Unnecessary Enchantment || 2ho

13. Happiness and the Devil Voice

Jongho groans as he awakes. The ground is hard; his bones hurt. Am I already that old? He pauses. Nah. Still half asleep and keeping his eyes closed, Jongho can tell it's still dark. But a few early morning birds are singing. Jongho rolls to his side, curling up into the blanket to escape the October cold.

Someone is next to him, though, a breath away. Jongho opens his eyes to look across the few bits of grass separating them, and he decides to scoot closer. Jongho turns to press his back against Yunho's chest, and, still asleep himself, Yunho pulls his blanket around Jongho, resting his arm over Jongho's shoulders before it slides down to Jongho's waist. (Yunho seems far more comfortable on the ground than Jongho could ever imagine for himself.)

Jongho smiles sweetly to himself. He looks ahead to the pit of their fire; only a few red embers remain hidden at the base of black coals.

Resting here, Jongho is reminded of the last time they cuddled, that final night in the library. Jongho can't feel Yunho's heartbeat this time, nor the rise and fall of his chest, but he can still feel the older's slow breaths come out against his hair.

And he knows-Jongho knows-that Yunho is here, with him.

Yunho had stayed.

For now, his mind whispers.

And Jongho freezes for a second at that, because what if- no. Jongho himself says, now. Because that's not really my mind speaking, it's just the leftover bits of bad times. So instead, Jongho laughs. He laughs at the audacity of that little voice in the back of his head trying to ruin something beautiful.

You can't hurt me anymore, he tells it. You can't stop me.

•°°｡☬⁠｡°°•

Jongho must've fallen asleep again because when he next opens his eyes the sky is beginning to lighten. Jongho watches as faint morning sun glistens off the grass. Everything is still wet from the late night dew, the ground, the blankets, his hair, and Jongho smiles. He's missed the dew.

Breaking his cocoon of dryness and warmth, Jongho reaches out to play with the water droplets as they slide down the blades of grass.

Running his hand through the flora, he stops when he feels a slight tremor under his hand, then a new leaf, a bud. A bud that sprouts into a cluster of small, blue flowers.

Jongho feels Yunho shift behind him as he stays still, his hand still hovering by the flower. Yunho pushes up onto his arm, allowing himself to lean over Jongho (lightly, of course) to reach the new flower. Yunho rests his hand over the younger's and plucks the cluster from its base.

"Good morning, Jongho-ya." Yunho places the stem between Jongho's fingers. "Do you know what this flower's called?"

Jongho just shakes his head. He's only ever seen a few flowers, a sunflower, a rose. None were this small, this delicate. This imperfect.

"It's pretty." Jongho whispers, twirling the stem in his hand. "Really pretty."

"They're called forget-me-nots." Yunho brings his arms back to rest just above Jongho's waist. "Long ago," Yunho starts, and Jongho's smile grows, because, oh, how he adores to hear Yunho talk. To hear him explain his passion, his life, in that soft tone Jongho has only ever heard when they're alone; most often in early mornings and late nights.

"Long ago, the ancient Greeks called them mouse's ear. The petals feel like that, too, a mouse's ear. So tiny and so, so delicate. If you hold the petals up to light, you can almost see through them." Yunho reaches for Jongho's hand, gently guiding it until the flowers face the sky. "See?" Yunho whispers.