips fully over his genitals, puckering up to suck as he pushes the tip of his tongue into Hongjoong’s hole. Hongjoong lets out a cry tinged with pleasure and slurs his words as he orders Yunho not to stop. 

“Feels good– feels good…” Hongjoong repeats as his head lolls side to side. Yunho continues pressing his tongue deeper into Hongjoong, swiping circles around his insides. Hongjoong’s entire body racks with a shudder and Yunho changes his tactics, lest Hongjoong comes too quickly. He pulls out slowly, taking his time, staying close enough that his heat continues to melt Hongjoong. The faerie’s thigh is caught in a kiss. Yunho lightly nips at it and Hongjoong shakes. 

“Is it too much?” Yunho asks teasingly. 

“A lot. Much,” Hongjoong says a little dumbly. “But good. You're warm. So warm.”

“Cute,” Yunho coos and Hongjoong grunts in response. He crosses his arms over his pert little nipples, pouting. Being deprived of access to them makes Yunho want them between his teeth. “Don’t be shy.” He nudges a finger under Hongjoong’s arms, noticing the way Hongjoong tenses, as if he thinks he may be able to stop Yunho from prying them apart. He fights as Yunho presses against his forearms, just as he did with the opening of his thighs, but Yunho is a force much bigger than him, and despite Hongjoong’s straining, his arms come open. Yunho pinches both his wrists and none too gently pins them above his head, pressing soft skin to brittle wood. The resulting whimper coats Yunho’s insides like lava. He wants to push further, to pull and prod, control and coerce. It's madness, mania. It will be his undoing. 

Yunho is gentle. Yunho is kind. But Yunho wants more badly than anything else to keep Hongjoong making pretty noises. He wants to hear Hongjoong sing like a choir from heaven. He wants to grace his skin the same way Hongjoong graced the ivory of his piano. 

He works with intention, making sure Hongjoong cannot get another word in. It’s easy to pleasure him, Yunho thinks. So much less to work with and so much more to encompass. He’s sure their difference in temperature is appealing as well. Hongjoong feels good every time Yunho takes a part of him into his mouth. It becomes easy to imagine swallowing the faerie whole. 

When Hongjoong comes, he gasps, body writhing against the restraints of Yunho’s fingers. He humps the air, chasing friction, and Yunho puts his finger there for Hongjoong to rut against, until his stomach is covered with his own cum and his hips barely twitch. Yunho licks the fluid off him with a smile, delighting in the way Hongjoong shudders in post orgasmic bliss. He looks so pretty like this, every bit the magical being he is. There’s a glow to him despite how his eyes flutter with exhaustion. 

Yunho’s dick lurches particularly intensely, and Yunho can feel there’s hot, sticky, pre dripping down his thigh. He fondles his cock through his pants and tries to think back to a time in which he’s felt so desperately turned on. Nothing comes to mind. Hongjoong stretches and Yunho’s dick jumps again at the shape he takes with his arms lifted above his head. 

“Fuck,” Yunho mutters, rutting against his palm. His knees are starting to hurt a bit on the ground, legs going numb with pins and needles, so Yunho stands. The redistribution of blood seems to make his dick ache further, and ideas come easy. Dirty ideas. Nasty ideas. Ones that fuel Yunho’s insanity. 

He hopes this is a dream he’ll never wake up from. 

Yunho grabs Hongjoong in one hand, ignoring the faerie’s tired groan. He tests Hongjoong’s weight in his palm as he unbuttons his pants. He weighs as much as a doll might, one made of porcelain, skin just as cold. His dick weeps as it is freed, its musk mingling with the fresh scent of flowers and summer humidity. Hongjoong must smell it once he is brought close, as one eye opens. 

“Are you…?” he starts, but goes no further as Yunho lowers him until he is atop his cock. He has to spread his legs to accommodate for the base, torso just a little shorter than its entirety. The temperature of his skin doesn’t quite sting, but it makes Yunho feel even more sensitive to the way his heartbeat thumps below his belt. 

Yunho helps Hongjoong flatten his wings before he places his palm atop them. He positions his fingers carefully, so as not so disturb them, but maintains a firm grip upon Hongjoong’s torso. Hongjoong whimpers on the first thrust, the noise betraying his overstimulation. It might be unfortunate that it just turns Yunho on further. He’s eager for more; he wants all of Hongjoong. It fuels the incoordination of his thrusts, not getting enough friction against Hongjoong’s stomach and thighs. 

He turns quickly to pressing Hongjoong down as he grinds the faerie’s weight against his cock, motivated by every little noise and breath. Hongjoong squeezes his thighs around Yunho with a cry. The pressure feels good. It feels so good. 

A groan rips from Yunho’s throat when he realizes the bump he can feel at his base must be Hongjoong chubbing up again, all from being used. 

Closing his eyes, Yunho slides Hongjoong up as the faerie grips tight to his foreskin, then makes an effort to thrust while dragging him down. The sensation is dizzying. He pumps Hongjoong against his length, harder, faster, the dry fiction causing his head to break like glass. 

Hongjoong seems to wake up as Yunho squeezes him even tighter, and Yunho feels as the sensation of cold moves upwards, Hongjoong using his little hands to drag himself to Yunho’s head. The temperature of his hands makes Yunho cry out as they fondle the tip of Yunho’s cock. His grip loosens in shock, eyes flying open and towards Hongjoong. The faerie smiles as he runs his mouth around Yunho’s cockhead, sending sparks through Yunho’s bloated mind. 

He hunches forward, free hand meeting a pillar of the pavilion, relying on it for any and all stability, as his legs begin to shake with impending orgasm. 

Something cold and slick enters the tip of Yunho’s cock, making his foundations crumble. He lets out a hiss, letting the feeling explore itself to its content; until his cock feels heavy with release. It’s Hongjoong pulling his foreskin down farther, little hands gripping at it desperately, that breaks the first seal. It’s Hongjoong using Yunho’s pre to turn his chest and stomach slick that breaks the second. The third, and final seal is broken when Hongjoong begins to rock his hips against Yunho. 

Yunho doesn’t know how hard he squeezes when the overwhelming exhilaration of an orgasm overcomes him, but the noise Hongjoong makes as Yunho spurts into the flowers below the pavilion is positively sinful. It lingers. And Lingers. And lingers…

Yunho's eyes open slowly, as if they don’t want to spoil the surprise that’s supposed to be in front of him. But, the surprise is not a fucked out faerie bathed in moonlight, laying across his slowly deflating member. It is nothing at all of the sort. He dares not move for several moments when confronted with the canopy of his bed far above him, its dark blue silk drapes drawn back. Midday filters in from the wide window to his left, the sun’s rays making the detailing on the canopy come to life. The rose gold shimmers and Yunho wonders how the hell he has made it back into bed after the events of last night. 

Hongjoong’s flesh still feels real between his fingers. Slight and ice cold. Impossible yet visceral at the same time. 

Yunho recounts his night with some fuzziness and then incredible clarity. The shots with San, his mother’s fussing, the tossing of the salt, time in the kitchen, meeting with some noble… he had made his camel joke… embarrassing. The opium must have gotten him then, it’s smoke hazing the space and wafting through his nostrils. Stupifying him. There might have been time in the green house, or fucking, dancing, enjoying the splendors of the solstice. Engaging in an event he had wanted to boycott. Pressure upon him. And then he had arrived in the garden. 

Yunho shivers. He touches his brow, knowing there will be no mask on it, but is still surprised when there isn’t. A dream is the only explanation for Hongjoong, and yet… 

Rotating his hand above his head, Yunho is rendered amazed when his ring finger is circled by a band of copper instead of a flower stem. It has him holding his breath as he watches the metal glimmer. It feels warm under his touch, tight around his finger, as real as any ring could be. It fills him with an odd excitement. 

Yunho gets up. He bounds across the room, changing into a new pair of trousers and pulling a linen shirt from its hanger. With practiced motions, he rolls up the cuffs. He puts himself together and goes to straighten his hair in the mirror. Despite the whirlwind of the night, it looks as though there is not a hair out of place on his head. His reflection is bright. He feels rather bright. There is no echo of a hangover despite knowing that he should be hunched over the toilet or met with a pounding in his head. Exhaustion is far off despite the little sleep he must’ve truly gotten.

The floorboards creak under Yunho as he exits his bedroom. Voices echo from the main hall, faint from Yunho’s wing, yet still bouncing off the walls. They must be solstice guests; folks left over from the night to be cleaned around by the staff. Yunho doesn’t particularly want to run into anybody, but he straightens his collar and descends with his back straight and head held high. 

The closer he grows to the main hall, the weaker his knees grow. Echoing through the hallway sounds a familiar vibrato. It sings alongside Yunho’s soul. When Yunho reaches the stairwell, he knows well and good that Hongjoong is waiting for him down below. He recognizes the faerie’s tone before he recognizes his father’s tenor, smoothly leading Hongjoong through something to do with a land trust. 

“The land is well and good, Mr. Jeong, but you must believe me, I am just interested in your son,” interrupts Hongjoong. 

“Please.” Yunho’s father scoffs. “You must have other prospects, do you not?”

“Enough prospects. But, I am quite sincere, Mr. Jeong. Your land and wealth will do my family good, but they are not the object of my desire. Your son truly has enchanted me, and I believe he feels the same.” 

There’s a brief moment of silence as Yunho peers around the corner and down the front hallway. His father blocks Yunho’s view of Hongjoong.

 “Call me Heesung if you are to be my son in law.” 

“Well then, Heesung, please grant me Yunho’s hand in marriage.” 

Yunho barely has time to breathe, to take in the ask before his feet are moving him away from his shadowed place, his excitement must resonate in his footsteps, as they bounce off the entrance’s grand ceilings as both men in the foyer’s heads look up. He quickly descends the stairs, nearly tripping at the last marbled step. Hongjoong grins at him the whole while, almost wolfish. It makes Yunho’s heart thud heavily in his chest. 

“Father,” Yunho says as he reaches them. He lays a hand upon his father’s shoulder and gestures to Hongjoong with the other. “This man is incredible. I meant to tell you about him last night, but I could not find you.” The lie comes easily and Hongjoong’s smile grows a little bigger. “I believe he has captured my heart.” His father eyes him skeptically. Yunho tries to make his expression as sweet and lovely as possible

“Why Yunho,” Hongjoong chimes in. “I might say the same.”

“Truly,” Yunho croons, his face nearing Hongjoong’s. He’s pleasantly surprised when Hongjoong leans in as well. Hongjoong’s hair is perfect, his eyes dark and all consuming, his canines gleam, and his fingers reach for Yunho’s chin. He stops Yunho right before they meet each other’s lips, not unkindly, eyes flicking from Yunho to his father, who stares at both of them. 

There is no blush upon Hongjoong’s face, but when he clears his throat, he manages to sound properly embarrassed. “Please excuse us.”

“Yes. Please do.” Yunho swallows as his father assesses him with judgment, but a surprising lack of fury. Yunho wonders if he’s surprised his son has gone back on his promise to wed no one. To him, Hongjoong must be someone respectable. To Yunho, he is the same faerie from last night. Yunho is sure he’s a faerie, but he could be just a neighboring lord. Someone with money that Yunho fucked and remembered as something magical. 

Hongjoong’s grin glitters as he playfully shakes Yunho’s chin before letting him go. Yunho decides then and there that Hongjoong can’t be human, if only for his smile and charm—that they both must be in on his little secret. 

To Heesung Jeong, Yunho soon finds, the creature he met last night is in fact not a faerie or even a neighboring lord, but instead a well known artisan and heir to a textile factory Yunho’s never heard of, but his father is ecstatic about. Hongjoong has a lot of money, Yunho’s father’s language says. You better be a bitch of a husband, he says in his glances.  Yunho promises he will be, if only Hongjoong delivers him far from his father’s hands in the coming hours. 

Hongjoong asks for Yunho’s privacy soon after the conversation has run dry with Yunho’s father. He obliges easily, trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach as he pulls Hongjoong up the stairs, down the hallway, and into his bedroom. The double doors shut loudly behind them and Yunho leans against the bright white paint, running his fingers across the brass knobs behind his back as Hongjoong begins to inspect the bedroom. 

“Were you tired of being so small?” Yunho asks, cheek in tongue, warmth filling his chest when Hongjoong laughs. 

“I only thought it appropriate to assume this form. Your father wouldn’t hold much respect for a bug, now would he?” 

“Maybe not.”

“Certainly not.” 

Yunho pushes off the door, slowly approaching Hongjoong from behind as the faerie observes a carved deer that Yunho kept amongst his books. “Are you really the heir to a textile factory?”

“Gods no,” Hongjoong laughs, putting down the deer and turning on his heel so that he’s facing Yunho. “Your father is an easy man to trick. It’s easy enough to make haughty men with too many connections think they’re connected to you as well. Flaunt some wealth in his direction and I’m sure he’d be perfectly content with never seeing you again.” Hongjoong’s words should incite some sort of nerves within Yunho, but his relationship with his family has been so damaged that all they do is excite him. He might miss his mother, but Yunho does not believe his father deserving of such an emotion. 

“So, you do plan on taking me away?’ Yunho asks, tilting back on his heels. “I thought it might be a dream.”

Hongjoong cocks his head. “Did you not see the ring when you awoke?” 

Yunho flashes his ring finger. “Of course I saw it. Though I never learned in my studies that natural material could be turned to copper.” 

“Just another one of my many tricks,” Hongjoong laughs. “Do you like it?” Yunho observes the ring closer, seeing how the copper is engraved with delicate flowers. He hadn’t noticed just how detailed the piece was upon discovering it. He wonders if the blooms are primroses when Hongjoong gently grabs his hand. Despite his human form, he still manages to sit under Yunho’s chin and his small fingers make Yunho’s look all the larger. He points to the ring. “This is just for the engagement of course. I’ve heard you humans like to don gaudier pieces during the ceremony.” 

“Are we to have a ceremony?” Yunho asks, pulling his hand, and with it, Hongjoong, closer to his torso. 

Hongjoong’s tone is warm as he says, “If it's what might please you.” He looks up at Yunho through his lashes, placing one hand upon Yunho’s chest. “We may do as you wish. I am yours as much as you are mine.” The sentiment lingers with Yunho the same as it did during the night, when it was spoken by lips much smaller. When there was more magic in the air, more adrenaline in Yunho’s veins. It settles in Yunho’s ribcage as he captures Hongjoong in a kiss. 

It’s when the sun has set for the evening, all the guests have long been escorted into carriages, Yunho’s bags have been packed, and documents have been formulated that Yunho finally settles fully into his body. The manor’s windows are bright from the outside, but empty. It is a shell of the solstice. A return back to the normality of Yunho’s every day. Spaces like the Jeong Manor echo; every sob and obscenity; every act of anger and vengeful silence. The ugly reality of a man like Heesung and a woman like Hayoung and their sons of odd dispositions. 

Once Yunho imagined his final day at the manor might be regarded with more distress. It had been, the night he ran away. The grounds had been eerily silent and Yunho could barely fathom living without his models and the gardens and good, reliable food. There was such a distinct fear that he wouldn’t make it amongst the military ranks, but he did. 

Yunho moves on from his childhood home with far less grief the second time around. 

When the sun pitches below the horizon, Yunho seeks out Wooyoung, who seeks out San. He pretends to be okay, to be excited, ready for marriage, but that doesn’t stop tears from pricking against his eyes when he’s forced to say farewell. It’s difficult. Far more difficult than disappearing in the night. 

“Yunho,” San says. “We’ll see you again.”

“Come and visit. Or maybe offer a bigger salary. Who knows where my loyalties lie,” Wooyoung jokes, before standing on his toes and placing a kiss on Yunho’s cheek. He must taste the salt of Yunho’s tears. “Is this goodbye?” 

“It may very well be.” The admission is solemn and San’s face falls from its stoic expression to something like a kicked kitten. “I’ll write,” Yunho supplies. 

“You better,” snaps Wooyoung. “I don’t want to think that some overbearing socialite has cut you off from us. Then I may just be forced to abandon my post and rescue you.” 

Yunho laughs until he feels San’s hesitant fingers wrap around his wrist. “Be safe,” he says. 

Yunho can only offer him half a smile. 

Hongjoong regards Yunho thoughtfully for the remainder of the evening. Yunho can feel the faerie’s eyes upon his back, his profile. Hongjoong doesn’t look away when caught, just watches, as if a cat would. Yunho doesn’t feel like prey despite the comparison. He feels like he’s being admired. Hongjoong always smiles at the right time. His laughs are delicate, never letting Yunho’s terrible jokes go unnoticed. They settle into a rhythm that comforts Yunho from the slight doubts he has whenever he thinks about his position too long. The ring is comfortable around his finger and Hongjoong is comfortable as company. 

It's when they slide into one of his family’s carriages that Yunho finally gains the courage to ask about his fate beyond the manor gates.

“Where will we go?” Yunho asks Hongjoong once he’s slid into the seat across from him.

“To my abode on this side.”

“Not to faerie-land?” 

Hongjoong snickers at that. “My world is called Eden, you fool. But no, I spend much of my time in a town a few hours’ ride from here. I bought a small house several years ago. I believe we should settle there before engaging in any faerie-land nonsense.” A blush rises high on Hongjoong’s cheeks that is striking under the light from the lantern in the center of the room. “Plus there is much I haven’t experienced here. I figure having you as a companion might let me enjoy this world a little more.” 

“Oh?” 

“You just… you seem to truly love life in a way few do. I’ve been between realms for a long time. I’ve let myself into many solstice parties. It’s hard to find someone you can’t help but watch.”

Yunho runs his hand down Hongjoong’s back, thinking about where his wings might be, stretched long and graceful. Hongjoong shudders, almost too subtly to be perceived, but Yunho hears his exhale and knows. He figures he knows how Hongjoong feels—to be so utterly fascinated in the other. 

“You’re granting my wish,” Yunho says, and he means it. “So let me grant yours.”