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Doyoung was barely three years old when he first heard the tale of winter.
He’d still been small enough to curl up in their nursemaid Seungwan’s lap, eyes heavy as she combed gentle fingers through his hair. The nursery had been silent, save for her voice, as she’d drawn her latest story to a close.
“Another!” Taeyong (his next oldest brother) had immediately cried, jumping up from where he’d been tucked into bed to emphasise his point.
“Mmm, I’m not sure that’s the best idea,” Seungwan had replied, turning her attention to the window where the moon peeked through the curtains. “It’s dark out, which means you all should have been asleep some time ago.”
As if prompted, Doyoung had yawned widely, recoiling from the venomous glare Taeyong directed at him, as though he’d done it on purpose.
“See?” Seungwan had laughed, lifting the youngest into her arms and tucking him properly into bed. “Poor Doyoung can barely keep his eyes open.”
“That’s because he’s a baby.” Taeyong grumbled, reluctantly snuggling down into his own bed covers.
“Can’t we just have one more story, Seungwan?” Doyoung’s eldest brother, Taeil, had cut in. “Just to make sure we really get to sleep?”
“Well…” Their nursemaid had faltered as she carefully removed Taeil’s glasses from his face to place them on his bedside table. “Maybe…”
The hesitation in her voice had made Taeyong perk up once more, looking up at the young woman with pleading eyes.
“Please? We’ll go right to sleep afterwards, we promise.”
Seungwan sighed, sitting herself back down on Doyoung’s bed to cuddle him close, his head pillowed against her side. Doyoung went gladly, curling his fingers around a fistful of her skirts.
Out of the three of them, he liked to think that he was her favourite, considering that she was very much his. As she had been ever since she’d become the most constant thing in their lives, a soothing balm over the sting of losing their mother.
“Okay,” She eventually gave in, directing a nervous look towards the closed nursery door. “Just… If your father asks, I put you to bed early, alright? Don’t let him know I let you stay up.”
Her words were immediately met with all three children nodding, an almost-reverent silence falling over the room. Seungwan stared out the window for a brief moment, watching the snow fall, before she spoke again.
“Have you ever heard the story of the winter god? It’s a classic, in my opinion.”
“No,” Taeil answered on his brothers’ behalf. “Mother… Mother was always too tired, and father says stories are a waste of time.”
“Of course he does,” Seungwan rolled her eyes, before sighing sadly. “Your mother always told it the best - so brilliantly it seemed as though her very words would come to life, but I’m afraid my version will have to be enough.”
She rearranged her skirts, leaning back against Doyoung’s headboard to get comfortable.
“The story of winter goes like this…” She began, smiling as the three children immediately afforded her their full attention.
❄
Out of the four gods who ruled over the seasons, the god of winter had always been the loneliest.
A sad and unavoidable outcome, really, considering the nature of his season. Winter was cold and unforgiving - it lacked the new life of spring, the warmth of summer, the cosiness of autumn. Winter was a dreaded nuisance, to be gotten over and done with as soon as possible, something which upset its respective god.
As such, it came as quite the surprise to the mortal realm when Winter announced his intentions of taking a companion for himself, someone he hoped would remain by his side for the rest of time. The gods tended to keep to themselves in their own domain, only approachable on their own terms. It was unthinkable that one would invite a mere human to live among them.
And yet, the winter god intended to do just that. His rules were very clear: he would only accept those who offered themselves to him willingly, and they had to meet his own specific set of unspoken conditions. Otherwise, anyone of age was free to attempt to win his affections.
Frenzied chaos broke out across the land.
Winter’s temples and altars saw a massive outpouring of gifts - even the smallest of shrines was quickly stuffed full of offerings, people resorting to throwing away previous tributes to make way for their own. Families, rich and poor alike, became consumed with the idea of their son or daughter being selected by the god and how much status that would then afford them.
Somehow, among all the pandemonium, one young man stood out.
Not much is known about Winter’s first companion. The events of this story happened so long ago that they survived for the longest time only by word of mouth, passed down by generations until someone finally thought to write them down. By then, a lot of the finer details had unfortunately been lost to time.
This much is known: at some point, somewhere in one of the very far corners of the kingdom, this young man approached his local shrine, which was nothing more than a hollow tree stump just outside his village.
The village elders had shook their heads at the simplicity of his offering - a mere flower, picked from the path leading away from the tiny, rundown cottage he and his siblings called home.
“A flower?” They’d tittered amongst themselves. “Who thinks that to be a worthy offering for a god?”
The young man had ignored them, leaving his hellebore at the base of the tree stump, its dark red petals stark against the pure white backdrop of the snow.
It had been more than enough for Winter, for no-one had offered him so simple, yet so honest a gift before. When the young man returned to the tree stump, hoping to see if his gift was still there, he instead found his god waiting for him. And thus, he was whisked away to his new life alongside the gods and, for a while, all were happy.
But, as time wore on, the winter god’s companion grew weary. Years passed by and, as had been promised to him, he did not age a day - he was still as young and beautiful as the day his god had met him.
However, the same could not be said for his friends and family, who slowly grew older and weaker with every visit he made back to the village. And, when they began to die off, the young man became heartsick for the ordinary life he had never gotten the chance to live.
It was then that he realised, for all that he loved the winter god, he loved his own humanity more. And so, he asked to go home.
And, despite his own heartbreak, his god allowed him to.
When winter next rolled around, it was more cruel than anyone could have ever imagined. The winds howled endlessly, accompanied by snow so thick it was difficult for people to leave their homes.
“Thank goodness this will be over soon,” They would cry as they huddled around fireplaces. “I can’t wait for spring to come.”
But the time for spring came and went without so much as a hint of the brutal weather slowing down. And, as the months stretched on, the same happened to summer, and then autumn, until a full year of winter had passed. The mortal realm began to give up hope that they would never see anything but endless ice and snow.
It was only cut short when a bookseller’s daughter from the capital ducked into the grand temple, leaving behind an offering of a hellebore she’d bought at the market for the winter god at his altar. She too, in time, would break her god’s heart, but someone would step into her place after yet another excruciating winter, the familiar dark red flower in hand.
Thus, a tradition was born.
(And that, dear reader, is where this story begins.)
❄
Twenty years later
Doyoung barely bothers to look up from his book as he hears Taeyong pull back the curtains, the older man letting out a tired sigh.
“It’s snowing.” His brother declares loudly, as though Doyoung had cared to ask.
Doyoung turns a page, stopping to note down something he thinks might come in handy for one of his later compositions. He'd been wanting to paint a landscape sometime soon, and the beach scene he'd just read over would make a fine starting point. It might even help him feel warmer for once, even his thick sweater wasn’t enough to keep the chill out.
“It’s always snowing, I don’t know why you bother checking.” He drawls, ignoring the look that the other man no doubt throws at him.
Taeyong remains quiet for a few moments, watching the thick flurry through the window. It’s eerily silent, falling to rest on the blanket of snow already left on the ground from the day before. And the day before that, and the day before that, going back months until Doyoung struggled to remember what outside looked like in any other season.
“I heard Sooyoung's mother bought a hellebore for her," He finally looks up with interest at his brother's words. "Sold some old jewellery she dug up so she could afford it. Yuta told me Sooyoung was going to try a couple nights ago, but nothing seems to have changed."
"Maybe it takes time?" The younger man hesitates. "I can't imagine Winter just... snaps his fingers and everything goes back to normal. Seems rather anticlimactic to me."
"Perhaps," Taeyong frowns. "I can't imagine he'd reject Sooyoung, though. She's beautiful."
"She is." Doyoung agrees, thinking of his friend and how nearly everyone in town fawned over her. Anyone, god or mortal, would be lucky to have her.
He also can't help but think of how Sooyoung longed to leave their sleepy little hometown behind to go study in the capital, despite her mother's reservations about her ideas. How his dear friend dreamt of becoming a historian, and how being chosen to remain by a god’s side for however long would put an end to that.
“I can’t imagine he’d choose her.” He mumbles to the cover of his book, stroking over the leather with his thumb. “He doesn’t take anyone who doesn’t want it, after all.”
Taeyong doesn’t answer him for a while, busying himself with scratching at a piece of paint that flakes off of the wood of the windowsill. Cook would lose her temper if she saw that - she already disliked them hanging around the kitchen as they are right now, seeing them pick the place apart would only anger her more.
“I hope he picks someone soon,” Taeyong finally speaks up. “The stories made it seem like this wouldn’t be that miserable, but I never thought I’d miss spring so much.”
Doyoung finally closes his book, leaving it on the table to come join his brother by the window. The older man reaches for him, linking their arms together.
“I’m sure he will,” Doyoung murmurs, staring at the shine of the window. A snowflake flutters down to stick to the glass, directly on the tip of his reflection’s nose. “Surely there’s someone out there worthy of him. Perhaps they just need to realise it for themselves.”
❄
“Good morning!” Doyoung chirps a few days later, closing the entrance to the familiar market stall behind him. “On your own today?”
“Mmm,” Renjun hums in reply, shuffling over to make room for him at the counter. “My sisters said it’s their turn to head into the woods, so in turn I have to watch the store.”
“Fair,” Doyoung flops down onto the spare stool. He produces a paper bag from inside his satchel, handing it to the younger man. “Good job I thought to pick breakfast up for us.”
“You’re the best.” His friend sighs. “I’ll buy us something to drink later on, to repay you.”
“Sounds good to me.” The older man replies easily.
He spends the majority of his morning alternating between helping his friend run the stall where he sells the furs left over from his and his sisters’ hunts, and drawing out the base sketch for his latest commission. The town mayor had stopped by his house earlier in the week, requesting he paint a portrait of her youngest son, and Doyoung was eager to make sure even his first rough draft was perfect before he sent it off for her approval.
Renjun works quietly alongside him, grumbling as he sorts through a bag of miscellaneous furs he’d emptied out onto the floorboards.
“Every time I ask Meiqi to use that damned ribbon system we all spent so long working on, and every time she completely ignores me and just dumps everything all into one bag.” The younger man mutters under his breath.
Doyoung sends him a sympathetic look.
“Siblings.” He commiserates, thinking of the time Taeyong had dropped his carefully organised box of oil pastels and, instead of returning it to its previous state, had thrown them all back into the box in one heap for Doyoung to discover later.
“I’m glad you understand my pain at least.” Renjun sighs. “Dejun doesn’t get it, but from what I’ve seen of his older brother, he’s practically a saint.”
“To be fair, Dejun also has just the one brother. You, on the other hand, have seven sisters.”
“Don’t remind me,” Renjun’s shoulders sag. He holds up a bundle of fur for Doyoung to inspect. “You’re good with colour, would you say this is more black or brown?”
“Definitely brown,” Doyoung informs him after a brief moment of staring at the fur. “Grizzly, I assume?”
“Yes, hence why it should be with the other grizzly bear furs, not mixed in with those from the black bears.” Renjun scowls.
“Oh, to be a fly on the wall when you get hold of Meiqi later.” The older man laughs.
Suddenly, excited chatter breaks out among a group of girls Doyoung vaguely recognises huddled together on the other side of the square. He and Renjun exchange a curious glance.
“I wonder what that’s all about.” His friend murmurs, rising to stand by Doyoung’s side at the counter.
“Me too,” Doyoung tilts his head in wonder. “It must be something big, I don’t think I’ve seen anyone this lively in weeks.”
Silence stretches between them, before Renjun turns to meet his eyes.
“Do… Do you think?”
“Winter?” Doyoung shakes his head. “I don’t think so, last I’d heard it was Sooyoung who was the latest to try, and it’s been like a week now.”
“I wonder how she got on, then?”
“Clearly not that well,” Sooyoung herself calls out to them as she approaches, people whispering when she passes by. “Considering I’m still here.”
“Oh,” Doyoung pauses, trying to search for the right sentiment needed for this moment. “I’m… Sorry?”
“Spare it,” Their friend snorts, coming to perch on the counter between them. “You know full well I didn’t want to go, anyway. This is the best outcome for everyone.”
Doyoung exchanges a covert look with the younger man beside him. Renjun nods, pushing the paper bag still holding a leftover pastry neither of them could manage towards Sooyoung.
“Except your mother, I assume?” He counters.
“Except her, yes,” Sooyoung sighs. “And maybe anyone else who wanted to try their luck after me, I’m pretty sure she bought the last hellebore the florist had, too. What a waste.”
“What happened to it?” Doyoung frowns. “In fact, what happened to you?”
“Literally nothing,” Sooyoung sighs, pulling apart her pastry. “I read up on the stories of old companions but they’re all conflicting - some were met immediately by Winter, some had to go back and find him. I went and left my flower where mother told me to, and when I went back the next day it was gone.”
“Gone?” Renjun leans in, intrigued. “Just like that?”
“Just like that. I went back a couple of times to check if I’d somehow missed the god, but I was always met with nothing. The same thing happened to Joohyun, she told me so.”
“Joohyun? As in, the mayor’s daughter?” Doyoung asks. “I had no idea she’d even tried.”
“Of course you didn’t, because she didn’t get picked, either,” Sooyoung snorts. “You think her mother would want people finding that out? It’s one thing to get turned away when you really don’t want to be picked, it’s something else entirely to be rejected when you’d been genuinely invested. They’d be humiliated.”
“Good point,” Doyoung hums thoughtfully. “Damn, if Joohyun wasn’t good enough for Winter, then who is?”
“Only he knows, probably.” Sooyoung sighs. “I doubt it’ll be anyone we know, in the end. Unless the florist gets another shipment of hellebores in.”
She fixes the two men opposite her with a look.
“Would either of you have tried?”
“No way,” Renjun replies immediately, shaking his head to further emphasise his point. “Why would I want to spend the rest of time rotting away by the side of some god, no doubt with an overinflated ego? I belong among the trees, not in the heavens or wherever it is that they live.”
Doyoung presses his lips together, carefully avoiding Sooyoung’s eyes because he knows he won’t be able to hold back the laughter that threatens to spill out. Renjun’s answer was just so… So Renjun. Something he had always admired in his friend.
“Fair enough,” Sooyoung finally manages to choke out. “What about you, Doyoung?”
“Me?” Doyoung gestures to himself in surprise.
“Yes, you. Can’t you picture yourself up there, lounging by a god’s side for the rest of eternity?”
“Not really, no…” Doyoung smiles sheepishly. “Eternity is rather a long time to be with someone, even if that someone is a god, don’t you think?”
“Another good point.” Sooyoung nods her head, apparently satisfied.
She remains with them for another half hour, filling the minutes with chatter until the arrival of her mother signifies its time for her to leave.
“She’s been so sensitive since everything happened,” Sooyoung rolls her eyes. “I think she assumes I’m much more affected than I actually am.”
“Do you think she’s right?” Renjun asks him quietly, waving goodbye at their friend as she finally takes her leave. “That no-one from around here will get chosen?”
“I suppose so,” Doyoung shrugs. “Can’t really do much about the flowers, unless people are willing to pay the import fees.”
Renjun fixes him with an unimpressed look.
“Doyoung, a god is involved. Some people have sold their houses for a chance to be chosen by him, I doubt anyone will care about import fees.”
Doyoung snorts.
“Good point.”
Doyoung sighs as he rests his chin in his hands, taking in the sight of the slowly emptying marketplace. He couldn’t help but wonder if Winter’s future lover wandered among the people still scattered around there, peering into the stalls that they passed by.
“I wonder what his conditions are.” He thinks aloud.
“Huh?” Comes Renjun’s confused reply.
“The winter god. Doesn’t the story say he has his own set of terms his companion has to meet? I wonder what they are.”
“I don’t know,” His friend shrugs. “Something boring and noble, probably. Why do you care?”
The younger man is right. Why does Doyoung care, exactly? It’s not as if it particularly affects him, after all.
“You’re right, I don’t.” He sighs, turning to nudge his friend. “Come on, let’s close up early and grab that drink before the cider stall closes. I could do with something to warm me through.”
❄
The house is silent like death around him as Doyoung creeps out of his bedroom, hand curled around the doorframe to stop the door from making too much noise as it swings shut again.
It’s early, barely even morning judging by how the sky outside is still dark with the unrisen sun. The perfect time for a walk, Doyoung tells himself, adjusting his satchel where it hangs heavy over his shoulder.
Truth be told, he’d woken much earlier than usual and found himself unable to fall back asleep no matter how hard he tried. Frustrated, he’d lay there for however long in an attempt to chase the dream he’d been having, before deciding that he might as well make the most of his time alone before the rest of the family woke. And a walk in the woods to hunt for more ingredients to make his pigments seemed to be the perfect way to do so.
However, as he quietly makes his way down the hallway, he soon learns that he’s not the only one awake.
Even now, early as it is, he can hear his father pacing around his study as he passes by the closed doors. The older man’s tone is agitated as he berates whoever must be in there with him. Doyoung cringes silently, quietly hoping it isn’t one of his brothers, though he’d much rather it be one of them than himself. He and their father had never really gotten on all that well - it was an unspoken assumption in the family that Doyoung was very much the least favourite child.
Not that it bothered him all that much. At least it meant that their father more or less left him to his own devices, instead of meddling in his affairs like he did with Taeil and Taeyong.
Stealing down the stairs and into the kitchen, Doyoung pauses to scavenge some leftovers from the pantry. There’s little on offer, most of it set aside in anticipation of a dinner party being thrown later that night. Doyoung grimaces at a jar of beef spread as he’s reminded of it, knowing that he’d be expected to attend despite how he’d rather be anywhere else.
Still, he can’t let that affect the good mood he finds himself in now, especially when he manages to come away victorious with a liberal handful of roasted chestnuts and a doorstep slab of bread lathered in far too much butter. He wraps it all safely in a cloth napkin he finds in the nearest drawer, tucking everything away in his satchel before he takes the servant’s door out onto the street.
It’s bitter cold out as he’d expected, the wind painful as it whips over the exposed skin of his face.
Grimacing, Doyoung tugs his scarf up so it at least covers his nose, shoving his hands back into his pockets before the frost can bite at them. He really should have been smart enough to grab some gloves on his way out, but it’s unlikely that he’ll make it to his bedroom and back without being caught. He’ll just have to suffer.
The snow sticks to his boots as he walks through the deserted streets, the shutters of each building he passes closed up tight against the cold. Even the marketplace is eerily silent as he cuts through the square, still too early for the usually lively and bustling stalls to be stocked and open. A shame, he thinks to himself, mournfully. It would have been nice to have a flask of hot cider to accompany him.
As he nears the town gates, he finds himself pausing as he passes by the house Renjun shares with all his sisters. Doyoung fidgets as he debates on whether he should call for his friend - no doubt the young hunter is already awake and readying himself for today’s hunt. It would make sense for them to walk to the forest together, even if they then went their separate ways.
But as he lifts his hand to grasp at the heavy iron knocker that sits on the door, he falters.
For some reason he can’t explain, he suddenly feels that it’s very important he continue his walk alone, as he had originally intended. It’s a nagging little voice in the back of his mind that insists as much, and, though it gives him no reason to, he finds himself stepping away from Renjun’s house and continuing down the street, through snow that swirls through the air on the wind.
It feels as though a weight lifts from his shoulders as Doyoung finally closes the town gates behind him, met with an endless expanse of undisturbed snow and trees as far as he can see. It’s quiet here too, but it’s a more peaceful quiet than that of the empty streets, and he finds himself revelling in how it's permeated by nothing but the sound of his footsteps and breathing.
Winding though it may be, the path through the forest is one that Doyoung walks it with certainty, having made this journey at least a dozen times before. It’s even darker underneath the trees - branches of evergreens growing so thick and tightly knotted together that they block out the minimal light coming from the sky. He hums to himself as he advances even further into the thicket, snatches of a song he’d heard at the tavern last time he’d stopped by for a drink with Yuta.
It feels like barely any time passes before a familiar holly bush comes into view, signifying that it’s time for him to leave the path. He pauses to pick a few berries before he does so, tipping them into one of the many jars that clink against each other in his satchel. While poisonous, the juice of the berries works wonders when added to his paints, serving to make the pigments even richer than if they were just made from flower petals. And rich is what he needs if he’s ever to be satisfied with his works.
Doyoung reaches the clearing that houses the flower patches he normally gathers from about a half hour later. The sun is well on its way to rising now, the sky a vibrant smear of blues and pinks, and as he comes to crouch by the first rosebush he sees, Doyoung finds himself wishing he’d brought along his acrylics so he could capture the moment. Still, he can’t get too caught up in his disappointment. After all, there’ll always be another sunrise.
It’s only once his fingers start to smart from the cold (along with one too many run-ins with a stray rose prickle) that he decides to take a break, leaving his jars scattered about in the snow as he pulls himself onto a large rock to rest. It’s not as though he’ll have to worry about anyone taking them, considering how the only people who ever venture this far into the forest besides himself are the hunters. And they definitely have little interest in his art supplies - at least Taeyong has told him as much enough times.
Doyoung tears a large piece from his chunk of bread, chewing thoughtfully as he watches a few squirrels scamper across the treetops.
He comes here often enough that the wild animals that find their home here generally pay him little attention, knowing that he isn’t a threat to them. He’s not like Taeyong - despite his elder brother’s best efforts (and their father’s bitter disappointment), the very idea of hunting is still enough to make him feel rather faint. He can barely even bring himself to accompany their cook to the butcher when it’s requested of him.
A stag takes a few tentative steps into the clearing, head bowed to sniff delicately at the frozen pond that sits across from Doyoung’s rock.
Doyoung keeps his movements slow and steady as he reaches into his pocket for his sketchbook and pencil, taking the chance to sketch a rough outline of the creature while it's in front of him. It appears luck is on his side, as the stag seems to be quickly taken by whatever greenery still flourishes by the pond’s edge, meaning he’s able to get down a few of the finer details.
He’s just mapping the grooves of an antler when a shrill cry cuts through the silence of the clearing. Doyoung looks up with a gasp, his pencil tip snapping against his sketchbook page as the stag flees in fright.
For a moment he remains in his seat, frozen in fear as he debates what to do. The noise had clearly been one of agony - whoever had made it crying out in obvious pain. Doyoung knows that the forest, particularly this deep into the trees, can be treacherous for someone who doesn’t know it well. This is especially so with how easy it is to wander off of the path and get lost.
As such, he doesn’t have to think twice before he’s back on his feet, dusting the fresh snow from his pants as hurries off in the direction he thinks the sound came from.
“Hello?” He chances calling out, listening as his voice echoes around him.
For a minute, all Doyoung can hear is the sound of the wind rustling its way through the tree branches, accompanied by the thunderous beating of his own heart.
His breath ghosts out in front of him as he walks, peering through the woods in case he misses anything of note. It’s then that he hears it - a soft whimpering coming from somewhere up ahead, across the stream. As Doyoung crosses the fallen cedar trunk that’s served as a makeshift bridge for an incomprehensible amount of time, it dawns on him exactly where he’s being led.
In the very centre of the forest, there grows an oak tree.
Said oak tree would look almost unremarkable if one were to come across it in any other season, for there was nothing particular of note about it, save for the way it towered over everything else.
But it’s in winter that it becomes apparent that it was, in fact, very special. For it somehow kept its leaves throughout the entire year, now matter how brutal the snowstorms, even as others of its kind fell bare with the colder month.
As such, over time it had come to serve as the shrine Doyoung’s town dedicated to the winter god.
A regular year would see groups of townspeople flocking to the tree in a pilgrimage of sorts, an age old tradition that always took place as part of the Midwinter festivities. Gifts for the winter god would be left wherever a spot for them could be found - pendants and amulets hung from the branches, food parcels tucked away in the hollows, and various other offerings left half buried in the snow surrounding its roots. All of which would mysteriously disappear by the next sunrise.
Once upon a time, Doyoung had taken part in the festivities too.
It had begun years ago when Taeyong, aged nine, had come home from his first ever hunt with a knife clutched in his fist.
“It’s for carving wood,” He’d informed Doyoung, already whittling away at a random chunk of willow he’d produced from his pocket. “Mr. Jung said it’s so I can make more things for hunting, but he’ll teach me how to make animals too.”
And so he had - Taeyong eventually learning how to produce pocket-sized figurines that delighted his younger brother. Armed with a set of paints Seungwan had gifted him for his sixth birthday, Doyoung would spend hours clumsily painting each animal until he declared them to be perfect, lining them up on his dresser like trophies.
It was later that year, the Midwinter just before his seventh birthday, that Taeyong helped him carve his first figurine of his own.
It hadn’t been his best work, a clumsy attempt at a fox that had barely turned out as he’d envisioned, the creature’s tail much too big for his body. But still, he’d painted it a dark grey (he’d run out of orange paint, and decided this was the next best thing) with pride, fashioning it a tiny scarf out of a scrap of material he found in Seungwan’s sewing box.
Now, right beside Winter’s oak, Doyoung thinks back on the memory fondly as his hand instinctively reaches out for the root he’d tucked that first fox underneath. Six year old Doyoung had clung tightly to Taeyong’s hand as they’d half buried the figurine in the snow, delighted when they returned the next day to find that it too had disappeared alongside all the other offerings left out for their god.
Doyoung silently debates if it’s one of Winter’s supposed many servants that comes to gather up everything, presenting them to the god once they return to wherever it is that the gods call their homestead.
Or perhaps it’s Winter himself who comes to collect them, the god rumored to be warm and caring despite his brutal power. It was something Doyoung had always found himself wondering about - though this would not be the year for him to find out. The endless season had brought about the cancellation of the Midwinter festivities, the townspeople too tired of cold and snow to celebrate.
The tree instead became the spot that those hoping to catch the god’s attention would flock to, hellebores clutched in their hand as they silently prayed that they would be the one chosen to be Winter’s latest companion. Though, it appears that no-one tries their luck today.
Deep in thought as he is, sudden movement a few metres away catches his attention. Doyoung frowns to himself, straightening up to peer around Winter’s oak properly.
“Oh.” He breathes.
Lying a few strides away from him was a fox, one unlike any other that he’d ever seen.
Its fur was a stormy grey, almost pitch black in places, much unlike the burnt orange coats of the foxes he usually came across here in the forest. And, as it turned its head to regard him with wide, amber-coloured eyes, Doyoung couldn’t help but gape at how big the animal was, its body sprawled out across the snow. Its size was comparable with that of his neighbour’s wolfhound, a giant, long-limbed thing that could easily rest its paws on someone’s shoulders when it stood.
Doyoung stared, holding his breath for some inexplicable reason, and the animal watched him in return, chest heaving with what must be fear.
Fear, and pain, he realises with a soft exhale, as he notices that one of the fox’s hind legs lies trapped in the cruel mouth of a trap.
“Oh, your poor thing-” He begins, stepping towards the animal with his hand outstretched.
The fox reacts faster than he can, leaping to its feet in tangible panic before it lets out a pained cry. Doyoung watches in horror as it collapses back to the ground, crimson blood spilling across the pure white snow as the trap digs even further into fur and flesh.
Doyoung drops to the ground himself, falling into a crouch as he remembers a piece of advice Taeil had given him a few years back, when he’d accompanied his brother to a nearby farm to assist with an injured horse. Make yourself appear smaller, so you won’t be seen as as much of a threat, he hears the elder’s voice in his mind now, as he slowly makes his way over to the fox.
Thankfully, the creature doesn’t try to stand up again, though it digs at the snow with its front paws in obvious distress. Doyoung tries his best to calm it, murmuring soothing words as he comes to settle next to its trapped leg, gritting his teeth when he notices how the fox tenses up at his new proximity.
“It’s okay, I promise I’m trying to help you.” He whispers, leaning in closer to inspect the trap.
The insignia the metal bears isn’t one that’s familiar to him - certainly neither of the designs used by Taeyong or Renjun and his family on their traps. It must belong to a hunter he’s never come across before, a stranger to their woods, Doyoung surmises. As such, he feels little guilt as he gets to work loosening the fixtures with the knife he always carries with him, working until the jaws of the trap fall open easily.
He expects the fox to immediately flee, but instead it curls in on itself, nosing at its injured leg. When another few moments pass without it attempting to run again, Doyoung frowns to himself, tossing the trap away so he can shuffle closer.
“Can I see?” He asks, gesturing to the fox’s leg as though that’ll make the creature understand him.
Perhaps it does, as the animal watches him with a strangely human look in its eyes.
Doyoung keeps his touch gentle as he parts the fur over the wound, momentarily marvelling at just how thick and soft it is, and how his fingers sink into it. That feeling of wonder is quickly replaced with dread, however, when he realises just how deep the wound is, the trap having easily sliced through delicate muscle.
“Gods…” He whispers to himself, sitting back on his heels.
He’s not sure exactly how to proceed - he knows how to dress minor cuts, but the gouge taken out of the fox’s leg greatly exceeds what he’d consider to be a mere graze. Besides, he has nothing with him that would make a suitable dressing, save for the napkin tucked away in his satchel where he’d abandoned it back in the clearing.
Doyoung sighs to himself: if Taeil were here, he’d know what to do.
He exhales softly as an idea begins to form in his head. What if he actually did go fetch his brother? After all, the elder man was a trained vet. Sure - he might specialise in livestock and more domesticated animals, but how different from a cat or dog could a fox be, really?
Doyoung glances up at the sky, taking in the position of the sun through a gap in the evergreens. It’ll easily be late enough in the morning that, by the time he makes it back to town, his brother will be at his practice.
He nods to himself: he can do this.
However, he realises as he stands, there is a problem with his plan. And that problem lies on the ground in front of him.
Even if he runs for most of the way, taking each shortcut that he knows, Doyoung also knows that it’ll at least be a two hour journey to town and back. Probably even longer, if he’s being realistic, as Taeil has never been the fastest of runners. That leaves his fox unattended and at the mercy of the forest for far too long, and Doyoung knows that it wouldn’t hold up against hunters or another wild animal.
Frustrated, he bites his lip as he looks around at the trees, as though divine inspiration would magically strike him.
And, somehow, it does.
Directly ahead, Winter’s oak looms above him, a dominating feature in the scenery. Doyoung doesn’t register that he’s moving until his fingers brush against rough bark, feet automatically finding their way to leave him once again standing in front of the root that’s oh-so familiar to him.
The winter sunlight beams down even through the thick of the tree branches, glinting as it shines off of a sheet of ice which collapses with little resistance when Doyoung punctures it with his knife. It falls to the ground, revealing a sizeable burrow that his fox could easily hide in.
“Thank you.” Doyoung whispers up to the silent tree, rising back to his feet with limbs stiffened by the cold.
The fox lifts its head from where it had been resting on its front paws when he returns, watching with a curious look in its eyes as Doyoung pulls his cloak off.
He pauses to gently scratch the animal behind the ears, smiling as it leans into his touch, before he lays his cloak over its back. A bit of careful manoeuvring finds the animal wrapped in the fabric completely, legs neatly tucked under itself. Hopefully his thought that the cloak will serve to put pressure on the wounded leg proves to be right.
Satisfied, he breathes in, bracing himself as he moves to pick the bundle up.
For its overly large size, the fox is curiously light as Doyoung carefully lifts it into his arms. He expects the creature to fight him as he pulls it close to his chest but, while it does briefly tense up, it soon relaxes in his grip. In fact, the fox almost seems to loll against him comfortably as Doyoung returns to the oak, taking care to tuck the animal into the burrow in a way that won’t aggravate its leg.
“There,” He mumbles to himself, standing back to admire his handiwork. “No-one should be able to see you from the clearing, hopefully you’ll be fine.”
The fox blinks up at him slowly, the warm brown of its eyes emphasised by its wooded surroundings. Its nose twitches suddenly and it turns its head, nosing at a lump that sticks out from Doyoung’s cloak. The human frowns, crouching down to investigate, a laugh bubbling out of him when he eventually pulls a hunk of bread free from his pocket.
“Hungry?” He asks the fox, placing the piece in front of its nose.
The fox answers him by licking a stray swipe of butter from the crust, and Doyoung feels a strange fondness rush through him. He chances stroking his fingers through the fur on the top of the creature’s head, once again taken by just how soft it is.
“Stay here,” He whispers, knowing the creature won’t understand, but praying that the urgency of his voice comes across anyway. “I’ll be back with help as soon as possible, I promise.”
The fox watches as Doyoung ducks out from under the branches, glancing back at the animal bundled up in his cloak with worry. Further away, the burrow is mostly hidden from view as he’d hoped, but he can’t help but pray that no passing hunters will find the tree of particular interest. Most hunters from their realm regarded Winter’s oak as sacred, but there’s always the chance that a stranger could happen upon it.
Forcing himself to turn away, Doyoung breaks into a run.
He makes it back through the town gates just under an hour later, letting himself take a moment to slump against the nearest wall as he catches his breath. For how cold it is outside it does nothing to counteract how on fire he feels, sure that his shirt is soaked through with sweat by now. People seem to stare as they pass by him, one woman turning downright white as her eyes rove over his appearance.
A strange reaction, Doyoung thinks to himself, but he pushes it to the back of his mind as he sets off for Taeil’s veterinary practice.
Said practice is deserted when Doyoung finally pushes the door open, immediately reaching up to tug at the cord attached to the bell hanging above his brother’s desk. The noise is loud as it resonates throughout the building - it’s only once it fades into silence that Doyoung is able to make out the characteristic sound of Taeil shuffling around in the next room. He lets himself slump against the nearest table as he waits, still worn out from his journey.
“Hello? Can I help you?” Taeil calls as he pokes his head through the door.
Doyoung straightens up to meet his brother’s gaze, Taeil’s expression morphing from curiosity into one of sheer horror as he takes in the younger man’s dishevelled appearance.
“Doyoung,” He near gasps, immediately tugging the practice room door shut behind him and hurrying towards his brother. “Gods, what happened? Are you alright to be standing?”
“I’m… Fine?” Doyoung mumbles in confusion. “Just a little tired- why do you ask?”
“Because-” Taeil cuts himself off with a scoff, gesturing to Doyoung’s torso. “You look like you just walked away from an attempted murder and barely survived.”
Doyoung frowns, looking down at himself.
He then lets out a soft noise of disbelief when he sees for himself what his brother had been referring to - his shirt is absolutely saturated in blood, almost definitely stained beyond repair. It must have occurred when he’d carried the fox through the forest, the creature’s wound no doubt having bled through the material of his cloak, thick though it is. He feels a little sick at the thought of how much worse things must have gotten since he’d left.
“This- It’s not mine,” He replies, words tinged with urgency. “But I need your help.”
“Of course.”
Taeil doesn’t wait for any more details before he’s grabbing his medical bag and own cloak. Doyoung could cry with relief as he follows his brother back out into the snow, shivering as he helps him lock up the practice. The older man tugs at his shirt sleeve in worry as they begin to make their way back to the gates.
“It’s freezing out, don’t you want to run back and grab something warmer?”
“No time,” Doyoung shakes his head. “Besides, we’ll be more than warm once we get there.”
“Understood,” Taeil studies his brother’s face, an unreadable expression on his own. “You’d better explain exactly what I’m getting into while we walk.”
“I will.” Doyoung promises.
As expected, it takes them a little longer to make their way back into the forest, slowed down by the weight of Taeil’s supply bag. Even so, as long as it has taken, Doyoung finds himself relaxing as the familiar oak tree comes into view in the distance.
“So, to clarify - you found a fox in a trap and decided to free it?”
“Yes,” Doyoung sighs. “For the third time, yes.”
“I’m just trying to get my head around it,” Taeil frowns, hoisting his bag back up from where it had slipped down to his elbow. “What was so special about this fox that you had to rescue it? Taeyong’s hunted plenty by now, I’m sure.”
Doyoung falls silent for a moment, gaze turned to the ground as he thinks over his reply.
“Something was just… Different, I guess. It felt like it was the right thing to do.” Is what he eventually settles on, surging ahead before Taeil can inquire further.
To his relief, the burrow looks undisturbed as they approach it, hopefully meaning that Doyoung’s attempt at hiding the fox worked. He also notes that the only tracks that lie in the snow are his own from earlier - even better news, he thinks to himself. He easily falls to his knees next to it, waiting for Taeil to join him before he reaches out for the bundle of fabric.
However, he stops short, realising that his cloak now sits neatly folded in the burrow. And his fox is nowhere to be seen.
“Doyoung?”
Taeil’s hand comes to brace itself against his shoulder. Doyoung isn’t sure why at first - but it belatedly dawns upon him that his hands are shaking, quite badly if he’s being honest with himself. He swallows, suddenly finding that tears appear in his eyes, threatening to spill over.
“It… It was right here.” He whispers, desperately lifting the cloak from the ground as though the fox could somehow still be hiding behind it.
It’s no use - the animal has quite clearly disappeared. Where to, he’ll probably never find out, but it’s definitely no longer here.
“Where could it have gone?” He turns to ask his brother.
“Well…” Taeil replies, a grim expression on his face. “Something larger could have found it in its weakened state, or even a hunter. Or maybe it simply got up and left?”
“But there’s no tracks in the snow except my own.” Doyoung frowns, staring at the blood that smears across his hands.
“Sometimes the forest does things we can’t explain with our mortal logic,” His brother replies, helping him to his feet. “After all, you know who this tree belongs to. It could be Winter playing a trick on you.”
The older man’s words do little to soothe the anxiety that sprouts deep within Doyoung’s chest, blooming inside of him like some wretched flower. It only grows worse as Taeil leads him back away from Winter’s oak, carefully cradling his arm in his as though afraid Doyoung will break apart if left alone.
“Let’s go home,” His brother’s tone bleeds warmth, but Doyoung only feels the chill of the wind across his frozen skin. “We can have some spiced wine and play chess for the rest of the afternoon, whatever you want.”
“That sounds nice.” Doyoung forces himself to reply, though the way his voice catches in his throat betrays his true feelings.
Taeil must pick up on this, as he grips even tighter at the younger man’s arm, not letting go until they stand safely in the foyer of their home.
❄
It’s late into the night before Doyoung is finally able to escape the company of his family and their guests, dismissing himself from the dinner party with the excuse of tiredness. The venom of his father’s glare follows him up the stairs as he leaves, but he can’t muster the energy to care right this moment. He’ll deal with it tomorrow.
He locks his door behind him, leaning heavily against the wood as he flicks on his oil lamp with a sigh of relief. His bedroom greets him like an old friend, indescribably comforting as he cuts across it to head straight for the shared bathroom that sits between his and Taeyong’s room. As a precaution, he drags the chair from his desk along with him, slotting it under the handle that leads into his brother’s room.
While he knows the older man probably won’t bother him tonight, he'd rather be sure he’ll be left alone.
The boiler groans as Doyoung switches it on, turning both taps on full blast in the hopes that the tub will fill faster. As much as he adores baths, he tries to only reserve them for when he feels truly desperate for one, as it’s always such a battle to draw one that reaches his standards. And today is definitely one of those days - he’d concluded as much during his fourth game of chess with Taeil, muscles crying out for some luxury.
(If it helped him to finally feel clean, his skin still feeling stained by the fox’s blood no matter how many times he’d scrubbed it raw by now, he certainly wouldn’t complain.)
As though sensing his frustrations, the water trickles out pathetically, catching on the chipped enamel as it races down the sides of the bath. Doyoung sighs.
“My kingdom for a decent bath.” He grumbles to himself, rising back to his feet to search for a fresh set of pyjamas.
At least the boiler appears to be doing something productive - his bedroom already feeling warmer than it had done mere minutes before. Doyoung had felt chilled to the bone all day, even after he’d shed his bloodied shirt in favour of a clean one, complete with a thick sweater he’d pulled from the very back of his closet. One of Taeil’s hand me downs, a little tight on Doyoung’s taller frame, but he’d welcomed the extra warmth.
His eyes are immediately drawn to the opposite corner, where he’d abandoned his ruined shirt and cloak in a pile to be momentarily forgotten. Now, their presence in his bedroom is almost menacing, serving to remind him of the events from earlier in the day. Doyoung sighs again, a sad little noise this time, heading towards the pile of fabric to properly dispose of them.
His shirt he immediately throws out. It’s a shame really, it had been one of his favourites since he’d first acquired it, but he doubts anyone in the household could manage to erase the now dried-down blood stains from the bright white fabric. He gives it one last longing look before he balls the fabric up, throwing it into his wastebin before he can change his mind.
The dark brown of his cloak is much more forgiving a colour, on the other hand. Doyoung holds the garment up between his thumb and index finger, inspecting it with a raised eyebrow. It’s not as badly stained as he’d first thought - the largest blood splatter even looks as though it’ll come out with a decent soaking. He’s even more loathe to throw this out, anyway, as it’s the only decent day-to-day wear cloak that he owns.
“I’ll tackle that in the morning.” He thinks aloud, folding the cloak up with the intention of leaving it on his dresser for the following day.
However, as his hands skim over the pockets, he can’t help but notice that one bulges, obviously full. Which it shouldn’t be: the only thing he’d carried with him earlier was the scrap of bread he’d fed to his fox.
Frowning to himself, Doyoung slides his hand into the pocket, fingers curling around the foreign object that has suddenly made its home in there. His frown only deepens as he pulls his prize out to hold it aloft, revealing it to be some sort of flower. What kind, he can’t immediately discern, as the dark-coloured petals of the bud are still tightly closed up.
“What..?” He murmurs to himself, moving closer to the light so he can better inspect it.
The petals, he notes, are actually a deep purple-red, a colour that’s oddly familiar, though he struggles to remember why.
Doyoung carefully sets the flower down on his desk, stooping to pull an encyclopaedia on floriography from one of the lower shelves of his bookcase. He drops the book onto his desk with a resounding thud, combing through the pages the second he has the cover open.
He finds his answer about halfway through, and his eyes are wide as he looks between the page he’d landed on and the flower lying on his desk.
It’s a hellebore, he realises with an audible exhale.
How in the gods’ names had a hellebore ended up in his cloak pocket?
Doyoung certainly hadn’t put it there - he had no idea where he’d find one this late into the season, most of them had already been picked and sold at market. And isn’t that just the thing, the flower lying on his desk was obviously still a bud, when it was well past the time for it to be in full bloom.
Where could it have come from? Doyoung’s hand trembles ever so slightly as he picks it up, the stem cool against his skin.
The wise voice in the back of his head warns him that this speaks of nothing but trouble, if he were smart he’d throw the bud into the closest fire and pretend this never even happened. Things beyond his mortal comprehension were clearly at work here.
But still, Doyoung can’t ignore the thought that this hellebore had been left specifically for him. After all, it was in his pocket, where no-one else could have found it. Surely it would be rude for him to throw it away, right? Someone must have gone to an awful lot of trouble to get it to him.
It’s not as though he ever planned actually putting it to its intended use. Considering Joohyun and Sooyoung had both been rejected by Winter, Doyoung had little to no chance at being chosen for the god’s companion. He’d simply keep the flower until it bloomed and eventually wilted, and maybe then he’d gift it to Yuta so the other man could make a piece of jewellery with it. Simple.
Satisfied with his plan, Doyoung nods to himself as he places the flower in a cup he keeps on his desk. He tops the vessel up with some water from the jug that always sits on his dresser, smiling to himself as he does so.
“Let’s see if you bring some colour to this awful house.” He murmurs to the bud, before he has to turn away, hurrying off to the next room to check on his forgotten bath.
(If he had stayed even just a moment longer, he’d have noticed how the hellebore immediately perked up at the sound of his voice, an almost visible shimmer of frost passing over the closed petals.)
❄
“And it had completely disappeared? Just like that?”
“Just like that.” Doyoung sighs, leaning back against the wooden wall of the tavern.
Yuta stares at him over his tankard of cider, eyebrows furrowed as he studies the younger man’s expression. His friend had called to the house earlier that day, in search of Taeyong whom Doyoung had informed him was still out on a hunt. Undeterred by this, Yuta had instead dragged Doyoung out for a drink with him, claiming that the younger man had a troubled look on his face that only fresh air (and alcohol) could fix.
(He was right - not that Doyoung would admit it. He did feel better now he was outside of the house.)
“What did Taeil say about the flower?” His friend asks now.
“He said it was nothing to do with him. Which has to be true, there’s no way he’d have managed to slip it into my pocket without me noticing.”
“Fair,” Yuta leans back, a thoughtful frown on his face. “It’s just… Who on earth could have left it? It was clearly for you, after all.”
And isn’t that just the question. One for which Doyoung does not have an answer, he thinks to himself with a sigh.
“Either way, it’s yours once it does eventually dry up,” He smiles at the older man. “Maybe you could make a necklace out of it, or something like that?”
“Sounds like a good idea to me,” Yuta returns with a grin. “If you want, draw me a design and I’ll make it up for you as an early birthday gift.”
“Oh!” Doyoung sits up, eyes glittering with excitement. “That would be lovely, thank you. Let me just-”
Without looking, he automatically reaches into his cloak pocket for where he usually keeps his sketchbook. However, he realises with a sinking feeling, his fingers close around nothing but thin air. Frowning, Doyoung pulls the material to pool in his lap, turning out his pockets completely as though the sketchbook might somehow be tucked away in a fold somewhere.
No such luck.
“Fuck.” He whispers.
“What’s wrong?” Yuta asks, noticing his distress.
“I- I can’t find my sketchbook,” Doyoung replies, feeling around in the pockets of his pants in case he’d mistakenly put it there instead. “It’s always in my cloak pocket but it’s not there now.”
“Could you have dropped it?”
“No- No, I feel like I’d have noticed if I did.” Doyoung mumbles, even as he ducks down under their table to make sure the floor is clear.
“Retrace your steps. What did you get up to since you last had it?”
Doyoung frowns to himself as he thinks over his friend’s words. Truth be told, he hadn’t done much over the last few days. He’d played chess with Taeil, helped their cook make pastries, and tried to revive the last of his rapidly-drying up acrylic paints. Nothing too exciting or adventurous, considering he’d had enough of that a week ago in the forest-
The forest.
“I dropped it in the clearing!” He exclaims, narrowly avoiding banging his head on the table as he sits back up.
Yuta looks mildly amused when he meets his gaze.
“The clearing? That one with the flowers?”
“Yes,” Doyoung replies breathlessly, already standing to pull his cloak back on. “I completely forgot to go back for it after I went to get Taeil, hopefully it hasn’t been ruined by now.”
“Want some company?” Yuta asks him, even as he makes no effort to get up.
“No, thank you,” Doyoung slaps a few coins down on the table to cover the price of his drink, despite knowing the older man will somehow return them to him during their next meeting. “Taeyong will be back soon, anyway, so you should be waiting for him.”
“Good point. I will play the part of the dutiful fiancé,” The older man winks. “Be back before sunset, those woods can be treacherous at night.”
“I’ll try!”
The tavern door barely has time to swing shut behind him before Doyoung is hurrying towards the town gates. Yuta is right - it’s never a good idea to be out in the forest after dark, even with how Doyoung knows the space like the back of his own hand. Hell, even Taeyong dislikes being out on his own after sunset, and he’s usually more than well-equipped to deal with anything he might run into.
Doyoung curls his fingers around the cold metal of the knife in his pocket. Hopefully today’s journey will be quick.
It begins to snow lightly as he trudges down the path that cuts through the trees, trying his best not to dwell on what happened the last time he was here.
He’d managed to get the stains out of his cloak, having left the garment to soak for days before he and Taeyong had scrubbed at it together until the water eventually ran clear. But he still feels as though traces of the fox’s blood remain, soaking through into his shirt even now. Perhaps it would always be that way, until he finally gave in and replaced it.
By the time he reaches the clearing, he feels chilled all the way to the bone.
“It’s like winter gets more bitter by the day.” Doyoung murmurs to himself, as he begins to hunt around the rock he’d sat on days ago.
To his dismay, his sketchbook is nowhere to be found. His heart sinks as he crouches down to dig through the fresh snow, coming away with nothing but fingers that burn from the cold. There’s no sign of his satchel either, though he does find the napkin he’d taken from the kitchen, still wrapped around a half-eaten chestnut.
He frowns to himself as he pokes at it.
“Did an animal…?” He thinks aloud, before shaking his head.
What on earth would an animal want with his sketchbook, or even his satchel? The cold must be making him delirious.
Doyoung sighs to himself as he stands back up, knees complaining at the sudden movement. It’s probable that a passing hunter happened upon it - with any luck, they’ll have taken it back to town and handed it in somewhere. It’s not like either item is particularly valuable, both worn out things of leather that Taeyong had gifted him for a birthday years ago.
“I’ll ask the guards when I get back.” Doyoung mumbles to himself, decidedly leaving the clearing.
Pulling himself up the small slope that takes him back onto the main path, Doyoung can’t help but turn to look at the oak tree that looms in the distance.
He’d sworn to himself on the walk over here that he would go to the clearing then return home straight away, that he wouldn’t waste any more of his time or energy poking around the oak tree again. And he should really stick to that promise, considering how low the sun already seems to be dipping in the sky.
The wind turns wild all of a sudden, whipping snow up from the ground to swirl around him.
Doyoung watches in fascination as the flakes dance through the air, a chaotic waltz that seems to make its way determinedly into the depths of the forest, towards the oak tree in the distance. Strange though it may be, Doyoung feels as though something is trying its best to urge him off of the path he stands on, to follow the glimmer of white in front of him.
He tries his best to resist - something he would insist upon later on, when he relays the story to his unimpressed brothers. He even turns his back on the tree, tugging his cloak tighter around him with the full intention to head back to town. But it's then that the gale cuts through the branches above, and they seem to whisper his name almost desperately, the chorus of “Doyoung, Doyoung,'' sending a shiver down his spine.
Before he knows it, he’s kicking his way through the deepest of snow banks as the familiar sight of Winter’s oak comes into view.
The tree is sturdy beneath his fingertips, feeling as though it hums with life when Doyoung presses his hand to the trunk. He uses it to steady himself as he jumps down to where he knows the burrow waits for him. There’s no real reason for him to seek it out - after all, there’s no chance the fox could be there.
There’s also no point to him stopping to peer into the burrow anyway, dropping to his hands and knees to do so without a second thought. The snow immediately begins to seep into the material of his pants, but Doyoung ignores it.
He’s too busy staring at his satchel, safely tucked away in the back of the burrow.
The leather is familiar to the touch as he grabs onto the strap, tugging it towards him. Once the bag is in his hands, he looks it over quickly, silently confirming to himself that it is indeed his. It’s somewhat of a struggle for him to get the buckles undone, his fingers stiff from poking around in the snow, but when he does he relaxes at the sight of his sketchbook waiting for him inside.
Still, relieved though he is, Doyoung can’t help but still feel confused.
How had his satchel and sketchbook made it all the way here? Sure, a passing hunter or hiker could have chanced upon them, but that doesn’t explain why he’d found his belongings hidden so far from where he’d originally left them.
Doyoung looks up towards the branches above his head, as though he’ll be able to find an answer to his questions there.
“Did you happen to see anything?” He addresses the oak tree, laughing to himself at the absurdity of it all.
Even though the entire situation is a little too odd for his liking, he still shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, he decides.
“At least I don’t have to buy a new sketchbook.” Doyoung mumbles to himself, returning the item to his satchel.
He chances a glance back at the oak tree as he’s finally able to walk away from it. For a second, he’s sure he sees something dart between the roots, running away from him and further into the forest, but he dismisses the thought. It’ll be another random wild animal, nothing more than that.
❄
“What are you doing?”
Doyoung looks up from his spot against the wall of Renjun’s stall, thumb pressed against the spine of his knife.
“Carving.” He replies, smiling at his friend.
“Carving?” Renjun frowns, speaking up so he’ll be heard over the din of the marketplace. “Since when do you know how to carve?”
“It’s been a while since I last did it,” Doyoung answers softly, watching a wood shaving float to the floor. “I used to do this for every Midwinter - spend hours each year worrying away at a piece of wood until I was truly satisfied with the result.”
“I see.”
The younger man falls quiet for a while, watching a group of children scramble through the snow banks on the other side of the square. Doyoung lets the comfortable silence between them stretch on, engrossed in his task even as his fingers begin to ache.
“Why did you stop?” Renjun eventually asks, stool creaking as he turns to look at him once more.
Doyoung smiles as he finally puts his knife down, holding his carving up to the light so he can properly inspect it.
“The last one I ever made was perfect in my eyes, so much so that I felt there wasn’t any point to continuing. I would only ever be disappointed.”
“So what changed?”
“I’m not sure exactly,” Doyoung admits, carefully tracing over the details of the tail belonging to the fox figurine that now lies cushioned in his hand. “But something certainly has, and I can take a hint.”
He leaves the figurine in the burrow. Half-buried in the snow, for tradition’s sake.
The newly painted fox is a familiar stormy-grey, prominent against its white background, the tiny scarf he’d made out of a scrap cut from the back of his cloak fluttering in the wind. Doyoung watches it for as long as he can, before he has to turn his back on the tree to head home before sunset.
It’s a couple of days before he’s able to return, caught up in commissions and helping his brothers out as per usual. Hope blooms in his chest despite how hard he tries to stamp it down, his hands trembling as he pulls himself over the roots to crouch down by the burrow.
To his delight, the fox figurine is nowhere to be found, and in its place lies a hellebore, dried and pressed so the petals rustle softly against Doyoung’s fingertips when he picks it up.
He hides it away in one of his desk drawers in his bedroom when he gets home.
❄
“You didn’t have to come with me, you know.”
Doyoung rolls his eyes as he hoists his bag of furs higher onto his shoulder, shifting the weight with a grunt. He’d left his room earlier that morning to find Taeyong’s own door wide open, his brother pacing the floor around his spread-out collection of furs.
“I’m taking them to market so I can get a new arrow quiver,” He’d explained when the younger man had joined him. “Renjun said there’s a tailor near the tavern who’ll pay decently for them.”
Fair enough, Doyoung had thought, going to grab his cloak and boots to join his brother on his walk through the snow.
“I know, you keep saying as much,” He replies now. “But I was going to the market as is, so I might as well help you.”
“Fine,” Taeyong relents. “What do you need from the market, anyway? I thought you did your shopping when you were last here with Renjun.”
“More paint.” Doyoung sighs.
He’d spent the better part of the past week working on a commission for Renjun’s neighbour, a wealthy, older woman looking to have portraits painted of all her grandchildren. Doyoung had readily agreed when Renjun had passed the offer onto him - something he’d quickly come to regret once he realised just how wild said grandchildren were.
He’d barely managed to put the finishing touches to the final portrait when the youngest child had knocked into his table, sending the last of his paints splattering across the floor.
“Your expensive acrylics?” Taeyong whistled as he recounted the tale to him. “The ones Taeil got you?”
“The very same.”
“Gods, I don’t envy you.”
Doyoung doesn’t envy himself either.
Their eldest brother had gifted him the set of acrylics on his eighteenth birthday, watching with a fond smile as Doyoung had spent hours tracing each fine gold line decorating the lid of the box, a habit he’d done so often that, years later, the pattern was nearly completely worn off. He’d found them in an art shop tucked away in the capital where he’d been undertaking his veterinary training, and had gone to great extremes to eventually purchase and bring them back with him.
Doyoung had treasured the set, thinning them out carefully over the years to make them last, buying cheaper paints to do the majority of his work with so he could save his original set for best. He’d only brought them out to his patron’s house as the set had the perfect shade of yellow for the details of the childrens’ formal wear, and now he wished with all his heart that he hadn’t bothered.
He’d be hard-pressed to find such a nice set again, even with all his savings.
Doyoung sighs again.
The marketplace is busy as always, people bustling to and fro with the usual chaos that shopping brings. Taeyong swiftly tugs his younger brother closer so they’re not separated by the swarm, causing Doyoung to roll his eyes.
“I’m not a child you know, I can handle myself.” He mutters, even as he manages to link their arms together.
“Whatever you say.” His brother retorts, steering them towards the tailor’s.
It’s even busier at this end of the market, both he and Taeyong having to fight their way through the crowds with genuine force. Doyoung soon finds himself hot and frustrated despite the cold weather, quietly grumbling that they should’ve left earlier. It was never this manic when he came earlier in the mornings with Renjun, after all.
“Here,” Taeyong turns to him suddenly, grabbing at the bag on Doyoung’s shoulder. “It’ll be easier if we split up - I’ll come find you and we’ll head home when you’re done, yes?”
“Gladly.” Doyoung sighs in relief, only too happy to break away for freedom.
The stall he usually buys his paint from is run by an older woman named Mrs. Park, whose wares normally consist of bolts of fabric and other assorted sewing paraphernalia. She’d also taken to ordering art supplies from the capital once Doyoung had been old enough to shyly ask her to, having realised there was nowhere else in town he could possibly hope to find them.
He takes the back streets to her end of the market now, smiling as he approaches her stall.
“Good morning,” He calls, ducking around a group of small children sorting through a box of buttons. “Do you happen to have any paint sets in?”
Mrs. Park smiles at him in return, gesturing to the box at the front of her stall counter.
“Your usual acrylics? There should be a few colours in there, I’ll have to send an order off if you need any more.”
Doyoung has a cursory rifle through the case, quickly finding nothing of interest in there. While there are a few tubes of paint on offer, they’re ones that already sit in his desk drawer back at home. He fiddles with the soft bristles of a large paintbrush, tilting his head.
“Do you have anything a bit… Nicer? I’m hoping to replace my best set of acrylics after an accident, if possible.”
Mrs. Park hums, leaning over to take a handful of buttons one of the children holds out for her. With her other hand, reaches beneath the counter, retrieving a box that looks to be made of mahogany. Doyoung frowns in confusion as she passes it over to him.
“I already have someone hoping to buy this,” The vendor informs him. “But you’re welcome to take a look and maybe make an offer yourself.”
Doyoung burns with curiosity as he unlocks the box with the tiny key that is also handed to him, finding he holds his breath in anticipation when he’s finally able to get it open.
A symphony of gold and silver is what greets him, gleaming bright under the glow of the afternoon sun.
Doyoung gasps, realising what he looks at is the painted inlay of the box’s lid, decorated in a stylised imagination of the night sky. The silver and gold brushstrokes make up a myriad of stars, endless constellations dancing around a full moon that sits nearly aglow in the middle of its blacked-out backdrop.
Doyoung’s hand twitches with the urge to reach out and run a fingertip across the embossed details of the painting, feel each and every little crater and point for himself. It takes a mammoth amount of restraint to convince himself to hold still.
In the base of the box, block after block of pristine paint greet him, a range of colours he’d never even be able to dream of sitting prettily in uniform rows. There’s further compartments, presumably where he would keep his pencils and his brushes and maybe even his charcoals, some of them inlaid with their own gold-on-black depictions of the sun. He even finds an untouched palette in a secret drawer, made of the same mahogany as the box itself.
“They’re beautiful- it’s beautiful.” He whispers finally, careful as he caresses the smooth wood of the box.
“It is, isn’t it?” Mrs. Park replies. “I could hardly believe my eyes when it first came into my hands, and I’m not even a painter.”
Doyoung barely hears her words, far too overcome by how he ached to take his beautiful paint box home with him, to dip his brush into all these stunning colours and see how he could make them his own.
He hesitates, looking up to meet Mrs. Park’s eyes.
“Dare I ask how much has been offered for them?”
“The current offer I have is five hundred,” She replies, a sad smile on her face. “One of the wealthy heiresses from the next town over caught wind that I have them and made a bid just the other day. She picks them up next Friday.”
Five hundred. Doyoung feels his heart sink.
That was far past the realm of what he could ever hope to pay, easily double all the savings he had to his name. Even if he opened for commissions the very second he got home, if he painted a minimum of five portraits a day over the course of the next week, he still wouldn’t have enough.
He bites his lip, briefly entertaining the thought of asking one of his brothers for help. They would probably come to his aid - sure, he’d have to put up with a few exasperated sighs and them poking fun at him, but they’d do anything to make their younger brother happy. It was definitely an option Doyoung could explore.
But, just as fast as he’d conjured it up, he dismisses the idea.
Taeil worked hopelessly long hours at his practice, with what little money he didn’t give to their father to fund his faux-lavish lifestyle going towards savings for a house of his own. Likewise, Taeyong had a wedding to save for. There’s no way Doyoung could ask them to forfeit their hard-earned money for paint, no matter how lovely it was.
And so, despite how much it hurts him to, Doyoung hands the box back to Mrs. Park.
“Thank you,” He mumbles. “I’ll… I doubt I’ll be able to afford it, but maybe a miracle will happen.”
“Maybe,” Mrs. Park replies, tucking the box safely back under the counter. “They’ll be here until next week, should you change your mind.”
Doyoung sighs softly to himself as he turns away, heading off back towards the main square. He knows he’ll be dreaming about the paint box for at least the next few days (probably the next few weeks, if he’s being totally honest here), and it’ll only serve to make his own current set feel even more inferior. Painting tonight would probably be a bad idea.
Maybe he’ll stop by the bookstore and pick up something new he can use to distract himself with. It had been a while since he’d finished his last novel, and there hadn’t been any sign of Taeyong yet, anyway.
He’s so caught up in his own thoughts that he doesn’t notice the state of the path beneath his feet, black ice having crept to nestle into the gaps between the cobblestones. He is quickly made aware of it, however, when his boots suddenly slip out from underneath him, sending him flying backwards towards the ground.
Doyoung cries out in alarm, his entire world tipping sideways as he falls. His hands grasp uselessly at the air, his fingers closing around nothing as though that'll somehow be enough to save him, and he screws his eyes shut in anticipation of what is bound to be an unpleasant and painful impact.
An impact that never actually comes.
Instead, Doyoung finds himself pulled back against what feels like a broad chest, a strong arm coming to wrap around his waist. A hand then closes around his upper arm, its grip firm but careful as Doyoung is helped to his feet again.
"Are you okay?" A deep voice rumbles in his ear.
Doyoung flinches, turning around to find himself face to face with a complete stranger.
"I-I-" He stammers out, taking a step back.
He immediately slips again, squealing as he instinctively grabs fistfuls of the man's furs to try and save himself. It takes a few seconds for him to realise what he'd done, but when it sinks in, his cheeks quickly turn red in embarrassment. Thankfully the stranger only chuckles at him, gently bracing a hand against Doyoung’s back to steady him.
"Careful," He smiles when Doyoung looks up at him, eyes wide with mortification. "Try to get your balance before you move too fast.”
Doyoung nods, feeling his face burn when he can finally bring himself to pull away.
“T-Thank you,” He mumbles, more to his feet than anything else. “I definitely would’ve fallen, had it not been for you.”
“It’s fine,” The stranger replies, shaking his head. “I’m glad I could be of assistance, and that you’re not hurt.”
Doyoung breathes in deeply, forcing himself to look up and meet the other man’s eyes. He frowns as he lets his gaze roam unashamedly across his face.
“Are you new to town?” He asks, curious. “I don’t recall seeing you around before.”
There’s not even the slightest chance Doyoung had ever seen this man about town before today.
He would remember how tall he was, the strong slope of his nose, his jawline sharper than any hunting blade either Taeyong or Renjun carried. Never had he seen such full-looking lips, or such beautiful eyes - warm brown, speckled with the slightest hint of what could be amber, which seem to curve up and glimmer in amusement.
It’s then that Doyoung realises he’d been staring longer than was probably polite. He looks away with an awkward cough.
“Admittedly, I am.” The other man finally replies, bowing his head until the strands of his hair (a strange colour, brown in some lighting, grey in others) fell to frame his face.
Doyoung watched in silent fascination as the man easily tucked his hair back behind his ear - his father had always insisted he kept his own hair rather short.
“I heard your town is renowned for its wonderful markets so I decided I would come see them for myself, but I appear to have gotten a little lost.”
“Oh!” Doyoung perks up with the realisation that he can help, and thus pay back this stranger for helping him in turn. “We’re literally a stone’s throw away from the market right now, it makes up nearly all of the town centre.”
“Oh, really? If I am being honest with you, I’m quite terrible at directions. Would you be willing to show me?”
Doyoung can’t help but smile at the hopeful look on the taller man’s face, already feeling curiously endeared. Sure, going off with a (very attractive, he must note) stranger was perhaps not the wisest of ideas, and Taeyong would certainly agree with that thought.
But the market was barely two minute’s walk away, and he had the upper-hand of knowing the maze of backstreets anyway. He could easily make a run for it if this stranger turned out to have more nefarious intentions with him.
“Of course.” He answers. “It’s just-”
“Doyoung?”
The rest of his reply is cut off by the sudden sound of his brother’s voice. Doyoung turns to look further up the street, just in time to see Taeyong approaching, a frown etched across his face.
“Oh, hello. Did you finish with the tailor already?”
“I did,” His brother holds up the empty bags as proof. “Are you ready to head back?”
“I am, just let me show this man to the markets and we can go, if that’s alright?”
Taeyong’s frown only deepens, eyebrows knitting together.
“What man?”
Doyoung blinks, looking at his brother in confusion.
“Why… This man, right here? Are you blind?”
“More like are you blind? There’s no-one there, Doie.”
Doyoung’s breath hitches. He swings back around to where the stranger had been standing to talk to him mere moments before, only to find that his brother is right. He’s alone, save for a small flurry of snowflakes that quietly float to the ground. There’s not even any footprints to suggest the man had disappeared off somewhere.
“I…” He lets out a quiet noise of disbelief. “He- He was right there, he caught me when I slipped on the ice.”
Taeyong rests a hand on his shoulder, frown melting away to be replaced with obvious worry.
“Are you sure you didn’t actually slip and hit your head? Could you have perhaps imagined him?”
Doyoung shakes his head adamantly.
“No, there’s no way. I wouldn’t be able to dream up someone like him.” He insists, launching into a description of the man for his brother’s benefit.
“If he is actually real…” Taeyong grumbles as Doyoung draws his report to a close. “Whoever he is, I don’t like the sound of him. There’s something… off about the way he approached you.”
“He was just trying to help,” Doyoung is quick to retort. “He didn’t have to stop and help me when I fell.”
“But that’s just the thing - why was he so close by when that happened? You said no-one was around, had he been following you?”
A sigh is all Doyoung can muster by way of a reply. He was really beginning to feel like the unwitting protagonist of some fairytale - except this wasn’t a story in one of his books, it was his life, and he was quickly tiring of these unexplainable things happening to him.
“Let’s just go home,” He concedes. “I could do with some tea by the fire.”
Taeyong still looks worried, even as he nods, holding his hand out for Doyoung to take.
❄
Something glitters in the snow at Doyoung’s feet.
It’s another early morning, which sees yet another stolen visit to the forest before anyone has the chance to notice he’s missing. It had become something of a habit for him, Doyoung sneaking off to visit the oak tree whenever he could find the time to. So far, he’d managed to make it all the way out here at least twice a week, which was somewhat of a miracle at times.
Sometimes he would bring gifts for the oak with him. Nothing much - several fresh baked biscuits he’d snatch from the kitchen on his way out, or a handful of elderberries picked from a bush he found growing at the roadside. Sometimes Doyoung had nothing to offer but his own quiet company as he’d sit against the roots of the oak tree for hours on end, until he finally grew cold enough to head home.
But, without fail, whether he had an offering of his own or not, Doyoung would always come away from the tree with yet another dried hellebore to add to his rapidly growing collection.
Sure, on more than one occasion he’d stopped to wonder if he should perhaps be a little more concerned about how he’s entirely too happy to accept gifts from a complete stranger. After all, anyone with any kind of intentions could be leaving the flowers here for Doyoung to take, perhaps he is being a little foolish.
But, at the same time, he can’t ignore the thrill that runs through him at the idea that someone is specifically going out of their way to leave gifts for him to find - him, and no-one else. Besides, at the end of the day, the dried hellebores are just flowers. Special and significant flowers, sure, but nothing more. Exactly how much damage could be done there?
However: today, something is different.
His usual hellebore had been there, as expected. The dried petals rustle against each other as Doyoung clutches the flower in one of his hands, crouching down to carefully sweep away the snow lining the floor of the burrow. His fingertips brush against something curiously smooth, and he lets out a quiet gasp as his fingers pull a chain free.
He lifts what he belatedly realises is a pendant up until the weak winter sunlight hits it just right, the dark orange of the amber stone nearly glowing in the light. It’s beautiful, and incredibly familiar, Doyoung notes to himself with a frown as he traces the delicate silver detailing wrapped around the stone.
He soon realises why - a small circle of silver attached to the pendant clasp bears the tiniest symbol, a rose carefully stamped into the metal. Doyoung’s eyes widen with the realisation that he recognises the design: it’s a hallmark, and he knows exactly who this one belongs to.
“Yuta.” He breathes, carefully closing his fingers around the pendant.
What feels like hours later, the wood of Yuta’s front door is cold beneath his knuckles as Doyoung knocks impatiently.
He paces back and forth in front of his friend’s house as he waits, listening out as hard as he can for any sign of movement. Thankfully, he’s quickly rewarded with the sound of footsteps, followed by Yuta’s warm smile as he opens the door for him.
“Doyoung!” The older man exclaims. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I need to talk to you about something.” Doyoung answers breathlessly, ducking beneath his friend’s arm without a second to spare.
Yuta watches him, frowning in what is no doubt confusion.
“Of… Of course? Is something the matter?”
Doyoung grunts as he struggles to get his pocket open, pausing only to impatiently tear his glove off with his teeth to hurry the process up. When he pulls the pendant out it’s with a sense of victory, and he holds it out for Yuta to inspect.
“It is one of yours, isn’t he?” He asks quietly, watching the older man pale ever-so-slightly. “Do you remember who you sold it to?”
Yuta sighs.
“Sit down.” He motions towards a chair pulled up close to the fire.
Doyoung does as told, unravelling his scarf as he watches his friend bustle about, preparing tea for the pair of them. He accepts the mug thrust into his hands with a soft thank you, taking a polite sip as he waits pointedly for Yuta to explain.
“I sold it to a man at market, probably about a week ago now.” The older man finally says, polishing the amber stone with his sleeve.
“That doesn’t sound too out of the ordinary.” Doyoung comments.
Yuta hums by way of reply, setting the pendant back on the table. He sighs, leaning his chin in his hand as he meets Doyoung’s gaze.
“He came to my stall asking about a painter. Something about how he saw the sign you painted for my stall and made his own assumptions. Which, if I’m being honest, sounded like a lot of bullshit to me.”
It feels as though someone had thrown ice water over Doyoung. He inhales sharply, sitting up as the other man’s words catch his attention.
“I immediately knew it was you he was asking after, you’re the only painter in town, after all. So I was on guard the second I laid eyes on him.”
“Who- Who was he?” Doyoung can’t help but interrupt, lowering his voice to a whisper as though there was a chance they could be overheard. “What did he look like?”
Yuta frowns.
“I’ve no idea who he was, but he was tall - incredibly so, towered over everyone at market, even the butcher. What else… He had black hair, tied back with something shiny braided into the strands by the looks of it, and he wore all black-”
“Save for his white furs.” Doyoung finishes off for him, eyes wide with realisation.
Yuta’s frown only deepens, expression taking on more than a mere hint of worry.
“You know him?”
“Not exactly.” The younger man replies, launching into a quick explanation of what had happened when he and Taeyong had encountered this stranger at the market themselves.
His friend whistles when his story draws to a close.
“Well,” Yuta snorts softly. “That explains Taeyong’s reaction then.”
Oh dear, Doyoung thinks to himself, biting his lip in amusement. That can’t be good.
“Was he with you at your stall?”
“Oh yes, he was in the back organising my stones for me when he caught sight of the man while I was serving him. I should have known something was wrong when he came flying up front - I’ve not seen him that mad in quite some time.”
Doyoung shakes his head, easily conjuring up the image of his brother pulling his sharpest hunting knife on this unsuspecting stranger. He would have to have words with the older man later on.
“He’s ridiculous.” He mutters, taking a sip of his tea.
Yuta smiles fondly at him.
“He loves you, Doie. He’s just protective.”
“It gets annoying after a while,” The younger man replies coolly. A thought occurs to him. “Wait, what happened after that? With the strange man?”
“Nothing,” Yuta sighs. “I’d sold him the pendant just as your brother appeared and, by the time I’d calmed him down, the man had completely vanished. I even closed up early so we could check about town for him, but we found nothing.”
Just like last time, Doyoung notes to himself with a frown. He looks up to see his friend watching him carefully, as if trying to study the most minute details of expression.
“What?”
“Just… Why would a complete stranger be asking about town after you? Particularly one that was so,” He pauses, laughing suddenly. “So handsome? Are you sure you don’t know him, Doyoung?”
Doyoung’s cheeks burn.
Yuta isn’t wrong - from what he’d seen of the man when he’d first encountered him at the market weeks ago, he’d been incredibly handsome. All sculpted features and chiseled cheekbones, dark and mysterious against the dreary backdrop of the winter market. No, there was no chance that Doyoung knew him, even in the slightest. He would remember a face like that for the rest of his days.
He shakes his head.
“There’s no chance,” He manages to croak out, finding his throat has gone suddenly dry. “And I don’t understand how someone like him would know about me.”
While Doyoung might be semi-renowned throughout town for his work (being the only painter around definitely contributed to that), there was no chance he was talented enough that anyone outside the sleepy streets he called home would know of him.
Particularly no-one such as this strange man. The fine way in which he dressed and carried himself led Doyoung to assume he was of noble birth, most likely from the capital which lay a good few weeks away by horse. The thought of someone travelling all the way out here to ask after him was almost incomprehensible.
Yuta reaches out to hold his hand.
“This isn’t meant to insult you but… I don’t understand it either, Doie. And I’m inclined to side with your brother, I really don’t like it. I know you’re pretty smart when it comes to looking after yourself but be extra cautious from now on, please? We don’t know what this man wants, and I’d hate for something to happen to you.”
Doyoung’s heart swells with fondness for his dear friend sitting opposite him, and he squeezes his hand tightly in return.
“Thank you for caring for me, Yuta. I’m sure it’ll all blow over soon, but until then I promise to be more careful.”
“Good,” The older man smiles. “The last thing I need is Taeyong coming after me because I let some stranger buy and give you a pendant, I don’t think even us being engaged could save me.”
Doyoung barks out a laugh at that.
“I doubt it would either, if anything it would serve to make him angrier with you.”
“Don’t I know it.”
Yuta sighs, pulling away from the younger man’s hand to carefully pick up the pendant once more.
“Do you want me to get rid of this?” He asks quietly. “There’s no hard feelings on my part, at the end of the day, I still got paid for it.”
Doyoung tilts his head, watching the flickering light coming from the flames of the fireplace catch the amber hanging down from the chain. The stone looks like it could be ablaze itself, and he feels a curious warmth lick at his insides.
“No,” He murmurs, reaching out to take the pendant from his friend. “No, I think I’ll keep it. It’s too pretty to be destroyed.”
“Are you sure?” Yuta frowns. “We still have no idea who that man was.”
“I know.” Doyoung mumbles.
There’s just something about the way he’d found the pendant left for him in the burrow that makes Doyoung think there’s nothing all that menacing about it. It was next to one of his hellebores, after all.
Sure, there’s an undercurrent of anxiety running through him with the realisation that his beloved flowers might be a gift from this attractive stranger that’s apparently interested in him. But, while that might be the case, he can’t help but draw comfort from the gentle weight of the pendant as the stone nestles in his palm, chained wrapped delicately around his fingers like a vine.
Not that he’d tell Yuta that, of course. It was a secret for him to keep to himself.
“I’ll keep it in my room, if that makes you feel any better.” Doyoung smiles at his friend.
Yuta stares at him levelly for a few seconds more, before he concedes.
“Fine,” The older man sighs. “But remember what I said about being careful.”
“And I already promised you that I will be, but I’ll say it again: I’ll be on the lookout for any more signs of this man.”
“Good to know.” Yuta finally returns his smile. “More tea? Or should I walk you home?”
Doyoung hums, glancing up at the clock. It’s mid-afternoon, a while before he’s expected back at the house.
“Another cup would be nice, thank you.” A realisation strikes him. “Oh, and… Yuta?”
“Mmm?”
“If we could… Not mention this conversation to Taeyong, I would be very grateful.” He smiles sheepishly.
Yuta sighs, a put-upon thing, rolling his eyes as he turns back to the kettle.
“It’ll be me that gets in trouble if he does find out,” He warns the younger man. “But sure.”
Doyoung beams at him.
“You’re the most wonderful best friend I could ever ask for.”
“I’ll be sure to tell Renjun that next time I see him.” Yuta snorts.
❄
“You have been summoned for a family meeting.” Taeyong announces, flinging open his bedroom door without bothering to knock.
Doyoung fixes his brother an unimpressed look, turning back to where he’d been sharpening his pencils.
“Family meeting? Doesn’t that involve us actually being a family?”
Their father had been curiously removed from the household over the past week or so. Not that Doyoung particularly minded - he had rather enjoyed the newfound peace he’d achieved thanks to the man’s absence.
However, from the sounds of it, the older man was apparently back where he belonged. A shame really, Doyoung would miss being able to lounge about the house wherever he wanted, without fear of being reprimanded for being apparently useless.
Taeyong snorts, a noise that wholly lacks any humour.
“Most likely. I’ve been sent to collect you.”
“Why?” Doyoung frowns, sure his tone is bordering on a whine. “He’s normally more than happy to pretend I don’t exist, what’s changed now?”
“No idea,” Taeyong shrugs. “But we’ll find out faster if you pull yourself together.”
The temptation to refuse to leave his room and continue to cause problems is very much there. But, unfortunately, Doyoung is also all too aware that it’ll be his brothers that get the brunt of their father’s anger, and he has too much of a conscience to allow that to happen.
So, reluctant as he is to, he returns his pencils to the box he keeps them in, washing his hands before he follows his older brother downstairs.
The reason for the whole ceremony surrounding whatever this family meeting is meant to be swiftly becomes apparent when they arrive at the dining room.
A vase sits at the very centre of the table, two hellebores nestled prettily inside the clear glass.
Doyoung hears Taeyong inhale sharply somewhere behind him. He himself is too transfixed by the sight to make any audible reaction - he’d never expected to see the flowers here, of all places. Their father had never shown all that much interest in the rite of the winter god in the previous months, what had changed now?
Taeil looks up from his seat at the table, his lips pressed together.
“I rather think the old man has lost it,” He murmurs to his younger brothers. “He brought them in not even an hour ago, insisting that the reason winter was still going on was because none of us had tried yet.”
Taeyong rolls his eyes.
“Well, he’s got another thing coming if he thinks I’m going to try. I can’t imagine Yuta would appreciate me leaving him for some god, not that I’d even want to.”
“Exactly, and I have little interest in giving up my practice, either.” Taeil turns his eyes to Doyoung himself. “What about you, baby brother? Keen to try and woo a god?”
“Shut up,” Doyoung’s cheeks burn with embarrassment. “You really think father would spend this much on me? He’d rather burn the money.”
“Could be a sure fire way to get rid of you,” Taeyong pokes his tongue out, nudging Doyoung hard in the ribs. “I’m sure he’d give up any sum to do that.”
“To do what?”
At the sound of their father’s voice, the three brothers fall silent immediately. There’s a quiet scraping noise, Taeil rising from his chair to stand by Taeyong’s side.
“Nothing, father,” The eldest answers smoothly. “We were just discussing the new additions to the table.”
“Ah,” Their father smiles, a sinister look to his expression that makes Doyoung’s skin crawl. “Of course you were, I’m sure you’re very excited to see them.”
“That’s… One way to put it,” Taeyong forces a smile onto his face. “Where did you get them? I thought all the nearby florists sold out weeks ago.”
“One of the hunters found a patch deep into the forest. I paid quite the sum for two of them, so I hope my sacrifice is fruitful.”
Sacrifice. Doyoung scoffs at the older man’s use of the word, covering the noise with a cough as Taeyong subtly steps on his foot.
“Who will go, though?” His brother pipes up, trying to draw all attention back to him.
“Why, Taeil of course,” Their father breezes, as though it were the most obvious answer in the world. “Why would I not send my oldest and most accomplished son?”
Doyoung bites his lip, eyes flickering to where his oldest brother stands, expression carefully neutral.
“Me, father? What about the practice - I thought you decided my salary was too helpful for me to leave?”
The older man waves a hand in the air.
“Your meagre salary will mean nothing compared to what will come for me- my apologies, us all when you’re taken in by the god. I would prefer that to mere money, any sane man would.”
Doyoung watches Taeil expectantly, waiting for him to protest further. Though he might be the most easy-going of the three of them, he hardly expected his brother to submit this easily. It just wasn’t in his nature.
Turns out, he’s to be proven wrong.
“It would be an honour, father,” Taeil bows his head. “Thank you for the opportunity.”
“Taeil,” Doyoung frowns, looking to Taeyong for backup. The middle brother looks equally confused. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am serious though, Doyoung. Quite so, in fact.”
“But-”
“Take no notice of your brother, Taeil,” Their father sneers, already turning to no doubt head for his study. “I’m sure he’s just jealous that I’d never choose him for such an important task.”
Doyoung glares up the stairs after the older man, feeling something akin to hatred burning deep inside of him. He turns to his eldest brother, struggling to find the right words to voice what he wishes to say.
Taeyong has no such problem, on the other hand.
“Taeil- What the fuck? You can’t possibly want to actually go?”
Taeil sighs, rubbing at his temples in the way he does whenever he feels a headache coming on.
“Of course I don’t,” He answers, tiredly. “But if I don’t, it’ll be one of you he’ll send instead, and-”
“That doesn’t make any sense, if you don’t want to go there’s no point in you even making the journey,” Doyoung cuts him off, all too aware that hysteria is creeping into his voice. “You’ll die out there, Taeil, a blizzard is already blowing in. Don’t sacrifice your life for something so unnecessary.”
“It’s not unnecessary if it keeps you both safe.”
His eldest brother fixes him with such a look that any further protests die on the tip of Doyoung’s tongue. Instead, all he can do is watch helplessly as Taeil gathers his cloak from where he’d draped it over the back of a chair.
A touch to his arm startles him - Taeyong having come to curl a hand around his wrist.
“He’ll be fine,” The older man murmurs. “No-one’s yet died from trying to appease Winter, I doubt Taeil will be the first.”
Still, his brother’s words do little to soothe the anxiety that settles deep into Doyoung’s stomach, making him feel nauseous as they make their way to the front doors. He reaches out for the eldest of them all, refusing to let him go without one last attempt at changing his mind.
"You really don't have to do this, you know," Doyoung whispers insistently, clutching at Taeil's hands. "Tell father you refuse to give into his wishes, stay here where you'll be safe. We’ll back you up."
His older brother simply smiles at him, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.
"Sometimes we have to do things we don't exactly want to do," He murmurs, squeezing Doyoung's hands briefly. "I'll be okay, don't worry about me, Doie. Who knows, I might be back before you know it."
With a flourish of his cloak, Taeil opens the door, stepping into the already wild wind that awaits him outside.
“Take care of each other,” He calls back over his shoulder, smiling at his two brothers huddled together for warmth on the doorstep. “Try not to miss me too much.”
And then he’s gone, disappearing down the path and out of sight.
Doyoung stares out into the snow for far longer than he probably should, until his cheeks burn and fingers turn numb with the cold. Still, he doesn’t move until Taeyong wraps his arms around him with a sigh, pulling him back into the foyer and closing the door behind them both.
“What do we do?” He asks his older brother about a half hour later, once the pair of them sit by the fire, cups of tea in hand.
Taeyong scratches at a stain on the kitchen table, rubbing his fingers together to inspect whatever mess he’d found.
“We wait, I guess,” He murmurs. “There’s no concrete timeframe we can refer to. Taeil could be back later this evening, or tomorrow, or we might not hear from him for a week.”
“A week?” Doyoung closes his eyes, trying not to think of their brother out alone in the cold. “I don’t think I can handle the constant worrying.”
“Just-” Taeyong sighs, running a hand through his already messy hair. He then leans over, squeezing the younger man’s shoulder affectionately. “Why don’t you go to bed, try and get some sleep? You’ll feel better by morning.”
Doyoung shakes his head. While he knew his brother meant well, he also knew there was no possibility he’d manage to sleep tonight.
And he’s right - he lies awake the entire night, staring up at the ceiling as the hours drag by. He tries desperately to doze off, of course. Sleep would be nicer than the image of Taeil struggling through the deep snow of the forest that insists on haunting him. More than once he debates on going out after him, but ultimately decides that that would be a stupid idea.
The last thing Taeyong needs is two of them lost in the middle of the night.
The next day passes both in a flash and at a crawl, time thick and slow like Doyoung is trying to wade his way through it.
He doesn’t bother to leave the house - in fact, he barely leaves the safety of his bedroom, spending the majority of his time either lying in bed or sitting by the window, hoping he’ll catch a glimpse of Taeil finding his way home to them.
Despite having skipped dinner last night, Doyoung finds he has little appetite for breakfast, only poking at a bread roll before he gives up entirely. The early afternoon brings a quiet knock at his door, and a tray bearing lunch left for him by one of the staff. Said tray makes its way back to the kitchen hours later, completely untouched.
Taeyong also pops by at some point in the afternoon, offering to accompany him on a walk to the markets.
“Renjun works today, correct? Go see him, he’ll cheer you up, no doubt.”
Doyoung sends him away with a shake of the head, flopping back against his mattress. He lets his eyes drift shut, the tiredness from his lack of sleep the night before finally taking over, leaving him too lethargic to get up.
When he next opens his eyes the room is pitch black, save for the moonlight streaming in through the open curtains.
Grumbling quietly, Doyoung rolls over to check the clock that lives on his bedside table. The hands inform him it’s a little before midnight - he must have slept through dinner completely, he realises in dismay. That would only spell trouble for him tomorrow. Still, there’s little he can do about it now, he would just have to be sure he made it to breakfast before his father rose for the day.
His bed had never felt as comfortable as it did now, Doyoung’s body still heavy with the urge to fall back asleep. Unfortunately, his mind is not on the same wavelength, the anxieties he’d been able to escape from for a brief while flooding back to him even as he tries to close his eyes once again. He sighs, sitting up in defeat.
Across the room, his pendant lies where he’d left it on his desk, the amber winking at him sadly in the moonlight. Doyoung heaves himself up to reach for it without a second thought, wrapping the delicate chain around his fingers so the stone can rest in the palm of his hand, hoping he’ll be able to draw his usual comfort from it.
Instead, he frowns.
Where the amber is usually curiously cold, the stone is now warm against his skin. Actually, warm is rather an understatement, it feels as though a fire smolders away merrily beneath the surface of the pendant, the entire thing nearly vibrating with the force of it.
Yet, Doyoung notes as he presses the amber to his lips (a habit he’d picked up from doing this whenever he felt his nerves especially needed soothing), he realises it doesn’t burn him. The heat is soothing, seeping slowly into his bones until he feels lighter than air - like he could float up toward the ceiling if he so wished, leaving all his cares behind.
“How peculiar.” Doyoung mumbles to himself.
He crosses to the window, holding the pendant up to the moonlight to study it further. It looks the same as it usually does, each little spiral of silver still firmly in place, with no chips or other damage made to the amber. Not that there should be, Yuta took the utmost pride in his work, making sure to only work with the finest of materials so he knew his wares would last.
Still, it would have offered Doyoung some form of an explanation.
“My life just gets stranger by the second.” He sighs, fastening the pendant around his neck so the stone rests comfortably between his collarbones.
Thoroughly awake now, he abandons any idea of getting back to sleep in the next hour or so. Instead, Doyoung throws a few pillows onto the windowsill, nestling himself amongst them with his sketchbook on his lap. He glances around his immediate area for inspiration, eyes quickly falling on the familiar cup on his desk.
If he was being completely honest with himself, Doyoung had half-expected that he’d accidentally kill off his hellebore pretty quickly. It wasn’t his fault, he’d just never been all that good with plants, even ones that required little more than fresh water a few times a week. Any plants some unsuspecting relative gifted him were quickly handed to one of his brothers.
But, to his surprise, the hellebore bud was thriving in his care. He’d left the cup he’d been using as a substitute vase in a particularly sunny spot on his desk, leaving himself a stern note stuck to his mirror to serve as a daily reminder to top up the water before he washed his face. In consequence of this, his little bud was slowly flourishing, its petals unfurling themselves more and more each day.
Soon it would be in full bloom, and Doyoung couldn’t wait to see it.
He reaches across for the cup now, carefully positioning it between his feet so he can sketch out the shape of his hellebore. It’s an easy enough drawing, and soon he finds himself lost in the comforting monotony that comes with shading, feeling at peace for the first time since yesterday evening.
He’s not entirely sure how much time passes before something moving in the periphery of his vision distracts him from his drawing. Doyoung looks up to see it's begun to snow once again, the flakes silently drifting down to the ground. He leans his head back against the wall behind him, watching in quiet contentment.
As he watches a particularly fat snowflake’s journey to the ground, Doyoung realises with a bemused noise that the pure canvas of the snow is spoilt by what looks to be animal tracks.
Did Ruby get out, perhaps? He thinks to himself. Taeyong usually kept his dog in his bedroom with him overnight, but she was known for sneaking out whenever she fancied it. Doyoung sits up straight so he can press closer to the cold glass of his window.
Stranger still, it looks as though the footprints appear from literally nowhere - the first set situated directly in the middle of the stretch of garden below his bedroom. He follows the trail with his eyes, noting that they lead off towards the line of evergreens that separate manicured lawns from the more wilder parts of the gardens that lead off into the forest.
He freezes, holding his breath even until his lungs start to ache with it.
A pair of amber-coloured eyes watch him steadily from amongst the trees.
For a moment, his brain immediately assumes the worst - conjuring up images of weres and demons and the like, creatures he’d heard about in stories since he was a babe. He feels rooted to the spot, unable to give into the urge to duck down and hide thanks to the outright fear he feels, looking into those bright, unblinking eyes.
The urge to cry out, yell for Taeyong who he knows would instantly come to his aid is right there on the tip of his tongue, but he finds his voice dies every time he tries to make more than a weak noise of distress. All Doyoung can do is dig his fingers into the soft flesh of his thighs, willing his legs to move so he can flee.
It feels as though an age passes before the creature blinks, finally taking a step forward into the moonlight. Doyoung flinches, but relief quickly rushes through him when he realises the eyes belong not to a were, or a demon, but instead to a-
“A fox?” He laughs softly to himself, watching the animal's tail swish about in the snow.
He can’t help but immediately feel a little foolish - had he really gotten so worked up over a fox of all things? Doyoung shakes his head. He watches the creature paw at the ground in what appears to be agitation, looking between the trees and Doyoung's window.
Doyoung frowns, leaning in suddenly until his nose is barely an inch away from the glass. He recognises this fox, he realises.
“I must be dreaming.” He breathes, even as he reaches for his cloak and boots.
(He grabs his knife on the way out too, just to be safe. He hopes he won't need it, but Taeyong had drummed it into his head that it never hurt to be prepared.)
The fox he’d found trapped in the forest all those weeks ago waits impatiently for him across the garden. Doyoung presses up against the door behind him, watching the animal pace to and fro, body tense with upset.
"Do you need help?" He dares call. "Are you hurt again?"
The fox turns its head towards him, evidently listening to him speak. Doyoung's breath hitches when it slowly shakes its head by way of reply, the gesture too eerily human for his liking. Maybe it was some kind of demon after all, and he'd walked right into its trap. He slips his hand into his pocket, closing his fingers around the comforting metal of his knife.
"Then what do you want from me?" He asks, voice carrying on the wind.
The fox stares levelly at him before it turns away, nosing at a fallen branch at its feet. It's clear it wants Doyoung to follow it further into the trees, which is ridiculous. The most sensible thing for him to do would be to go back to bed and pretend this hadn't happened at all.
But, deep down he knows that he'll never be able to sleep again if he doesn't discover for himself what awaits him in the forest.
"What am I doing?" He whispers up towards the sky, before he draws his cloak tighter around him to head towards the fox.
The creature perks up when it realises what he's doing, tail wagging upon his approach. Now it stands at its full height, Doyoung realises in awe just how big it is, coming up to nearly his waist. It had somehow looked smaller during their last encounter, even when he'd carried it for a while, and he can't help but be a little afraid of it now.
That is, until it drops to the floor to roll about in the snow.
"What are you doing?" He barks out a laugh.
The fox blinks up at him, tongue hanging out of its mouth while it pants. It scrambles back to its feet, carefully nosing at Doyoung's hand. Doyoung sighs, obliging and leaning down to stroke his fingers through the thick fur on its head.
"Okay. I trust you," He murmurs. "Show me what you've found."
He follows the fox for a good five minutes, the snow crunching beneath his boots as they walk. Occasionally, one of his feet will sink in so deep that he has to stop and pull himself free. The fox, naturally much faster than he is, stops and waits for him each time, falling into step by his side once they can set off again.
Doyoung is just wishing he'd brought a lantern with him when they finally reach a break in the trees, the moonlight shining down to illuminate the clearing they find themselves in. His fox comes to a stop, eyes trained on a tree that sits across from them. Doyoung follows its gaze, gasping aloud when he realises what it stares at.
"Taeil!" He bursts out, tripping over his feet in his haste to run to his brother's side.
The older man lies curled up at the bottom of the tree, so still that Doyoung instantly fears that it's with death. He collapses to his knees the second he's close enough to, scrabbling at the collar of his brother's shirt to feel for his pulse point.
"Please don't be dead," He whispers desperately. "Oh please, I won't be able to handle it."
A hand clutches at his arm suddenly, drawing a startled shriek from him.
"Doyoung," Taeil wheezes suddenly. "Stop it, your hands are so cold."
Doyoung gasps, watching with bated breath as his brother opens his eyes to blink tiredly up at him. Taeil reaches out for him blindly and he ducks down to meet him halfway, wrapping his arms around the shorter man with a relieved little sob.
"You're alive." He near wails, burying his face against the mess of his brother's hair. He's immediately met with the familiar and comforting scent of Taeil's shampoo, and it only makes him sob harder.
"I am," Taeil soothes, rubbing at one of Doyoung's arms. "I am, and I'm completely fine. I promise."
Doyoung pulls away with a sniff, scrubbing at his face with his shirt sleeve. He silently checks over the older man, wanting to confirm as much for himself. His brother is right - there's not even a scratch on him. In fact, he's still warm, despite the weather.
"How can that be?" He mumbles. "You look like you were only out here a moment or two before I found you."
"I'll… I’ll explain later," His brother promises. "For now, I would like to go home and go to bed."
The fox is nowhere to be seen, he realises belatedly as he helps Taeil to his feet. It must have run off at some point after Doyoung had left its side.
A shame, really, he thinks to himself. I would've quite liked to have thanked it for leading me here.
Perhaps he should be more alarmed at the fact that this random fox he'd found in the woods one day both knew where he lived, and also knew that Taeil was someone he'd be looking for. After all, no animal should be that intelligent. Something almost magical was clearly at play here, but Doyoung found himself too tired to give it any further thought.
"Come on," He whispers to Taeil, drawing his cloak around the pair of them. "Let's get you home."
❄
“Doyoung!”
Doyoung freezes at the sound of someone calling his name, turning just in time to see Sooyoung hurrying down the street towards him with what looked to be a small parcel in her hands.
"I'm glad I caught you," His friend pants when she finally catches up, easily falling into step alongside him. "How's Taeil doing?"
"Not too bad, thankfully." Doyoung sighs, shoulders sagging.
He'd left his brother in bed that morning, tucked up safely amongst a multitude of pillows and blankets. The older man seemed to be, well, almost completely unaffected by his experience. A little tired, more than happy to spend his day dozing in the warmth of his room, but otherwise unhurt. Doyoung was a little mystified, to say the least.
"That's good to hear." Sooyoung smiles softly at him.
She holds the parcel out for the older man to take, and Doyoung opens it to find two smaller packs of tea leaves.
“I managed to catch Dejun’s brother just as he was closing up his stall this morning - you know, the one who runs the tea shop,” She explains. “He said the one with cinnamon is good just in case he comes down with a cold, and the other one is just good for generally warming someone up. It sounds like he could use it.”
“Thank you Sooyoung, I’ll pass them onto him when I get home.” Doyoung smiles, squeezing her hand.
Sooyoung returns his smile, but it quickly slides from her face to be replaced with curiosity.
“What happens to you all now, though?”
Doyoung frowns at his friend.
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” Sooyoung tilts her head as she speaks. “Renjun told me that your father bought two hellebores, correct? That must mean one is left. What will you do with it?”
Doyoung snorts.
“Who knows? It was a waste of money if you ask me, it’s not like Taeyong was ever going to use it.”
“What about you? There are three of you, you know.”
“I’m well aware of that. But, really Sooyoung, me?” Doyoung laughs properly this time, his stomach aching with it. “Gods, even if father did suddenly have a change of heart and give me the second flower, it’s not like Winter would want me.”
Sooyoung stops dead in her tracks, turning to fix him with the most unimpressed look he’s ever seen her conjure up.
“Really, Kim Doyoung? We’re pulling this card again? You know damn well anyone would be falling over their own feet to have you, even a god.”
Doyoung laughs, unable to take her glaring at him seriously.
“Thank you, Sooyoung. I’m sure many would disagree with you, but I appreciate the sentiment.”
Sooyoung purses her lips.
“Besides,” She continues, clearly trying a different tactic this time. “It’s not as though there’s any harm in you trying, right? Like you said, Taeyong won’t ever use the hellebore, so you might as well put it to use.”
“I think my father would rather the flower wilt and die than let me try, but I’ll keep it in mind.” Doyoung replies steadily.
“Good. Have some confidence in yourself,” Sooyoung nudges him playfully. “And, if it doesn’t work, come by my house to have tea sometime? It feels like forever since you last came to visit, and Yerim misses you so.”
“I miss her too,” Doyoung’s eyes sparkle with fondness at the thought of his friend’s younger sister. “I’ll be sure to come visit, and I’ll bring her favourite cake from the bakery to make up for my absence.”
“Perfect.”
Sooyoung bids him goodbye with a kiss to the cheek, disappearing off down a side street with a flick of her hair. Doyoung shakes his head as he watches her go.
“‘Have some confidence in yourself,’” He laughs softly. “Easy for her to say, there’s no chance that Winter would have rejected her if she’d have been totally willing to give her life up for him.”
He thinks over his friend’s words during the rest of his walk home, so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice Yuta sitting on the doorstep until he’s right in front of him.
“Oh, hi there,” Doyoung smiles. “Is Taeyong not in?”
Yuta shakes his head, standing up to shuffle in close.
“It’s not Taeyong I’ve been waiting for, Doie. It’s you.”
“Me?” Doyoung frowns. “Is something the matter?”
Yuta presses his lips together. It was an unnerving sight, really - it was rare the other man had anything other than a bright smile on his face, so to see him looking so grave right now had Doyoung feeling on edge.
“The man came back to my market stall.”
It takes a few seconds for his friend’s words to sink in, but when they do, Doyoung’s eyes snap up to meet his friend’s gaze. He grimaces, feeling that ever-familiar anxiety creeping back into his veins.
“He… What did he want?”
Yuta sighs, turning his head away to stare at the bare branches of a tree in Doyoung’s front garden. The older man is quiet for a few moments, seemingly miles away wherever he’s wrapped up in his own thoughts, before he answers his question.
“He asked me about the painter again, and… This time there was something different in the air, like it was compelling me to tell the truth. Taeyong wasn’t with me so I didn’t have him to fall back on, and…” His friend bites his lip, looking back to Doyoung with pleading eyes. “I’m sorry Doyoung, I told him it was you.”
Doyoung finds that words fail him. All he can do is stare at the other man in confusion, watching Yuta kick a pebble down the path towards the gate.
“That’s all I told him,” His friend mumbles. “Just that you were the painter in town. He doesn’t know anything else about you, I promise you’re safe in that regard. I just hope you can forgive me.”
“Oh, Yuta,” Doyoung softens at the clear distress on his friend’s face. He reaches out to lace their fingers together. “Of course I forgive you, I doubt you meant to tell him anything.”
Yuta sighs.
“I just hope we’re right and he’s just after commissioning you for something,” The older man murmurs. “Or maybe even lessons? He said something about a paint box he’d seen elsewhere in the market, so it could be a possibility.”
Doyoung perks up.
“Paint box?”
“From Mrs. Park’s stall. You know, the one you get your supplies from? He said he’d seen a particularly beautiful one there, and had put an offer in on it at some point.”
Doyoung breathes out softly, hope quietly blooming inside him.
Could he have…? He shakes his head, trying to dismiss the errant thought from his brain. There’s no way this total stranger could have bought the paint box for him.
But, even so, he turns to look back in the direction of the town gates. The sun is still relatively high in the sky: surely he has time to run to the burrow and confirm if his suspicions are correct.
“Yuta,” Doyoung blurts out before he has time to change his mind. “I… I just remembered I left something with Renjun in his stall. I’ll catch up with you later?”
“Sure,” His friend smiles at him. “I’ll go see how Taeil is faring, he should be awake by now.”
“Good idea.” Doyoung smiles in return. “Tell him I’ll be in to see him when I get back.”
He waits until he’s beyond the town gates, far out of sight of anyone who would know him, before he bolts.
The oak tree’s roots are slippier than ever, and Doyoung nearly breaks at least an arm as he practically throws himself over them in his haste to get to the burrow. Thankfully, there’s a decent layer of snow to cushion his fall, meaning he lands with nothing more than an oof! and a couple of bruised ribs that will haunt him tomorrow.
Right now though, that’s of little concern to him. Doyoung is quick to scramble to his feet, crossing the last few metres of distance that separate him from the burrow. He drops to his knees the second he’s close enough, pitching forward to peer into the space, holding his breath in both hope and anticipation.
He lets out a delighted laugh when he sees what awaits him.
“I can’t believe this.” Doyoung mumbles to himself, reaching out to pull the familiar mahogany box onto his lap.
Something aches deep inside of him when he unlocks the lid, flipping it open to once again take in the sight of the paint set. It’s just as beautiful as he’d remembered, and the idea that someone had gone out of their way (and spent a quite frankly frightening amount of money) to buy something for him left Doyoung feeling a little dazed.
The feeling only grows when he tugs open the drawer, finding yet another dried hellebore waiting for him. He rather felt like he could cry.
He still had no idea who exactly this man apparently so insistent on spoiling him was, but he couldn’t help but feel a surge of gratitude towards him. Never in his life had he been spoilt like this.
“Thank you.” Doyoung whispers sincerely up to the branches above his head.
He’s not sure what good it’ll do - it’s not like the oak tree can pass on his message. But, then again, stranger things had definitely happened to him as of late. Perhaps he shouldn’t dismiss the notion that trees could possibly talk.
“I’ll treasure it, I really will.” He promises, cradling the paint box close to his chest.
A gentle breeze ghosts through the branches of the oak, sending a few snowflakes dancing down towards him. One manages to land directly on the tip of his nose, and Doyoung wipes it away with a soft laugh.
It almost felt like an answer.
❄
“That was certainly some trip to Renjun’s stall,” Taeil comments as Doyoung slips into his room, having already hidden his cloak and the paint set underneath his own bed. “Did you take the extra long way there and back?”
“Something like that,” The younger man’s cheeks burn with the realisation he’d not been as sneaky as he’d thought. He crosses the room, dropping to sit at the foot of his brother’s bed. “How are you feeling? Did Yuta cheer you up?”
Taeil settles back against his pillows, letting out a thoughtful noise.
“He did, not that I particularly needed cheering up, I feel completely fine. Especially now I’ve managed to sleep.”
“Good to hear.” Doyoung reaches out to take his brother’s hand. He gives it a gentle squeeze, lost in the depths of his own thoughts.
“Are you alright?” Taeil asks him. “You’re very quiet as of late, Taeyong was in here earlier asking if I knew anything about it.”
“Me?” Doyoung blinks in astonishment.
And here he thought he’d been doing a good job of keeping everything to himself (and Yuta, to some extension).
“There’s nothing going on with me,” He lies, avoiding his brother’s eyes as he trails a finger through the tassels of one of his pillows. “I’m just… The same old Doyoung as always. Nothing special.”
The look Taeil gives him tells him the older man doesn’t believe him for a second, but thankfully for Doyoung he lacks the same stubbornness that he and Taeyong have. Instead, Taeil only affords him a wry smile, poking his wrist.
“If you say so. Just remember both me and Taeyong are here for you, I know you like to be secretive but there’s only so much you can keep to yourself before it becomes too much for you to bear.”
Doyoung hangs his head, feeling rather like he’s being lectured.
“I know.” He mumbles, looking desperately around the room for something he can use to change the subject.
His eyes naturally fall on the window, its curtains pulled back on one side to let the last minutes of daylight through. Doyoung stares out at their snow-covered gardens, his thoughts automatically drifting back to the night before last.
“What happened in the forest?” He shakes his head. “I mean, Winter obviously turned you away, I know that much. But what happened before that?”
Taeil sighs, moving to lace their fingers together. His skin is still cold against Doyoung’s and the younger man frowns, reaching up to adjust his brother’s blankets.
“If I’m being completely honest with you, Doie, I can’t remember all that much.” His brother murmurs. “I recall it seeming like it took forever for me to reach the oak tree, you know, where the shrine is?”
Doyoung nods, his lips pressed together. Taeil didn’t need to know the full extent of his familiarity with Winter’s oak, and he doesn’t trust himself to not blurt out something that would only incriminate him.
“By the time I did get there, the blizzard was so bad I could barely see two steps in front of me. I think I must have wandered the forest for hours, completely blind and lost. All I could think about was how cold I was, and how much I wanted to go home.”
“You’re lucky something didn’t attack you,” Doyoung cuts in, worry rising inside him. “There are bears in the area, you could’ve gotten seriously hurt.”
Taeil raises his eyebrows.
“Since when were you worried about things like bears?” He snorts, not bothering to wait for Doyoung to answer. “I supposed Renjun instilled something useful in you. Anyways, I was out there for goodness knows how long before everything suddenly went white, like I was staring into a bright light.”
Doyoung frowns, trying to imagine what his brother could have seen.
“White? Like… Like snow? Did you fall?” He asks.
“Perhaps,” Taeil replies, rubbing a thumb over the back of his younger brother’s hand. “Maybe I fell, but the way I suddenly felt curiously warm makes me think that I didn’t.”
“Isn’t suddenly feeling warm a sign of hypothermia?” A voice cuts in.
The two brothers seated on the bed look up to see Taeyong standing in the doorway, a tray balanced in his hands.
“Your dinner,” The third brother clarifies, moving to place said tray on Taeil’s lap. “I figured you’d prefer to eat up here, rather than subjecting yourself to father’s rage downstairs.”
“Rage?” Doyoung turns to look between his older brothers. “Taeil could’ve died and he dares to be mad?”
“Father doesn’t care about our welfare, Doyoung. I thought you of all people would know as much by now,” His eldest brother replies patiently, taking a spoonful of his soup to his mouth. “All he sees is a failed investment. Which I suppose this whole venture was, really, considering I didn’t even manage to bring back my hellebore with me.”
“Oh, you too?” Doyoung thinks back to Sooyoung telling him her own hellebore had disappeared without a trace. “What do you think happens to them?”
“Dongho and Jonghyun think someone comes to steal them when no-one is looking,” Taeyong leans in conspiratorially. “Maybe they took yours, Taeil, when you passed out.”
“I didn’t say I passed out though,” Taeil scowls at his younger brother. “Just that I can’t remember most of the evening.”
“Well something has to account for that. It’s not like you simply ceased to exist for an entire day, that wouldn’t make sense.”
“Perhaps Winter actually found me and cast some sort of spell on my memory,” Taeil snorts. “What do you think, Doyoung? Do you have a theory?”
Doyoung startles at his brother’s sudden addressing of him. He tries to play his reaction off with a yawn, but it’s clear from the expression on both his brothers’ faces that he’s not quite managing to.
“Sorry,” He grins sheepishly. “Must’ve zoned out for a second there.”
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Doyoung hesitates, biting his lip as he avoids Taeyong’s expectant gaze.
How could he possibly tell the men in front of him that he’d been thinking of the growing hellebore collection hidden away safely in his bedroom? That he’d been dwelling on the idea that maybe, just maybe, the flowers taken from those who Winter rejected were somehow making their way to him?
They’d either think he’d gone mad - or worse, that it was him who was the thief.
He shivers at the thought.
“I’m just wondering…” He hesitates, trying to turn the conversation onto a safer topic. “Do you know how you ended up near the house?”
“No,” Taeil shakes his head. “Like I said, the last thing I remember is everything going white, and feeling just so… warm. And safe, as though I knew nothing could harm me while I was like that. Then, next thing I knew, you were shaking me awake.”
“Very strange,” Taeyong thinks aloud. “How did you get from being hours deep into the forest, to being practically in our back garden?”
“I’ve said it before,” Taeil shrugs. “We can’t hope to understand everything that goes on between those trees. There’s knowledge there that’s beyond our comprehension.”
Doyoung looks down at his hands, realising there’s a smear of dirt across his fingers he must have somehow missed.
He scrubs it away using the material of his pants, hoping if he does it hard enough he can also erase the uneasy feeling that creeps over him, like a cold wind huffing out a flame.
❄
Doyoung doesn’t go back to the forest again.
He wants to - of course he does. Each morning he wakes up, his heart aching with the urge to hurry among the trees, to drop to his knees next to the burrow and see what his mysterious benefactor had left for him this time.
But he resists. It feels like too much of an unnecessary risk, especially now the weather seems to have taken even more of a turn for the worst. He barely goes to market anymore: there’s no point, considering most of the stalls closed up with the arrival of the most brutal frost he could imagine.
At least his hellebore is still thriving.
Despite it all, Doyoung still smiles to himself whenever he catches sight of it on his desk. It was now in full bloom and, though he might be biased in thinking so, he had never seen such a pretty flower in his life.
For a moment, he’s worried the frost that seeps through the brickwork of the house will steal it away from him, but it appears his hellebore is hardier than he thought.
“Thank goodness something is.” Doyoung murmurs to himself, watching the furious blizzard raging outside his window.
He shivers at the sheer power of it, watching a tree collapse in the far distance. True to Winter’s nature, no-one had been hurt from the constant storms, but the rest of the townspeople were very much afraid of this development. Doyoung could only wonder what had happened to the god to cause such a reaction.
“I guess you must be very lonely, so I hope you find someone soon.” He whispers, fingers pressed against the cold glass. “For your sake, and our own.”
The wind outside drops all of a sudden, the snow that had been thrashing violently in the air falling to the ground in a quiet slump. Doyoung’s house groans around him in relief. He looks up at the ceiling with wide eyes, hands pulled close to his chest for safety.
“I… Did I do that?” He breathes, turning to ask his reflection in the window.
Mirrored-Doyoung merely blinks back at him.
❄
The next time Doyoung returns home, having finally braved the cold to pay Renjun and his sisters a visit, he’s immediately met with the sound of raised voices.
“What now?” He sighs, unwrapping his scarf from around his neck as the follows the noise to one of the parlours tucked away in the back of the house.
He soon finds out when he sticks his head through the door, finding Taeyong and their father glaring at each other from opposite sides of the room. The atmosphere is heavier, more so than Doyoung had ever experienced before, and he has to force himself to not immediately flee back to the safety of Renjun’s house until whatever this is blows over.
“Um…” He mumbles, speaking up despite a feeling it would be better for him to remain quiet.
Taeyong turns to him instantly, a heated combination of anger and relief painted across his features. It’s a worrying sight, and Doyoung presses his lips together in anticipation.
“Doie,” His brother breathes, voice shaking with anger. “Thank goodness you’re here.”
“What’s happening?” The younger man takes a tentative step into the room, flinching when their father then turns to jeer at him.
“What’s happening,” The older man snarls, pointing at Taeyong. “Is your brother is being perhaps more foolish than even you could hope to be, Doyoung.”
“Leave him out of this,” Taeyong scowls. “Doyoung has no place in this argument, he’s innocent.”
Doyoung looks between the two men, trying to decipher what it is that he could’ve missed while he was out. As he does so, his eyes naturally fall on a table in the centre of the room, the second hellebore his father had bought alongside Taeil’s left abandoned on the surface.
“Ah.” He breathes, realisation dawning on him.
“‘Ah’, indeed.” Their father smiles, crossing his arms. “Taeyong refuses to do right by his family and take his turn at attempting to woo Winter. Despite being well aware of how much those damned flowers cost me, and how easy it would be for him to soothe the humiliation we face over having one son turned away already.”
“For the last time, father,” Taeyong grits his teeth as he replies. “It would be a waste of both a flower and a journey. I have a fiancé and a future with him to look forward to, why on earth would I want to give that up to be some faceless god’s sidepiece?”
Doyoung reaches out to catch hold of his brother’s sleeve, feeling him tremble beneath his touch.
“He’s right, father- sorry- sir,” He tries to placate the older man, even as he can feel the venom of his gaze trying to penetrate his skin. “Taeyong has Yuta, I very much doubt Winter would overlook that and try to separate them. The god has his own morals, after all.”
“Yuta,” Their father practically spits Doyoung’s friend’s name out. “Why settle for a mere jeweller when you could break off this blasted engagement and have a god? I thought I had two intelligent sons, but it appears all three of you are as foolish as each other.”
Taeyong rounds on the older man, and Doyoung immediately dreads whatever his brother is about to say.
“Exactly, you have three sons,” Taeyong hisses. “Why not stop pretending Doyoung doesn’t exist and offer him a chance? Do you ever stop to think that maybe he would like to try, or are you so wrapped up in your own selfish desires that you forget other people exist outside of them?”
Their father laughs, a cruel sound that’s only exacerbated by the way he tips his head back. Doyoung curls away from him, wrapping his arms around himself as though that’ll protect him from what he knows is about to come.
“Doyoung? Taeyong, you can’t be serious. I might as well send your stupid little dog, Winter would make better use of her than your brother. I doubt the god would even let him attempt to approach his shrine, he’d sully it somehow.”
“That’s not true,” Taeyong insists. “Doyoung is kind, intelligent, resourceful- Doyoung, for pity’s sake, defend yourself here, you know you’re worthy. Don’t let him beat you down like this.”
Doyoung avoids his eyes, cheeks already ablaze with humiliation.
“I’d rather not,” He mumbles. “It’ll only result in me getting more hurt.”
Their father smirks at him.
“See? Even Doyoung himself acknowledges he’d be a waste of time. Which leaves you, Taeyong, as my last option.”
“I-”
Doyoung scoffs, turning away from the two men in front of him with a swish of his cloak.
“If I’m not needed here, I’ll be going before I find myself insulted any further. Settle this stupid argument between yourselves.”
He’s down the corridor and halfway up the stairs towards his own bedroom before he hears footsteps following him.
“Doie?” Taeyong stands a few steps below him, reaching out for his cloak. “Are you okay?”
Doyoung pulls away before he can touch him.
“You said it yourself, there was no need to bring me into your argument, and yet you did it anyway.” Doyoung replies hotly, trying not to be saddened by the obvious regret in his brother’s eyes. “So no, I’m not okay, Taeyong. Especially considering I was only trying to help.”
“I- I’m sorry,” Taeyong winces. “It wasn’t my intention, you know how mad I get when father insists on belittling you.”
“And you also know how he then uses that as an opportunity to belittle me further,” Doyoung retorts, trudging up the few final steps in front of him. He addresses his brother again once he stands on the landing. “I appreciate you coming to apologise, but I’d like to be left alone for the time being.”
He can see it in Taeyong’s face that his brother wants to protest, to insist on further trying to make amends with him. But, to his credit, Taeyong does apparently seem to possess the necessary emotional intelligence to understand that now is not the best time for that.
“Of course,” He soothes. “I’ll… I’ll let you rest, see you in the morning if I don’t see you at dinner?”
“Maybe.” Is Doyoung’s curt reply, before he finally is able to retreat to his bedroom.
His room is dark, but he doesn’t bother to turn his lamp on as he lets the door slam shut behind him. There’s something about the muted blue light filtering in through the windows that’s ultimately more soothing, and Doyoung would rather bask in that than anything else.
Crossing to his bed, he sighs as he flops down onto the mattress, rolling onto his back so he can stare at the ceiling.
“Maybe I should just go off into the forest for good,” Doyoung mumbles to himself. “God or no god, it’d save me from having to deal with this place for any longer.”
He lets his eyes fall shut, wondering if it would perhaps be best to just sleep the remainder of the evening away. If he woke up early enough, he could steal away to Renjun’s house before anyone else woke, stay with his friend until Winter finally found his companion and everyone could stop walking on eggshells and get on with their lives.
Instinctively, Doyoung reaches up to close his fingers around his pendant, wanting to feel its comforting smoothness against his skin. He finds that, much like the night in which the fox led him to Taeil, the stone is peculiarly warm.
“What now?” He sighs softly to himself, sitting up ever so slightly so he can fumble with the clasp around his neck.
Maybe this time he really had damaged it since the last incident - his fall from when he was last in the forest comes to mind. When he successfully pulls it free he lifts it a little above his head to inspect it closely.
He’s right, something is different this time, just not in the way he’d expected.
Doyoung’s eyebrows furrow together, bringing the hand holding the pendant closer to his face until the tip of his nose brushes against it. For a moment, he thinks he’s seeing things. But when he rubs his eyes, blinking furiously to chase away the darkness, he realises the sight in front of him is very much real.
The amber stone glows ever so slightly where it hangs down from the silver chain.
Doyoung watches the faint light glimmering in the darkness, trying with all his might to think up a rational explanation for this. When, after a few minutes, he fails to, he sits up. There’s a magnifying glass somewhere in his room, perhaps that would be of help to him right now.
However, as he steps down from his bed, the light shining from the pendant increases by a fraction.
“How in the…?” Doyoung trails off, taking an experimental step forward.
The light dims this time, enough so that the stone returns almost to its usual colour. Doyoung bites his lip, looking about his room as though someone could be hidden away there, playing a trick on him. Of course, he finds himself alone.
“What did Yuta do to this thing?” He breathes.
Feeling a little foolish, he takes another few steps away from his bed, watching the light spike and fall depending on which direction he faces. It disappears entirely when he makes his way over to the door, meaning he’s quick to turn his back on it. His movements seem to yield better results when facing towards his desk, so he heads that way instead.
The stone is bright as he approaches the piece of furniture, that familiar heat from weeks before burning away in Doyoung’s hands. He holds his breath as he comes to stand still by the desk, eyes scouring its surface to see if there’s any clue as to what could be making his necklace behave in this way.
His eyes immediately fall on the cup that houses his hellebore.
Doyoung looks between the pendant and the flower, almost afraid to put the idea blooming in his head into action. He’s not entirely sure what he’ll do with the result he suspects he’ll receive. Still, he’s come this far. It would be a waste for him to give up now.
And so, with bated breath, Doyoung leans over to hold the pendant next to his hellebore.
The effect is instantaneous.
The pendant immediately glows so bright that he has to cover his eyes with his free hand to protect them from getting hurt. Both the stone and the chain are practically white, and Doyoung swears he can feel them trembling beneath his fingertips.
He pulls away sharply, sighing with relief as everything dims to a more manageable brightness. With fumbling fingers, he fastens his pendant around his neck once more, watching the stone’s glow cast shadows across his skin. Despite how thoroughly confused he is, Doyoung has to note it makes for a rather lovely sight.
“But what does it mean?” He asks, turning to look out the window, as if he’ll find an answer there.
The sky is clearer than he can remember it being in months and, if he squints, Doyoung can just about make out the sight of Winter’s oak looming in the far distance. He frowns to himself, looking down to where his hellebore sits on his desk.
“It… It can’t be?” He murmurs, reaching out to hold the flower’s stem between his thumb and forefinger.
His mouth drops open, a silent gasp of awe escaping him as he watches a barely-there shimmer of frost pass over the petals, disappearing almost as fast as it had appeared.
Doyoung looks between the hellebore in his hand, and the calm scenery sitting outside his window. The forest seems to beckon to him from its position miles away, and his heart aches to answer its call.
“I did say once that I can take a hint,” He whispers to himself. “And I guess there’s really no bigger hint than this. So, who am I to continue ignoring it?”
And with that, he tucks the hellebore safely away in his cloak pocket, crossing his bedroom floor for what might be the last time with renewed resolve.
❄
It begins to snow about an hour into Doyoung’s journey.
He’d never been out in the forest this late before, no less on his own, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little frightened over how vulnerable it made him feel. Thankfully, his pendant keeps up a steady, merry little glow as he walks, and he’s immensely grateful for the comfort that it brings him.
The forest is eerily silent around him, save for the crunching of the snow beneath his boots and the regular sound of his breathing.
It leaves him way too aware of his own thoughts, of the multitude of emotions swirling around his brain over the situation he finds himself in.
Is he excited? Afraid? Doyoung rather feels that he’s a mixture of the two, and it leaves him feeling a little more on edge than he’d like. How he wished he’d remembered to pick up his knife before he left - he’d not realised it wasn’t in his pocket until the town gates had closed behind him with a definite thunk, making it far too late to go back for it.
Perhaps he should have also left a letter of some sort for his brothers, he suddenly realises, guilt twisting sharply in his stomach. They would be worried if they checked on him in the middle of the night to find him missing. But, again, it’s too late to think of that now.
The snowfall steadily grows heavier while he walks, until Doyoung is having to stop every ten paces or so to shake it out of his hood.
Strangely, he feels it’s a little more of a struggle for him to keep going each time he does so, an inexplicable tiredness settling over him. He grimaces as he drags his feet along the path - he’d felt perfectly awake when he’d left the house, and he’d done this journey enough times that his body should be more than used to the exertion. But now it feels as though he moves through tar.
What could be happening to him?
Doyoung could cry with relief when he finally finds himself at the base of the oak tree - falling more than climbing over the roots until he can slump against the trunk. He lets his head lean back against the tree with an audible thud, dull pain ringing through him from the site of the bump. It’ll hurt more tomorrow but right now, he feels seconds away from passing out from exhaustion.
It takes some effort to force himself to move again but he manages it, Doyoung biting down on his lip as he scrambles to find his pocket where it lies trapped beneath his thigh. He lets out a quiet noise of victory when he successfully retrieves his hellebore from the swath of fabric, lying it carefully across his lap as he settles back down, head cushioned on a tree root.
“What now?” Doyoung murmurs to the flower, eyelids drooping shut.
He’d never felt so cold in his life, his entire body wracked by violent shivers that make his teeth clack painfully against each other. He tries to bury further into his cloak for warmth, but the whole thing is rendered useless by the cold wind that steals insistently underneath it. Doyoung lets out a quiet whine, feeling more afraid than he ever had before. Perhaps this was a mistake, a foolish errand that he would pay for with his life.
There’s a soft rustling noise to his left, and Doyoung manages to force one eye open to peer at what could be causing it. He lets out a laugh of disbelief.
“You again?” He asks, using the last of his strength to turn to face the grey fox that had become quite the familiar sight to him now. “Are you supposed to be some sort of omen? This is the third time we’ve met, after all.”
The fox simply noses at his hand where it lies on his thigh, fingers curled loosely around the stem of his hellebore.
“No, you can’t have it.” Doyoung mumbles. “I think I’m meant to give it to someone.”
His vision is beginning to white out at the edges, but instead of the fear that had been creeping through him for most of the evening, he feels suddenly at peace.
Something dry and papery brushes against his fingers, forcing him to look down even as the world around him swiftly grows too blurry for him to be able to make anything out.
What he can see, however, is that a dried hellebore now lies next to the one cradled in his hand. And that is the last thing Doyoung sees before everything turns white, like he’s lying face down in a blanket of freshly fallen snow.
❄
He’s not entirely sure what it is exactly that wakes him again.
It could be any number of things, Doyoung thinks to himself, having sleepily blinked his eyes open. Perhaps it was the soft fibres of the fur throw carefully placed over his body tickling at his nose, or the muted crackling of the fire logs burning away merrily in the ornate fireplace across from him.
Maybe it was the quiet creaking of the chaise lounge beneath him as Doyoung forces himself to sit up, looking around him in wonder.
The first thing he realises is that all the pain and heaviness seems to have leached from his body, leaving him feeling lighter than ever. Quite the curious development, Doyoung thinks to himself, giving his fingers an experimental wiggle.
Next, he notes he finds himself in what appears to be a reception room, all high ceilings and gleaming marble floors so highly polished he can see his face in the tiles.
It’s mostly dark, the only light being that which comes from the fireplace, but he can just about make out that his reflection blinks back at him in astonishment, hair sticking up at all angles no doubt thanks to his nap. Doyoung bites his lip, quick to drag his fingers through the strands in an attempt to tame them.
It appears that he’s alone - at least, he can’t see anything that would suggest otherwise.
He’s not sure if he should be thankful for that or not, the anxiety slowly building inside him dictates that either option would be equally horrifying. Though, he would quite appreciate knowing exactly how he’d ended up here. He can’t exactly piece together how he went from nearly freezing to death in the forest to napping cosily on someone’s sofa.
For a brief moment, Doyoung wonders if he should chance getting up properly to explore, see if he could track down anyone who might be able to help him. It’s probably not all that polite, wandering a stranger’s house (if he could even call it a house - the richness of this room alone suggested he found himself in something much nicer than his own home back in town) unaccompanied, but he can’t see any other option.
Before he can make a decision, though, his thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a door quietly opening somewhere behind him.
Doyoung’s breath hitches, finding himself suddenly afraid as he turns to face whoever had come to see him. The fear only grows when he realises a figure stands in the doorway, obviously dizzyingly tall and broad even in the low light of the room. Doyoung fists his hands into the fur draped over his shoulders, pulling it tighter around him like it’ll be able to protect him.
The figure approaches where he’s curled up on the sofa, and Doyoung lets out a startled noise when it finally steps close enough that the light from the fire can finally chase away the shadows that shrouded its face.
It’s the man from the market.
The same one who had saved him from falling, and who had apparently taken enough of an interest in Doyoung that he’d felt the need to leave him gifts.
Doyoung feels like this knowledge should soothe him, but it only serves to bring more anxious questions to his mind. Exactly who was this man? And how had he found Doyoung alone in the forest? Did this room he found himself sitting in belong to him?
All Doyoung can bring himself to do is twist his hands together, trying to stamp down the rising panic that threatens to choke him.
He’s so caught up in the thoughts racing through his mind like startled animals that he doesn’t notice the man has come to crouch close to him. That is, until there’s a gentle touch to the back of his hand, startling him out of his stupor.
“Are you okay?” The man asks, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down Doyoung’s spine.
It takes a moment for him to dare to answer, and when he does, his voice comes out as barely more than a croak.
“Where-” He chokes around a cough, turning his head away with embarrassment.
The man doesn’t say anything, instead reaching for a tea set that Doyoung hadn’t noticed sits on an end table next to the sofa. He watches silently as the man lifts the teapot to pour some of its contents into one of the cups, pressing it carefully into Doyoung’s hands when it’s full.
His mouth suddenly feels so dry that it’s nearly painful, but somehow he can’t bring himself to take a drink. There could be anything lurking in the cup currently clutched in his hands - poison, or some kind of drug that would definitely bring him harm. He can practically hear Taeyong’s voice nagging at him to not be stupid.
His hesitation must be obvious as the man reaches out to gently take the cup from him, appearing unaffected by the spark of something that burns Doyoung when their fingers brush, making him jump. He watches the man take a drink, making a show of proving that he doesn’t do anything to the liquid inside to make it safe for himself to taste.
“See?” He smiles softly, returning the cup to him. “It’s just tea, I promise.”
Doyoung brings the cup to his own mouth, careful to avoid the spot where the other man’s lips had touched the porcelain. He takes a tentative sip, a pleased little noise escaping him when he realises he tastes honey and cinnamon. It’s warm and soothing, incredibly so, and Doyoung suddenly feels so much more at ease.
Still, he finds it difficult to look directly at the other man, choosing to keep his eyes cast down into his teacup as he finally manages to speak up.
“Where am I?”
“My home,” The man answers him. “You’re safe here.”
Doyoung trails a finger along the handle of his teacup, quietly admiring the shine of the gold paint. The man in front of him must be incredibly wealthy, to be able to afford such niceties. But, of course he is, he thinks to himself with a snort. He bought an expensive paint box for a complete stranger, after all.
He sighs quietly, daring to let his gaze flicker to the other man’s face.
“And who… Who exactly are you?” He dares ask.
Something akin to surprise ghosts across the man’s features, but his expression quickly settles back into something neutral.
“I have many names,” He murmurs. The light cast out by the fireplace catches onto the warmth of his brown eyes, emphasising the flecks of amber Doyoung finds are curiously familiar to him, somehow. “Most call me Winter, but you may call me Johnny, if you so wish.”
Winter.
Doyoung gasps, dropping his teacup in shock. He squeaks as he reaches to stop it from tumbling down where it would surely smash against the floor, but the man- Winter- Johnny beats him to it, easily snatching it up to place it back on the table with the rest of the set. Doyoung’s cheeks burn with mortification.
“I’m so sorry,” He whispers. “It’s just, you’re- You’re a god, I’m sitting here drinking tea with you as if it’s the most ordinary thing in the world.”
Johnny chuckles, a melodic sound that Doyoung realises he rather likes.
“It’s fine, there was no harm done.” He fixes Doyoung with an amused look, his eyes glittering with it. “Was it really that much of a surprise to find out who I was?”
“Well… Honestly, yes.” Doyoung wonders if it would be too childish for him to pull at the blanket still wrapped around him until it hid his face. “I would never have come to the conclusion that the god of winter was leaving presents for me to find.”
“Were the flowers not enough of a clue?” Johnny smiles innocently.
It’s only then that Doyoung notices that the god wears a hellebore pinned to the velvety material of his shirt. When he leans in to inspect it further, Johnny meets him halfway.
“It’s yours, yes.” He murmurs. “The one you raised from the bud I left for you.”
Doyoung’s eyes widen.
“That was you too?”
Johnny bites back what is probably laughter, instead reaching down into the pocket of his shirt. He retrieves whatever it is he seeks easily, and he leans over to press it into Doyoung’s hand, only pulling away when he’s sure the man has hold of it properly.
“You found me in quite the predicament that day.”
Doyoung frowns at the god in confusion. Johnny’s eyes flicker to his hand, and Doyoung follows his gaze, slowly unfurling his fingers. He inhales sharply when he realises the tiny fox figurine he’d left in the burrow what feels like forever ago now stares back up at him.
“I left you the hellebore bud as a genuine thank you for helping me,” The wistful tone to Johnny’s voice draws Doyoung’s attention right back to the god. “Same with your satchel and sketchbook, it was the least I could do, I felt. But then, when I next came back to the oak tree to check for offerings, I found your carving waiting for me, and I was instantly smitten.”
Doyoung watches in silent awe as the god reaches out to trace along the grooves of the carved fox’s tail, a fond smile on his face.
“I left you another flower on the off-chance you would come back. A dried one, that time, since I have more than enough of them. And I watched, hidden amongst the trees as you did come back, and you looked so happy to find it waiting for you that I was just… seized with the urge to always see you like that.”
“I…” Doyoung’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. He doesn’t miss that Johnny watches the action, seemingly hypnotised by it. “The pendant, and the paint box… That was you too, wasn’t it?”
Johnny ducks his head, looking sheepish all of a sudden.
“I told myself that I should stay away from you. After all, the entire point of these long winters is that you mortals come to me, not the other way around. But, as time went on, I found that I couldn’t resist chancing another look at you from up close, so I decided to visit your town in the hopes that we would run into each other.”
The god laughs to himself.
“I don’t think I was as subtle as I assumed I was, however.”
Doyoung can’t help but laugh too.
“No you… Stood out, quite a bit, I must admit,” He snorts, thinking back to Yuta’s face as he’d described Johnny’s beauty to him. “There was quite a frenzy surrounding you, at least among my peers.”
“In my defence,” The god murmurs, tilting his head to look down at him. “It was either this or my animal form, and I think a giant fox running through your town carrying a paint box between its teeth would somehow draw even more attention.”
Doyoung laughs again at the thought.
“No, you might be right there.” He presses his lips together. “Thank you. For the paint box, I mean. It really was beautiful, I can’t believe you would go to such great lengths to get it for me.”
“I watched you opening it,” Johnny replies quietly, following the stitching of the sofa cushions with a long and delicate finger. “I saw how enamoured you were by it, and the sadness that came when you realised it was too much for you. How could I let you walk away without buying it for you?”
Suddenly overcome by shyness, Doyoung ducks his head, hoping it’ll be enough to hide the way his cheeks pinken.
“I… No-one has ever been so kind to me before,” He mumbles. “I really can’t help but wonder what I did to deserve it.”
“You were you.” Johnny replies, as though that was enough of an answer. Perhaps it was - the gods did tend to have a different worldview from the mortals that lived below them.
Still, Doyoung opens his mouth to protest further. That is, until another thought strikes him.
“If you’re the fox, then…” He pauses, gratitude suddenly swelling up inside him. “You helped me find my brother.”
“Yes,” Johnny abruptly looks quite solemn. “I was quite surprised to see him approach me. From what I had gathered, he’d had little interest in attempting to give himself to me, so the last thing I expected was to find him standing outside my shrine.”
“He said that everything went white, and that he suddenly felt warm and safe. Was that you, as well?”
“It was. I could sense that he really didn’t want to be there in the forest, and I’m sure you realise now that I refuse to even consider anyone that doesn’t wholly want to be my companion. And I knew that if he was with me, that you were somewhere near your home incredibly distressed to be without him. So I put him to sleep for a day, waiting for nightfall so I could be sure that I would help you find him.”
“And you did,” Doyoung wonders if it would be too much for him to cry right now. “You did so much for me.”
“With rather selfish intentions, I admit.” Johnny watches for his reaction. “I did hope that along the way you would fall for me - or, at least, for the idea of me.”
Doyoung shakes his head, willing away the tears.
“A god, trying to court me,” He laughs. “Whatever next?”
Johnny frowns, leaning in until Doyoung has no choice but to meet his eyes.
“Why do you say that as if it’s the most impossible thing?” He murmurs, sending Doyoung’s heartbeat racing in his chest. “You’re beautiful, Doyoung. Any god would be lucky to have you.”
The human feels his ears burn, and he doesn’t have to check his reflection to know that they’ll be bright red at this point.
“Does that mean you do? Have me, I mean?”
“Well, you did offer yourself to me.” Johnny replies carefully, studying Doyoung’s face.
He must find something there that he doesn’t like, as his own expression quickly closes off.
“Of course, I can return you home immediately, should that be your wish.” He mumbles. “The last thing I would want is for you to feel like you’re a prisoner here.”
“No- No,” Doyoung scrambles for the god’s hands, wanting to chase away the saddened look that had settled in to cloud the warmth of his eyes. “I… I want to stay here. With you.”
“Really?” Johnny’s voice sounds so hopeful, so terribly frail and almost human that Doyoung could melt with the fondness that suddenly swells up in his heart.
“Yes,” Doyoung replies firmly. Then, he hesitates, feeling his next question is a little childish. “Can I still go see my family? And my friends? I understand if I can’t, it’s just that I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye.”
“Of course,” Johnny is quick to reassure him. “In fact, I encourage it. You’re free to go wherever you want and do whatever you want while you’re with me, Doyoung. I’m here to make that possible for you.”
“Thank you.” Squeezing the god’s hands, Doyoung tries to convey just how grateful he is with the simple gesture.
It must work, as Johnny beams at him in return, dazzling the mortal.
He really is beautiful, Doyoung muses to himself, slightly in awe that the god had passed over so many others in the hopes that he could one day have Doyoung by his side.
He shakes his head. To him, it was unthinkable, something out of a fairytale and yet it was true.
“Can I make a request of you now?” He blurts out before he can change his mind.
Johnny blinks at him, clearly surprised by his outburst.
“So soon?” He frowns. “I mean - you’re welcome to, of course. Is something the matter?”
“No,” Doyoung shakes his head again. He takes a deep breath, willing himself to have the courage to ask the god for what he wants most right now. “It’s… Would you kiss me? Please?”
Johnny’s eyes widen almost comically so and, if Doyoung wasn’t as mortified as he is, he’d collapse with laughter at the sight. Instead, all he can do is wait, trying to not look too desperate as he waits for the god to scramble for an answer.
“I…” Johnny’s own cheeks are coloured the lightest pink - a rather endearing sight, Doyoung thinks. “I-If that’s what you wish.”
“It is.” The human nods, daring to inch a little closer.
Johnny hesitates, before he leans over to cup Doyoung’s cheek in his hand. For all the raw power that his fingertips presumably hold, he’s nothing but gentle as he draws the younger man towards him, letting their lips meet in the softest of kisses.
Doyoung feels as though he could melt.
Johnny’s lips are warm and plush against his own, tasting sweet like the tea they’d both drank earlier. He traces slow circles over the skin of Doyoung’s cheek with his thumb, urging him closer until Doyoung comes to shyly wrap his arms around the god’s neck. While their first kiss might be subdued, he feels like he burns hotter than the fire beside them, and he can’t help but wonder if things will always feel this way.
“Satisfied?” The god near-purrs when they break apart.
“Somewhat,” Doyoung pouts in return. “Perhaps if I had another to compare it to…”
Johnny smirks, a dangerous look in his eyes that sends a thrill through the human.
“I am at your mercy to do with as you wish.” His god replies, leaning in to kiss him once again.
❄
Johnny’s touch is cautious as he lets his hands roam beneath the folds of Doyoung’s silk robe.
“Are you okay?” His god murmurs, pressing a reverent kiss to the back of his lover’s hand where it lies on his shoulder.
The young man shudders as deft fingers find their way to one of his nipples, carefully rolling the bud until it peaks, tearing a whimper of pleasure from him.
“Y-Yes.” He manages to stammer out.
Johnny had sought him out earlier while he’d been laid in the bath, basking in the heat of the rose-scented water that magically never seemed to turn cold.
The bath attached to his and Johnny’s room was perhaps one of his favourite things about his new home. A marvel of an object, sunken into the floor where Doyoung could easily step down into it to spend hours lying in the water as he gazed out the floor-to-ceiling window beside him.
New bath oils and soaks seemed to appear in the bathroom almost everyday, his supplies never dwindling no matter how many he used. Though Doyoung suspected that had less to do with magic than it did his other favourite thing, who came to sit next to his head, gaze carefully averted to give him some privacy.
“Hello.” Doyoung had murmured, meeting Johnny halfway as the god had reached for his hand.
He’d smiled as his lover pressed his lips to each of his fingertips, stopping to nose at an old scar running along his index finger.
“Hello, little fox,” Johnny had crooned in return, smiling as Doyoung preened at the nickname. “Enjoying yourself?”
“I am indeed,” The young man sighed contentedly. “I could spend the rest of my days here, easily.”
“An excellent way to spend eternity, indeed,” Johnny rubbed a thumb over his cheekbone, chasing away a stray petal that had stuck to the skin there. “Though, I would quite like it if you’d join me in bed sometime in the next hour or so.”
Doyoung’s lips had parted, a soft exhale escaping him. His god hadn’t waited for him to reply - instead he’d simply ducked down to press a chaste kiss to his lips.
“It’s up to you, of course,” He’d whispered, his eyes more amber than brown in the flickering candlelight. “Your destiny is always in your own hands, my love.”
And then he’d left Doyoung to be alone with his bath and, more importantly, his thoughts.
Excitement (and perhaps a hint of something akin to arousal) had begun to lazily simmer somewhere just beneath his skin while they had talked, but now Doyoung was alone, it was closer to boiling. He’d trailed a hand through the water, watching the rose-petals scatter with his touch, thinking over his options.
While Johnny had been more than happy to indulge Doyoung’s every request for his god to kiss and hold him, he had also respectfully kept his distance when it came to the human’s other boundaries. Up until about a week ago (he thinks, anyway - time moved differently here), the most intimacy they’d shared came from Doyoung curling up on his lover’s bare chest to sleep at night.
However, slowly the atmosphere between them had begun to shift into something a little more heated. Doyoung would struggle to pull away from his god’s arms, and Johnny would sometimes let his hands wander beneath the hem of his lover’s shirt, only just resting his fingers against the bare skin he found there.
Doyoung had assumed he was the only one to notice that things were changing between them, but Johnny’s proposal to him in the bathroom had very much made it clear that he wasn’t.
Slowly, he’d risen from the bath, having taken care to make sure every inch of his body was scrubbed clean. He’d combed through his basket of oils, rubbing the one he selected all over his skin until he smelt sweet and enticing, much like the candies Johnny had brought home for him from his last visit to his temple in the capital.
“People are overjoyed that spring is here at last,” His god had informed him. “And since it’s all thanks to you, you should be the one to enjoy their gifts.”
Doyoung couldn’t help but feel a little anxious as he’d finally pulled on his bathrobe, the delicate purple silk soft against his pampered skin. He had no idea what awaited him through that door, nor did he know exactly what would come of him seeking it out.
What he did know, however, was that he would be fine so long as Johnny was by his side.
Turns out, this would be the best decision he’d ever made.
(Well, second best, really. The first one had brought him here and into Johnny’s arms in the first place.)
It was funny. Doyoung had touched himself before, on more occasions than he could ever hope to count. If he was being wholly honest, it was more often than not that he’d let one of his hands wander down between his legs in the dead of night, stroking himself to completion until stars glittered in his eyes.
He’d even worked himself open a handful of times, gingerly following instructions he’d found in a book he was almost certainly not supposed to have. Doyoung would press one then two slick fingers deep inside himself, always too afraid to add the third, but also always left feeling a little unsatisfied even after he’d reached his climax.
Turns out, what he’d needed all along was Johnny.
His god hovers above him now, carefully pumping three fingers in and out of his entrance while Doyoung falls apart against the nest of pillows built for him to lounge against.
“Shh,” His lover murmurs against the delicate skin of his hip, trying to soothe the alarmed cry of pleasure Doyoung had let out when Johnny had suddenly rubbed against his prostate. “It’s okay, I’m here.”
Doyoung sobs, tangling his fingers into his god’s hair as the gentlest of kisses are pressed to the shaft of his weeping cock. Between Johnny’s tender but incessant touches, coupled with the insistent rub of silk against his skin and the feeling of fingers being thrust deep inside of him, the younger man feels so overstimulated he could fall apart right there.
He shudders when Johnny finally pulls his hand away, his body instinctively clenching tight around nothing as he suddenly finds himself empty. His immediate expectation is that Johnny will reach for the nearby bottle of oils he’d picked up for the occasion and begin to prepare himself, so he’s surprised when his lover comes to settle close to his side, dropping a kiss onto his forehead.
“Are you still with me?” Johnny asks him gently, brushing Doyoung’s damp hair away from his eyes.
“Mmm,” The younger man hums in reply. “Always with you, so long as you’ll have me.”
He feels rather than sees Johnny’s smile, his lover having ducked down to nose at a purple mark he’d left in the crook of Doyoung’s neck.
“I’m glad,” The god replies, trailing kisses across his torso until he reaches the spot where the human’s heart beats steadily away in his chest. “So long as you’re here, I’m happy.”
None of the stories Doyoung had sneakily read growing up could have hoped to have prepared him for what it would actually feel like to have Johnny’s cock slowly inching inside of him.
“Take your time,” His lover instructs him, tracing the contours of Doyoung’s cheekbone as his pelvis finally comes to press flush against the curve of Doyoung’s ass. “We have all the time in the world, there’s no need to hurry.”
Doyoung nods as he draws in a shaky breath, feeling that there’s no room for it with how Johnny seems to be filling every free space in his body. He reaches up to wrap his arms around the god’s neck, experimentally rocking his hips down against where Johnny lies still inside him.
“Are… Are you okay?” He asks in concern, watching how his lover’s eyebrows knit together briefly.
“I am, my little fox. More than okay, it’s just that you feel so good wrapped around me.”
Doyoung’s cheeks burn from the compliment and he throws his head back against the pillows, covering his face with a whine. Fingers creep up his neck to clutch gently at his chin, Johnny stroking his thumb over his lower lip.
“In fact, you look so good all laid out for me like this, like the most tempting offering a god could hope to receive.” His lover’s eyes are dark with lust as he gazes down at him. “I would devour you whole, if you’d let me. Taste every inch of you only until I’m truly satisfied.”
Doyoung lets his tongue peek out to lick at Johnny’s thumb, easily accepting it into his mouth when it pushes its way past his lips. He feels the god fist his free hand into the sheets, eyes trained on Doyoung’s mouth as the young man briefly sucks at the digit, only relinquishing it when Johnny finally pulls his hand free.
“Why don’t you do something about that?” Doyoung smiles up at him, licking his lips to chase the taste of his lover where it still lingers on his skin.
He hisses in delight as fingertips dig into his hip, Johnny guiding him to pull his knee up towards his chest.
“Gladly.” His god purrs, leaning down to capture Doyoung’s lips in a heated kiss as he finally rolls his hips forward.
It was beyond anything Doyoung could have ever dreamt of.
Johnny is big, there’s no denying that. He’s all strong limbs and hard muscle, with the brute strength to match. Doyoung can feel as much as he lets his hands roam across his lover’s body, clinging tightly to a bicep or scrambling for purchase against his broad chest, all while Johnny thrusts in and out of him at a steady pace.
And yet he handles Doyoung with the tenderest of touches, slowly taking him apart with a kiss pressed to the underside of his jaw, or a thumb resting where it can draw circles against the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. He lets Doyoung urge him ever deeper inside of him, the human somehow managing to throw his legs around his lover’s waist until he can lock his ankles together, pulling Johnny flush against him.
“Mine,” His god whispers into his ear as he snaps his hips up suddenly, relishing in the cry it draws out from the man beneath him. “You’re finally all mine.”
“I-I am,” Doyoung manages to pant out, a little cross-eyed as he tries to meet his lover’s gaze. “And you are mine in r-return.”
Johnny kisses him hard enough to bruise, only breaking away with a growl when Doyoung suddenly clenches tightly around his cock, feeling a familiar tight sensation beginning to build deep inside his abdomen. It only worsens as one of Johnny’s hands creeps down to wrap around his cock, stroking him in time to his increasingly frantic thrusts.
“I-I-” Doyoung screws his eyes shut, head lolling back when Johnny snaps his hips up just so, sending a shockwave of pleasure through him.
Tears leak out from beneath his eyelids, and his lover reaches up to kiss them away.
“It’s okay, love, I’ve got you.” He whispers, flicking his wrist suddenly so he can rub over the head of Doyoung’s cock one last time.
Something deep inside of him snaps, and Doyoung comes over his god’s fingers with a gasp and a stutter of his hips. He presses his face against the crook of Johnny’s neck, whimpering as his lover chases his own release, finally spilling inside of Doyoung with a breathy moan.
His entire body aches with the need to sleep, and he’s quickly beginning to feel like he needs another bath, but Doyoung had never felt so satisfied in his life. Johnny must feel the same way, since his eyes practically shine when he pulls back to look at him.
“Good?” He murmurs, nosing at the damp skin of Doyoung’s cheek.
Doyoung lets his eyes flutter shut, content to just bask in the warmth that his lover’s presence brings him.
“Never better.” He mumbles in reply.
When Johnny doesn’t reply, he forces his eyes open once again. Doyoung laughs softly when he takes in the dopey smile the god wears on his face as he gazes down at him, like Doyoung was the only thing he needed in his life.
“I take it you feel the same?” He asks, reaching up to cup his lover’s cheek.
“Of course,” Johnny turns his head ever so slightly, pressing a brief kiss to Doyoung’s palm. “I have you, how could I not?”
Doyoung smiles at the obvious fondness in his god’s words.
“You do. And I have you in return.” He replies, using his grip on Johnny’s face to tug him down for another kiss.