#that sinking in the pit of stomach phewwwww

[teawithkpop]

⚜ What Love Takes - Pt 1 ⚜

⚜  Pairing: BTS - Jimin x Reader and Namjoon x Reader

⚜  Rating: Mature [18+] - swearing, maybe some eventual smut(?), mostly just sexual tension and bickering and some reluctant soul searching

⚜  Length: 6.2k words

⚜  Genre: Magic AU - a magic system very much inspired by the novel Howl’s Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones

⚜  Warnings: swearing - mostly at inanimate objects, some magical manipulation, very large rodents, feeling inadequate

oh my god I am so excited for this *inhales* phewwwww okay here we go <33

——-

You stare at the tart, cooling on the table. You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t this time.

Your fingers twitch, your jaw works. He’ll be here any minute.

You tap your fingers, trying to keep them busy.

There’s no need. He’ll say yes.

He has to say yes.

You’ve made this tart with no ulterior motives, you try to tell yourself. Just a nice treat for your beloved Jimin after a long day of Elven Court meetings. Just something a loving fiance would do for her loving betrothed with no magical persuasion in mind whatsoever.

Bullshit.

You grab the tart and pull it close to you on its delicate little saucer.

“Now listen here, you little bitch,” you mutter to the pastry. “You’d better taste absolutely amazing, alright?” Your fingers dapple over the edges of the crust, focusing your intent on the tart. “When he takes a bite out of you, it’ll be an orgasmic experience for his beautiful taste buds. You hear me? He’ll be so stunned by how good you taste… that he’ll agree to anything.”

Guilt curls in your stomach, mixing with the familiar tingle of satisfaction that always travels through you after casting an enchantment.

You hate doing this. It’s become a dirty little secret of yours.

But you can’t take any risks when it comes to Jimin, especially not now. Not when you’re so close to being able to provide the life for him that he’s always wanted.

You’re doing it for him.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself when you can’t fall asleep at night.

You hear the front door close and hastily shove the tart back to the other side of the table, getting up and wiping your hands on your pinafore as though to cleanse them of your sins.

“Hey, sweetness.” You greet Jimin with an automatic smile, and watch as he hangs up his coat. “How was court?”

“Awful,” Jimin sighs, a distinct droop in his slight shoulders. “The faeries still insist on their terms, even though father has told them countless times that we can’t afford to lose any more land. And the new agreement with the covens is just making… mountains of paperwork.”

You nod with sympathy. “Still no news from Altrea, huh?”

He rubs his forehead, his eyes scrunched shut, and shakes his head.

You cluck your tongue. “My poor prince. Working so hard.”

He gives a humorless laugh, and finally glances at you. Your heart does a flip. “I’m not a prince, I’m only the son of a Baron.” He looks away, his expression growing distant. “If I were a prince, then I would at least have the power to help my people.”

“Oh, Jimin.” You come over to him and cup his cheek in sympathy. Even though he’s only half-elf, Jimin is the only son of his father, and therefore he’s still expected to earn his own chair in the Elven Court and become his father’s successor. It’s a lot of pressure for him. Your touch is gentle as you caress his face and squeeze his arm reassuringly. “You’re my prince.”

He gives you a weak, half smile, and your heart sinks. You need to make him happy again, you need to help him feel better. It kills you inside to see him like this.

“I have a surprise for you.” You move your hand up from his cheek to gently smooth out his buttery hair, wishing you could just as easily smooth the wrinkles from between his brows. You take both of his hands in yours. “Come on.”

You giggle as you pull him into the kitchen, presenting the tart with a flourish. “Tada!”

A skeptical smile lifts the corner of his mouth. “You baked again?”’

“Hey, this time, I actually used a recipe,” you retort. At least, you presume the baker at the market had used one…

He laughs, clear and sweet, the sound like raindrops tickling the pavement, cooling the air in the warmth of summer. It heals your very soul. You wish you could hear it more often.

“Alright, I’ll bite.” He walks over to examine the tart. “What is it?”

“Cherry tart with a honey ginger glaze,” you proudly recite the bakery window’s description. “It only took, like, eight attempts to get it right.”

Eight attempts at enchanting it to seem fresh-baked-warm before Jimin had arrived.

He laughs again, and your eyes glitter with adoration. You pull out his chair for him. “Here, sit down. Taste it.”

Once he takes his seat, you rest your hands on his shoulders, squeezing and pressing the tension out of them.

He lifts the tart off the saucer, holding it up to the light and admiring it. “It looks pretty good. Much better than last time. You did a good job.”

You preen quietly at the praise, though you know you haven’t earned it. “Go ahead. Take a bite,” you insist, leaning down to press a light kiss his cheek.

You wait breathlessly as he licks his plush lips and sinks his teeth into the flaky crust. A warm puff of steam escapes and wafts up to tickle your nose, sweet and spicy.

“How is it?” You ask, nerves buzzing.

He hums in reply, his mouth full of gooey, warm cherry filling. He closes his eyes, tilts his head back, savoring the taste. It’s working.

“Does it taste good?” You prompt him, trailing kisses up to the tips of his delicately pointed ears.

“Amazing,” he manages, stuffing another bite into his mouth. He moans. “Fuck… this tastes so good…”

You smile coyly, putting a little more pressure into his shoulder rub, in just the right places. He sighs in ecstasy. “Jimin,” you whisper, while he’s in the throes of the enchantment. “I have some good news.”

He nods, seemingly too distracted to give a verbal response.

“So you know how I’ve been training for my protectorate,” you begin, and he nods, hastily taking another bite. “Well, I just got word this morning that I passed my final exam.”

This makes him turn around in his chair, and you feel a flutter in your stomach.

“What? That’s amazing!” He says, the news seemingly providing him with a moment of clarity.

“I know!” You agree, your heart beating against your chest like a restless bird in a cage. It takes quite a bit of effort to stick one’s head above the waters of an enchantment, and the notion that your accomplishment stirred that kind of response in Jimin… it’s exactly the kind of attention you crave from him.

All too soon, his gaze turns back to the pastry, and you’re forced to tuck the morsel of praise away to bask in later. You return to the task at hand, striking while the iron is hot, or in this case while Jimin is still moaning over the cherry tart.

“So,” you begin again, extending the massage up to the base of his neck. He leans his head forward, shivering in pleasure. “I only have one more practical test before I get my license. I’ve been assigned to go stay at a cottage in Withre for a whole month and keep it safe.”

He nods distantly, completely absorbed in his own chewing. “Make sure to bring an escort for travelling. The roads between… mm, here and Withre can be… dangerous in winter.”

You bristle. Not exactly the reaction you were hoping for.

“Of course, but… I was thinking,” You lower your voice, kissing at his elegant neck, his skin soft as rose petals. “Maybe we could go together?”

He tenses. You rush through the rest of your proposal, slipping your arms around his shoulders in a hug as if to keep him here with you.

“I know we’re getting married in the spring, but we’ve barely had time to spend together, between my training and your studying. So I thought this could be a good way for us to forget about our worries and take some time alone together, like an… early honeymoon?”

Your voice grows thin on that last part. You feel desperate and you hate it.

He sets down the tart and slowly stands up from his chair, turning to face you, taking both of your hands in his. “I would love to,” he says.

You smile, a wave of giddy relief washing over you.

“But I can’t.”

The wave evaporates, and your smile falls.

“You have to understand, I have so much shit to deal with this month,” he explains, raking his hand through his hair. “There’s new proposals, a bill has to be passed, the people are protesting…” He comes a bit closer, his eyes pleading. “If I step away, it’ll reflect badly on my father.”

You nod automatically. “I understand,” you hear yourself say.

“Thank you.” He gives you a brief smile, pulling you in for a hug. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck, taking whatever drops of comfort you can get from his embrace to sprinkle onto the burning pit of disappointment in your heart.

He sighs. “If it weren’t for all these meetings, then maybe-” His eyes widen. “Oh, shit. The meeting!”

He groans and rips himself away from you, dashing for the door again. “Sorry, I have to go, I forgot about the goddamn council meeting!” He flings his coat over his shoulders, calling out to you as he wrenches the door open. “I won’t be back until late! Don’t wait up for me.”

The door slams, and you’re left alone.

It feels like he took a piece of your soul with him, leaving you hollow in his frenzied wake. It’s not the first time this has happened, in fact it’s been getting more and more frequent as Jimin prepares to earn his own seat in the Court.

But it still hurts every time.

You survey your surroundings. The cozy glow of the kitchen from before now feels dim and lonely. The half-eaten tart rests haphazardly on its saucer, mocking you.

You glare at the pastry accusingly. That enchantment should have worked, he should have said yes.

You sigh, planting a hand on your hip, and squint at the traitorous tart. “It’s because I called you a little bitch, isn’t it?”

——-

The following week, your bags are packed, your passage is arranged, and travelling enchantments are cast on both you and your carriage. You bid Jimin farewell on his way to work, and promise to write to him every day.

He presses a hasty kiss to your forehead before he leaves, and you savor the feeling. The spot where his lips touched you stays warm as you head out into the wintery landscape.

Though winter only has a month left before it blows out, it sure is giving its all while it still can. Through the carriage windows, you witness the bitter wind stirring up the snow drifts along the once grassy hills of your hometown. Snow is falling at a quiet, steady pace, but you know it will become a relentless barrage once you reach the valley between here and Withre.

Before leaving, you’d tried to make your driver as safe and comfortable as possible by casting a ward around him to keep him snow free and provide some amount of vision in the blurry whiteness. You’d also given him some flamestones to keep in his pockets for warmth.

He had seemed quite grateful for your help and at first was reluctant to accept your generosity, but you’d assured him that it was no trouble.

This is why you’re training to be a Protector, to help people.

Well, more specifically, to help one person. Jimin.

You’ve had a natural aptitude for magic since you were young, and although you were studying under your professor to grow and develop your skills, you weren’t sure what to do with them. Until you met Jimin.

When you found out about Sworn Protectors, a class of magic users who dedicate their lives to protecting their chosen being, binding their souls together for eternity, needless to say, you had decided on your major.

It’s the perfect way for you to keep Jimin safe, grow closer to him, impress his father, and ensure that the two of you stay together forever.

Ensure that he doesn’t leave you.

——-

It only takes a day’s travel to arrive at the cottage, though you almost can’t make out the building in its snow covered glory. Your professor wasn’t joking when he said the place was abandoned.

You thank your driver and wish him a safe journey back.

“Are you sure you won’t need any help, miss?” The young man asks, ready to step down and help you carry your luggage.

“It’s alright, I only have one,” you insist, hauling your trunk down to the snow-covered walkway. “Thank you, though.”

You flash the driver a smile, and he gives you a hesitant one in return. My, he really is young. He can’t have been much older than you were when you and Jimin first met two years ago.

“What is your name?” You ask him on a whim, wanting to thank him properly for his service.

“Jungkook, miss.” He replies with a polite nod.

“Do you have anyone special in your life, Jungkook?” Something inside compels you to ask him.

He starts at the personal question, the reigns in his hands growing slack. “Uh, n-no, miss. Just my mother. She’s getting on in years… I’m her only son.”

You nod knowingly, and reach into the satchel at your hip. You dig around for a moment and produce the boy’s payment, and something extra. “Here, take this.” You deposit the coins into his hands, along with a pouch containing a few springs of herb.

“What is it?” He asks, peering inside the pouch.

“Rampion root,” you reply. “It has many healing properties. If you add a leaf into tea, it can help soothe aches and pains. It might help your mother.”

He looks at you with rounded eyes, taken aback by the kind gesture.

“No need to thank me,” you assure him before he can. “Just… go home. Be with her.”

He stares at you for a moment as the snow falls around the both of you, then he nods. “I will,” he promises, and gives you a grateful smile. He then pulls on the reigns to turn the horses around, clicking his tongue to spur them into action.

You watch as he leaves, glad that at least someone tonight will be with the one they care about most. Soon the carriage disappears through the snowfall, and you’re truly left all alone, made even more evident by the chill in the air. You stand at the entrance to your home for the next month.

The temperature has thankfully become only freezing instead of unbearably bitter, and you wrap your travelling cloak more snugly around yourself as you produce the key you’d been given, carefully unlocking the door.

The wind helps you to push it inward, and becomes your adversary once you’re inside, as you lean your weight to shove the door shut against the howling gale. Soon you’re standing on a welcome mat, dusting the snow off your cloak. Night is fast approaching, and you can only make out some vague outlines of the room in which you’re standing.

You reach for the necklace tucked away in your bodice, at the end of which hangs a dark, oblong crystal. “Light up,” you murmur to it, stroking the stone with your thumb. “Come on, I was warm in the carriage. You should have enough.”

The crystal reluctantly obeys, sputtering and shimmering to life. Charged by your own body heat, it radiates a small ring of light, allowing you to see enough to navigate the dark foyer.

“Perfect, thank you.” You give the crystal a grateful tap with your finger.

You can’t make out much of the decor, but the foyer is fairly barren, only one narrow table against the wall and a coat rack near the door. There are cobwebs in the corners, and upon closer inspection, you see dust on every surface.

The place is, in fact, pretty filthy from what you can observe, much to your dismay. You’ll have to clean your new home before you can settle in? You’re here to defend this place from magical threats, not become its housemaid.

A rather immature groan comes forth from your chest as you take off your coat and hang it up. Using your crystal to guide you, you finally locate the nearest lamp in a sconce on the wall. You reach up and into the lamp a bit awkwardly and snap your fingers, generating a couple of sparks. It takes a few tries, but the lamp eventually catches, and a warm glow emanates from it.

You sigh. It’ll take forever to kindle the lamps in every room like this, let alone the fireplaces. You’re terrible at domestics on your own, and only barely passable with help from your magic. How are you supposed to even clean the place, let alone look after it, with no light?

“Wish they would just light themselves…” you mutter as you turn around to grab your trunk, letting your lightstone hang around your neck.

But as you take the handle of your luggage, you realize that the stone is growing darker.

“What? Hey!” You grasp the darkening crystal and glare at is accusingly. “Don’t you fucking dare. You’re supposed to stay on until it’s…” you trail off, looking around the room as you realize all the sconces are now as bright as the first one, tiny flames flickering within the dusty glass.

“… light,” you finish, numbly tucking the dark crystal away to charge for later.

You’d wished for the lamps to light themselves and now they have.

Is the cottage itself enchanted?

“I wish Jimin was here,” you say out loud, gripping the handle of your trunk as you wait in wary anticipation.

Nothing.

“Typical,” you mutter as you trudge onward, choosing to explore the door on the left, your disappointment turning quickly to irritation. “Stupid fucking house and it’s stupid fucking lamps…”

You survey the next room and find it to be just as filthy as the first. A quaint sitting area, with high ceilings and musty couches and a fireplace at the opposite end from where you stand. A fire is already blazing in the hearth, crackling comfortably despite the less than comfortable state of the room.

You huff derisively and move on.

The room adjacent turns out to be the kitchen, with an old iron stove, warm wooden panelling on the walls, and cracked tiles beneath your feet.

“Whole house is gross…” you mutter, investigating the cabinets. Thankfully you find plenty of bread and cheese, as well as some fresh vegetables. Your brows draw together.

“Who would come here just to stock the pantry?” You wonder aloud, closing the lower cabinets and reaching for the upper ones. “There would be footprints in all this dust if someone-”

You freeze.

A huge rodent sits within the cabinet, staring right back at you with impossibly large eyes, its cheeks stuffed full.

It leaps right at you from out of the cupboard. You let out an undignified shriek and stumble backward as it lands on the floor with a thump and scampers away.

Your mouth hangs open. Mice?

No fucking way. That was way too big to be a mouse.

What are you doing, flinching away from household pests? You’re supposed to be protecting this place. Pull yourself together.

You swallow your shame from such an obvious failure at the first sign of intruders, even if they are of the clawed and furry variety, and retrieve a ribbon from your satchel.

“Come here, you little scamp…”

You crouch down, peering beneath the kitchen table and cabinetry. “Where did you go?” You wonder aloud. You hadn’t seen which way the thing went. Most likely straight ahead, back through the door to the living room.

You search the whole ground floor, and discover that the other door in the kitchen leads to the foyer again, making a complete circuit through the house.

The only place still left unexplored is the second floor. You head to the far side of the living room, where a small alcove and a rickety staircase is waiting for you.

Can mice climb stairs?

Not usually. But who knows if that thing was really a rodent at all? It could have been some other type of vermin. One that can jump.

Without waiting another moment, you carefully climb up the stairs, your nerves jumping with every wooden creak beneath your feet.

“If the damned thing is upstairs, the noise will scare it off,” you mutter, resentful that they neglected to include a handrail on the design of this particular rickety old staircase. You bump against the wall on your way up, and a pile of dust falls on you from somewhere overhead.

You cough, wiping your face.

“Fuck, I’ll be lucky if I survive in this place for a month. Never mind protecting it.”

Your moaning is interrupted by the sight of your furry foe, sitting on the top stair without a care in the world, and munching on whatever he’d stored in his cheeks.

Your eyes gleam. “There you are…”

You carefully withdraw your ribbon again, holding it in front of you as you edge closer.

“That’s it…” you murmur, planting a hand on the dirty step in front of you for balance. “Don’t move.”

The creature stares up at you, its eyes impossibly wide. All you need to do is catch the thing so you can put it outside, you don’t want to hurt it.

Once you get close enough to the creature, you whisper your intent to the ribbon. “Tie him up. Make it quick.”

The thing’s ears flatten, and it darts away from you before the magic can work, claws scrabbling on the wooden floor. The ribbon animates too late, tying itself into a bow around… nothing.

“No!” You let out a groan of frustration and a string of foul language. Your concentration breaks and the ribbon falls lifelessly to the floor while you chase after the furry little beast. “Come back here!”

You follow the creature as it clamours down the hallway and can only watch in helpless agony as it disappears through a hole in the crumbling floorboard.

You kick the wall in frustration. “Stupid house! Stupid fucking mouse… rat… thing! Ugh…” You sink down with your back against the wall, slumped in defeat.

You don’t care what your professor told you. You’re not ready for this. You just don’t have enough skill in the practical applications of defensive magic. Good scores on your written tests aren’t enough.

You can’t even get rid of a household pest on your own. What hope do you have of becoming a Protector? How did you even get this far?

Self-doubt creeps up on you until you’re left frowning at the floorboards, a painful ache in your chest as you mull over the looming and dubious and lonely days ahead of you.

You hug your knees to your chest. This isn’t how things are supposed to go. Jimin is supposed to be here with you.

He would be here, if you hadn’t messed up the enchantment.

The floor feels too cold, and the wind howls harshly outside, you can hear it through the thin walls. The house is filthy. Infested. You’re all alone.

You sigh, taking deep breaths. You will not cry on your first day. It doesn’t matter that no one’s here to see it, you won’t let yourself be intimidated by a…

You hear a scuffling noise and glance up to see the creature, sitting right out in the open. It’s staring at you, head cocked to the side, only a foot away from the toe of your shoe.

“What do you want?” You grouse bitterly.

Its ear twitches. Whiskers wiggle.

“Look, I’m not in the best of moods right now, okay? Just… go away.” Your head slumps forward again, and you turn away, too tired and irritated to care that you’re talking to an animal as if it understands you.

You hear its little paws as it scampers away from you, and you let out a sigh. Maybe you will have a cry after all.

But before you can work up to it, the scrabbling noise returns.

You look up from your puffy-eyed pity party.

The thing has your ribbon in its mouth. Its long orange teeth clamp onto the fabric as it warily approaches you.

“What?”

The thing pauses and looks at you, maintaining eye contact. It slowly paws forward and drops the ribbon at your feet.

You stare at the ribbon, then the thing.

“Uh… thank you,” you say with uncertainty.

The thing twitches its whiskers, and then retreats to the opposite wall. It parks itself, then fishes out a white lump from within its cheek to munch on. The lump’s edges dulled from the thing’s teeth. It doesn’t look like cheese.

You’re momentarily distracted from your despair by the bizarre sight.

“Is that… sugar?” You ask, squinting to get a better view of the lump.

The thing pauses its gnawing and meets your eyes, as if caught in the act of stealing cookies from the jar.

You snort. It is kind of cute, for a pest. You know, when its very existence isn’t undermining your goals and ambitions in life.

The thing goes back to eating, and you glance down at the ribbon at your feet. It didn’t even leave any marks from its teeth.

“What are you?” You ask, mostly to yourself. Now that you have a chance to observe it, it looks like some sort of rodent, but it’s the size of a rabbit. The thing ignores you, and keeps munching away. 

You’re not very well-versed in magical creatures aside from the harmful ones. It could be a shapeshifter, like a Whoose. But if it was a Whoose, it would have already attempted to rob you of your valuables. This thing just returned something to you.

The longer you watch it eat, the more you come to think that it’s probably harmless.

“What’s your name, huh?” You wonder. You wish you could ask your professor about it. Seokjin has no shortage of books in his library about everything magical, and you would often find him reading before your lessons.

Seokjin would know what this thing is. Jimin would too, probably. He’s been tutored in every subject imaginable since his birth.

Yet another area in which you’re lacking.

You shove down the thoughts of inadequacy and instead adjust your position to sit more comfortably, not caring whether the floor gets your clothes dusty. The creature freezes as you move, but seems to realize you aren’t chasing him at the moment, and quickly goes back to nibbling.

The thing finishes off the lump of sugar and stares at its empty paws. It takes a breath that sounds uncannily like a sigh, and starts to clean its whiskers.

You list your head to the side, sizing up the thing. “You still hungry?”

Its ears perk up, and it swivels its head to face you.

——-

You let the thing sit on the kitchen counter, munching away on more sugar cubes you found in the cupboard. It’s not that big of a deal. You prefer honey anyways, so it’s not like you have a use for it.

Besides, you reason with yourself, if you keep the thing in your sights, then it can’t cause any trouble to the house. You’re still doing your job. Technically.

It is cute, though, with its enormous eyes and strange fuzzy tail, a tuft of fur on the end of it, like a bottle brush.

“I must call you something, you little scamp,” you say to it, leaning back against the counter and casting the creature a sidelong glance.

It seems to know you’re talking to it, and pauses gnawing on the sugar cube to look back at you, its wide eyes blinking.

“Scamp.” You tilt your head to the side, giving the name a try.

It twitches its whiskers, then goes back to eating. Well, he doesn’t seem to object.

“Alright. Scamp it is. Nice to meet you.” You feel silly talking to a rodent, but it does feel better than being utterly alone with your thoughts.

You reach forward and tentatively pet down the creature’s back. Scamp doesn’t seem to mind, too absorbed in his eating. “I suppose we’ll be seeing each other a lot over the next few weeks. I have to stay here for my training. I’m becoming a Sworn Protector.”

Scamp drops the cube, and stares up at you, his eyes impossibly wider than before. Then without warning, he turns and darts up your arm.

“Hey! Get off! What are you doing?” You reel back on instinct, swatting at the little creature.

But to your surprise, he only climbs up to sit on your shoulder. You’re afraid he might bite you, but after a moment, all you feel is whiskers tickling your neck.

“You…” Warily, you look at him, perched on your shoulder like a parrot. “You want to stay there?”

He makes a rumbling noise, almost like a purr.

“You’d better not bite me,” you warn, reaching up to pet the creature between the ears.

Scamp seems content to stay there, so you deposit another sugar cube in his delicate paws, and then decide to finish exploring the house before it gets too much later. You’re already growing tired from the long journey and the soporific effect of the weather outside.

Visiting upstairs the second time proves to be much less exasperating, though the lack of handrail is still an inconvenience. There are only three doors upstairs, spaced out along the hallway. It seems like a strange design, why would they need so much room?

You soon find out, as the first door on the left opens up into a ridiculously large bathroom. There are two soaking tubs, a line of three sinks, and two toilets. Did this cottage once belong to a small group of students?

It makes even less sense as you check the next and final door on the left, which contains a master bedroom. One bed, two nightstands, and a small area with a cozy chair for reading by the fireplace.

Alright, so maybe the other door, which is the only one on the right side of the hallway, contains more beds. You begin to imagine a small class of perhaps four or five pupils, and their headmaster or mistress, living and learning together in this once cozy cottage.

The image is dashed as you open the last door to find a vast, sprawling library. Shelves much higher than you’d thought possible for such a small place line every wall, and multiple reading tables stand at intervals along the room. It feels like you stepped into a whole different building.

Scamp leaps off your shoulder with surprising agility and begins to explore the room as you do. The rest of the cottage feels warm and wooden, but this room… it feels dead. Forgotten. Even the air feels different, a sort of chill about it that makes you wish you still had your cloak with you.

There’s dust coating the floor to no one’s surprise, grime visible even on the vast carpet. There are large windows here and there, breaking up the patterns of bookshelves, and the panes are spiderwebbed with designs like stained glass. One window on the far end of the room is shattered, and the gaping hole is letting in snow and bitter wind.

Ah, so that explains the cold.

You could use magic to keep something stuck there perhaps, but it would require the usual thing to repair it, like a new pane of glass, or even some wood. If the glass had broken inward instead of out, then you could possibly reassemble and hold the pieces together with enough intent. But you can’t simply make the hole disappear as it is, just like you can’t make Jimin appear in front of you.

You look around for something to cover the hole, but don’t find anything suitable.

Looming dread hangs over you like a stormcloud from being faced with yet another task that’s beyond your skill set.

“Well, that’s fine.” You blatantly push away the negative thoughts and scoop up Scamp from where he’d been sniffing beneath a table, placing him back onto your shoulder. “We don’t need books anyway. It’s not letting a draft in to the rest of the house, and frankly that’s all that matters to me.”

You leave the library and shut the door tightly. “What we really need now is some food.”

Scamp lets out a curious little grunt, which you take as an agreement, and you begin to make your way back down to the kitchen.

“So, do you eat anything besides sugar?”

——-

As it turns out, Scamp will eat just about anything. You feed him a small wedge of potato while you figure out what to do with the rest of your rations.

You ought to cook something, but there’s really no way. You wouldn’t know the sharp end of a knife if it poked you.

“What to do…” You glance around helplessly, your eyes landing on various implements and ingredients, most of which are foreign to you. You stand in place, feeling utterly helpless and hating every moment of it.

Come on, now. Think basic. You glance over to Scamp and his wedge of potato.

Why not a hash? Your mother used to make it. All it should take is potatoes and a pan. Simple enough… right?

Well, after burning yourself on your own sparks trying to ignite the unfamiliar stovetop, nicking your thumb while peeling potatoes with a paring knife, and singeing the edge of your sleeve on the fire, you determine that it is not at all simple enough.

“Fine!” You give the pan a shove, fed up with its hostility. “Burn, for all I care! I’m sick of this place, I’m sick of it already, and it’s only been…” You trail off helplessly, suppressing a cry of despair.

Scamp is looking at you, but this time his eyes aren’t wide at all, they’re narrowed suspiciously. You glare right back at him.

“Don’t you go judging me now! I’ve had enough of that from everyone else, I don’t need it from household vermin.”

His whiskers twitch and after a moment he scampers off, disappearing somewhere else in the house. Your only companion, now gone as well.

“Oh sure, go ahead and leave me!” You shout after the creature, your rage quietly diminishing to painful embers of regret. “Everyone else has.”

You slump forward onto the counter and heave a weary sigh, resting your head atop your folded arms. You’re a hopeless excuse for someone who seeks a protectorate. All you do is lie and lash out and hurt people. You don’t mean for it to happen, until it’s too late. Even stovetops and rodents aren’t immune to your fits.

You hate feeling sorry for yourself, but looking at your situation, you can’t help feeling ashamed. What once seemed like a simple task of staying here has quickly become a towering monster, one you’re utterly unprepared to face. You can’t even cook a meal for yourself, let alone look after anything else.

You could live off the fruits and vegetables, but honestly, how long will they last in this harsh of a winter? Withre is known for its farmlands, which means the nearest town will be a long walk away.

You feel a mounting sense of panic, bordering on claustrophobic. Forget protecting this place, how will you feed yourself?

Okay. Okay, calm down. You take a steadying breath, gripping the edge of the counter as you push yourself up. Maybe there are books in the library with recipes that could help. Maybe… maybe there are some cupboards you haven’t opened yet.

You groan. This is so stupid. You shouldn’t have to fret over something like this. You should know how to handle these situations by now.

But you don’t.

The sense of lacking scrapes away inside you, gouging you out and filling you with shame.

You can’t do this alone. Your thoughts wander hopelessly back to that image you’d conjured before, of students living and learning here together. Helping each other, taking care of this house and themselves. That’s what you need.

You wish you had some companions, some people to live and study here with you. That would make this whole experience far less tortuous.

Honestly, just one person would be enough. One person who will care for you, who can look out for you. You wish-

“Jimin,” you sob quietly, burying your head in your hands.

No sooner does his name leave your lips than you hear the unmistakable noise of the front door banging open.

Your heart picks up speed. Is it really him? It must be. Who else but your true love would come all the way out here this late, and in this kind of weather, just to see you?

Maybe the house is enchanted after all.

You rush out of the kitchen, wiping away your remaining tears, and burst into the entry hall to see him standing with his back to you, brushing the snow from his cloak. Your heart swells at the sight of him.

“Jimin!” You cry, running towards the snowy figure. It’s only as he turns around to face you that you can see he’d been slouching. He’s too tall to be Jimin.

You stagger backward. He’s definitely not Jimin.

A stranger has entered the cottage you’re supposed to protect.

⚜ ------- ⚜

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