Crimson Feathers

The first thing I register is the cold.

Not the kind that bites or shocks. The kind that seeps. Slow and deliberate, like it's got all the time in the world and knows I'm not going anywhere.

I'm floating.

The water cradles me the way it always does, salt-heavy and familiar, pressing against every inch of skin that isn't covered in scales. My tail drifts beneath me in lazy arcs, the bioluminescent strips along its length pulsing soft blue in the dim light of my tank. I keep my eyes closed. If I don't open them, I can pretend I'm still asleep. If I'm still asleep, Minho won't make me get up. If Minho doesn't make me get up, I don't have to face the fact that it's probably past noon and I've wasted another morning doing absolutely nothing productive.

A pearl slips from my hair and clicks against the glass.

I crack one eye open.

The tank stretches around me in a gentle curve, twelve feet of reinforced glass holding back what would otherwise be a very wet floor and a lot of very annoyed roommates. I designed it myself. Well, I designed it with Changbin's help, which means I picked the shape and he did the enchantments that keep the water clean and warm and magically self-sustaining. The sand at the bottom is white and fine, scattered with the treasures I've collected over the years. Coins from ships that sank before anyone thought to write down their names. A rusted compass that still points somewhere, though I've never figured out where. A dozen pearl necklaces, some real, some not, all beautiful.

I push myself upright, and my tail follows, scales catching the light in ripples of silver and blue. The motion sends a cascade of bubbles toward the surface. I watch them rise, watch them pop, and feel the familiar ache in my chest that means I've been in the water too long.

Not physically. Merfolk can stay submerged for days if we want to. It's something else. Something that's been getting harder to ignore lately.

I'm lonely.

Which is stupid, because I live with seven other people. Eight, if you count me, which I do, because I'm a person. Obviously. But there's a difference between being surrounded by people and actually being with them. And lately, I've been feeling that difference like a stone lodged under my ribs.

I swim toward the edge of the tank and haul myself up, my webbed fingers gripping the rim while my tail hangs down into the water. The air hits my skin and I shiver. Not from cold. From the sudden absence of pressure. The world always feels too light when I first leave the water, like I might float away if I'm not careful.

My jewelry clinks as I move. Three pearl necklaces, layered. A silver chain with a tiny anchor pendant that Felix gave me for my birthday. Bracelets up both wrists, some beaded, some metal, some made of things I found on the ocean floor that I'm pretty sure used to belong to someone important. Earrings that dangle and catch the light whenever I turn my head.

Minho says I jingle when I walk. He says it like it's a complaint, but I've caught him smiling when he thinks I'm not looking.

I grab the towel I left on the floor and dry my hair as best I can, which is never as well as I want. It's chin-length now, wavy and brown, and it always looks slightly damp no matter how much I towel it. I think it's a merfolk thing. Something about our skin retaining moisture differently than humans. Or maybe I'm just bad at drying my hair.

Both are possible.

The dorm is quiet.

That's the first thing that strikes me as wrong. This place is never quiet. There's always someone arguing, someone laughing, someone knocking something over while someone else yells at them to be more careful. The silence feels like a held breath, like the whole building is waiting for something.

I pad across my room, leaving wet footprints on the hardwood, and peek into the hallway.

Empty.

Okay. That's not unusual. It's a big dorm. Seven bedrooms, a shared kitchen, a living room that's more of a battlefield than a communal space. People could be anywhere.

But the quiet bothers me.

I follow the hallway toward the living room, my tail dragging behind me. I can walk on land, obviously. All merfolk can. Our tails shift when we're out of the water, the scales receding, the fins flattening, until we look almost human from the waist down. Almost. There's always something off. The way we move, maybe. The way our skin shimmers in certain light. The way our eyes are just a little too wide, our pupils just a little too round.

I don't mind it. I've never known anything different.

The living room is a disaster.

Not in a bad way. In the way that means people live here. Blankets piled on the couch in a nest that Felix definitely made and then abandoned. Books stacked on the coffee table, some of them Seungmin's, some of them Changbin's, one of them definitely a grimoire that someone left open to a page covered in warnings. A half-empty mug of tea that's gone cold. A single black boot lying on its side like its owner just stepped out of it and forgot the rest of the process.

And there, on the couch, curled into a ball so small I almost miss him, is Felix.

His wings are wrapped around him like a blanket, white feathers catching the afternoon light from the window. His blond hair is a mess, falling across his face in soft waves. He's wearing one of Bang Chan's black shirts, which is so big on him that it hangs off one shoulder, revealing the curve of his collarbone and the faint marks there.

I freeze.

I know those marks.

I've seen them before, on mornings when Felix stumbles into the kitchen looking dazed and happy, his fingers tracing the spots on his neck like he's remembering something pleasant. Bang Chan's bite marks. They heal fast, faster than human skin would, but they don't disappear completely. Not right away. They linger, like a signature. A claim.

Felix shifts in his sleep, and his wings rustle, and I realize I've been staring.

I should wake him up. Or leave him alone. Or do literally anything other than stand here like a creep, watching my friend sleep.

But I can't move.

There's something about the way he looks right now. Peaceful. Content. Like he belongs exactly where he is, in this messy dorm, in this chaotic life, wrapped in a shirt that smells like someone who loves him.

I want that.

The thought hits me so hard I almost stagger. I want that. I want someone to wrap me in their shirt. I want someone to leave marks on my neck that I can trace in the morning. I want someone to look at me the way Bang Chan looks at Felix, like the sun rises and sets in his face.

I want.

My hand moves to my neck before I can stop it, fingers brushing the bare skin there. Nothing. No marks. No proof that anyone's ever wanted me enough to leave something behind.

"Han?"

The voice comes from behind me, and I spin so fast my jewelry rattles.

Minho is standing in the doorway to the kitchen, a mug in one hand and an expression on his face that I can't quite read. His brown hair is tousled, like he just woke up, and his green eyes are sharp despite the early hour. Or late hour. I don't actually know what time it is.

"Hi," I say. My voice comes out squeaky. Great.

"You're awake."

"Observant."

He doesn't smile. He never does, not really. But something in his face softens, just a little, and he tilts his head toward the kitchen. "Come eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"You're always hungry."

"I'm not."

"Han."

"I'm not!"

He stares at me. I stare back. My stomach growls, loud enough to echo off the walls, and I feel my cheeks go pink.

"Come eat," he says again, and this time it's not a suggestion.

I follow him into the kitchen.

The kitchen is the one room in this dorm that Minho actually cares about. The rest of us could live in squalor and he wouldn't notice, but the kitchen is his domain. He keeps it clean. He keeps it organized. He keeps it stocked with things that most of us can't cook and don't know how to use.

He's already made breakfast. Or lunch. Whatever meal it is. There's a plate waiting on the counter, covered with a cloth to keep it warm, and I realize with a jolt that he made it before he knew I was awake. He just assumed I'd show up eventually.

The thought makes my chest ache.

"Sit," he says, pointing at the stool by the island.

I sit.

He pulls the cloth off the plate and slides it toward me. Eggs. Toast. A pile of fruit that's been cut into bite-sized pieces. A glass of water that he places next to my elbow without being asked.

"You don't have to do this," I say.

"Do what?"

"Take care of me."

He doesn't answer. He just picks up his own mug and leans against the counter, watching me with those sharp green eyes.

I pick up my fork and start eating. The eggs are perfect, because of course they are. Minho doesn't do anything halfway. He's a fairy, which means he's got this innate sense of precision, this ability to make everything look effortless even when it's not. His wings flutter behind him, translucent and delicate, catching the light in patterns of green and gold.

I've always thought his wings were beautiful. Not that I'd ever tell him that. He'd probably just stare at me until I took it back.

"The others are out," he says.

"Where?"

"Felix wanted to go to the market. Chan took him."

"Of course he did."

"Jeongin and Hyunjin went with them. Something about Hyunjin needing new rings."

"And Seungmin and Changbin?"

"Library. Changbin's researching something."

"Something?"

"He wouldn't tell me."

I snort. "That means it's either illegal or embarrassing."

"Probably both."

We fall into silence. Comfortable silence. The kind that doesn't need to be filled with words. I eat, and Minho watches, and the morning stretches around us like a cat in a sunbeam.

This is nice.

I don't let myself think that often. Nice is a dangerous word. Nice implies that things could be not-nice, that there's something to lose. But right now, with the eggs warm in my stomach and Minho's quiet presence beside me, I can't help it.

This is nice.

"You're staring," Minho says.

I blink. "What?"

"At me. You're staring at me."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm looking at your wings."

His wings flutter, just once, and I catch the faintest hint of pink on his cheeks before he turns away.

"They're not that interesting," he mutters.

"They're beautiful."

The words are out before I can stop them. I feel my face go red, feel the heat spread from my cheeks to my ears to my neck. My hands fly up to cover my face, pearls clicking against my wrists, and I make a sound that's somewhere between a squeak and a groan.

"Don't," I say. "Don't look at me."

"Han."

"I didn't mean to say that."

"You didn't mean to say my wings are beautiful?"

"I mean, they are, obviously, but I didn't mean to say it out loud, and now you're going to think I'm weird, and I'm going to have to move to a different country and change my name and never show my face again."

"Han."

"I'll go by something boring. Like Dave. I'll be Dave, the boring human who definitely isn't a merman who just complimented his roommate's wings."

"Han."

I peek through my fingers. Minho is standing in front of me now, close enough that I can see the flecks of brown in his green eyes. His expression is still unreadable, but his wings are fluttering, and I've known him long enough to know what that means.

He's flustered.

"You're an idiot," he says.

"I know."

"A complete disaster."

"I know."

"I don't know why I put up with you."

"Because you love me."

The words hang in the air between us. I didn't mean to say that either. It just slipped out, the way things do when I'm nervous, when I'm not thinking, when I'm too close to someone and my brain stops working properly.

Minho's eyes widen. His wings go still.

And then, so quietly I almost miss it, he says, "Yeah."

I stare at him.

"I do," he says. "Love you. I don't know why. You're loud and you're messy and you never listen to anything I say. But I do."

My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. In my fingertips. In every scale on my tail, which is currently twitching against the floor like it's trying to escape.

"Minho," I say.

"Don't make it weird."

"I'm not making it weird."

"You're making it weird. Your face is doing the thing."

"What thing?"

"The thing where you look like a kicked puppy."

"I do not look like a kicked puppy!"

"You absolutely do."

"I'm a merman. I'm majestic. I'm ethereal. I'm not a puppy."

"You're cute."

"I'm not cute!"

"You're cute and you're blushing and you're still covering your face with your hands."

I am. I'm doing all of those things. I drop my hands to my lap and try to look dignified, but I can feel how red my cheeks are, can feel the heat radiating off my skin.

"You're the worst," I say.

"I know."

"I hate you."

"You don't."

"I do. I hate you so much."

"You're still blushing."

"I'm always blushing. It's a medical condition."

"It's not a medical condition."

"It is. I have a rare condition where I turn red whenever someone says something nice to me."

"That's called being embarrassed."

"Same thing."

Minho sighs, but there's a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It's small. Barely there. But it's real, and it's for me, and I feel something warm bloom in my chest.

"Finish your breakfast," he says.

"You're not going to say anything else?"

"About what?"

"About... you know."

"About loving you?"

"Yeah. That."

He's quiet for a moment. Then he reaches out and flicks my forehead, gentle enough that it doesn't hurt, hard enough that I feel it.

"I'll say it again when you're ready to hear it," he says. "Now eat."

He turns and walks out of the kitchen, leaving me alone with my half-eaten breakfast and a heart that's beating too fast and a smile I can't seem to wipe off my face.

I eat.

The rest of the morning passes in a blur.

I take a shower, which is pointless because I'm going to end up back in the water eventually, but it feels good to wash the salt off my skin. I get dressed in something comfortable. A loose shirt. Soft pants. A new necklace that I found in the tank this morning, a string of tiny silver beads that I loop around my throat three times.

I check my reflection in the mirror.

My hair is still damp. My eyes are still too wide. My cheeks are still round, still plush, still the same face I've seen every day for as long as I can remember.

But something's different.

I don't know what. Maybe it's the way Minho's words are still echoing in my head. Maybe it's the way my chest feels lighter than it has in weeks. Maybe it's just the fact that I finally got out of bed before noon.

Whatever it is, I'll take it.

The living room is still empty when I pass through, but I can hear voices coming from down the hall. Familiar voices. Loud voices. Felix's laugh, bright and musical, followed by Bang Chan's low rumble.

They're back.

I follow the sound to the front door just as it swings open.

Felix bursts through first, his wings spreading wide in excitement, and immediately knocks a vase off the entryway table.

"I'll get it!" he says, but Bang Chan is already there, one hand catching the vase before it hits the ground, the other hand wrapping around Felix's waist to steady him.

"Careful," Bang Chan says.

"I'm always careful!"

"You just broke a vase."

"I didn't break it. I caught it. Well, you caught it. But I would have caught it if you hadn't."

"You wouldn't have."

"I would have!"

"You absolutely wouldn't have."

"Chan!"

"Felix."

They're staring at each other now, Felix with his wings still spread and his cheeks flushed, Bang Chan with that unreadable expression that somehow manages to convey exasperation and affection in equal measure.

It's the way they look at each other.

Like there's no one else in the room.

I feel that ache again, the one that lives under my ribs, but I push it down. This isn't about me. This is about them, about the way they fit together, about the way Felix's hand finds Bang Chan's without either of them looking.

"Hi Han," Felix says, finally noticing me. His face lights up, his wings flutter, and he's across the room in three steps, wrapping me in a hug that smells like sunshine and something sweet.

"Hi," I say.

"How are you? Did you sleep well? You missed breakfast. Well, you missed the market breakfast. Minho made you something, right? He always makes you something."

"He made me eggs."

"See? I told you he would."

She says it to Bang Chan, who's still standing by the door, watching us with his mismatched eyes. One white, one brown. Both unnervingly focused.

"You were right," he says. Then, to me, "You look better."

I blink. "What?"

"You look better. Less... gray."

"I was gray?"

"Pale. Tired. You've been sleeping too much."

"I've been sleeping too much?"

"It's possible."

I don't know what to say to that. Bang Chan doesn't usually comment on how I look. He doesn't usually comment on anything, unless it's to complain or threaten someone. But there's something in his voice that sounds almost like concern, and I don't know what to do with it.

"Thanks," I say. "I think."

He nods, once, and then his attention shifts back to Felix, who's still clinging to me like I might disappear if he lets go.

"Jeongin and Hyunjin?" I ask.

"Still at the market," Felix says. "Hyunjin wanted to look at more rings. I think he's trying to find one that matches his eyes."

"Which one?"

"The red one. Obviously."

"Obviously."

"He's very particular about his aesthetic."

"He's very particular about everything."

Felix giggles, and the sound is so bright, so warm, that I can't help but smile. He's like that. Contagious. The kind of person who makes you feel better just by existing in the same room.

"We should do something today," he says. "All of us. When the others get back."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Something fun. Something together."

"You just want an excuse to be in everyone's personal space."

"That's not true!"

"Felix."

"I want an excuse to be in everyone's personal space and also do something fun. There's a difference."

I laugh. I can't help it. He's ridiculous, and I love him, and I'm so glad he's here.

"Fine," I say. "Something fun."

His wings flutter so hard they knock a picture frame off the wall.

"Felix."

"I'll get it!"

Bang Chan gets it first.

The afternoon passes in a haze of activity.

Jeongin and Hyunjin come back from the market with bags full of things they definitely didn't need and probably can't afford. Hyunjin's new rings catch the light every time he moves his hands, which he does a lot, mostly to show them off. Jeongin trails behind him, quiet and observant, his nine tails swaying gently behind him.

He's wearing his fox mask today, pushed up on top of his head, and I can see his red eyes flicking around the room, cataloging everything. He does that. Watches. Waits. Speaks only when he has something worth saying.

Hyunjin is the opposite. He talks constantly, complaining about the prices, the crowds, the way some guy at the market looked at him wrong.

"I should have punched him," he says.

"You shouldn't have," Seungmin says, emerging from the library with Changbin. "You would have caused a scene."

"He deserved it."

"He looked at you for two seconds."

"That's two seconds too long."

"You're impossible."

"I know."

Seungmin sighs, but there's fondness in his eyes. He's the only one who can handle Hyunjin when he's like this, calm and patient and unbothered by the demon's temper.

Changbin, meanwhile, is already pulling something out of his bag. A book. Old and leather-bound and covered in symbols I don't recognize.

"What's that?" I ask.

"Nothing."

"It's not nothing."

"It's a book."

"What kind of book?"

"The kind you don't need to worry about."

"Changbin."

"Han."

He gives me a look, and I know better than to push. Changbin's secrets are his own. He'll share when he's ready.

Or when it becomes relevant.

Or when it's funny.

Whichever comes first.

The living room is crowded now, all eight of us crammed into a space that was definitely not designed for this many people. Felix is on Bang Chan's lap, which is where he always ends up, his wings tucked behind him as best they can be. Bang Chan's hand is in his hair, stroking slowly, and Felix looks like he's about to melt into a puddle.

Jeongin is on the floor, his tails fanned out behind him like a blanket. Hyunjin is sprawled next to him, close enough that their shoulders are touching, though neither of them seems to notice.

Seungmin is in the armchair, a book open in his lap, though he's not reading it. He's watching everyone else, a small smile on his face.

Changbin is on the couch, his book still in his hands, but his eyes keep flicking up to watch the rest of us.

Minho is in the corner, leaning against the wall, his wings folded behind him. He catches my eye and raises an eyebrow.

I look away.

I don't know why. Maybe because I'm still thinking about what he said this morning. Maybe because I don't know what to do with it. Maybe because I'm scared.

"We should play a game," Felix says.

"What kind of game?" Hyunjin asks.

"I don't know. Something fun."

"You always want to play games."

"Because games are fun!"

"Games are competitive."

"That's the point!"

"I don't like losing."

"Then don't lose."

Hyunjin glares at him, but there's no heat in it. Felix just smiles, bright and innocent, and Hyunjin's glare falters.

"Fine," he mutters. "What game?"

"I don't know. Truth or dare?"

"Absolutely not."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to answer questions about my feelings."

"Who said anything about feelings?"

"You always make it about feelings."

"I do not!"

"You do. You asked me last time if I had a crush on anyone."

"Everyone has a crush on someone."

"I don't."

"You do."

"I don't!"

"Hyunjin."

"I'm not playing."

"Hyunjin!"

"I said I'm not playing!"

Jeongin shifts beside him, just slightly, and Hyunjin goes quiet. It's subtle. If I wasn't watching, I would have missed it. But I see the way Hyunjin's shoulders relax, see the way his hand moves closer to Jeongin's on the floor.

Interesting.

"Something else," Seungmin says, breaking the tension. "Something that doesn't involve emotional interrogation."

"Like what?" Felix asks.

"We could tell stories."

"Stories?"

"About how we met. How we ended up here."

"We all know how we met."

"Not all of it. Not the details."

Felix considers this. His wings flutter, just once, and Bang Chan's hand moves to the base of them, stroking gently. Felix's whole body relaxes, his eyes going half-lidded.

"Okay," he says. "Stories."

"I'll go first," Changbin says, closing his book.

"Of course you will."

"I'm the best storyteller."

"You're the loudest storyteller."

"Same thing."

He settles back against the couch, his pink eyes glittering with mischief, and I know we're in for something ridiculous.

"I met Han first," he says. "Did you know that?"

I blink. "What?"

"It's true. Before any of you. Before this dorm. Before everything."

"I don't remember that."

"You wouldn't. You were unconscious."

"What?"

"I found you on the beach. Half-dead. Tangled in a fishing net."

The room goes quiet. Even Felix stops squirming.

"I was walking along the shore," Changbin continues, "looking for ingredients for a spell. Something for a client. I don't even remember what. And there you were, all scales and pearls and panic."

"I remember that," I say slowly. "Sort of. Flashes."

"You were terrified. Couldn't speak. Couldn't move. I had to cut you out of the net myself."

"You cut me out?"

"With a knife I borrowed from a fisherman. He wasn't happy about it."

"I don't remember a fisherman."

"You wouldn't. You passed out as soon as I got you free."

He pauses, and something in his expression shifts. The mischief fades, replaced by something softer. Something almost tender.

"You were so small," he says. "So fragile. I carried you all the way back to my apartment, and you didn't wake up for three days."

"Three days?"

"I thought you were going to die."

The words hang in the air. I don't know what to say. I've never heard this story before. I've never asked.

"But you didn't," Changbin says. "You woke up, and you looked at me with those big blue eyes, and you said..."

He trails off.

"What did I say?" I ask.

"You said, 'I like your eyes.'"

The room is silent.

"I did not."

"You did."

"I wouldn't say that."

"You did. You said it, and then you tried to touch my face, and then you passed out again."

"I don't remember that."

"You wouldn't. You were delirious."

"I was not delirious."

"You were incredibly delirious. You kept talking about pearls and asking if I had any."

"I did not."

"You did. You asked me if I had pearls. I said no. You started crying."

"I did not cry."

"You absolutely cried. I had to go buy you a pearl necklace just to calm you down."

"You did not."

"I did. I still have the receipt."

He pulls something out of his pocket. A piece of paper, worn and folded, and I can see the faded ink of a receipt.

"You kept it?" I ask.

"Of course I kept it. It's the first thing I ever bought you."

I don't know what to say. I don't know what to feel. There's something in my chest, something warm and tight, and I can't tell if it's gratitude or affection or something else entirely.

"You never told me this," I say.

"You never asked."

"I'm asking now."

He smiles. It's a real smile, not the mischievous one he usually wears. It's soft. Fond.

"I'll tell you the rest later," he says. "When we're alone."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

The room exhales. Felix is the first to speak, his voice bright and curious.

"That's so sweet," he says. "I didn't know you two had history."

"Everyone has history," Changbin says. "That's the point of stories."

"Tell another one."

"Someone else can go."

"I want to hear more about Han."

"Han can tell his own stories."

"I don't have any," I say.

"You have plenty."

"I don't remember them."

"Then I'll tell them for you."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because you'll make things up."

"I would never."

"You absolutely would."

"Fine. Someone else."

Felix pouts, but he doesn't push. He turns to Bang Chan, who's been quiet this whole time, watching us with his mismatched eyes.

"Your turn," Felix says.

"I don't have stories."

"Everyone has stories."

"Not me."

"Chan."

He sighs. His hand stills in Felix's hair, and for a moment, he looks almost... uncertain.

"I met Felix in a church," he says.

The room goes still again.

"A church?" Seungmin asks.

"I was looking for something. A relic. Something that belonged to my family a long time ago."

"Your family?"

"My sire. The vampire who turned me."

No one speaks. Bang Chan doesn't talk about his sire. Ever. It's an unspoken rule, one we all know without being told.

"He was a priest," Bang Chan continues. "Or he pretended to be. He hid the relic in a cathedral, and I went to retrieve it."

"What happened?" Felix asks, his voice soft.

"I found you instead."

"Me?"

"You were sitting in one of the pews. Crying."

"I was not crying."

"You were crying."

"I was praying!"

"You were crying and praying and your wings were wrapped around you like a blanket."

"I was cold."

"It was July."

"It was cold in the church."

"It was not."

"It was!"

Bang Chan's lips twitch. Almost a smile. Almost.

"I asked you what was wrong," he says. "You said you were lost."

"I was lost."

"You were hiding."

"I was... also hiding."

"You were hiding from some people who wanted to use you for your wings."

Felix goes quiet. His wings fold tighter against his back, and Bang Chan's hand moves to them, stroking gently.

"I told you I could help," Bang Chan says. "I told you I could protect you."

"And I said..."

"You said you didn't need protection."

"I didn't."

"You did."

"I didn't!"

"You absolutely did. And then you followed me home."

"I did not follow you home."

"You followed me home."

"I walked in the same direction as you."

"For three miles?"

"It was a coincidence."

"It was not a coincidence."

"It was!"

"It was not. You followed me home, and you sat on my couch, and you refused to leave."

"I was tired."

"You were stubborn."

"I was... both."

Bang Chan's hand moves to Felix's cheek, cupping it gently. Felix leans into the touch like a flower turning toward the sun.

"You stayed," Bang Chan says. "And I let you."

"Why?"

"Because you were the first person who looked at me like I wasn't a monster."

The words are quiet. Almost too quiet to hear. But I hear them, and I see the way Felix's eyes soften, see the way he reaches up to cover Bang Chan's hand with his own.

"You're not a monster," Felix says.

"I am."

"You're not."

"Felix."

"You're not a monster. You're just... grumpy."

"I'm not grumpy."

"You're incredibly grumpy. You're the grumpiest person I've ever met."

"I'm not."

"You are. But you're also kind, and you're protective, and you make me feel safe."

"Felix."

"And you're warm."

"I'm literally cold."

"You're warm to me."

Bang Chan doesn't answer. He just looks at Felix, and Felix looks back, and the rest of us might as well not exist.

I feel that ache again. The one under my ribs. The one that says I want this.

I look away.

Minho is watching me.

He doesn't say anything. He just watches, his green eyes steady and knowing, and I wonder what he sees when he looks at me.

I wonder if he sees the same thing I see when I look at Felix and Bang Chan.

I wonder if he wants it too.

The evening stretches on.

We order food, because none of us can cook except Minho, and Minho refuses to cook for eight people on a day he's already made breakfast. We eat in the living room, sprawled across furniture and floor, and it's chaos in the best way.

Felix knocks over a glass of water with his wings. Hyunjin complains about the noise. Jeongin quietly cleans up the mess before anyone else can. Seungmin refills everyone's drinks without being asked. Changbin tells jokes that are only funny to him. Bang Chan watches Felix with that look on his face, the one that says he'd burn the world down if Felix asked him to.

And Minho sits beside me.

Close enough that I can feel the warmth of his body. Close enough that his wing brushes against my shoulder when he shifts.

I don't move away.

"You're quiet," he says.

"I'm always quiet."

"You're never quiet."

"I'm quiet right now."

"You're thinking."

"I'm always thinking."

"What about?"

I don't answer. I can't. How do I tell him that I'm thinking about him? About this morning? About the way he said he loves me like it was nothing, like it was obvious, like I should have known all along?

"Han."

"What?"

"You're doing the thing."

"What thing?"

"The thing where you go inside your head and forget the rest of us exist."

"I'm not doing that."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"You are. Your eyes go all distant and your tail starts twitching."

My tail is twitching. I can feel it against the floor, curling and uncurling in a rhythm I can't control.

"It's fine," I say.

"It's not fine."

"It's fine."

"Han."

"Minho."

He sighs. His wing brushes against my shoulder again, and this time, it lingers.

"You don't have to tell me," he says. "But you don't have to hide from me either."

I look at him. Really look at him. At his brown hair and his green eyes and his delicate features. At his wings, translucent and shimmering, catching the light in patterns of gold and green.

"I don't know what I'm feeling," I say.

"That's okay."

"It's not."

"It is."

"I don't like not knowing."

"I know."

"I like things to be clear. I like things to make sense."

"I know."

"But nothing makes sense right now."

"I know."

"You keep saying that."

"Because it's true."

He reaches out and takes my hand. His fingers are warm, warmer than mine, and they fit together like they were made to.

"You don't have to figure it out tonight," he says. "You don't have to figure it out at all. You just have to be here."

"I am here."

"Then that's enough."

I don't know if it's enough. I don't know if it'll ever be enough. But right now, with his hand in mine and his wing against my shoulder and the sound of my friends laughing around us, it feels like it might be.

"Okay," I say.

"Okay?"

"Okay."

He squeezes my hand. I squeeze back.

And for the first time all day, the ache under my ribs quiets.

The night winds down slowly.

Felix falls asleep first, his head on Bang Chan's shoulder, his wings wrapped around both of them like a cocoon. Bang Chan doesn't move. He just sits there, holding him, his eyes half-closed and his expression softer than I've ever seen it.

Jeongin and Hyunjin leave together. They don't say where they're going, and no one asks. But I see the way Hyunjin's hand finds Jeongin's in the hallway, see the way Jeongin's tails curl around Hyunjin's leg like they're trying to keep him close.

Seungmin goes to bed next, his book tucked under his arm. He pauses at the door, looks back at the rest of us, and smiles.

"Goodnight," he says.

"Goodnight," we chorus.

Changbin is the last to leave. He lingers by the couch, his pink eyes flicking between me and Minho, and I can see the gears turning in his head.

"What?" I ask.

"Nothing."

"Changbin."

"Nothing!"

"You're doing the thing."

"What thing?"

"The thing where you know something and you're not telling us."

"I don't know anything."

"You know something."

"I know lots of things. I'm very smart."

"Changbin."

He grins. It's the mischievous grin, the one that means trouble.

"Goodnight, Han," he says. "Goodnight, Minho."

"Goodnight," Minho says.

Changbin disappears down the hallway, and then it's just us.

Me and Minho.

Alone.

The living room feels bigger without everyone else in it. Quieter. The only light comes from the lamp in the corner, casting soft shadows across the furniture.

Minho is still holding my hand.

"You should sleep," he says.

"I'm not tired."

"You're always tired."

"I'm not."

"You're a terrible liar."

"I'm a great liar."

"You're the worst liar I've ever met."

"I'm offended."

"You should be."

I laugh. It comes out softer than I expect, almost a whisper, and Minho's lips twitch.

"There," he says. "That's better."

"What?"

"You. Smiling. You've been looking like someone kicked your puppy all day."

"I don't look like that."

"You do."

"I don't."

"You do. But you're smiling now."

"I am."

"Good."

He stands, pulling me up with him. Our hands are still linked, and he doesn't let go.

"Come on," he says. "Bed."

"Whose bed?"

He doesn't answer. He just leads me down the hallway, past the closed doors of our friends' rooms, to his own.

His room is exactly what I expected. Plants everywhere. On the windowsill, on the shelves, hanging from the ceiling in pots that sway gently when we walk past. The flower wall is in full bloom, a cascade of color and fragrance that makes the whole room smell like spring.

"Wow," I say.

"You've seen it before."

"I know. But it's different at night."

"How?"

"I don't know. Softer."

He looks at me. His green eyes are dark in the low light, almost black, and I can't read his expression.

"You're strange," he says.

"I know."

"I like it."

My cheeks go pink. I can feel it, the heat spreading across my face, and I duck my head to hide it.

"Don't," I say.

"Don't what?"

"Don't say things like that."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't know what to do with it."

"You don't have to do anything."

"I know. That's the problem."

He steps closer. Close enough that I can feel the warmth of his body, close enough that his wings brush against my arms.

"You don't have to do anything," he repeats. "You just have to let me say it."

"Say what?"

"That I like you. That I've liked you for a long time. That I don't know when it started, but it hasn't stopped."

"Minho."

"I'm not asking for anything. I'm just telling you."

"Minho."

"You don't have to say it back. You don't have to feel the same way. I just wanted you to know."

"Minho."

He stops. Looks at me. Waits.

"I don't know what I feel," I say. "I don't know if it's the same as what you feel. I don't know if it's anything at all. But I know that I want to be here. With you. Right now."

"That's enough."

"Is it?"

"It's more than enough."

He reaches up and cups my face in his hands. His palms are warm against my cheeks, and I lean into the touch without thinking.

"Stay," he says. "Tonight. Just stay."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay."

He smiles. It's a real smile, the kind I've only seen a handful of times, and it makes my heart do something complicated in my chest.

"Come on," he says. "Let's sleep."

He leads me to his bed, which is soft and covered in blankets, and we lie down together. Not touching. Not quite. But close enough that I can feel the heat of him, close enough that I can hear his breathing, slow and steady.

"Minho?" I whisper.

"Hmm?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For today. For everything. For... being you."

He's quiet for a moment. Then he reaches out and takes my hand, lacing our fingers together.

"Go to sleep, Han," he says.

I close my eyes.

And for the first time in a long time, I don't feel alone.

I wake up to the sound of screaming.

Not the bad kind. The Felix kind. High-pitched and excited and accompanied by the flapping of wings.

"Han! Han, wake up! You have to see this!"

I groan. My eyes are sticky. My hair is a mess. And Minho is no longer beside me, which means he's probably already in the kitchen, making breakfast for everyone like the secretly kind person he is.

"What?" I mumble.

"Come see! Come see!"

I drag myself out of bed and stumble into the living room.

Felix is standing in the middle of the room, his wings spread wide, his face lit up with joy. And in his arms is a tiny, squirming creature.

A kitten.

A black kitten with white paws and enormous green eyes.

"Where did you get that?" I ask.

"Chan found it! Outside! It was cold and hungry and alone and now it's ours!"

"Ours?"

"Ours!"

Bang Chan is standing by the window, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. But I can see the way he's watching Felix, the way his eyes track every movement, the way his lips twitch when Felix coos at the kitten.

"You're keeping it," I say.

"We're keeping it," Felix corrects. "All of us. As a family."

"A family."

"Yes!"

I look at the kitten. It looks back at me with those big green eyes, and I feel something soften in my chest.

"Okay," I say. "We're keeping it."

Felix squeals and throws his arms around me, which means the kitten is now squished between us, which means it's making an unhappy noise, which means Felix is apologizing and Bang Chan is sighing and everything is chaos.

But it's good chaos.

The best kind.

I look around the room at my friends. At Felix and Bang Chan, tangled together like they always are. At Jeongin and Hyunjin, standing close but not touching, their tails and hands almost brushing. At Seungmin and Changbin, arguing about what to name the kitten. At Minho, leaning against the kitchen doorway, a mug in his hand and a small smile on his face.

This is my family.

This is my home.

And for the first time in a long time, I feel like I belong.