rosie's magic boutique

by snowyleeknow

Summary:

“Are you supposed to be a wizard or something? How does this work?”

“I’m painfully human,” Doyoung replies, leaning forward onto the counter with a smile. In a lower voice, he whispers, “We do have a wizard in the back, though. He just makes me do all the work.”

Five glimpses of the mysterious Rosie's Magic Boutique through the eyes of its patrons, and one through the eyes of its owners.

Notes:

hi! i'm back on my dotae shit again 🤩 this idea popped into my head on impulse and i just HAD to write it... so here it is! dotae + magic and domesticity and cats it's like i died and found paradise

enjoy~!

1.

Doyoung has worked at Rosie’s Magic Boutique for a very, very long time now.

“Someone’s coming.” Taeyong calls out from the back room, jovial as the walls begin to shift. “I can sense it. Any wild guesses?”

Doyoung makes a noncommittal noise. “Maybe. We’ll see soon enough.”

If you asked him for the exact number of years he’s been here, Doyoung doesn’t think he’d be able to say. It’s at least long enough for him to be able to sense it, too—as Taeyong had just said—the buzzing surges of energy, the beginnings of the shifts and changes whenever they’re about to welcome a new customer. The shop has a life of its own; that much doesn’t take long to become clear, and when the walls and their furnishings begin to transform under sparks and glows of light, Doyoung has a pretty good idea of who was waiting to walk into their little boutique on this fine, summer evening.

The shop has a life of its own. It’s the shop alone that chooses the people to whom it wants to show itself, reaching far and wide across all the corners of modern-day Seoul. Those who are lucky enough to stumble upon Rosie’s Magic Boutique are not lucky at all—but chosen. For what reason, Doyoung isn’t always able to figure out. He himself had stumbled upon this place all those years ago, and the elusive Lee Taeyong had only told him one thing: it’s best not to question the shop’s mysterious ways. Neither of them may understand all the reasons behind the people that they help, but if someone catches the eye of the shop’s lingering soul—then that’s that. Taeyong and Doyoung only exist to carry out its magical will.

The structure itself exists in no particular space. As Doyoung likes to say: it’s everywhere and nowhere, all at once. It likes to mold itself to its customer, appearing in any place and taking on any form. These days, Doyoung’s able to gain an insight into whoever their next customer will be, simply by observing the way the shop transforms its interior before they walk in—and it’s very rare that they don’t. The space completely transforms to reflect a person’s character, whether it’s their skills, desires, or just the niche things that they like. About 99.9% of the time, the shop doesn’t fail to capture the attention of its target. They see something about the shop that appeals to something within themselves—hook, line, and sinker—and eventually, they’re lured in.

Well—perhaps lured isn’t the right term to use. If a potential patron would rather walk past the shop as it appears to them, then they very well may. And Doyoung shouldn’t be selling the boutique short; it’s not like anyone comes in against their will, much less is lured in with some evil intent. From what Doyoung has gathered, the boutique does exist, ultimately, to be of help. Taeyong brews up the potions in the back, Doyoung has taken on the role of a trusty store guide, and the magic within their walls does the rest. Come with a desire or dilemma, and Rosie’s Magic Boutique will provide.

And now, right on cue, the chimes above their entrance make a melodic little sound as the door is swung halfway open, just after the last inch of space is transformed for the customer that walks in. The new interior is a familiar sight: classic and elegant, modern art all around, a small bookshelf in the corner illuminated by warm light. The potion shelf behind the counter has transformed, too, Taeyong’s concoctions taking the form of jars of tea and herbs and spices. Doyoung recognizes this space begrudgingly well.

Taking a look around—as if he hasn’t been here before—is Li Yongqin, Chittaphon, Ten. The guy has so many names, but Doyoung just uses the latter. Why he’s here yet again, Doyoung just stopped speculating after the eleventh time.

“Thought you wouldn’t see me again, Doyoungie?” Ten smirks playfully, appreciating the shop’s perfectly curated displays. “Come on, admit it. I wouldn’t even be here again if you and Taeyong didn’t miss—oh, hello, little one! Did you miss me, too?”

Ten is interrupted by said little one at his feet, saving Doyoung from and simultaneously plunging him further into his teasing. The creature in question is one of Doyoung and Taeyong’s cats—white with orange spots and a little heart-shaped patch of white fur near her butt—who absolutely adores Ten, for some stupid reason. It’s Rosie, their boutique’s namesake and adorable little helper—when she feels like it, at least. When Ten strokes under her chin, she leans obediently into the touch, looking straight into Doyoung’s eyes like a direct admission of betrayal. Maybe Doyoung would give her the satisfaction if he didn’t know that Rosie just really likes people, in general, but right now, Doyoung holds firm. Ten continues petting the cat as if oblivious to Doyoung’s presence, and Doyoung just watches. He silently asks the shop for the nth time why it likes this guy so much, and silently hopes that Taeyong will come out from the back and just handle this one for them both.

Doyoung isn’t just saying this because Ten irritates him. He’s actually nice most of the time; the interior has a pleasant vibe when he’s around, both of the cats like him, and the shop definitely seems to like him, too. A lot. That’s the main thing, though—Ten is one of the boutique’s more curious anomalies, a few steps off the shop’s usual patterns and consistencies. Most of the time, when Doyoung sees a customer, he’ll only ever see them once. The shop typically doesn’t show itself to the same person twice, and Doyoung just assumes that it’s because once someone leaves, then they’ve gotten what they need. The boutique has been around quite long, so this is not the first time—but it is quite unusual for them to have regulars, people who see the shop in more than one instance and always at the same place. Ten is just one of the ones who’s more of a… challenge in Doyoung’s eyes, so to speak. The guy is unique—and in a lot more ways than one.

Ten is a little eccentric, and the shop molds itself to that quite nicely. It’s kind of an ordered chaos: art in different styles adorning wood-paneled walls, all in the same, sleek, black frames; the plants in the corners becoming encased in geometric terrariums, similarly minimal and modern; the bookshelf effortless and simple, accenting the rest of the decor with clean lines despite the books not being particularly aligned or arranged. The potions take on a strange form with Ten, too—herbs, spices, jars of tea. It was strange to them at first, because regardless of the shop’s whims as it transforms, Taeyong’s potions almost always at least stay liquid. Not when Ten’s around, though. But it fits, Doyoung has to admit; they have this strength potion that he finds is often a decent reference point for the kind of energy a customer brings, and in Ten’s presence, the originally orange, syrupy liquid takes the form of turmeric and dried orange slices. It tells Doyoung there’s a side to Ten that’s gentle—perhaps even comforting. 

Rosie gets most of that side, though, and sometimes even Taeyong. With Doyoung—Ten likes to unleash a bit more of the chaos.

“What brings you in here today, Ten?” Doyoung asks a little impatiently, after about three minutes of Ten just silently petting their cat. “I doubt that the shop brought you in here just for Rosie, but if it did, then we’re going to have a serious talk about it later.”

Ten laughs, doesn’t even look up from where he’s crouched down. “You hear that, Rosie? Doyoung’s talking to the shop again. You should tell Doyoung he needs friends.”

“Very funny, Ten,” Doyoung rolls his eyes. He’s not going to acknowledge that Ten is technically right— even Doyoung finds it weird sometimes that he’s made a habit of speaking to the boutique’s walls. The shop is alive, yes, but not necessarily sentient. Still— “Don’t turn my own pet against me. I have friends.”

“Oh, really? ‘Cause whenever I come in here, you’re always sitting behind that counter, looking bored out of your mind,” Ten teases. “You must go out on the town sometimes, right? You can’t be that old.”

It’s meant to be a jab, but considering how old Doyoung actually is—he just has to look down, stifling a laugh. “Oh, Ten. You’d be surprised.”

“Oh?” Ten tilts his head, intrigued. “You have my attention now. I guess you are older than you look, then?”

“You know it’s rude to ask for someone’s age like that, right?” Doyoung counters, smirking now that he’d finally gotten Ten to look up. Rosie, however, is still weaving through his legs, brushing up against Ten’s shins. Doyoung sighs. “See, this is why I don’t understand the shop getting so attached to you. Now you’re all up in my business.”

“Does the shop like that you’re always questioning its motives?” Ten asks, leaning down when Rosie doesn’t stop nudging him in the legs. “Although, I don’t actually know why I’m here again. Does the shop actually just think I have a bunch of problems?”

Doyoung laughs at that, has to resist the urge to use it as fuel for more teasing. It is fun to bicker with Ten, he’ll admit—but, at the end of the day, Doyoung’s purpose at the boutique is to be of help. Doyoung has years—(centuries)—of experience, is no longer a stranger to helping their customers discern which wishes or desires of theirs drew them towards the boutique in the first place. His role is integral, Taeyong had told him, because the boutique can only help those who know what they seek. It’s something that Doyoung passes on to several customers himself: the shop will provide, but I can only do what you ask of me.

It’s a good thing Doyoung’s good at observing, can tell what’s odd or unusual or quirky, even in this unusual boutique with its quirks and oddities galore. The first time that Ten had come here, the bookshelf was in disarray—Doyoung had sent him home with an incense for peace and quiet. A couple of weeks ago, the interior all seemed normal, but Ten himself was fidgety, chewing the inside of his cheeks. Taeyong brewed up a potion that replenished inspiration. Ten is still a bit of a mystery, but since the shop offers itself up to him so often, Doyoung’s gotten fairly good at coaxing the reason out of him. This time is no different, and Doyoung catches on quick.

“Personally, I won’t disagree with that assessment, but, look. Rosie’s clingy today.” Ten rolls his eyes at that first part, but Doyoung pays that no mind. Instead, he watches Rosie closely; she’s affectionate most of the time, especially with Ten—but today was just a tad excessive. Just enough for Doyoung to have a feeling it was more than just her normal pandering, so, “You think it has anything to do with that?”

“What?” Ten asks, confused. “You think I’m having affection problems? Kun and I are very happy, I’ll have you know.”

Doyoung snorts. “That’s not what I was suggesting, but since you’re being defensive about it, I feel obligated to tell you that we can happily help with that, too, if you need it—”

“I don’t!”

“O-kay,” Doyoung raises both hands in concession, suppressing his urge to continue his line of questioning despite it being very, very fun. Instead, he asks, “What I meant was: do you think it maybe has something to do with your cats?”

Ten tilts his head in thought, but Doyoung doesn’t need him to answer before it materializes in front of them. Because, right on cue, Doyoung and Taeyong’s other cat comes out of the woodwork with a small vial in between his teeth, running towards Ten to drop it at his feet. Tokki is a fluffier cat, light gray with black marbling, whose presence is quite telling because he’s usually wandering off god-knows-where for most of the day, only coming back to the boutique to eat or sleep. (Taeyong likes to joke that it’s because he’s sour about the boutique being partial to Rosie.) Tokki’s a lot more mischievous than Rosie, the only person he really likes is Doyoung, and even with Ten the cat whisperer, he plays hard-to-get. So when he comes to them willingly, bearing gifts, both cats nudging the vial towards Ten with their noses—it only confirms what Doyoung had initially deduced.

“Um… Leon was a little lethargic when I left the house,” Ten says, a little nervous, lifting the vial up and handing it to Doyoung over the counter. He’s definitely a bit more serious now, Rosie and Tokki still circling his legs, waiting for Doyoung to tell him what Tokki had brought. “I thought it was just the heat, so I told Hendery to open the windows and make sure they had lots of water— What’s in the vial? Is it bad? Should I have taken him to the doctor or something?”

Doyoung smiles at him. It’s admittedly endearing how frantic he is when it comes to his beloved cats—Doyoung can certainly understand—so he takes one look at the vial that Tokki had brought, and he’s quick to reassure. “It’s just a revitalizer. Don’t worry too much. You can sprinkle some into his food and he’ll be up and about, no problem.”

“Okay, okay,” Ten says, still nodding a little too fast. Doyoung hands the vial back to him, a kinder expression on his face. “Thanks. I guess that was it, then…”

Doyoung hums. “No need to prolong your stay,” he jokes, petting Rosie when she jumps up onto the counter. Ten does the same while he pouts, but Doyoung just rolls his eyes. “Don’t pretend like you’re not this mean to me half the time. Anyway, don’t forget to tell Rosie goodbye.”

“Is Taeyong back there?” Ten asks, ignoring any of Doyoung’s previous statements. Although, characteristically, he continues petting Rosie on the counter. “Come to think of it, I’ve never seen him and this little one in the same room, are you sure he isn’t—”

“Hi, Ten!” Taeyong greets, emerging suddenly out of the back room with a smile, taking his place at Doyoung’s side. “How are you liking everything today?”

Ten looks back and forth between the two of them—Taeyong and Rosie, to be clear. Doyoung just watches the scene unfold, amused. “Coming out so suddenly, after all this time?”

“Maybe I draw the line at people thinking that I shapeshift into a cat,” Taeyong muses.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Doyoung laughs, teasing Taeyong even as he wraps a loose hand around his waist. 

“Mean!” Taeyong pouts.

Ten smiles. “Not mean. Hey, it’s cute.”

Doyoung hums appreciatively. When Taeyong’s in the picture, rarely is Ten ever on Doyoung’s side, so it’s a nice change of pace. He hopes that his smile says as much.

“I think you better get going, Tennie,” Taeyong rolls his eyes halfheartedly, slipping out of Doyoung’s hold. “We have other things to attend to besides you, you know.”

“Ooh, other things,” Ten teases, leaning forward onto the counter in his sly, very Ten-like, supposedly taunting stance. But instead, mildly, he concedes, “Okay, I’ll go. Do you think I can have some more of that peace and quiet potion you gave me before? My roommates are kinda getting out of hand.”

Taeyong and Doyoung share a look—Ten is unbelievable sometimes—but in the end, the shop always provides what its patrons desire. Doyoung keeps his eyes locked with Ten’s when he reaches for the shelf behind him, the placement of everything so burned into his mind that he doesn’t even need to look. Doyoung places the jar in front of Ten with an exasperated smile—halfway to a slam, but not quite—the potion resembling dried lavender buds. Ten gives them both a bright, smug smile back, taking the jar gingerly and finally, finally taking a step back from the counter.

“Thanks for the cordial service as always, Doyoungie,” Ten says with a bow, giving Rosie one last pat on the head. Tokki’s already wandered off somewhere else, much to Ten’s visible disappointment, but he courteously finishes his greeting. “You, too, Taeyong. And Rosie and Tokki. See you again soon!”

Ten leaves soon after, but neither Doyoung nor Taeyong miss the playful glint in his eye. Rosie licks her paw nonchalantly on the counter as the walls of the shop begin to shift back into their original form, the potion bottles already back to normal before either of them can speak.

“We probably are gonna see him again soon, aren’t we?” Doyoung fake-complains, making Taeyong giggle and swat him lightly on the arm.

“He’s not actually that bad,” Taeyong says, looking up at Doyoung with his cotton candy pink hair, those stupid sparkling eyes. Doyoung forces himself not to just look away, if only for the sake of his pride. “Anyway, go feed the cats so we can have dinner. I made coconut shrimp.”

Doyoung’s face lights up at the mention of Taeyong’s cooking, and he ruffles his boyfriend’s hair before moving to do exactly that. “Oh, I love you. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Taeyong huffs. “You’re really just like Tokki, huh? Only love me when there’s food involved?”

Doyoung doesn’t answer, and soon enough Taeyong just laughs at him fondly, before returning into the back room. 

As he flips the sign on their door to CLOSED, the shop now fully returned to its original state, Doyoung smiles quietly, too. 

Tokki comes running, as expected, at the first sign of food. Doyoung and Taeyong have a nice dinner after, a reward for another fruitful day.

 

2.

“Ooh,” Taeyong exclaims, eyes widening as the room shifts. “This is interesting.”

“Mm,” Doyoung hums, a vague sound of agreement. “You have an interesting concept of what’s interesting.”

Taeyong huffs. “Cut me some slack, Doyoung-ah, I’m a couple hundred years older than you.”

“Legally, you’re one year older than me,” Doyoung shrugs. That is what it says on their government IDs, after all. “Anyway, shouldn’t that make you less fazed by these things, then?”

Taeyong pouts, tilts his head just a little bit to the side. It’s a look that tells Doyoung that yeah, you have a point. Taeyong—despite being this couple-more-hundred-years-older, elusive, magical being—somehow still has this innocent, very cute ability to still see everything as if it’s brand new. Perhaps it’s a good thing he has a more jaded, practical, very human Doyoung to ground them both back a little more into reality. It’s a delicate and perfect balance between them, maintained for countless lifetimes to keep the boutique running smoothly. They’ve grown into it quite well.

They’re both out front behind the counter today, leaning back against the potion shelf with their arms crossed over their chests. They’d stepped forward to make room when the walls started changing, foretelling the arrival of some new customer to be catered to. They watch with anticipation to see what the space will transform into this time, the thrums within the shop’s walls startling both cats from where they were napping in the far corner. Doyoung continues to observe the new space as it unfolds, trying to gauge how he might be of help this time around, letting Taeyong ramble on in his own little guessing game in the background.

“Wild guess, Doie: college student? Oh—or, or: grad student. You thinking the same thing? This is kinda interesting, actually, right?”

Alright, Doyoung will give it to him—it is a little interesting, the way the space is changing now. The counter in front of them takes the form of a bar, sleek mahogany stained a few shades darker than the floors, and the rest of the interior codes the boutique like an old school beerhouse. The decor is similarly rustic, and the afternoon sunlight shines inside through tall, picture-style windows, casting light and shadow perfectly to bathe a curious Rosie in 4 PM gold. Doyoung has his suspicions about the potion shelf, which he turns his head back to confirm. True enough, they’ve taken the form of bottles and decanters of all kinds of liquor and wine, the liquids shimmering, pearly, colorful. For god’s sake, the strength potion is a more than half-full bottle of fireball whiskey. Doyoung braces himself as the last corners of the shop undergo the final stages of change, leaning back against the counter when Taeyong does, too.

This could go one of two ways. Knowing how the boutique chooses its patrons, Doyoung has very high hopes that Taeyong’s guess is right—that they’re not about to serve some old, sad alcoholic. And, sure—even if they did, it’s not as if either of them would be in any position to do anything except be of help—it’s just not exactly easy all the time for those unwilling to accept that help, no matter how hard Doyoung and Taeyong try. 

Doyoung doesn’t have much time to really contemplate or speculate on that more, because the door finally swings open, right on cue, the chimes singing softly as their next customer walks in. That’s when Doyoung notices a little detail that he hadn’t the first time, more noticeable now that the young man is bobbing his head to the soft, ambient sound.

Doyoung turns to Taeyong, and whispers, “Music.”

They’re surrounded in music, a background of R&B slow jams that underscores the place nicely, saving it from falling into looking a little too lonely or drab. The melody ties everything together, the atmosphere now comfortable and laid back, sound emanating all around from some ambiguous source. Doyoung smiles; he’s always believed that it’s quite easy to tell that the boutique is magical, if only one knows where to look.

“Oh! Doie, look,” Taeyong explains quietly, snapping Doyoung out of his mind-wandering with a hand on his shoulder, leaning up to whisper into his ear. “It’s a couple.”

“It’s a—?” Doyoung whispers back, eyeing the entrance a second time to find a second young man now walking through, door held open for him by his companion. Chivalrous. Doyoung leans down to whisper back, “Okay, they might not be a couple, though. Not sure I’m in the mood to handle another weird sex thing.”

Taeyong almost laughs out loud, but he manages to hide his face behind Doyoung’s shoulder instead. “Seriously, Doyoung-ah?”

“What?” Doyoung whines, shaking Taeyong away from his arm. “I know you’re always just brewing up potions back there, but you know damn well that when it’s a couple, it’s always a weird sex thing.”

Taeyong grins. “Okay, always is a bit much. Either way, comes with the job. What Rosie wants, Rosie gets.”

“I don’t think our innocent kitten appreciates you using her as a scapegoat for the unexplainable whims of this eldritch horror of a magic boutique,” Doyoung scoffs.

“Ah, head hurts, too many big, humongous, giant words,” Taeyong teases in mock defeat, a hand on his forehead for dramatic effect. Doyoung is just about to roll his eyes, but not before a cabinet swings open on its own behind his shins, and Taeyong only laughs at him even more as he struggles to right his balance. “Tsk, tsk, you made the place mad again. Are you ever going to learn?”

Doyoung finally does get to roll his eyes when he’s back on two feet, staring accusingly at the cabinet door below him. “Every day I do the dirty work around here, and this is the thanks I get? Rude.”

“Well, we’ve kept you around, seems like that’s thanks enou—”

“Doyoung-hyung?”

Doyoung and Taeyong look up at the sound of the former’s name, uttered by the stranger a few feet away from the bar counter. Doyoung steps forward with mild suspicion, wondering how the guy would know his name or where they’ve seen each other before, but as he tries to rack his brain, nothing comes to mind.

“Uh, sorry,” Doyoung says politely, putting on his kindest smile. “Have we met before…?”

“It’s Jungwoo!” he replies without hesitation, expression enthusiastic. He speaks up again when Doyoung doesn’t catch on. “We met the other day at the grocery. I work there, you helped me clean up a bit after that kid made a mess of the cherry tomatoes.”

Oh. Now, that particular instance was definitely too specific to not ring a bell. True enough, when Doyoung takes a peek out of their door’s glass panels, he sees that they’re kind of in the same area as that very grocery store that Jungwoo had mentioned; with Ten, the boutique always appears on a not-so-busy street corner in Itaewon, but right now, they’re smack dab in the middle of one of Hongdae’s busiest streets. In hindsight, Doyoung thinks absently, Taeyong’s college student guess might just fit.

“Oh, that was you! Jungwoo, is it?” Taeyong interrupts, fixing Doyoung another teasing gaze before he gets to respond for himself. “So you aren’t just pretending to be a nice guy after all. Good job, Doyoung-ah!” Taeyong chastises. Doyoung only lets it slide because it amuses Jungwoo enough to make him laugh.

“So, is this where you work?” Jungwoo just asks, picking the conversation right back up while his maybe-boyfriend plays with Rosie on the farther end of the shop. “It’s nice.”

Doyoung hums. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“So, is this Rosie?” Jungwoo gestures to Taeyong timidly. Doyoung doesn’t even attempt to stifle his laugh.

Taeyong pouts. “My name’s Taeyong. Why does everyone think that I’m Rosie, all of a sudden?”

Jungwoo gets all flustered for a second, trying to think of a proper answer or apology, but it fizzles out when he follows both Doyoung’s and Taeyong’s eyes towards the far, sunlit corner where maybe-boyfriend has Rosie keening while she lays on her side.

Inexplicably, the two of them utter at the same time, surprising Jungwoo and each other, “Meet Rosie.”

Doyoung and Taeyong share a brief look of mock disgust afterwards, but decide it’s best to save the bickering for some other time. The guy petting Rosie turns his gaze to them eventually, when he finally gets the sense that he’s being watched, and he walks over to Jungwoo with an evaluative stance. Rosie gets up to go find Tokki instead, presumably to continue earlier’s nap.

“Doyoung-hyung, Taeyong-hyung, this is Jaehyun. My boyfriend.” Jungwoo looks back and forth between them, still smiling bright and bouncing on his heels. Okay—so they are a couple. “Babe, this is the guy that helped me with that really bloody cherry tomato mess the other day.”

“Oh, is it?” Jaehyun asks, eyes widening, and he reaches out to shake their hands. Doyoung isn’t used to that these days, but, okay. Sure. “Is this place new? I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”

Doyoung hums in thought. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“Is that gonna be your answer to everything?” Taeyong comments offhandedly.

“Will you shut up? I’m trying to talk to our customers.”

“Ooh,” Taeyong teases. “Feisty.”

“Anyway—” Doyoung sighs, “—in case you haven’t guessed already, this isn’t just an ordinary boutique. The shop itself brought you here for a reason—because you have some wish, or desire, or anything of that sort. Taeyong and I are here to help you discover that reason.”

“Mostly Doyoung,” Taeyong mentions.

“Yes, unfortunately. Mostly me.”

Jungwoo’s and Jaehyun’s faces are in different variations of intrigue at this point, with the former curious and interested, definitely more open than the latter’s more skeptical look. It doesn’t faze Doyoung; it’s not uncommon for people to doubt, after all. At the end of the day, the shop never brings in a customer who hasn’t at least a single, tiny shred of will to believe, so Doyoung finds it’s best to have fun with it when people start asking all sorts of questions.

“Really? You can grant a wish for me?” Jungwoo asks Doyoung in earnest, subtle gaze urging Jaehyun to play along. Doyoung pretends he doesn’t notice. “Any wish? How?”

“Well, the boutique brought the two of you in here together,” Doyoung starts, speaking in his well-practiced, guiding tone. “It’s a little less common, but you both were able to see the shop—so it seems like the two of you might have a shared hope or desire that you’d like to see come to fruition. Does anything come to mind?”

Doyoung can almost feel Taeyong’s stare burning into the side of his head, the pink-haired menace always a mix of impressed and amused when he watches Doyoung work. He’ll always mention the ease and expertise with which each word slips past Doyoung’s tongue, impossibly charming the customers all by himself, without even any magic. It’s a skill that stands on the same ground as the potions and trinkets on their shelves, the way Doyoung’s able to condense all their strangeness into something quaint and digestible instead of towering and overwhelming.

Jaehyun still looks a little skeptical, but seems eager enough for now to play along. “First of all, how do we even know we can trust you?”

“Well, you don’t!” Doyoung muses, smiling playfully at Jaehyun’s confused stare. “You can trust that Taeyong here will brew up something nice for you, but we need to know what we’re trying to brew, hm?”

Jungwoo pouts his lips in thought, leaning forward onto the bar before speaking up. “You know, I actually do wanna see where this goes,” he says to Jaehyun, before turning his head back towards Doyoung and Taeyong, “but I still wouldn’t know what hope or desire we’re meant to tell you about.”

Before Doyoung knows it, Taeyong pipes up— “Is it a weird sex thing?”

All the other three of them in the room now stand with widened eyes, but it’s Jaehyun who flushes the deepest red. “Excuse me?”

“Hyung, what the hell?” Doyoung hisses, exasperated. 

Taeyong just smirks smugly. “Best to get it out of the way.”

“Please, ignore him,” Doyoung says, sighing once again while he bows in profuse apology. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him. That aside, I do, very much want to fulfill whatever brought the two of you here in the first place.”

“We don’t know what we’re looking for, either,” Jaehyun says matter-of-factly, stepping forward to wrap a protective hand around Jungwoo’s waist. “Enough tricks.”

“No tricks here,” Doyoung responds calmly, remaining firm in his resolve. Taeyong, thankfully, finally chooses to stay quiet and let Doyoung handle what he’s meant to. “You don’t have to dig so deep into your heads, Jaehyun, Jungwoo. If the boutique shows itself to you, it must have sensed something already strong at the forefront of your hearts. So, let it be known. The magic will work for you, but it can only do what it’s asked to.”

Doyoung watches as the couple in front of them share a contemplative look, Jaehyun’s arm still around Jungwoo’s waist. Truthfully, Doyoung knows that at this point, he’s usually already done his part, and the rest was up to the two. Taeyong is still just watching everything unfold with a glint in his eye, still set in his perpetual mission to just sit around and look pretty and be of no help to Doyoung until it’s time for any of the magic to come into the picture, but it’s not as if they aren’t both used to it already. If they were in any other situation, Doyoung might just have his hand around his boyfriend’s waist the way Jaehyun does, staking his claim, too.

It takes only a few seconds of silence before someone finally speaks up. It’s Jungwoo, which is just about what Doyoung was expecting—but it seems to take Jaehyun by surprise.

“Well, if we’re being blunt,” Jungwoo says sheepishly, “this is the first time I’ve seen you in 3 months.”

Taeyong doesn’t even hesitate before he pulls a bottle off the shelf, clearly already decided on what kind of magical cocktail to brew. Jungwoo and Jaehyun follow the movement with curious eyes. Doyoung wills himself to keep calm; it’s always like this when Taeyong isn’t stashed away in the back room anyway. He’s shameless and straightforward and would obviously run this business into the ground if he didn’t have someone with Doyoung’s manner. Doyoung gives his most polite smile, and urges the couple to continue.

Jaehyun only shrugs, reluctantly nodding his head. “I… yeah, I guess that’s true.”

“Not that I’m bitter about it or anything!” Jungwoo quickly picks up, looking at each of them, one by one. “We’re both working and doing graduate degrees at the same time and we’re both really serious about it, so I get that it’s not gonna be the way it was in college anymore, but… ah, you know. We’ve talked about this.”

Jaehyun is wide-eyed, a deer in the headlights. “...We have?”

Taeyong picks that exact moment to choose another two bottles off the shelf, placing them nonchalantly on the table as if he was watching this on TV. Him and his wonderful ability to refuse to read the room.

“Yes!” Jungwoo pouts. He turns to Doyoung, “My only point is that I hope we don’t lose who we were back then. Like, it’s not even that long ago, but we’re both just so…”

Doyoung stands there awkwardly. Admittedly, he’s much better at this when it’s one-on-one, still not quite having the couple thing pinned down. He knows it’s just a tad uncomfortable for everyone and he should probably work on not making it feel like couple’s therapy whenever more than one person walks through that door, but right now, he works with what he has. 

Thankfully, Jaehyun steps in naturally, a soft smile plastered on his face.

“Stressed. We’re both kinda stressed,” he chuckles, looking at Jungwoo apologetically before addressing the other two. “I don’t know if that’s what you wanted to hear, but I don’t disagree.”

Doyoung smiles at them both. “Hey, anything goes.”

Taeyong gets started immediately on creating some concoction, while Doyoung leads the couple to sit somewhere by the sunlit corner. It’s the beauty of their shop, Doyoung has learned over the years. Sometimes, what someone needs isn’t always just a potion or some magical object on display; sometimes it’s the conversation, the atmosphere, an opportunity to look within. Doyoung looks at Jaehyun and Jungwoo and he knows that he doesn’t know them, but the fact remains that they appear so natural within this space, against the backdrop of slow music and afternoon sun. It seems like a reminder, a rediscovery of the kind of world that exists within them—something laid-back and slow moving amidst the bustle of the streets outside. Everything about the way the boutique looks now was only made possible as a reflection of both their souls, after all. A counter to Jungwoo’s fear, a gentle whisper that the two of them haven’t lost who they were. Who they still are.

Taeyong is mixing drinks out front behind the bar, a deviation from his usual back room endeavors. Doyoung just has to watch for a second, stunned, still in awe of the way he seems to flow with every sharp movement of his limbs. Always adaptable to whatever form this place takes, Taeyong expertly mixes and shakes these piña colada-adjacent magical brews as if he’s spent the entirety of his life tending a bar, and Doyoung knows he’s staring, and that it’s exactly what Taeyong wants. He’s never really had to use magic to get Doyoung absolutely charmed. 

Doyoung takes the drinks wordlessly when they’re done, bringing the potions of pale, glittery gold to Jaehyun and Jungwoo a few feet away. The two of them are talking, soft smiles on both their faces, and Rosie has found a place on Jungwoo’s lap, trying to paw at his hair. It’s an adorable sight, Doyoung thinks fondly, as he sets down the two glasses with a knowing grin. Jaehyun looks at him again with just that slightest hint of trepidation before either of them can take a sip.

“Are you gonna tell us what’s in this?” he asks warily, brows furrowed as he appraises the liquid. “It looks… strange.”

Doyoung huffs. Of course it looks strange. And of course he knows exactly what’s in it, but he chooses instead to play dumb. “Jaehyun, it’s a piña colada. Don’t you trust me?”

Both of them laugh. Jaehyun retorts, “And what if you’re trying to poison us?”

“Then you die,” Doyoung deadpans. “Come on, you have nothing to lose.”

Jaehyun smiles down at the drink, and then promptly looks to Jungwoo, who’s currently nose to nose with a purring cat. “This still feels ridiculous.”

Doyoung doesn’t say anything after that. He can tell that Jaehyun’s already given in, and he’s self-soothing at best. He has this fond look on his face that says he’d do probably anything that Jungwoo wants, whether it’s going on slow dates or listening to him talk for hours or literally believing in magic. It’s a look that Doyoung knows well—he’s seen it so many times on his own face, whenever he catches himself in Taeyong’s eyes.

“You and Taeyong-hyung are together, too, right?”

Doyoung snaps out of his reverie when Jungwoo speaks up out of the blue, sputtering embarrassingly when he actually begins to process the question in his head.

“I, uh— Well, we, you know. Maybe.” Doyoung scratches the back of his head, looking at the floor in defeat when Jungwoo giggles. “Yes.”

“It’s the rings,” Jungwoo says, gesturing at Doyoung’s right hand. “They’re kind of hard to miss.”

Doyoung doesn’t respond after that, simply just laughs along and makes his way back behind the counter to let the couple enjoy their drinks. He twists the offending piece of jewelry around on his finger—he’s always thought that it was subtle enough for the most part, but he supposes that the magic within it does give off a faint glow. It’s a simple protection spell, imbibed so many years ago. It just feels like a part of Doyoung’s body now, same as the very person it connects him to.

“The wisdom potion was a nice touch,” Doyoung utters in a low voice when he gets behind the counter, “but how many times have I told you not to be so shameless with the customers? You never listen—!”

Doyoung is interrupted when Taeyong flicks a finger towards himself and Doyoung comes tumbling forward, Taeyong immediately pulling him in by the nape of his neck for a kiss.

Oh—oh. Okay.

Doyoung kisses back.

When they pull away, though, both flushed, Doyoung wastes no time to continue complaining again. “I keep telling you not to use your magic on me, you ass!”

All Taeyong does is giggle smugly, before looking over Doyoung’s shoulder at Jaehyun and Jungwoo, laughing and drinking and talking. Unsurprisingly, he ignores Doyoung’s previous statement completely.

Oh, the two of them are gonna kill each other one day. Doyoung sighs.

“Doie, we haven’t had date night in a while.”

Doyoung scoffs, crossing his arms. “And whose fault is that?”

“Think of something!” Taeyong giggles innocently, a giddy look on his face and an irresistible look in his eyes. God damn it. “I’ll wait.”

Taeyong leaves it at that, and Doyoung sighs. He leans back against the shelf beside Taeyong instead, knowing full well that he’s already lost. He’s only human, after all. And Taeyong is the most angelic out of all the mischievous things in this world.

“Fine,” Doyoung says, patting Taeyong’s fluff of pink hair with a roll of his eyes. “Don’t make me change my mind.”

 

3.

Doyoung was half-expecting some emo-goth-vampire lovechild to walk into the store, but thankfully enough, Lee Jeno seems pretty normal.

“So…” Jeno starts, tapping his foot on the concrete, backpack now slung haphazardly over his shoulder. “Are you supposed to be a wizard or something? How does this work?”

Upon sensing Jeno’s presence, the boutique had turned into a completely different place. The walls were transfigured into plaster, light gray and some parts stained black. Tokki almost blends into them. There are deep blue neon signs and a literal bike mounted on the wall, along with a mismatched, wooden desk-slash-shelf stocked with records and what Doyoung assumes are video games, if only because of the literal gaming chair in close proximity. Their plants are nowhere to be found, stuffed animals of all kinds and sizes taking their places—Rosie is poking at a four foot-tall teddy bear—and Doyoung has the passing question in his mind of if this was just the kind of vibe that kids liked these days. He’s seen so many trends come and go that it’s hard these days to keep track.

“I’m painfully human, Jeno,” Doyoung replies, leaning forward onto the counter with a smile. In a lower voice, he whispers, “We do have a wizard in the back, though. He just makes me do all the work.”

Jeno doesn’t really laugh, but it’s worth it enough knowing that Taeyong can hear everything—everything—that goes on inside the shop. He’d despise both of Doyoung’s previous comments. It’s always fun to rile him up.

“Mm,” Jeno hums absently, eyes wide and head still in the clouds. “So, I just… get to make a wish?”

Doyoung takes a moment to just observe him; anyway, Jeno doesn’t seem to be in any rush. When he first walked in, he took quite a nonchalant look around the shop for a good five minutes before even approaching Doyoung at the counter, hands in his pockets and black hair falling into his eyes. They had their greetings and Doyoung’s already gone through all the usual shop talk, and the only thing left to do is figure out what it is that Jeno could need from the shop. It’s already close to midnight, and Jeno’s acting like it, too—dazed, a little sleepy, lost in some brain fuzz—and part of Doyoung wants to just send him home and prescribe some good, old fashioned sleep. It makes enough sense when Doyoung takes one subtle look out the windows and he’s pretty sure they’re literally within the grounds of a university campus, likely caught Jeno’s eye on the way back home or to a campus dorm. The kid’s yawned about four times since he even walked in. When Doyoung’s done with his appraisal, he elects to play along with Jeno’s questioning again.

“Wish, desire, problem—sure. We’ll magic it all away, kid.”

Jeno chuckles, expression unreadable. His lips quirk up a little, but it’s barely there. “How about I fast forward to graduation?”

“Well, that’s—”

Before Doyoung can continue, their conversation is interrupted by a low, but resounding meow. Jeno looks down at his feet, and Doyoung follows—and he’s surprised to see that it’s Tokki, out and about instead of lurking in some hidden corner, meowing at Jeno and pawing at the cuff of his jeans. Jeno looks at Doyoung reluctantly, seemingly for permission, and Doyoung, in his shock, simply gives a small nod. Jeno crouches down and sets his backpack onto the floor, and Doyoung watches him pet the fluffy cat from over the counter. Tokki is purring, on his back, baring his tummy and stretching himself out like a slab of pasta dough—a complete contrast to his usual, feisty self, scratching and snarling and knocking things off shelves. Tokki isn’t even this nice to Taeyong. Doyoung is half-waiting for a twist, for some kind of metaphorical pin to drop—but it never does. Jeno continues petting, and Tokki continues purring.

“I think he likes me,” Jeno mutters softly, as if afraid of scaring the cat off. “What’s his name? Can I pick him up?”

“Tokki,” Doyoung responds on instinct, contemplating the latter question. “Um… sure, at your own risk? He usually hates people.”

Jeno picks the cat up carefully, giggling as Tokki starts to nuzzle, meeting no resistance. (Needless to say, Doyoung is in absolute awe.) “Hates people? Even you?”

“No,” Doyoung answers quickly, eyes still wide at the sight. “Except me, actually.”

“Oh, then I guess except me, now, too.” Jeno says with a smile, his knuckle kneading a spot under Tokki’s chin.

It’s quite cute. Pleasantly, Doyoung’s surprised to find that it doesn’t really make him that mad. (In hindsight, though, he doesn’t think he would’ve gotten jealous about his cat anyway—right?) And Rosie’s attempting to jump up onto the counter at this point, characteristically craving to at least share some of the attention, rubbing her nose into Doyoung’s forearm while Tokki gets cooed over by a customer. Doyoung, of course, indulges her, the spoiled princess . Jeno smiles when he sees.

“This is Rosie,” Doyoung mentions offhandedly when Jeno moves closer. 

“Oh, like, the one in the store name?” Jeno asks, his mouth in an excited, little ‘o’ shape. “That’s cute. I guess she’s the owner, then?”

Doyoung smiles as Jeno continues to coo. “In some ways, yeah. I don’t think she’s used to Tokki taking her crown like this, for one.”

“Oh, so you’re a clingy one, huh?” Jeno singsongs, leaning down to be level with Rosie on the counter. “Adorable. But you must get enough love on every other day already, hm?”

Doyoung gives Rosie a comforting scratch on her head when she nuzzles further into his palm, watching the way Tokki still practically remains mush in Jeno’s hold. The whole exchange has been adorable, he’ll admit—but it’s getting late, and it really doesn’t seem like they should be taking up any more of Jeno’s time to rest than they absolutely have to. Doyoung likes this kid already, would have more of a conversation with him if he could, but the logical part of his brain puts them back on track. There’s a real reason that he’s here, after all.

“Jeno,” Doyoung begins, trying to sound as serious as possible with Rosie’s head still under his palm. “You’re here because there’s something we can do for you. Something you want strongly enough that it called to the magic in this place.”

Jeno shrugs, Tokki still in his arms. His face reads like those of the customers Doyoung gets sometimes who are probably convinced that they’re dreaming—but, hey, if it works, Doyoung doesn’t actually mind it. “I don’t know, dude. I kinda just wanna not fail my literature exam tomorrow.”

“Yeah?” Doyoung raises an eyebrow. Sounds true enough. “I’d suggest you study, kid, but I think you already know that, so I won’t.”

Doyoung smiles as he teases, can almost hear Taeyong’s voice in the back of his head: Doyoung-ah, you and your tendency to think you know better than the literally all-knowing, magical shop. Jeno just glares at that one, too, and Doyoung kind of always does mean it when he’s giving their customers some unsolicited, non-magic advice, but he’s turning around to pick out potion bottles for Jeno anyway. The same way he does for everyone. Doyoung may be painfully human—part of him always will be—but at the end of the day, he does believe in what they’re doing, after all. He doesn’t often get to see how it works out for their customers, but he always has a good feeling about the people that they get to help.

“One drop of each in your water before you sleep. You won’t even taste it.” Doyoung places three things from the potion shelf down onto the counter, one small vial and two tiny glass bottles with droppers, the liquids all in bright, bold colors. The strength potion is colored like orange soda. “And please, do get some sleep, kid. Honestly.”

Jeno chuckles as he eyes the potions, placing Tokki back onto the ground and scratching the back of his head. “I… um, okay. Sure. How much is all of this?”

“It’s up to you,” Doyoung replies kindly, pushing the potions towards Jeno before Rosie can start playing with them. “Like I said, we’re here to offer help. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Oh, no, Doyoung-hyung, I can’t—”

“Tokki approves of you, so that’s already seems a substantial payment of gratitude in my book,” Doyoung muses. “If you insist, we take tips. Leave them with a wish for us.”

Jeno looks up, curious. “A wish?”

“Mhm,” Doyoung nods. “For the shop, for me, even for the cats… something like that. Maybe even for the wizard in the back, though I don’t know why you’d want to, since he isn’t even showing his face…”

Jeno chuckles at that, placing the potions carefully into the pockets of his bag on the floor. “Alright.” He takes out his wallet, a few small bills, placing them onto the counter with a shy smile, reaching his tired eyes. “Should I say it out loud, or will it not come true?”

“There’s no such thing,” Doyoung answers. “You can do what feels right.”

And Jeno closes his eyes like he’s about to blow out the candle on a birthday cake, three fingertips on the bill and Tokki still sitting by his feet. It’s weirdly peaceful, Doyoung thinks, tempted to shut his own eyes and get lost in the wish, too. Soon enough, though, Jeno’s eyelids flutter back open and he utters a single word, breathy and quiet. It’s simple but genuine—the most powerful of its kind.

“Happiness.”

It’s the last thing Jeno says before he bows, scratches Tokki on the head one last time, and takes his leave. Doyoung stands there, floored, chest unexplainably warmed by such raw, simple kindness—the sort that’s still rare, even with how long they’ve been around.

Taeyong pops his head out the back room door when the shop begins to shift back into its original form, mess of pink hair sticking out in all directions.

“Did not appreciate the wizard jokes,” he says sleepily, before stepping out and taking Doyoung by the hand. “You know, I wouldn’t be opposed to a part-timer, Doie. You clearly bonded with the kid.”

Doyoung looks at him, a little surprised, squeezing his hand back. “He’s already stressed out enough as it is, babe,” he argues weakly. “Besides, he’s graduating. He’ll get a real job soon enough.”

“Mm, yes,” Taeyong agrees, smushing his cheek into Doyoung’s arm. “Just saying. Even Tokki likes him.”

“You’ll get there someday,” Doyoung teases, though it carries virtually no bite in his sweet, melodic tone. “Anyway, you have Rosie.”

Taeyong hums. “Mm. And I have you.”

“Debatable,” Doyoung says. Taeyong pinches one of his fingertips. “Ow.”

“Close up and come to bed,” Taeyong commands, ignoring Doyoung’s plight yet again. “I’ll kiss it better. Love you.”

Doyoung shakes his head in fond disbelief when Taeyong walks back through the door he had just come out of, leaving him to do exactly as he was told. It’s a quarter past midnight now and Doyoung makes quick work of it all, flipping the sign on their door and turning the lights off one by one. He takes Jeno’s wish and leaves it to settle within the walls, dutiful as he walks to follow Taeyong through the same door, the cats trailing after him in their routine fashion. 

Doyoung turns off the last of the lights before he fully shuts the door, bidding the boutique another good night.

 

4.

Doyoung has a cold.

He and Taeyong are sitting at a table by the shop window, sipping on some steaming 6 PM coffee to shield them from the pre-winter chill. The cats are cuddled up together on Doyoung’s lap, the outside world too cold for Tokki to go and play outside like usual, and Taeyong is across from him as they all bask in comfortable silence. Taeyong had dutifully mixed some medicine into Doyoung’s cup, as he often does—he’s a healer, it’s in his nature—but the effect isn’t instantaneous, and the frigid air and cat fur certainly don’t help. Nonetheless, it’s always a well-appreciated gesture, and the cup does warm Doyoung’s hands as well as make him feel a little better with each sip. Perks of having a magical, potion-making being as a life partner. It doesn’t hurt every once in a while to have Taeyong fussing over his afflictions.

When the room shows the first signs of shifting, neither of them are surprised. The boutique brings them an influx of people during this season, the last days of autumn while everyone waits for the first snow. People come in with their yearning hearts, and it’s always something along the lines of health, companionship or shelter from the cold. Just today, Doyoung’s helped a market vendor who couldn’t afford to be under the weather and miss a day of work, company workers who needed a little something to fight off the cold settling into their bones, and a couple of young stragglers looking to confess their love to a crush when the snow starts to fall. The boutique’s own magic keeps the inside nice and warm, too, a perfect hideaway for the passersby who left home in the morning with a coat that wasn’t thick enough.

It gets a little taxing for Doyoung and Taeyong as well, but they both make sure they have each other taken care of. Even the cats bring them blankets from some corner of the shop that neither of them ever actually see.

The sun hasn’t even set yet, so when the walls begin to shift into white, Doyoung knows that they both don’t expect this encounter to be today’s last. He nudges the cats to coax them out of his lap so he can stand, getting ready to greet yet another bundled up customer, and Rosie quickly finds a place on top of Taeyong while Tokki sits on the table between their mugs. The cups, thankfully, remain in place as they transform along with the table, matching the now-plush chairs with gold detailing that makes Taeyong appear like a prince. Especially with Rosie in his lap. Doyoung smiles fondly before he forces himself to look away, assessing the state of the space and sniffling away the remnants of his cold. 

The walls are pristine white, but hardly seen in between the impressive array of bookshelves and paintings on the walls. It’s suddenly spacious, too—a lot more than most locations in Seoul usually allow—as if it had transformed into a small palace instead of a humble potion shop. The paintings are in baroque, golden frames, and underneath all the fancy furniture is an entirely-marble floor. The ceiling is high enough that Doyoung’s surprised there isn’t a whole marble staircase that leads to a whole second floor. He’s a bit more curious now about what kind of person is about to walk in. 

That isn’t even all of it, though—the main attention-grabber is undoubtedly this ivory white, majestic grand piano, yellow and green flowers popping out of the chamber from under the lid. The instrument almost seems to glow, bathed in rays of mild, warm sunlight, and when Doyoung looks up, he’s indeed greeted by a skylight directly above. It catches only a little bit of the setting sun at this time, but the ambiance of it is oddly awe-inspiring. Taeyong looks as starstruck as he always does, too, when Doyoung turns briefly to take a look.

“Nice touch,” Doyoung mutters to himself absently, neck still craned up towards the skylight. (If the boutique could speak back to him right now, he imagines it would thank him warmly.)

What fascinates Doyoung even more is that when the customer finally walks in—the door hits mismatched seashell chimes even before the space is finished transforming. 

This happens every once in a while, yes. Just small parts of the interior still mismatched, changing suddenly at strange intervals even in its guest’s presence—and they’re miniscule enough things that they aren’t readily noticed—but Doyoung, of course, is privy to them right away. The man that had just walked in is covered up to his nose in a scarf, taking a look around, oblivious to the parts of the boutique near the entrance that still seem unable to settle on what to become. Even the potions on the shelf—Doyoung observes as he makes his way behind the counter—retain their original form, never beginning to transform at all. It tells Doyoung a little bit of what he needs to know. He eyes the newcomer with a curious gaze.

This confused, dissonant space—it’s meant to be a reflection of who he is, after all. Of his heart.

“What is this place?,” the man mutters silently through his scarf, and Doyoung wonders how it manages to echo off the walls. It’s magic, of course—he knows that—but it’s never any less wondrous. He clears his throat.

“Welcome to Rosie’s,” Doyoung says politely, and the man turns to him with a slight bow. “I’m Doyoung. Feel free to look around.”

And then when he pulls the scarf from over his nose and mouth, finally allowing a glimpse of his face—it suddenly makes just a little bit more sense.

“Moon Taeil?”

He nods. And when Doyoung’s jaw drops a little—Taeil also gives him a smile.

“That’s me,” he says quietly, eyes still wandering around the expanse of space. “I’ve never seen this place before.”

Doyoung doesn’t respond, simply letting Taeil look around even more. Taeyong’s still in the same place Doyoung left him, preoccupied with the cats though he glances at the counter from time to time. He remains where he is while Taeil walks closer and closer in the grand piano’s direction, absently scratching under Rosie’s chin.

The area of the shop near the counter still remains in an in-between state of flux between transformations, and knowing this about Moon Taeil fascinates Doyoung even more.

Moon Taeil is a singer. No, more than that—Moon Taeil is a performer. That’s what Doyoung would say. He’s not mainstream pop or obscenely well-known, but he’s the type of successful that gets to perform at big concert halls and cultural centers, the same as the famous orchestras and sometimes even alongside them. He’s doing musicals, too, recently; if Doyoung isn’t mistaken, opening night for his second theater gig isn’t that far off. Doyoung’s not a fan, necessarily; he’s never actually seen him perform live, has just come across some short clips of him on the internet here and there, and he’s good. From what Doyoung’s seen, he wouldn’t say no to seeing one of his shows; it’s just never been at the top of his mind. Taeil is famous enough for someone like Doyoung to know his name, so it seems a little strange that this is how they’re meeting for the first time.

“You can play it, if you like,” Doyoung speaks up, his voice carrying melodically across the room. “Just if it’s appropriate, of course—I wouldn’t want to overstep. I really should get around to getting some tickets for one of your shows.”

Taeil chuckles quietly, and Doyoung catches the subtle quirk of Taeyong’s lips from across the room. Okay, maybe Doyoung is a little starstruck. It’s a little embarrassing, but hopefully also cute enough to make up for it. Maybe. God damn.

“I’m not going to play it, but it’s not for any of those reasons,” Taeil says as he steps closer, approaching the counter. His voice remains breathy, barely-there. “As you can… well—hear, my voice isn’t really agreeing with me today, and I’m just not in the mood for a performance right now.”

Doyoung shakes his head in apology. “Oh, no, I completely understand. That can happen. Especially in this weather. I can cut back on the conversation if you’d prefer to save your voice.”

“There’s no need for that,” Taeil smiles. “It’s opening night in two days for a show I’m doing, and worst comes to worst, I’ll have to suck it up and just do it anyway. Of course, I’m hoping to god it doesn’t come to that, but… well. You do what you have to do.”

Oh—well, that was easy. Taeyong was definitely listening in, too, because he gets up out of his chair after gently setting Rosie down, gracefully making his way towards the back room to get started immediately on some one-of-a-kind Moon Taeil remedy. He saunters over gracefully, greeting them both with only a smile before shutting the door behind him, leaving Doyoung to talk with Taeil more while they wait.

Dream team, Doyoung thinks fondly. He loves seeing how much Taeyong still loves this work.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” Doyoung turns his attention back to their customer, leaning forward onto the counter on his elbows. “You read the sign, right?”

“Rosie’s Magic Boutique,” Taeil recalls, nodding his head. 

“So, you can guess what kind of stuff we sell, yes?”

Taeil looks over Doyoung’s shoulder, gesturing to the shelf behind him. “Those?”

“Mhm.”

“They’re… magic potions?”

“That they are,” Doyoung answers casually, and then proceeds to gesture with his thumb to the door that Taeyong had just walked into. “He’ll make you a cup of tea, too, if you’d like. On the house. It’s not our specialty, though.”

Taeil looks pleasantly amused, doesn’t meet Doyoung with resistance while he takes in everything that’s being said. They both turn their heads when a single note rings out from the other side of the room, only to find Rosie walking on the piano, her movements completely halted the moment she’s caught like a deer in the headlights. She continues to proceed when they both look away, a series of incoherent notes ringing out from under the beans of her paws. Doyoung and Taeil smile, and the former lets out a light sigh.

“That’s Rosie,” Doyoung introduces for probably the fifth time today, expression filled with pretend exasperation. “Not such a great musician, but she adores the attention.”

“Cute,” Taeil replies, eyeing the cat for another brief second. “I’m a dog person, usually, but she seems precious.”

“She is,” Doyoung says, and it’s a little bit softer than he intended. Sometimes he still can’t believe how weak he is to a cat, but he snaps out of it quickly enough when he hears the sound of glass clinking against glass, a telltale signal that Taeyong was pretty much done. With a grin, Doyoung asks, “So, Moon Taeil. Do you believe in magic?”

Taeil shrugs. He tilts his head, and huffs a short laugh. “Dunno. But I’ll try anything once.”

“Good enough for me,” Doyoung muses, turning back to retrieve the concoction that Taeyong had just brewed up, the new, crystal flask already amidst all the other bottles on the shelf. It only takes a fraction of a second for Doyoung to spot it, effortless after how long he and Taeyong had grown into this rhythm of theirs. “This will make it all better.”

The potion is a muted tone, deep blue like a piece of the ocean, crashing its waves into the sides of the crystal glass. On the outside of it is a simple label—Moon Taeil in Taeyong’s best chicken scratch handwriting—the black ink fresh and still glistening under the light. If he listens closely enough, Doyoung’s pretty sure he could hear the distant sounds of the crashing waves, and he can already tell that it’s a complex blend; there’s something in there not only for Taeil’s voice—but also for his will and for his heart, for clarity, for peace. Taeyong always thinks these things through, executes them with such delicate precision. Taeil seems entranced at the unusual sight.

“How did you do that?” Taeil asks in mild shock, glancing back and forth between Doyoung and the shelf. And then, at the waves crashing in the potion bottle, “How is that doing that?”

Doyoung chuckles at the floor. “Magic shows itself more readily to someone also ready to see. It makes sense, no?”

“Wow,” Taeil gives a vague nod of agreement. “I guess I’m lucky, then. It’s very pretty.”

Doyoung looks down shyly as Taeil still ogles the potion, chest filled with a subtle, but familiar kind of pride. “Yes. Very.”

“What am I meant to do with it?” Taeil inquires, glancing back up at Doyoung with wide eyes. “Drink it? Right now, or before the performance? Little by little, or—”

“I’d take it like a shot, personally,” Doyoung jokes, similarly ogling the small bottle in between them. “Let me tell you a secret—it doesn’t matter that much. You could take a single drop and then keep the rest as a display, and the effect would be the same. It’s a potion made for you; your soul will know how to respond.”

Taeil says nothing as he takes it all in, reaching tentatively for the bottle on the counter and finally taking it between his fingers when Doyoung gives an encouraging nod. He spins it around to see it from all sides, the swirling liquid toeing the fine line between obeying the laws of gravity and disregarding physics completely. Taeil simply smiles in fascination, thumbing carefully at the cork and holding the potion up to the light. 

And it should be about time that Doyoung sends him on his way, but there is something else within him that reins it in. Whether it’s his heart or his mind or just instinct—he’s not so sure.

“If I may,” Doyoung blurts out, surprising even himself when he hears it, “I just want to say that I admire you. And… you’re really talented. Not that that really means anything coming from me, but… Well, I just wanted to let you know. You’re very good at what you do.”

Taeil’s expression is incredulous for a second or two—eyes glassy and intense—but after a little bit, the barrier comes down, lips breaking into a soft, somewhat wistful smile. He looks Doyoung in the eye. “Wow, I… Hm. Thank you for saying that. It’s nice to hear it again every once in a while… and, yeah. I think I needed that just now.”

Doyoung nods in understanding. After all—it’s not always just a potion that someone might truly need when they walk in. “Glad to be of help. Somehow.”

“I should say you’re very good at what you do, too,” Taeil laughs, swirling the potion bottle in his hand the way one would a glass of wine. “Charisma. Easy to talk to.”

“Hm, you learn to have some fun when you spend eternities as a glorified salesperson.” Doyoung passes it off as a joke, switching the flow before Taeil can really think about it. “Either way, it’s been my pleasure. Acting in a musical is something I thought I wanted to try at one point, actually, so I might just send all that energy to you. There’s nothing magical about that—it’s pure sentiment—but I do hope you do well on opening night, Taeil.”

Taeil nods appreciatively, before asking Doyoung, “You wanted to do musical theater before? Why didn’t you?”

Doyoung blushes, questioning the version of himself from about fifteen seconds ago that made the decision to slip that little detail in, his usual professionalism suddenly the slightest bit stripped back. Doyoung just comes up with some vague answer to save himself, definitely not keen at accidentally telling Taeil too much. 

“Personal reasons,” Doyoung chuckles, eyes fixed on the counter, “as you can see.”

Taeil gives him a knowing smile. He glances briefly at the back room door, and whispers, “That one held you down early, I see.”

“What? Like, you mean—” Doyoung starts sputtering, left hand rushing on instinct to cover the ring on his right. “You— you think we’re—”

“So you’re not married,” Taeil nods awkwardly, and it’s his turn to flush with embarrassment, eyes glued to some spot on the floor. “I’m sorry, I just assumed…”

“Well, it’s not—” exactly wrong, Doyoung wants to say. It pretty much is like that, if you think about it. And he’s not fooling Taeil by scrambling to hide the piece of jewelry. He loses the defensive stance, points at the ring on his index finger, and lies, “We’re, uh, engaged.”

Oh, fucking hell. Doyoung regrets it the moment he says it. Taeyong is going to have ammunition against him for at least a whole month. 

“Oh, congratulations!” Taeil pipes up, expression still a little confused. God, Doyoung could have definitely come up with something more believable—but he can beat himself up for that later. “It’s not a bad path to be on at all, Doyoung. Still, maybe I will see you in the theater someday, though. Or maybe not. Who knows? Dreams are confusing. Sometimes they don’t turn out how you thought. But,” Taeil pauses, a calculated look on his face as he looks Doyoung in the eye— “Like I said. You should try everything at least once.”

“I hear you,” Doyoung chuckles warmly, more and more of Taeil’s personality suddenly showing through the cracks. The sun is beginning to set outside, and Doyoung is pleasantly amazed by the whole thing—a chance encounter with Moon Taeil that somehow allowed Doyoung to meet him as a person first instead of just a performer—something most people wouldn’t be able to say. He’s the kind of person that reminds Doyoung of his own humanity: a precarious but fulfilling game of balance, push and pull, surrounded by magic but never consumed by it. It’s rare and it’s difficult. He hopes that Taeil will find his way. “Thank you for the advice. I guess I’ll be fine singing in the shower for now, though. And for the cats, maybe.”

Taeil smiles. “Now, I’ll definitely have to come back another day to see that.”

“Mhm,” Doyoung hums, a little sad. They’re very likely never going to see each other like this again—which is why Doyoung usually avoids these kinds of promises, the attachment that builds slowly with the people who come in here that are more willing to bear more of their hearts, without distrust or restraint. “That would be nice.”

He’s been doing this for such a long time, but Doyoung doesn’t think he’ll ever outgrow that some goodbyes would be bittersweet.

“I should head home,” Taeil says, crystal flask now tucked safely into the palm of his hand. “Oh, but—how should I pay you?”

Doyoung huffs a laugh. He was just about ready to let him go, but since he asked, he goes for the default answer. 

“It’s up to you,” he says casually. Then, more friendly, he muses, “Front row seats would be nice, mister musical actor.”

And—to Doyoung’s no less than floored surprise—Taeil starts digging in his pockets, and Doyoung really needs to refurbish his brain-to-mouth filter one of these days. He can’t start acting like Taeyong if they want to keep this place running smoothly. Doyoung raises his hands with wide eyes, words tumbling out of his mouth yet again.

“Wait, no, I was kidding. We don’t expect anything in return, it’s really— please—”

“I insist,” Taeil interrupts, effectively shutting Doyoung up when he practically forces two tickets to his musical into the exact hands that Doyoung was refusing them with. They’re for the exact show that was happening in literally two days—opening night. Doyoung tries to open his mouth, but Taeil gives him no window to argue. “They’re not the frontmost row, but I’d say they’re still pretty good seats. And before you try to refuse again, don’t. My friends are out of town the entire first week of shows anyway, so I’d love it if you didn’t let these go to waste. Take your fiancé. I’ll be expecting you.”

Doyoung barely processes any of it—lost track completely after trying not to choke on his own spit at ‘fiancé’—and then Taeil is out the door before a slack-jawed Doyoung can rebut anything, smiling at him from outside the boutique’s doors. The events are still attempting to register in his brain even as Taeil fades from view and the shop begins to transform back into itself, grand piano disappearing along with the skylight and all the extra space. Doyoung half-expects the tickets in his hand to disappear, too, but they remain perfectly intact. He lets out a long sigh, a soft chuckle of amusement. This certainly wasn’t a payment they received every day, much less from—

“So, I’m your fiancé?”

Doyoung flinches when Taeyong’s suddenly at his side, head cocked slyly as he leans on the back room door. Doyoung pouts. “I panicked, okay?”

Taeyong giggles shamelessly. Menace. “You could have just gone with it, you know? Husband makes enough sense.”

“You can’t just say shit like that, Taeyong-ah!”

“Fine,” Taeyong seemingly concedes—until he steps closer to whisper in Doyoung’s ear, voice sultry and low. “Then when’s the wedding, hm?”

Doyoung breathes out steadily. He can call this man his fiancé in a panic, yes. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t hate losing to him, though. He moves away from Taeyong’s whispering with a well-practiced poker face, stepping back to look at him, properly push back.

“Soon, baby,” Doyoung retorts with a too-innocent smile, one that disappears in a blink of an eye. It’s replaced with smug nonchalance when he holds up his hand instead, tickets intact and ring still catching the last rays of sunlight. “But first, date night.”

Taeyong’s expression breaks into a smirk, followed by a slow, approving nod. (Doyoung breaks, too. It’s hard not to smile at Taeyong whenever he looks that pleased.)

“Well-played,” Taeyong commends, emphasizing each syllable. With a brief, tiptoed kiss on Doyoung’s cheek, he adds, “Can’t wait.”

And then Taeyong walks away without putting up a fight—so Doyoung follows him into the back room to kiss him right back.

 

5.

Not even a day later, Doyoung is attacked from all sides by a seemingly endless sea of… plants.

Taeyong is out doing some groceries, and Doyoung is sweeping the floor. The outside air is as frigid and cold as it was the day before, but the sun is hot and high up in the sky at 9 AM, beating down through the shop’s windows to provide an extra layer of warmth. He’d had a cup of coffee with Taeyong right after waking up, watched the sunrise with him in cozy silence with the cats on each of their sides. It was another perfect, homey morning—until, of course, they eventually had to get to work.

Sometimes Doyoung thinks that the shop likes to invite people inside when Taeyong isn’t around just to mess with him a little, and apparently, today is one of those days. Doyoung expertly avoids the first huge leaf that appears in front of his face when the shop begins to transform around him, but he walks straight into another when he turns around. The broom falls out of his hand when he attempts to regain balance, and he has to wade out of the corner a little bit before he can fully see the monstrosity that the place was changing itself into—plants, flowers, and then more plants. The shop looks like a greenhouse, condensed with green and bright pops of color all around. It’s just on the edge of being cramped, with the amount of flora covering every inch of space, some of the plants hanging from the ceiling low enough that Doyoung needs to duck to avoid them. The entire wall on his left is covered from floor to ceiling in baskets of fresh flowers—tulips, petunias, roses in different colors—such a plentiful variety that it would take much too long to name them all. They look more like a flower shop than a magic boutique. Then again, magic does like to pull its wildcards sometimes, and all the flowers don’t seem to just be for show. Doyoung can see the faint, glittering sparks of magic crawling under the petals. The potions are still intact on the vine-laden shelf, taking the form of old apothecary bottles that lend themselves well to the peculiarity of everything else, but Doyoung feels traces of them in the varieties of plants all around him. Interesting.

Also, Rosie walks up to him wearing a frilly, little cat hat.

“Really?” Doyoung asks no one in particular, laughing at the fact that the shop somehow found a way to wrangle their cat into some matching accessory. “Even Rosie?”

Naturally, another one of the hanging plants’ huge leaves hits him lightly in the back of the head, leaving Doyoung to roll his eyes in exasperated concession. Rosie doesn’t seem to hate the hat anyway, so Doyoung goes instead to pick up the broom and wait for whoever the person was whose soul apparently looked like a rainforest in a bottle. The furniture is thankfully simple and earth-toned, somehow making the mess of plants easier enough on the eyes. The door to the boutique opens when Doyoung is bent down under the plants for the fallen broom, and his mouth doesn’t waste a second to let his brain think.

“You must really like plants, huh?”

Doyoung only gets a proper look at the customer after he says it a little bit condescendingly, and the boy just stands there, puzzled. Hopefully not offended.

“Excuse me?”

Doyoung snaps back into reality right then, mentally slapping himself back into work mode when he remembers exactly where he is. Oh, he would never be able to live it down if he was the reason for someone walking away. The guy is young, seems nice enough, trench coat and turtleneck, brown hair and soft features. Doyoung stands up to properly greet him.

He clears his throat, “Sorry. I was… talking to my cat,” he glances at Rosie, always the perfect distraction from slip-ups like the one he just had. “Her name’s Rosie, mine’s Doyoung. And you are?”

“Renjun,” the boy responds, looking around the room cautiously before actually settling on said cat. “Rosie? Like the one in the store name?”

“What?” Doyoung asks. Like an idiot. “I mean—yes. Like the name.”

Renjun smiles. “So, she’s the owner, then?”

“Well—” Doyoung pauses, Renjun crouching down to scratch behind Rosie’s ears where they stick out of the hat. She accepts the attention wholeheartedly, so Doyoung decides to play along. “Yeah. Sure.”

Renjun pushes his glasses up his face, amused. “I walk past here every day, and I haven’t seen this place around before. Are you new?”

“Pop-up store,” Doyoung lies, shrugging his shoulders. “Caught your eye?”

“Maybe,” Renjun stands up, turning his back to Doyoung to look around a little more. “It is pretty nice in here.”

“Thanks.” It’s supposed to be, Doyoung resists the urge to add. He observes as Renjun takes in the flower displays with sparkling eyes, gears almost audible as they turn in his head. “Are you looking at those with someone in mind?”

Renjun whips his head around at him, a rosy blush on his cheeks from more than just the cold. “That’s none of your business.”

Doyoung scoffs. Renjun’s one of the feisty ones, he supposes. Two can play at that game. 

“It might have to be, if you want me to fix you up a bouquet.” Doyoung walks over to where he is, standing a few feet away from Renjun’s back while they appraise the flowers on the wall. “I do this for a living, no need to be shy.”

Renjun turns around to glare. It’s not a complete lie—Doyoung’s not a florist, but he knows his magic—and if Renjun was drawn here for flowers, those are probably what he’s gonna have to walk away with, too.

“There’s this boy,” Renjun utters, a little begrudged, but he’s talking nonetheless. “He doesn’t even like flowers.”

Doyoung steps forward to reach for a few stems on instinct, not even really knowing how he knows exactly what it is. He waves the red flowers in front of Renjun’s face. “Amaryllis. For confidence.”

Renjun scoffs. “Me wanting to get him something that he likes doesn’t mean that I don’t have confidence.”

“Then what?” Doyoung quirks an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Does this boy have a name?”

“Does it matter?” Renjun retorts, getting gutsy with his tone as he pushes back. When Doyoung’s expression doesn’t budge, he answers with a small roll of his eyes. “Jaemin.”

“Oh?” Doyoung laughs at how quickly the red on Renjun’s cheeks grows deeper. He walks to the other side to pick out some more flowers, white carnations joining the others in his hand. “Well, listen, Renjun. Jaemin might not like flowers, but you do, yes?”

“...Yes?”

“So what’s the problem?” Doyoung questions, turning to properly face Renjun, look him right in the eye. “You seem like you should know that if you have to be anything other than yourself to impress Jaemin, then he’s not even worth it.”

Renjun keeps his gaze neutral, unreadable. His eyes flit down to the carnations instead. “And those? What are they supposed to mean?”

“White carnations,” Doyoung shrugs. “I think it’s best I don’t tell you, though.”

Renjun steps forward, a feeble attempt at appearing even remotely threatening. “Why not?”

“‘Cause you also seem like you’d bite me if I said you were acting all cute and innocent,” Doyoung teases.

“You little—” Renjun starts, backing off when Doyoung raises an eyebrow and absently picks out two sunflowers from another basket. “Are you always this rude to your customers?”

“Are you always this rude to your elders?”

Renjun is left speechless, and Doyoung pushes down the urge to laugh. As fun as it is to tease this kid, he knows not to get too carried away. He smiles down softly at the flowers in his hands instead, arranging them nicely without pushing Renjun’s buttons any further. He’s earnest in his conviction, though stubbornly bashful and a little rough around the edges. People who come into their store looking for love are some of Doyoung’s favorite to deal with, uncharacteristic as it may seem. It always simply warms his heart to see all the forms that simple affection can take—flowers or music or even ink on a page. Limitless things.

“Do you have a favorite color, Renjun?”

Renjun stiffens up a little, eyes still glued to the flowers in Doyoung’s hand. “Yellow.”

Doyoung smirks. “Yeah, yellow sounds right.” He picks out a bunch of yellow flowers, then—fully-bloomed tulips—placing them in between the gaps to fill the rest of the bouquet, yellow with pops of red, the carnations hiding underneath. Innocence clothed under pride, warmth hidden within fire. The sunflowers stand tall above the rest, facing each other on their own. Doyoung doesn’t say anything else as he moves to get behind the counter, Renjun and Rosie following behind him.

“Can I pick her up?” Renjun suddenly breaks the silence, a soft utterance as he looks at the floor.

“If she’ll let you,” Doyoung smiles, ducking underneath the counter to find that they do indeed have wrapping paper and twine. Oh, the damn wonders of this humble little boutique. “Try it. She probably will.”

Renjun goes to do that, and Doyoung busies himself with wrapping the bouquet. He has done this a few times in the past, just because he’s had to at least once out of sheer probability; it doesn’t make him an expert. He does the best that he can, anyway (even if he knows in the back of his mind that Taeyong would do it a million times better). He wraps the bouquet in brown paper into a neat-enough bundle, hides the tape and everything, adds in a few stems of eucalyptus from the glass jar conveniently placed in alongside the potions on the shelf. When he looks up, satisfied enough, he finds Rosie in Renjun’s arms as the boy lightly brushes a thumb over her heart-shaped patch of fur. Doyoung holds out the flowers with a smile, motioning with a finger for Renjun to come closer.

“So,” Doyoung says, leaning onto the countertop. “Morning news said that the first snow would fall today. You’re planning to confess?”

Renjun avoids Doyoung’s gaze, to no avail. He simply nods his head with a shaky smile, still carding his finger’s through Rosie’s fur. “Hopefully it works.”

“It will,” Doyoung replies automatically, stretching the bouquet out towards Renjun. “Give her to me and take this.”

Renjun obeys, placing Rosie into Doyoung’s hands, though the look on his face remains reluctant as he stares down at the bouquet he now holds. “You don’t know that.”

“I do.” Doyoung holds Rosie to his chest, feeling it against his chest as she purrs. He looks at Renjun kindly. “I believe in you.”

Renjun just hums, appreciative, reaching into the pocket of his coat. “How much for this?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Doyoung muses, putting Rosie down onto the counter while Renjun stares, confused. “You can come back and pay me when he’s your boyfriend. Deal?”

Renjun looks down at the floor yet again, embarrassed, stuttering when he speaks up. “I— I don’t think that’s— I really should, um, well—”

“Jesus Christ, listen to your elders for once, hm?” Doyoung protests, stern. He walks back to where Renjun is to nudge him towards the door when he doesn’t move, patting him on the shoulder lightly before kicking him out with the bouquet in hand. “You know where to find me, kid. Now don’t let those flowers go to waste.”

Renjun opens his mouth, but Doyoung doesn’t hear any of it before he shuts the door. Just like that, he’s alone once again with Rosie still on the counter, sitting primly and startling Doyoung with a whiny meow.

“What?” Doyoung pouts. “Don’t say I was mean. I was very encouraging!”

Rosie meows back, but Doyoung goes to pick up the broom again instead. It only kicks in after a few, silent seconds that the room hadn’t started transforming back yet—and just before Doyoung can think about why, something pops out of one of the flower baskets. The broom falls onto the floor again. 

“What the—” Doyoung looks up to find Tokki’s head popping up from inside the basket of pink roses, the same color as Taeyong’s hair. “How long have you been in there?!”

Tokki doesn’t make any noise back, just jumps out of the basket and drops some of the stems onto the floor, to which Doyoung lets out a deep sigh. But then Tokki nudges the roses even more towards Doyoung’s feet, and he immediately gets the message when Tokki stares up at him with glowing, golden eyes. 

“Fine, fine,” Doyoung concedes quietly, crouching down and taking one of the stems, bending off the thorns before placing it carefully in front of Tokki. “Take one to Rosie, okay?”

Tokki takes the rose between his teeth gingerly, obediently going to do what he was told. Doyoung picks the rest up from the floor, and then grabs some more out of the basket on the wall; the ring on his finger glows brightly, thorns never even touching his skin. That was apparently all it took for the walls to immediately start shifting back into their original state, plants and baskets of flowers disappearing but the roses remaining intact in Doyoung’s hand. The petals smell sweet, albeit a little softer than a normal rose. Muted and gentle—but not any less wonderful.

As if on cue, Taeyong walks back into the boutique the very moment the last of the room transforms, setting down bags of groceries while Doyoung’s back is still turned. “So, Doie-yah, why did our sign say Rosie’s Flower Shop right before I—”

Doyoung turns around right then, and Taeyong cuts himself off. Parted lips and sparkling eyes—Doyoung thinks he’s beautiful. He looks down at the flowers, and they match Taeyong’s hair exactly, fluffy candy floss or cherry blossoms in the wind. Doyoung walks up to him slowly, hands delicate around the stems, stopping right in front of him and looking towards the counter on his right. Taeyong follows suit to see the cats and a single rose, just like the ones in Doyoung’s hands.

Taeyong turns his head to look back at Doyoung, a knowing smile on his face. “Well, that’s sweet.”

“You should have seen it earlier,” Doyoung chuckles, voice a little more timid than usual in their proximity. “The Rosie’s Flower Shop transformation apparently includes Rosie suddenly wearing a little hat.”

“A hat?” Taeyong laughs, looking at the cats again, probably imagining what it must’ve looked like. But he eventually turns his attention back to the flowers in Doyoung’s hold, looking up at him expectantly. “Sounds like I missed a lot, hm? What are these? Is it date night already?”

Doyoung laughs. He would smack him if his hands weren’t full, but he extends the bouquet out to Taeyong for now. It’s always easy to deny just how fond he is of Taeyong, up until the point that he’s right in front of Doyoung’s face—just like this. Absolutely maddening. “Let’s say this is my proposal, and leave it at that. Okay?”

“Ah,” Taeyong nods, wrapping bony fingers around Doyoung’s on the unwrapped bouquet, rubbing in small motions as he leans in closer to his face. “Most people actually say ‘will you marry me?’, but… I guess you’re not most people.”

Dooyung doesn’t get to respond before Taeyong leans in the rest of the way, catching Doyoung’s parted lips with his own in a chaste, but deep kiss. Doyoung’s hands tighten around the stems in his hand, but Taeyong’s soothing motions never cease, even as he gently pulls away. Doyoung loosens his grip when their lips part, letting Taeyong take the bundle of flowers for himself, the fragrance of it filling the room. He’s stunned in the best way, the feeling of Taeyong’s lips still lingering on his own—warm, tingly, perfectly familiar.

“Help me bring the groceries inside?” Taeyong asks like it’s nothing, batting his eyelashes with the most innocent grin. “I’ll put these in a vase.”

And Doyoung, hands now empty, reaches for Taeyong’s cheek to plant a kiss on his forehead, too soft not to be sincere. “Love you.”

Taeyong chuckles. “And the groceries?”

“Wow,” Doyoung groans. “Fine.”

Taeyong walks away with a satisfied smile, only calling out softly when his back’s turned, halfway through the back room door.

“Don’t get all pouty, Doyoung-ah. I love you, too.”

 

(+1)

“Babe, have you seen those earrings that Ten gifted me? The sparkly… opal ones. I think?”

“You don’t even know what you’re looking for,” Doyoung chastises—even though he does know exactly where they are—never passing up the chance to annoy Taeyong to high heaven. After a groan from the other room, he gives in. “You left them in the bathroom the other night. I put them on the shelf by the cabinet.”

“Oh my god, yes, thank you!” Taeyong calls out not even a second later, hurried footsteps echoing through the walls. He pops out of the back room door moments later, fastening the second earring onto his ear. “I thought I lost them. Ten would’ve killed me.”

Doyoung rolls his eyes at the dramatics. “I doubt that Ten can kill you. He’d probably kill me first if he doesn’t stop showing up just to bother me.”

“You do know why Ten’s able to see us so often, right?” Taeyong asks, both earrings now secured. “Don’t tell me you can’t sense it.”

“Now I’m intrigued,” Doyoung puts down the pens he was organizing, leaning against the counter to face Taeyong’s direction, arms crossed. “Are you about to tell me he’s part demon? I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“You’re so mean.” Taeyong adjusts the cuffs of his sleeve. “There’s no way he’s not at least partly magical. If I had to guess, I’d say faerie. He has the charm for it.”

“So do you,” Doyoung says, a subtle compliment that makes Taeyong smirk. “But you’re a healer.”

“I was born this way.”

“Okay, but you’re serious about Ten?” Doyoung inquires. He didn’t actually expect Taeyong to say that about Ten when he had just joked about it—but if he thinks on it more, he’s not really that surprised. “And you just let him mess with me the whole time?”

“Honey, if Ten’s messing with you, it’s probably just Ten.” Taeyong teases. “Faerie blood or not, I doubt he actually knows.”

Doyoung pouts. “Still.”

“Still?” Taeyong raises an eyebrow, leaning forward into Doyoung’s space. “Hurry up and get ready. Don’t wanna be late for Taeil’s show.”

“I am ready!” Doyoung whines, gesturing pointedly at his buttoned up shirt, well-pressed slacks. “And you’re the one who wants the cocktails, so don’t go blaming everything on me—”

“Alright, alright, don’t get so worked up,” Taeyong smiles sweetly. “I’ll be done in a minute, just close the shop and make sure the cats are in order, hm? You look good, I need to match.”

Taeyong walks away swiftly, disappearing into the back room door again before Doyoung can say you already do. His cheeks heat up at the compliment, though, hands coming up on instinct to adjust the rolled-up sleeves of his pink button-down, just bordering on uncomfortable where it squeezes below his elbows. He hasn’t dressed this fancy in a while—their previous date nights never quite this elaborate or formal—but he’s happy as long as Taeyong’s happy, and luckily, the feeling goes both ways. Doyoung’s already used to Taeyong taking so damn long to get ready, even if the magic he exudes already makes him drip with effortless allure, turning heads and capturing hearts a little too easily if he’s not careful. He’s happy enough that Taeyong can bask in that attention the way he loves, because he is beautiful, he’s charming and sweet, the most purehearted being that Doyoung has ever met—and none of that has ever changed. 

And though Doyoung’s always had to share a little bit of it with the rest of the world, Taeyong never fails to remind him of the things that are only theirs—the joys and the burdens and the love that only they’ve been able to share.

“What are you staring at?” Taeyong says all of a sudden, popping up at Doyoung’s side and snapping him out of his thoughts. “Something on your mind?”

Doyoung doesn’t answer, his eyes still continuously scanning each inch of the room around them. When it’s just the two of them around, the boutique is warm and homey—the exact same way it was when Doyoung had first walked in all those infinite years ago with a wish of his own—a fireplace that never stops burning, the sweet scent of roses, creaky wooden floors. The façade on the outside still crawls with rose bushes that Doyoung has never seen wilt. Things have been adjusted and swapped out over the years, if only for the sake of plausible discretion or flowing naturally with the times; but at its heart, it always still feels like home. The two cats and the little plants and Taeyong. Doyoung never tires of it, of them.

He remembers Taeyong telling him that the first time that Doyoung had walked in was also the first time that the boutique had remained unchanged—no shift or transformation to bring Doyoung in—and Taeyong always says that from that very moment, he understood what Doyoung was wishing for. That somehow, Taeyong was wishing for it, too.

“To find the place where my heart belongs,” Doyoung utters quietly, breaking into a smile after a half-minute of silence. Taeyong walks up to his side, fingers trailing up his exposed forearm, ghosting softly on his wrist.

“Your wish?” Taeyong whispers softly back, fingers finally interlocking with Doyoung’s on the counter. “Did it come true?”

Doyoung chuckles. Of course it did. He’d say it, if he was easy. “Looks like it.”

“And how’s that working out for you?”

Taeyong says it with a smirk, the same way he’s always done in the past when they’ve had this conversation about a million times before. The answer is never difficult anymore—at least not as difficult as it is to put into words—but Doyoung knows it by heart, and knows that they both do. More than every once in a while, they get to meet people with dreams and wishes, big or small, never malicious, always with beautiful hearts. The first snow did fall yesterday, and Doyoung can’t help but wonder what Renjun did with those flowers, or what Jaehyun and Jungwoo did to spend it together, or if Jeno was taking care of himself properly during the winter. All he knows for sure is that he’s been able to touch people’s lives, one way or another, and with the love of his own always by his side. His heart belongs here—and when he looks at Taeyong, gentle and lovely by his side—Doyoung knows just as well that his heart belongs with him.

“Good enough.” Doyoung smirks, though his tone is dead serious. Taeyong hits him lightly on the shoulder, but he knows what he means. He always does.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Taeyong says lowly, squeezing their interlocked hands. “I’m glad you found me.”

Doyoung moves on his own accord before anything can stop him, free hand under Taeyong’s chin as he tilts it up for a not-so-gentle, not-so-chaste kiss. More than anything, it’s just grounding—Taeyong lets go of Doyoung’s hand to bring both arms around his neck for support, kissing back just as eagerly when Doyoung places a palm flat on the left side of his waist, careful not to bunch up the smooth, white fabric. The finger under Taeyong’s chin soon becomes a tender touch on the side of his cheek, just the tips of Doyoung’s fingers teasing the edges of Taeyong’s scalp under fluffy hair. It feels like they’d have to gasp for air after they pull away, but they find themselves both in a perfect state of calm; Taeyong’s lips are redder, Doyoung’s eyes glassier, hands never leaving the places where they’d held each other.

“What was that for?” Taeyong asks, voice husky with uncharacteristic shyness.

Doyoung doesn’t know what to say, so he pulls him in again.

And he doesn’t know what comes over him sometimes, but it’s no longer a surprise that Taeyong’s never needed any magic to get Doyoung to fall for his charm. He’s perfect and warm and still stands out among everything and everyone even when he swears he’s making an effort to blend in. Taeyong starts to pull him closer by the back of his neck and Doyoung obliges easily, everything else be damned. Doyoung didn’t even flip the boutique sign to CLOSED, but he doesn’t care.

“Doyoung-ah,” Taeyong gasps in between kisses, “you’re gonna ruin my makeup, you know.”

“You’re gonna have to stop saying things that make me want to keep kissing you,” Doyoung mutters back, catching Taeyong’s lips over and over again.

“Like what things?”

“Probably anything, at this point, honestly,” Doyoung whispers shyly. Taeyong swallows it down as he pushes back, lips moving just as eagerly, not being so subtle about trying to stop himself from risking a bite. Now’s not the time for it. Doyoung doesn’t find it any less endearing. “But we should probably be going right about now.”

Taeyong smiles as he nods in agreement, burying his face in Doyoung’s shoulder for a few seconds to conceal the blush in his cheeks. They finally pull away slowly, giggling stupidly into the inches of space between them, and Doyoung places another soft kiss on his forehead for good measure.

“We can pick this up again later, yeah?” Doyoung asks incredulously, hands inching off Taeyong’s waist and cheek.

“Definitely,” Taeyong responds, smoothing out the fabric of his shirt. “Can’t believe you’re not a demon sometimes, you impossible fucking tease.”

“Hey, I take responsibility,” Doyoung counters, releasing himself fully from Taeyong’s hold. “Now go leave some food out for the cats. I know you forgot.”

Doyoung smiles playfully as he walks out from behind the counter to finally declare the shop closed for the rest of the evening, catching the warm rays of the setting sun on his face through the window. The fire crackles steadily in the background, and the cats jump out of their hiding spots at the first sound of food. There’s magic all around him—and Doyoung oftentimes is still overwhelmingly enthralled by the thrum of it, no matter how far and how long it’s been settled perfectly into his bones. The ring around his finger glows faintly, glittering, pale gold. An ever-present sign of a wish come true.

But still—

“Let’s go, Doyoung-ah! Can you take some pictures of me outside before we go?”

At the end of the day, more than the haven that he found— Doyoung will always be the most proud of, the most thankful for the home that they’ve built. 

“Of course, sweetheart. Now get your coat and come on.”

Doyoung and Taeyong walk together out of Rosie’s Magic Boutique, hand in hand, bound together by more than just magic from the very start.

Notes:

AAAAAAAAA i really enjoyed writing this concept with a sprinkling of my precious dotae 💔 also completely projecting that i want a second cat hdsjfdgk

leave me a kudos or comment if you enjoyed this!! or you can yell at me on twitter and cc too -3-

twt/cc: @daisiesyuta 💚

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Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of rosie's magic boutique