Chapter Text
the eyes, they stare.
judging, shaming, as the white cloak drags on the floor with each quiet step. there was no bigger humiliation, chagrin than to have the eyes of hundreds of students glued to your back, as you walk, as you breathe, as you live.
shameful. the shame should burn him like fire.
yet, he stands.
the mouths, they murmur.
judging, shaming, quiet whispers, words, nasty, so nasty, as the white cloak enters the dormitory. they whisper around him, they point, and laugh, they mock—disgusting, dirty, vile. the chagrin never ends. this is his eternal suffering, the humiliation, the rise of fire to lick his bones every time he steps inside a room, eyes never leaving his figure, waiting for him to crack.
and despite all the warnings, jisung cannot stop looking at him, wide eyes, standing in the corridor, watching, as the white is bright, calling for him, silent. the cloak is dragged on the floor, silent, so silent.
no glances, no words, he doesn't seem to mind.
shameless.
that's the first time he ever notices na jaemin.
scribbling down the correct order of ingredients used to create a healing potion, jisung rests his face in his hand, careful with his messy handwriting, finishing the assignment he'd been working on for the past hour.
tossing the quill to the side once that paragraph is finished, jisung rests his back against the wooden chair, tired dark eyes dragging across the empty room, taking in the long tables, with no sign of a student ever being there, untouched books.
the library is empty. it's a grand room, all of its walls covered with thick shelves, holding dusty books that hadn’t been used in centuries. if not for the librarian, everything on those shelves would've been erased, for not another soul inside mahoutokoro cared for history of magic, of past wars, of goblins, and werewolves, and anything of the sort—jisung included.
boredom sinks into his bones as he sighs.
there isn't much to do now that his homework is done.
the first signs of summer reflect outside, the sun hitting the window rather timidly. the grounds of the school had turned bright green once again, finally going back to being some sort of common area for students to relax in between classes, seated together, laughing and pushing each other, momentarily forgetting about the threat of future exams lingering over their heads.
he can't forget, poor jisung—not when his parents are somewhere inside the walls of mahoutokoro, teaching potions and charms to students younger and older than him.
still, he doesn't move a muscle to find a book to study.
jisung only stays put, frozen, waiting for time to pass and for the librarian to ask him to leave, once she woke up from her nap. her soft snoring keeps him company, he notices bitterly. everyone he knew is busy. teaching, studying… or fucking. his brain doesn't let him not think about it, the memory of last night still burning his memory: damned chenle, letting that girl suck his d—
jisung hears him before he sees him for the second time.
the sound of trouble makes him dart his eyes up, towards the shelves in the back, hidden behind iron gates. the sound of trouble makes jisung stand up, and his heart skips a beat at the sight of the gates being open.
much like a siren's song, it calls for him, making him frown. he watches, and watches, and watches as something—someone pushes the gates open, dragging across the floor as it complains that its being moved without permission.
jisung looks over his shoulders.
the librarian still sleeps softly, drooling over her hand. he goes back to watching, tongue running over the corner of his mouth, his body suddenly heavy—thump, thump, thump, thump, sings his heart, picking up its pace.
the restricted area of the library can only be opened with a pass, and... whoever that is, they don't have one.
the sound of trouble, danger—the insistent sirens calling to him, voices soft, should've been enough to make him turn his back, wake up the librarian, and say “someone's breaking the rules, ma'am, someone's looking at dark magic without permission,” or, or, or he should've stopped whoever that is. whoever that is should be punished.
be a good student. be a good student. be a good student—
jisung follows.
he trails right after it; that taste of danger, and uncertainty, entering the restricted area without another thought. the sirens sing loudly in his ears, alerting him of his poor choice.
the restricted area is poorly illuminated. the collections of books are darker and heavier, dustier, too, as only the most respected students are allowed to get a pass. jisung cannot help but stare, terrified, genuine horror biting him, once his eyes land at the books covered with blood, chained, protected, kept away.
even in the restricted area, there are warning of don't touch and keep away. they only serve to make him want to touch everything, though.
but he doesn't, no matter how much the sirens beg him to.
he doesn't get to, at least, hands freezing in front of the shelf, eyes glued to the symbols carved in the books, because he hears a—whoosh and a cloak falls to the floor.
with the invisibility cloak long gone, a new student is revealed—
white—that's the first thing jisung notices.
long white cloak touching the floor.
a boy wearing white.
white.
white stares back at him and jisung freezes once again.
the familiar fear and anxiety that rest on him multiply, turning his stomach cold, and he takes a step back, letting out a loud noise, a trapped breath that had been locked away in his heart for so long.
thumpthumpthumpthump…
jisung’s eyes go everywhere.
he knows him, of course, he does. everyone knows him. tall frame, with pitch-black hair pulled back, flashing his sculpted features; point nose, and pursed lips. cat-like eyes, mathematically sharp, stare back at him, so dark, so serious.
for a second, jisung doesn't breathe.
and then they're gone, as the boy sits on the floor, pulling one of the books from the shelves, ignoring his presence, like it didn't mean anything to him.
shameless.
the sight of the white cloak makes jisung sick, like a raging fever all at once. a hurricane inside his body as he continues to stare—the implications behind that color weigh his shoulders down, cold stomach freezing more with each passing second, snowdrops.
but he cannot bring his eyes away from the figure.
that’s the color of bad decisions, of evil choices and intent.
that’s not good. Definitely not good.
jisung’s stomach turns, and it hurts. hurts so bad, it brings tears to his eyes.
he chokes out, "you're na jaemin—"
black, dangerously black eyes meet his face once again, and jisung cannot control his body when he takes a step back.
the boy carries no expression; cold, apathetic, nodding, slowly, before turning to his book once again, opening it right in the middle, far more interested in whatever he's reading than in the terrified younger student still standing in front of him—why is jisung still there? what is wrong with him?
na jaemin’s voice is comically monotonous when he purrs, “yes, i know that. thank you for noticing it,”
the words make him take another step back because he wasn't expecting na jaemin to actually answer him.
jisung has heard things about him. it's impossible not to hear about him every time the student steps a foot in a room. everyone murmurs. they need to murmur. about the things he’s done or is still planning to do. disapproval runs in every sentence related to na jaemin.
he’s never spoken to na jaemin before, however. there was no reason for that, of course. they lived in completely different worlds, while inside the same walls, same school.
park jisung lived a normal life. a good life. and… the other—well. he can only imagine what type the likes of na jaemin live. it feels like a dream, at some points. when jisung’s daily activities are disrupted by the other’s presence, entering the library, or the great hall, chest puffed out, ever so imposing and reckless.
na jaemin is a nightmare, or so jisung likes to tell himself when he cannot pry his eyes away. one of the very bad ones, too; the type of nightmare you can never escape from. his presence is more than enough to ruin someone’s day. yet, unlike a nightmare, he’s very much palpable. very much there. and, god. it's real—like his voice and words had sealed the deal: na jaemin knows he exists, and the information makes jisung a bit dizzy. a bit scared.
it's one thing to talk to someone evil that doesn't respond, that doesn't care for him. another completely different thing is to be actively interacting with him; exchanging words as normal people would.
jisung isn't necessarily popular—he doesn't have a big group of friends, nor does he interact with more than two people ever, but he's not socially inept like one would think when looking at him. and he's not unpopular, either.
still! the fact na jaemin answers him hurts his brain, much like his heart and lungs hurt inside his chest.
there are a lot of things he can say. jisung knows how to carry a conversation and behave like a normal person, after all. but not right now, no—the thought of talking about frivolous things to someone like na jaemin is painfully funny (with emphasis on painfully, of course).
jisung knows if he thinks about it too much, he might cry.
so, he only manages to blurt out the obvious. the thing that had compelled him to come here anyway.
“y-you shouldn't be here,”
na jaemin scoffs—jisung doesn't know if it's any better than the purring, honestly. it all hurts the same, but, now, alongside the fear and growing anxiety settling in his stomach, there's also embarrassment. Neat.
“you don't get to tell me what i should and shouldn't do, kid,”
jisung feels small, completely terrified. there’s only a two year difference between them.
the thought of the librarian walking in and punishing him from entering the restricted section scares him, but not so much as the thought of her realizing who he's interacting with. poor jisung is pale, incredibly pale, almost as white as na jaemin's uniform.
he shakes from head to toe, but, thankfully, he doesn't stutter again, though he cannot say his voice is anything other than small and weak,
“… it's against the rules,”
“and it's also against the rules for you to be talking to me, yet, here we are,”
na jaemin closes his book with another scoff, bringing his dark eyes to meet jisung’s face. that makes things worse for his heart. however, something crosses na jaemin’s face. he frowns, tilting his head, but there’s a small smirk in the corner of his lips.
“are you going to tell them? the professors? that i’m here?”
“i should—”
“i know, but i'm asking anyway,” huffs na jaemin.
he runs his slender, scarred fingers through his strands of hair, tucking them behind his ears. oh. his ears are red. jisung watches it as the red stays there, probably burning. it’s a contrast, from how pale his skin is. pale like snow. voice equally as cold, too.
na jaemin deadpans, “you're staring,”
damn it.
jisung’s breath hitches and he presses his lips together, puffing out his chest, very much despising how na jaemin was also staring at him (arched eyebrows, lips slightly parted, eyes so quiet—obsidian similar to the cloaks the other students wear. he wonders, unfortunately, if na jaemin is too, having troubling thoughts on why they’re still talking, there’s no sign of that on his nonchalant expression. merlin, why is he still staring back?).
jisung states, voice hard, “i'm leaving,”
“very well,” scoffs back na jaemin, the white wizard, that damned grin growing a bit more on his face, as he brings his legs closer to his chest, opening the book once again, ready to return to his reading. the black fringe falls in front of his face, and even covers his ears, the other notices.
damn it.
there’s nothing left to say. and so, jisung runs away.
he can count chenle’s eyelashes.
jisung is observant, he likes to analyze. so. eyelashes. they’re long, dark, and they flutter every time he blinks. chenle has nice eyes. very nice eyes. bright, lively, every single day seems to be the best day of his life. (his gaze turns lidded when he’s either tired or mad, though, like he’s having trouble keeping his eyes open, jisung has noticed). they’re also dark chocolate but under the sun they change to a lighter tone.
tonight, on the other hand, as they’re seated on the great hall, under the shimmering candle lights floating above their heads, they look almost amber. jisung likes them. a lot. he likes to stare at them during class, too, as chenle’s busy with his tongue out, copying fervently whatever is written the blackboard in front of them. pretty. far prettier than any of the magical creatures professor jung might try to show them.
but he doesn’t like chenle, no, definitely not. they’re friends. just friends. and jisung finds him very pretty, that’s all. nothing more, nothing less. it’s not like he stares a lot. or stutters over his words. or gets slightly moody when that girl approaches chenle. never. he doesn’t create unrealistic romantic fantasies in his mind when it’s time to rest. nor does he silently wish to be the one intertwining his fingers with chenle no—no!
jisung only finds him very pretty. they’re just friends, thank you very much.
plus, finding zhong chenle pretty is common sense, after all. a latte-skinned boy with broad shoulders, dark hair falling around his face—yes. pretty. chenle’s smile is sweet. it never fails to light up a room. and his eyes… well. jisung can talk about his eyes for hours.
and although he adores it when chenle’s eyes light up with excitement, every time he talks about something mildly interesting, tonight, all of that excitement only makes him sulk, arms crossed, uninterested. not even the other’s bright, puppy-like smile is enough to make jisung’s cranky mood drop.
chenle is talking about girls… actually, he’s trying to set jisung up with a girl from their year.
it makes jisung stop staring.
darting his eyes to the long wooden table in front of them, jisung’s eyes end up finding someone else—someone entirely different from zhong chenle and all of his beauty and excitement.
someone with night-dark hair falling in front of their face as they look down at the piece of parchment on the table in front of them, studying it carefully, not caring to touch the food on his plate.
a boy that has been, unfortunately, in the back of jisung’s mind since yesterday.
there aren’t students around him. they keep their distance, continuous chatter, sending him weird glances every now and again. it’s impossible not to stare at him sometimes. jisung always goes back to his figure, even before they ever interacted.
he blames it on the white cloak. yeah. that’s totally it.
the white clothes stand out in the sea of black, golden, and pink. that’s the entire point, after all, right? to single them out for their misbehavior, so, no matter how much they try to mask themselves and hide, everyone would know that they’d been up to something awful.
na jaemin is quiet, energy low.
if not for the white in his clothing, he’d be unnoticeable, much like jisung himself. na jaemin doesn’t move to the point it doesn’t even seem like he’s breathing, too quiet, too deep in his thoughts. he rubs his nose once, then sighs, shaking his shoulder. he runs his tongue over his bottom lip, then takes a sip of his pumpkin juice. he makes a face—scrunches his nose in clear distaste, but drinks it again at some other point.
it’s a weird sight.
na jaemin opens his mouth and mumbles something to himself.
jisung tries to focus on what he’s saying, trying to read his lips.
“she's amazing, sungie,” says chenle, and that’s not what he wants to hear, curiosity peaking as his eyes never dart away from the wizard in white. much to his dismay, all he can hear is chenle’s voice, (which is a weird reaction, considering he wants chenle to talk to him almost every single day) “plus, she told her friend, eunha—you know eunha, right? short, round cheeks? so, eunha is totally into you,”
i don’t care about her, jisung wants to say, but he can’t, squinting. na jaemin sighs once again and turns the parchment around, eyes tired, no longer interested in its content. again, a weird sight.
chenle slams his hand on his back, “you should ask her out on a date or something, man. you deserve to have some fun once in a while! all you do is study and talk about the ministry,”
and he’s not wrong.
jisung doesn’t have a lot of hobbies, and the ones he has are quick to fill in the boring/uninteresting category, according to donghyuck. but now is not the time to be thinking about that, no.
so.
jisung sighs loudly, pressing his lips together in a small smile, taking a sip of his pumpkin juice, scrunching his nose right after. he drinks it again, to further his suffering.
only to get chenle to stop talking, he says, not committing to his words.
they’ve done this before, after all, “yeah, yeah, sure, why not,”
na jaemin gets up to leave, food untouched, parchment folding in the air, before entering his pocket, spell silent and unnoticeable. a few people around him stare and flinch, whispering to one another. he doesn’t spare them a glance.
he mumbles something to himself once again and looks straight at jisung—like. straight at jisung.
it’s obvious now: he could tell jisung had been watching him from the other side of the great hall. he could tell, of course.
jisung’s breath hitches, stuck in his throat, and he presses his lips together in an awkward expression.
the great hall somehow feels small, like the walls are closing around them, but jisung doesn’t look away. he should stop looking now (should never have looked in the first place, actually). just how he should never speak to na jaemin ever again in his life. ever again. but he doesn’t.
they stay like this for a second. then two. a minute, maybe.
it’s only when na jaemin raises an eyebrow, a ghost of a smile daring to creep its way into his face that jisung looks away.
“ah, it’s you again,” says na jaemin, unimpressed, voice dragging, ringing in the silence of the restricted area.
jisung stares, keeping his hands behind his back, squeezing them lightly to ground himself. the sirens and the sound of danger are still there, but not as prominent, and while he still feels out of breath, for some reason, he doesn’t feel like crying.
not now, at least.
there’s nothing worse than being bored, in the boy’s opinion. jisung’s the type to always have something going on in his life—most of those things related to his academic pursuits, of course, but they’re still something. now, however, with the arrival of the exams, he doesn’t have anything else to do, but that. and it’s that thing, isn’t it? when you can only do one thing, everything else in the world seems more enticing. plus, jisung’s always been curious, a bit reckless, despite his perfectionist parents and looming pressure to match their excellence in all areas of magic—yeah. never mind that.
so. restricted area. again. yeah. it’s the only thing that crosses his mind. because to feel fear and anxiety is much better than staring at the ceiling, hugging pillows in his bed, waiting for donghyuck to come back from classes, so they can talk about their feelings, or play wizard’s chess, or whatever.
na jaemin is not seated on the floor this time. but on a chair, a pile of dusty, odd-looking books surrounding him, similar to a fort. if jisung didn’t know any better, he’d say na jaemin is trying to hide from others, hunching over one open book, well covered, if not for his cloak.
but he knows better. he knows hiding isn’t a thing boys like na jaemin do.
“you're jisung. park jisung,” he says.
it’s not a question.
it makes jisung take a step back like a fool, anyway, frowning, more surprised than scared, honestly. na jaemin knows who he is—actually knows who he is.
it shouldn’t be as surprising as it is, considering his parents are professors and have probably mentioned him once or twice during their lessons. but again, it’s that whole thing of living in completely different worlds. in jisung’s mind, there should be a veil preventing either of them from knowing too much about one another—something to keep their distance. to keep jisung safe.
apparently, there isn’t.
the thought makes the sirens go alert inside his head, obviously, but he doesn’t get to ask anything, because the na jaemin continues to speak, coldly, never raising his voice, too unbothered for that.
“what are you doing here?"
"i have homework," says jisung. it’s the first thing that comes to his mind.
lying isn’t one of his special abilities, unfortunately. his parents are very understanding people, so he never felt the need to hide anything from them—which sucks now that he’s eighteen and wants to hide a bunch of things from a bunch of people. like how he tells his professor that he does not copy jeno’s homework when he’s too tired to think; how he tells chenle, mom, dad, and himself that he’s totally straight, or how he needs to hide the fact that he’s actively talking to a white cloak.
unlike all those people, though, that believe him wholeheartedly because they know him—some sort of blind faith in front of their eyes, that he’d never, ever lie to them—na jaemin only raises his eyebrows, still very much unimpressed by his lie.
“no, you don't,”
and because jisung can only lie so much, he crosses his arms, puffing out his chest, copying the other’s expression. getting defensive, because, thankfully, he knows how to do that.
not caring, for once, about his fast heartbeat, he bites, “what are you doing here?”
“i have homework, too,” purrs na jaemin, but he stops reading.
resting his face on his hand, he stares at jisung over the cascade of black hair over his eyes. face still very much cold, expressionless, but there’s a hint of something in his obsidian eyes. something jisung doesn’t particularly dislike, really. the worst part is that jaemin is not even trying to get away with whatever it is that he’s reading about—testing him, teasing.
jisung frowns, “no, you don't,”
“yeah, i don't,”
his smile shouldn’t be as pretty as it is. na jaemin’s lips are thin, rosy, and his smile, though sarcastic and nasty, is… kind of adorable. jisung cannot think of a better word—it’s not like he has an extended vocabulary for that, honestly. it’s not similar to chenle’s smile, which lights up rooms and makes people feel special, no. na jaemin’s smile is mocking, like he wants to get jisung to leave. but he stays.
they stay silent. staring. (they always stare.)
jisung strongly dislikes him, he concludes.
all that curiosity and need to know more of him came from a place of clear distaste, right? his parents had warned him of students in white, but jisung never thought he’d have to deal with them. if your cloak loses color, you’re no longer welcome as a mahoutokoro student. you’re expelled. it’s that simple.
yet.
na jaemin is still there—going to classes, sleeping in the boy’s dorm, having breakfast, and handing in homework, while everyone keeps their eyes on him.
he’s still there. and he’s awfully confident, and pretty, for someone like him.
jisung takes a step closer, arms crossed, face no longer carrying that same distaste, pressing his lips together, raising his eyebrows at him, as well. then, he sighs, letting his arms down, taking another step closer.
“… you're looking... into dark magic, are you not?”
that same undying curiosity never leaves—it lingers around, creeps inside him, and he cannot take back the question. he’s always been terrified of dark magic. be it simple hexes or full-on dark wizard type of spells. his parents have taught him well. jisung knows all magic comes with a price, even to wizards like them. not only is the fear of suffering the consequences, like being stripped from this world he knows and loves, enough to keep him far away from even wanting to reach towards those books but his strong morals are set in stone.
dark magic hurts.
dark magic takes.
dark magic should never be considered.
yet… he asks, anyway.
because… na jaemin never paid for anything.
he’s still there.
jaemin squints, eyes still gleaming, turning on the chair, legs spread, looking oh so relaxed. he crosses his arms too, eying jisung up and down, trying to understand him (it’s a weird thing—to have na jaemin try and understand him).
“and if i am? will you tell the professors?”
“i should—”
“that does not answer my question, park,” na jaemin stands up harshly, leaving all his books behind, making his way towards jisung. “what’s your deal?”
when jisung stumbles back, hitting one of the thick shelves, na jaemin brings his arms up, cornering him, while squinting—eyes so dangerous. close. close. he’s close. jisung looks everywhere, but his eyes. he can count the freckles on na jaemin’s nose. the wizard in white is small than him. he can see the ghost of a smile creeping its way into that pale face right there—in front of him.
jisung swallows hard, when na jaemin drops his voice to an even lower tone, dragging each word, “why are you talking to me, park jisung, when you know goddamn well what i'm doing and how that could terribly affect your perfect, uneventful little life?”
oxygen stops circulating. all his veins are clogged. the proximity kills him slowly, burning his insides one second at a time, blood now lava. but jisung just cannot stop staring. na jaemin’s lips are heart-shaped, thin, and rosy. his eyes are sharp and empty, a shade of dark black he’s never quite seen before. this thought is, much like all the others, very weird.
jisung chokes out, “... i don't need to explain m-myself to you,”
he really doesn’t, but he finds himself wanting to, even if only a little bit. na jaemin raises an eyebrow—curious. interested. the same way he did during dinner. jisung’s stomach twists—he likes it. he likes how it burns, heat pooling there. and he doesn’t pull away. na jaemin’s hands move, falling to his sides, but he does not move, very aware that he’s invaded jisung’s personal bubble, still showing no sign of even caring about it.
with a click of his tongue, he bites, “very well,”
it’s not the same ‘very well’ he let out the other day. that one had been unamused, uninterested, with a despicable grin as he scoffed at him. this one, oh, it’s different. not defeated, because the younger is more than sure na jaemin isn’t the type to give up, but there’s, undoubtedly—something behind it. something about it that doesn’t make na jaemin take a step back or park jisung to push him when he’s very, very aware that he can.
he stays still, much more interested in observing, than finding the voice to speak up.
jisung doesn’t understand why he keeps noticing these little things. more than anyone inside these halls, he should never stare in na jaemin’s direction. a safe distance, a wall, a voice, even, between them in order to protect him from any ideas the other might have. and yet. jisung still stares. he looks, searching—big eyes painted with innocence and curiosity, in a way that should never be directed to someone like na jaemin.
he says, “... will you... tell the professors about me talking to you?”
na jaemin scoffs, but it’s a different scoff, too.
he takes a step back, ruffling his dark hair, and jisung can only watch as the strands fall over his eyes. the grin is replaced by a small curl of his lips, but the softness of his features don’t meet his obsidian eyes.
“oh, that's cute,”
“will you?” presses jisung, taking a step forward, invading na jaemin’s personal space this time around.
there’s no rhyme or reason, he just—does it. now he cannot take a step back, because that’s not who jisung is—going back on his words, or on his steps.
(not a very good thing, but, hey, that’s him).
he pretends those words hadn’t made a number on him, too. being called cute is something he’s used to, at this point. all of his hyungs, noonas, and even dongsaengs call him cute. his mother calls him cute every time she sees him. jisung still feels his face heating up, though.
because it’s different… why is it different?
surprisingly, or not, na jaemin doesn’t take a step back, nor does he express any sign of discomfort whatsoever, albeit it’s clear that his eyes linger a little bit longer somewhere under jisung’s nose, in a quiet stare, before he says.
“i’ll be sure to think about it, park,”
before going back to study.
jisung doesn’t like hand-holding.
maybe it’s because of the sun, that burns the top of his head, making his cloak too heavy, too claustrophobic, too hot. or it’s the company. he cannot breathe properly, and it pains to walk and exist altogether, having his fingers intertwined with eunha’s as they walk in the grass, in complete silence. he’s not socially inept, or anything. social anxiety has never quite been that big of an issue for him, thank merlin. but. but. but. jisung cannot bring himself to say anything—anything at all.
he’s not having a good time. (maybe because he doesn’t want to be there, who knows?), and chenle and his girlfriend talk so much, laughing, being overall so adorably sickening jisung wants to tell them to fuck off—he doesn’t, of course. mom’s taught him that if he’s nothing nice to say, he should keep his mouth shut.
and, oh, does he keep his mouth shut alright.
even when eunha tries to talk, jisung barely makes an effort to engage in the conversation—they have a lot in common, she points it out, trying so hard to have him smile. apparently, chenle and soojin had spoken a hell lot about him to her, and somehow, the information makes him even grumpier, if that’s even possible. jisung should be a lot nicer to her, he knows. eunha’s a nice, pretty, funny girl, who’s done nothing, but have a crush on him.
but he’s not in the mood to be nice. not today. maybe not ever.
not when chenle’s holding another person’s hand right by his side. kissing her on the lips occasionally. never turning to look in his direction to see how he’s holding up with this whole fiasco. it’s not exactly a double date, because that word has not been mentioned once. and because jisung wasn’t really asked out by anyone. chenle just—grabbed and dragged his ass to where the girls were waiting for them, the moment potion’s lesson ended.
at first, jisung tried to play it cool. (really, really, reaaally did). because he’s a sweetheart like that, you know. while he’s one of the lucky few that has never had a crush on anyone, he has read enough romances to know that if he wants to let someone down, he should do it gently, slowly. and, so, he was nice at first—talked about his favorite lessons, favorite quidditch team. even made a few quips here and there, earning a smile from her, that kept flushing, and tugging at the hem of her cloak.
it’s awkward, because eunha’s the socially inept type, unlike him.
(“opposites attract,” teased soojin once, lovingly, poking eunha’s side, not noticing the look of utter distaste jisung threw in her direction.
ok. look. jisung doesn’t hate her—there’s no one in the world that he actively hates. it’s just… he’s grumpy. he’s jealous. so, so jealous. and she’s beautiful. very, very beautiful. with shiny platinum locks, big doe eyes, high nose bridge, heart-shaped lips, just—so gorgeous.
soojin’s nice, too. funny. she makes sure jisung is having a good time. she gives him a thumbs-up, to encourage him. because she, much like his friend, thinks he could have something with eunha. she genuinely believes that would make the two of them happy. and… he cannot hate her, no matter how hard the jealousy monster inside him begs him to. but the way chenle stares at her. bright smile. eyes shining, easily comparable to supernovas exploding in the universe somewhere. like she’s stardust, or something prettier—it breaks his heart. truly.
… maybe he understands what rejection feels like, after all.)
it’s a situation he shouldn’t be in, jisung knows. but there’s no way to escape it. and that’s when he notices how disappointed eunha looks. jisung observes carefully. her big eyes are on the floor, sad, devoid of the same affection that covered its light brown tone earlier, whenever he made her laugh. she barely talks now, too. silence is as comforting as stepping on glass. jisung notices it all—how chenle and soojin have already gone somewhere else, probably to smooch without getting caught. and they’re left alone.
silent. awkward. sad.
so, he goes back to trying—because jisung’s nice. though he doesn’t want, he will be nice to her. because he doesn’t want someone else to have their hearts broken, much like his. especially if it’s his fault. not on his watch. while he’s not going to fool her into thinking he’s even remotely interested in continuing this romantically, why not be a good friend, right?
there was once a time everyone in mahoutokoro thought jisung and chenle were dating.
specifically, donghyuck.
the older student would comment on how the two of them just seemed to go really well together, which would make chenle laugh, smack jisung in the shoulder blades and say, “yeah, we’re really good friends,”
but. but—there were times they’d sit alone in the dormitory, long after everyone had gone to sleep, and they’d talk, resting on the floor, hands almost touching. chenle would smile at him, and jisung would feel it, you know. affection. love. because they’ve been together as friends for the longest time and putting two and two together resulted in a four.
right? no. in this case, it resulted in a five.
after a while, donghyuck’s comments only made chenle roll his eyes as he stressed that he was very much into soojin. which would then cause jisung to panic, stare at donghyuck—and beg him to stop bringing that up.
now chenle and soojin are dating.
and jisung watches from afar.
donghyuck is the only one that knows, even though jisung never came out to him. jisung thinks he’s into men, too. though, donghyuck has been very vocal about how he loves girls, too. which jisung, unfortunately, cannot relate to. it’s a thing they both sort of—knew and never dared to speak up about. a boundary neither of them placed there.
anyway. yeah. so, jisung knows what that feels like. and, so, a small, safe smile makes its way into jisung’s face, and he squeezes her hand before pulling away, a lot more secure in himself now that he’s not being forced to be someone’s prince charming.
“hey, you mentioned your mom’s a professional quidditch player, right?”
eunha’s eyes light up and—she’s very pretty, too. cuter than soojin, that’s for sure. her eyes are small. teeth, bunny-like. her cheeks are round like chenle had mentioned, but they compliment her face and her wavy black hair.
the rest of the evening goes smoothly.
and, when their shoulders bump once or twice, it’s because she got the message.
they don’t hold hands anymore.
at dinner, he stares at na jaemin once—out of curiosity.
cat-like eyes were already on him, though.
with the orange tones coloring the great hall, thanks to the lit-up torches covering the walls, as a raging storm broke outside, rain hitting the windows aggressively, his eyes look a lot darker and dangerous—wicked.
for a second, that’s that: them looking.
until jaemin tilts his head, pointing to something by jisung’s side with his chin.
he turns around far too quickly, and—
chenle tucks his girlfriend’s hair behind her ear, only to lean over the table, placing a chaste kiss on soojin’s lips. the girl beams, lovingly. right next to her, is eunha. their eyes meet, awkwardly—soojin says those three little words—galaxies and universes are born in the brown of chenle’s eyes.
he opens his mouth and… says it back.
jisung chokes on his drink and looks down, heart painfully tugging inside his chest. it burns, the hellfire inside him. so much so that, at some point, it leaks, running down his face quietly.
when he deems it safe enough to look up again, na jaemin has gone back to his reading. but there’s a small, pleased smile on his face.
no matter how much he loves her, the moment his mother showers him with kisses, squishing his cheeks, and cooing about how much she loves him, all jisung wants to do is squirm away from her touch, voicing his complaints out loud. he has a reputation to keep, after all—they both do. somewhat.
the boy is by no means popular, nor does he wish to be. he simply doesn’t want his hyungs, noonas, or dongsaengs to see him being babied by his mother, also known as stern professor park. despite being eighteen, having skipped completely those troubling rebel years, his mother doesn’t get bothered by his sudden rudeness, shrugging it off with a smile, saying, “it’s a teenager thing” or by smothering him some more.
today, it’s the latter.
“ooh,” she coos when he steps out of the dorms. she’d been waiting, as she occasionally does when she has a free first period, no longer earning weird glances from other students, apart from the easy-to-scare first-years.
jisung’s mother looks like him (well. it’s the other way around, really). long face and tired eyes, sharp jawline, and fluffy black hair falling around their features. the only thing they don’t have in common is their heights and noses. today, she’s dressed in a vivid blue suit, looking a hell-lot like a muggle businesswoman. park kaeun, the scary and deadly charms professor, beams—bright smile identical to his own, as she cups his face, pressing his cheeks together, forcing jisung to pout.
she sings, “my baby! jisung-ah! professor miyawaki told me about your recent assignment and how proud he is of your hard work. jisung-ah, your father and i are so happy to see the amazing wizard you’re becoming—”
almost instantly, he groans, tuning off.
ah. there we go again. showering him with compliments on his academic performance, disregarding how he immediately tenses up at the sight of her. for these past few years, ever since the realization hit, it’s been hard to breathe around them.
jisung cannot lie: he has a good relationship with his parents. he absolutely loves them. and they absolutely love him back—and that should be enough, but it isn’t. unfortunately. it’s hard to talk to his parents, when they seem to be blinded by this invisible veil they placed in front of him. a mask, that only reflects the best parts of him. mom and dad see the molded version. sculpted, their perfect little boy. park jisung. great grades in everything. perfect behavior during class. second seeker for the school’s quidditch team. straightsostraight—yeah.
he’s not sure if she saw him crying during dinner yesterday. (eunha did, but she had the empathy to only pat him in the shoulder later, and lend him a handkerchief so he could clean his puffy eyes, as they walked quietly to the girls' dormitory. at the door, she waved and smiled sadly. jisung sniffed and walked away).
mom never really sees that sort of thing—or anything wrong with him at all.
it’s the mask. the facade. the veil.
jisung knows he can let it down at any time, but he’s afraid. very afraid.
at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter how understanding they are, or how much they say they love him, the need to be accepted and loved by what is viewed as “normal” will always haunt him. jisung knows there’s nothing wrong with him, he knows. but merlin—things sure would be a lot easier for him if he could fit into those standards, right? yeah.
if only he could match his parents’ quick thinking and reaction time when casting spells; if his heart didn’t flutter whenever chenle said good morning, bumped his shoulders against him, and waved after walking jisung to the third floor, where he’d have a defense against the dark arts lesson. sometimes, he catches himself thinking about all of that—wishing. at night.
he’s spoken to donghyuck about it, in a vague way, to not let it out completely; bits and pieces of what he truly meant.
donghyuck understood anyway. gave him a somber look, that he had never seen in hyung’s face before. donghyuck’s a clown—he’s always laughing, teasing. his favorite past-time is to annoy both jisung and his pen pal from ilvermorny, mark, which he mentioned once or twice. so. to see him like that, with no smile or gleam to his eyes, had been enough to make jisung’s heart skip a beat.
they were both seated in the forest around the school, surrounded by sparkly creatures that giggled like tiny muggle church bells. donghyuck had his back against a tree, while jisung hugged his knees close to his chest. he remembers clearly what the other said, with that look on his face.
hyung answered with a question, which surely didn’t help jisung’s doubts and fear.
would you still be you if that was different, jisung?
to this day, he doesn’t have a solid answer for it. and he’s long decided to stop thinking about it. (jisung can’t stop, though, but he’s good at pretending he can. much like he can pretend that he’s straight, and he’s fine).
“don’t forget it, sung-ah,”
his mother’s bright voice snaps him away from his thoughts, and he stares at her. she now has the professor park look in her face, but it lasts only a split second before she smiles, still cupping his cheeks.
jisung nods, unsure of what she might be talking about.
“if you need help with your assignments, do not be embarrassed and come talk to me, alright?”
ah. jisung nods again, letting out a ‘yes, mom, i know. can you let me go now?’ which makes her coo some more, pressing kisses to his face. he doesn’t even try to squirm away at this point.
and when mom pats his shoulder and waves, jisung’s mood drops severely.
people are always bound to notice you.
human connection pulls people together. as humans, we gravitate towards one another, with a tug inside our stomachs for the need of human interaction. humans notice humans. people notice you. it doesn’t matter how invisible you think you are, how quiet you are. or how well you blend in with others. people always notice.
and, sometimes, attention isn’t good.
in jisung’s case, it’s always a double-edged sword; on one hand, it brings new friends into his life—nice, good people. all of his friendships bloomed from the other party just finding jisung all by himself, as he tried to go along with his day without interacting with another human being. on the other hand, it attracted negative attention. because some people—people that never once spoke to him, before—just didn’t seem to like his… whole vibe. or something.
it’s a big school. not everyone’s going to like you. and more than anyone, jisung knows that. but he never understood what motivated others to go out of their way to make someone else’s life shittier—after all, he has a functioning brain, and isn’t an asshole. he’s never bothered to totally fight back or ask why they do the things they do, just letting out salty comments here and there. because he’s always more depressed after their interactions. cheesy. it’s all cheesy and predictable.
jisung has dealt with this several times before.
it started around the time he changed cloaks from baby pink to a darker shade of blue, improving his magic skills with the help of his parents. this other student, named rio, changed cloaks the very same day as jisung. and while they had briefly interacted with one another during class, his demeanor suddenly shifted—like he just woke up one day and decided jisung was the reason everything went wrong in his life.
so, when he sees rio walking up to him, from the corner of his eyes, jisung doesn’t flinch, nor does he try to collect his things to leave, no. (the entire conversation plays inside his head. it’s always the same thing, after all). he just—stays. eyes glued to the same word in the page of this old muggle romance donghyuck had lent him. he’s not really reading anymore. he knows what’s coming. it’s happened countless times already. it became an unfortunately annoying part of his routine.
“oi, park,” says the male voice loudly. rio is this scrawny, weird-looking guy, with one eye bigger than the other. his golden cloak, similar in shade to jisung’s, is too short for him.
next to him, there’s only this one other tall guy in a green cloak (jisung doesn’t know his name. he has no recollection of ever speaking to that guy—he just sort of exists there, pretending this whole thing isn’t happening right in front of his eyes, a little bystander).
anyway, rio’s saying something—“heard you used your parents’ help to get a better grade on our last assignment. why don’t you just stop cheating? afraid everyone will find out you’re not actually that smart and rely solely on your parents?”
at this point, jisung isn’t impressed.
yeah. the guy’s creativity had surely run out because he used those exact words last week. he brings his face up anyway, expression closed off, impassive, like the other’s nothing but a bug. that’s all this is, after all. a little inconvenience.
jisung isn’t scared of rio—he doesn’t beat jisung up or threaten to hurt him, in any way. plus, rio’s short, so he doesn’t have the intimidating factor. it could be considered a rivalry—because, to rio, they’re competing to see who’s the best student. but for that, both parties should be actively trying to defeat the other, right? yeah! and jisung is not really—trying. like. at all. he doesn’t really—care.
he still likes to rile the other up, though. so.
“i honestly don’t know what you’re talking about, rio-san,” deadpans jisung in japanese.
“oh, of course, you don’t,” rio rolls his eyes, clearly not picking up on the sarcastic tone underlining jisung’s words. he can be quite dense, sometimes, when he’s blinded by annoyance, flushing intensely, “you like to play innocent to see if you can convince people to basically work for you. i know you use jeno for that,”
slowly, jisung closes the book, shoving it in his backpack, keeping his very much bored eyes on rio’s flaming crimson face.
getting up, jisung mutters, unable to fight the grin this time around, “he only helps me when i’m tired,”
a vein jumps on rio’s forehead, throbbing like he’s on the verge of a stroke. (it shouldn’t make jisung that amused). the guy next to rio places a hand on his shoulder.
“you shouldn’t get help at all! that’s unfair! Do you know how much effort I put into my assignments?!”
jisung doesn’t miss a beat.
“well, i’m sorry you don’t have friends who are willing to help you,”
for a split second, he’s very proud of his teasing. jisung enjoys making little comments like this every once in a while, to see if it gets inside rio’s thick skull that they’re not close, nor rivals, and this sort of thing shouldn’t happen between them. one thing is to have donghyuck teasing him for copying jeno’s homework again. another completely different is this random kid accusing him, then insulting him. You know, other than getting annoyed at rio for being so obsessed with him, jisung doesn’t dislike him. if he didn’t get petty when the two of them got similar grades, jisung’s sure they’d get along quite well. rio’s the talkative type, he knows, and while he can be a little shit occasionally, jisung’s a boy of a few words.
well. there’s another thing.
while jisung’s already so unbothered by rio’s attempts at making his life hell, by trying to fit into the stereotypical bully role, the other gets mad when he retaliates—like he wants jisung to just sit there and agree to his insults. it’s funny to see rio mad, though, jisung cannot lie about that. but there’s always a risk. rio either gets so mad that he gives up for the day and leaves, which makes jisung genuinely laugh out loud.
or—or he just gets really mean. today’s the latter.
“oh, because you know everything about precious friendships, don’t you, park?” rio squints, crossing his arms, venom in his words. jisung furrows his eyebrows when the shorter boy leans in, tilting his head, “everyone knows you’re in love with that zhong boy,”
“that’s—absurd,” blurts out jisung, walls going up in an attempt to defense himself.
“absurd? everyone can tell,” rio snickers.
jisung feels sick.
there’s a lump in his throat.
it should be a secret.
he’s careful.
he’s always been careful.
no one should know.
no one should be able to tell.
no one—
rio keeps going, pushing him, “you don’t deserve that cloak, fag—,”
“ok—” jisung stumbles. he doesn’t find the strength in himself to stay put.
“you only got it because of your parents, and—”
“what are you three talking about?”
a new voice comes from behind rio.
jisung freezes at the sight of one na jaemin, white cloak in all of its toxic glory.
“what the fuck—” screeches rio, snapping his head in jaemin’s direction, horror painted on his eyes, face turning pale.
yeah… jisung understands that feeling very well—the gut-wrenching realization that you just broke the rules and can very well be expelled if a soul mentions you ever breathed in the same room as na jaemin.
except rio is smarter than him. way smarter.
he stumbles back, reaching for his friend’s arm.
“let’s go, let’s go,” he pants, shaking.
rio rushes his friend away without looking back.
now there’s only the two of them in the corridor. alone.
and then, the same realization hit him. oh, merlin. they’re in the corridors, alone. if anyone sees them right now, jisung is better off dead. his wide eyes turn to jaemin slowly, frozen in place.
the wizard does not seem fazed by the reaction. if anything, he seems quite pleased to have made rio run away like the true chicken he is.
“you—”
“quiet,” jisung interrupts him, raising one hand.
“not even a thank you?”
na jaemin smirks, tilting his head in amusement. that’s the most emotion he’s shown in a while.
“we’re in public,” screeches jisung, moving to hide under one of the marble statues. he senses even the undead fairy made of stone is judging his choices, but there’s no turning back now. “don’t look at me in public! don’t approach me in public! don’t speak to me in public! don’t breathe under the same sky as me in public. don’t!”
jaemin hums, “i do whatever i want, jisung,”
“don’t say my name!”
panic rises in jisung’s heart, and he shakes his head. na jaemin reaches to touch his forehead, as some sort of sick joke. jisung slaps his hand away.
“don’t touch me. merlin, someone could’ve seen me—” he wheezes, peeking from behind the statue.
jaemin shrugs, “just thank me and i’ll go,”
jisung forces himself to calm down. well. actually, he pretends he’s calm. merlin knows how much he’s freaking out right now. all it’d take for his life to be ruined was if one curious first-year looks behind the fairy marble statue and sees him talking to a criminal.
he takes a good look at na jaemin.
he seems—relaxed. almost normal. if one ignores the clear mark of past indecent behavior in his clothes, of course. then jisung remembers yesterday. how he made him look at chenle and soojin for his own amusement.
looking down, he asks, “… why did you do that?”
jaemin frowns, “help you?”
“no—that,” explains jisung, intelligently.
“i’ve done a lot of things. you have to be more specific,” deadpans jaemin.
“yesterday. during dinner,”
“i don’t recall interacting with you during dinner. ever,” jaemin purses his lips.
jisung crosses his arms, “you pointed to chenle. made me cry,”
“ah,” jaemin clicks his tongue, then smiles, satisfied, “yeah, i did,”
“why did you make me look?”
“i didn’t make you do anything,” he says. “you’re always looking at him, anyway,”
he’s right. jisung is always looking at chenle. even rio’s noticed. had everyone in mahoutokoro known of his condition? that he’s sickeningly in love with his best friend? is he that obvious? the questions haunt his brain and he sighs, resting his back against the marble fairy, arms crossed in defeat at the thought of even chenle knowing—or worst, soojin.
“that was his girlfriend…” he sulks.
jaemin looks around, “i know,”
“he loves her,” jisung pouts.
“one would hope so,” jaemin stares at his nails.
“i like him,” jisung huffs, annoyed.
jaemin plays with his hair, “you two are friends, i assume,”
“i like boys,”
“mhm—,”
“why did you do it?”
jaemin frowns, “still on that?”
“until i get a proper answer, yeah,”
“just felt like it. it’s fun,” he shrugs, running his hands over his cloak, adjusting it as if he likes the style. insane. “are you going to thank me now? that rio guy seems like a total jackass. does he bother you a lot?”
“are you going to apologize for that?”
he squints, “i don’t regret it, though,”
jisung smiles, “and i’m not feeling thankful,”
“mhm,”
“don’t mhm me,”
jaemin adjusts his cloak once more with an impatient look, “i thought you didn’t want me to talk to you. why are you still here?”
“well, i—” he doesn’t have an answer for that.
jaemin smirks. “so?”
and jisung leaves, huffing, cheeks rosy.
time flies when you’re doing things you shouldn’t, jisung comes to realize.
whenever he’s hurt; or bored out of his mind, after countless hours studying; or needing to recharge his social batteries, he finds himself breaking into the library’s restricted area. it’s been a week like that, napping or watching. if he’s lucky, it doesn’t take long until he has company. if he’s not, he needs to find a quick way to sneak out before another student barges in.
they don’t do much, you know. they sit around in complete silence and study, or merely exist accompanied by the other’s presence. it’s been a week. seven days of leaving his dormitory or the great hall to join the white clock in the restricted are. chenle has noticed, but he doesn’t say anything, sparing him a side-glance every time.
he wouldn’t say he’s become more comfortable around the other, but staring at him or existing next to him no longer makes him want to cry. jisung still has a feeling jaemin is waiting for him to lower his walls to kidnap him and make him the first victim to whatever devilish plan he may he organizing. however, he’d never say that.
before he knows it, it’s time to go—for him to go, that is, because jaemin never leaves, nose deep in whatever book he has his hands on this time. jaemin doesn’t mind it when jisung naps next to him, staying a bit longer, though. but he does get irritated when he asks questions, so jisung prefers to be quiet—most of the time.
yeah, not the most particularly chatty duo, those two. it seems jaemin would rather be caught and punished then speak to him at times, hiding things from his line of sight.
and, well, jisung still doesn’t know if he should thank merlin for that.
“i’m sad,” mutters jisung, for the third time today, only to a different person.
he looks up, waiting for an answer.
na jaemin rubs his hands over his face, playing with his hair in frustration, reading a thick book on deadly curses and diseases, learning how to poison someone’s organs until they’re rotten. he has dark circles under his eyes, and, for the first time ever, he looks… exhausted. there are 3 candles on the wooden table, charmed to never go out.
he’s been here for hours.
all he does is study. apart from the day he interrupted jisung’s discussion with rio, almost three weeks ago, there hasn’t been a day where na jaemin isn’t gathering more knowledge, always reading, always writing, always practicing. he’s a master. even better than jisung himself. if not for his white cloak, jisung is sure na’s uniform would be the brightest shade of golden, one dedicated to the best of the best.
jisung sighs, repeating himself, “i’m so sad,”
jaemin clicks his tongue, still focused on his reading, “and why are you telling me this, exactly?”
“because you don’t care,” jisung shrugs, kicking his backpack, bored, jutting his bottom lip. he had so much homework to do, but he didn’t feel like it. “because you’re not going to pamper me,”
“you’re whining,” jaemin deadpans.
“i’m not—”
“do you want to be pampered?”
“not by you, that’s for sure,” jisung pouts, accepting defeat and making his way to the table. he sits down next to the white wizard, pretending to focus on his paperwork, not at all interested in what the other was studying.
“by that zhong chenle kid, then,” snickers jaemin. “am i right?”
“no,” jisung hides his face, focused on… the goblin war, or whatever his history of magic assignment was all about. he really, really, really doesn’t want to talk about chenle.
jaemin stops reading, turning around on the chair, manspreading, arching his eyebrows.
“oh, so you don’t have an undeniable crush on that boy?” jaemin pokes him in the arm with his wand. “no? nothing?”
jisung glares at the other. “why are you being like this when you can see i’m sad?”
jaemin moves back, shrugging, “because you said you didn’t want to be pampered,”
“i want to be pampered,” corrects jisung.
“i’m afraid i cannot do that,” jaemin rolls his eyes, more interested in his book.
“why not?”
“because like you said, i don’t care,”
he takes a peek at what jaemin’s reading and spots the gory image of burnt internal organs, a dead body exposed on the floor, cut open like a muggle bomb had been placed inside it. gross. it’s gross and vile, and it hurts to look at it. jaemin tenses up when he realizes what the younger is doing. With a flick of his wrist, the book closes immediately, flying back to the shelves. However, his parchment is filled with notes.
jisung clicks his tongue, “you’re mean for no reason,”
“i thought you already knew that. white cloak, and all,” muses jaemin, impatient.
“you were never rude before. just… scary,” confessed jisung, feeling ridiculous, grabbing his quill and ink, answering the questions professor tetsurou had given them.
“am i not scary anymore?” jaemin grabs another book. soul: one’s most prized possession, by naeri zhang, focused exclusively on dementors, and how they’re made… and how to control them.
shivers run down jisung’s spine, stomach growing cold, eyes widen. dementors are the scariest creatures in the world, in his opinion. his father had almost been killed by one as a teenager. they live for despair, bringing strife and pain wherever they go. the only person that ever had the support of dementors was lord voldemort, the man that caused the second wizarding war. and to see a classmate look into it, with such an amused expression. it’s like he wants to do just about the same.
jisung whispers, “you are…”
“good,” jaemin’s smile is small, covered with satisfaction.
and he should be, because jisung is scared. so, so scared. what could someone possibly want with dementors?
“why do you want me to fear you?”
jaemin hums, writing things down in his parchment, taking notes of how dementors are made and why they are the way they are, so focused. he stays quiet for a second, while jisung reconsiders all that’s happened up until this point, hoping he isn’t interacting with a future dark lord, one equal to those described in his history lessons.
then, na says, “maybe that way you’ll stop coming here and getting yourself in trouble,”
“so you care—,”
“about myself, yes,” interrupts jaemin, shoulders tense once more.
jisung stops, staring at the other’s face... taking in his expression and beauty, biting his bottom lip, unsure on how to feel right now. if jaemin senses it, he ignores it, silent.
“right,” he whispers.
“good night,” yawns jisung one night, on his way out of the restricted area, rubbing his eyes to force himself to stay awake long enough to make it to the boy’s dormitory.
jaemin, who, once again, had his nose deep in that damned book on dementors, stops, knitting his eyebrows. he looks up at the dark shadows of the library, but jisung’s already gone.
and that’s all that happens in week three.
another week passes without a word shared between them, besides jisung’s nonsensical mutterings in his sleep when he passed out at around two in the morning. when those words come out, jaemin glares at him, only half-annoyed at his presence.
the next day, jisung says good night again. then again. he knows jaemin isn’t going to sleep anytime soon, but he can’t help himself. it’s the fifth night in a row, when jaemin sighs and says it back, albeit quiet and restrained, like he didn’t really want to.
“what?” he snaps, when his dark eyes find jisung’s figure still standing by the entrance, lips curled upwards in a delighted smile. “go to bed,”
“you’re a golden student. your cloak is golden,” states jaemin, out of nowhere, as soon as jisung enters the forbidden area.
he’s on the floor, surrounded by piles of books and blankets and pillows. his cat-like eyes are glued to the odd-looking glowing sphere that sparkles on top of him, a bit out of reach.
jisung knits his eyebrows, confused at the sight. he discovered jaemin refused to sleep in the common dormitory—it happened two days after their last interaction. jisung was unable to sleep, so he decided to finish his homework in the library. however, when he arrived, he spotted jaemin sleeping in the corner of their usual place, cuddling a book, like his own teddy bear. he didn’t wake him up, back then, but assumed, given how jaemin ignored him completely the days after, that, somehow, the other knew that he knew.
jisung puts down his books and sits down, shrugging to his comment, “yes, i am…”
jaemin hums. “your parents are professors, so they expect you to be the most perfect student. i’m right, aren’t i?”
he tries playing with the sphere, but it moves away, scared. jisung cannot stop staring at it: the way it moves and bends and glows intensely. he has no idea what it is, but if na jaemin made it, it’s not good news.
“yeah, you are,” grimaces jisung, grabbing his ink and quill, trying to focus on his homework and not on the soft buzzing sound the sphere makes. “and you’re… a white wizard,”
“why, yes, i am. glad you noticed it,”
“so you don’t talk to anyone now,” adds jisung.
“i talk to you,” argues jaemin. “i think that’s enough,”
“well…” jisung blushes at the last comment. he coughs, hiding his face with the hood of his golden cloak. “yeah, i guess, but what about your friends?”
jaemin takes a second… then two.
the itch to turn around to see his reaction grows inside jisung but he controls himself. he’s about to change the subject, or ask for help with his defense against the dark arts assignment when jaemin says:
“the truth pushed everyone away, jisung,”
jisung knows that. that’s the punishment, after all. meddling with the dark arts would grant you eternal solitude and misery. (the other doesn’t seem so miserable, though.)
he muses, “… you knew it would happen and you still broke the rules,”
“i don’t like how you make it sound like i’m regretting it,” snaps jaemin.
then jisung has to look at him, frowning, “you don’t?”
jaemin is sitting now; eyes sharper than eyes, face closed, jaw tense. the sphere has hidden—out of fear? the softness jisung spotted when he arrived is long gone. he feels like he’s falling: fast and there’s nothing, no one to help him.
jaemin squints and tilts his head, smirk covered with disdain.
“does it look like i do?”
jisung shakes his head.
jaemin continues, “—do you see me begging for forgiveness or a second chance, huh? do you see me sulking or going mad, cursing others for my own decision?”
“… no,” he says, getting up, as he cannot grasp the concept of one being fine with this suffering. but he doesn’t want to argue, not with someone like him. not when he doesn’t know what jaemin could do when he’s mad.
jisung bows, awkwardly, grabbing his stuff, ready to leave, not wanting to stay in the same room as a white wizard anymore.
“leaving already, are we?” mocks jaemin, crossing his arms.
“yeah…” he bows again. “good night,”
“very well,”
and jisung goes away.
jisung knows na jaemin isn’t a good person. it’s not a very hard conclusion to come to.
white wizards are known for their cruelty, for having their sick needs satisfied as they dive deep into dark magic. their desire for more and more power fester like a disease, and they slowly lose their minds, crumbling to the one thing they so desperately wish to conquer.
to be honest, he doesn’t know what jaemin did for sure: what he was going after, what his goal was. it doesn’t really matter. those spells should never, ever be the answer.
he cannot stop thinking about it, though: what spells na jaemin must know, what they do, why they were created.
jisung tosses and turns in bed, on edge, always, wide eyes glued to the constellations in the ceiling, counting each of the bright dots, again and again, in the hopes of finally falling asleep. but he doesn’t. and that’s the problem…
knowledge.
jisung is so curious.
week four, jisung asks, “what's the book about? what are you studying?”
na jaemin closes it with a loud thud, jaw tense.
“that isn't something a person like you should ask,” he snaps.
from where he’s seated, jisung can’t make out the title, but he watches as it goes back to its rightful place in the shelves. he knows jaemin will pick it up later when he’s gone, but it hurts when he does it on purpose to shut him down. other questions regarding the type of material he’s been consuming lately die on his lips that evening, but one comes out, in defiance to the older boy’s words.
“a person like me?” he demands.
jaemin glares. “a good person,”
and they don’t speak another word.
jisung leaves first, like usual.
jisung whispers “good night” under his breath, like usual.
jaemin stares at his back until he disappears, like usual.
that night, jisung doesn’t feel the same pain ripping through his heart when he spots chenle and soojin inside the dormitory. nor does he dream of him, or feel the need to hug him first thing in the morning when he wakes up. which is unusual.