she/they | 98 Liner (27) | INFJ | Scorpio Sun
Main: @jjtherosereblogs
Sports: @mf-mightyducks
Anime: @riptobyssock
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Biases (The Dans): Joshua (The Reigning King Dan), Jongho, I.M., Bang Chan, Changbin, Yuta
Bias Wreckers: Mingi, Hongjoong, Yeosang, Kihyun, Lee Know, Taeyong, Johnny, Jaehyun (...I have a serious problem)
Not a Dan or Bias Wrecker but has plagued my brain so much that I can’t not include him somewhere: Jung Wooyoung
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truly one of us. she is 100% in on the jackson wang party lore i just know it. but also. what's next, rosalía scrolling ao3 at 2AM? doechii uploading a fanfic right onto my timeline? 😭
After stepping through a strange door on a winter night, Y/N awakens in a summer forest under an unfamiliar sky.
In a land ruled by fear of an old curse, she is found by a shadow-veiled war hero who believes himself too monstrous to be loved and is quietly surprised when she does not recoil.
Pairing: Song Mingi x Reader (Y/N)
Tropes: Fairytale AU, Grimm-inspired Bearskin retelling, Cursed hero feared as a monster, Soft male lead with tragic backstory, Hurt/comfort, Slow burn romance, Soft, gentle giant cursed by shadows, Logical/ Quiet FMC
Genre: Dark Fairytale, Fantasy Romance, Slow Burn, Angst with Soft Healing, Mythic Fairytale Retelling, Mutual awkwardness
Fairytale Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Mingis Masterlist
Intro | HJ | SH | YH | YS | SN | MG | WY | JH
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
This is Part 4
For a moment, Y N did not understand what she was seeing.
The cave had gone cold when the shadow appeared. Not temperature cold. Something deeper. Something ancient and wrong. She had felt it in her bones when the air thickened and the figure formed, its voice layered and furious, its rhyme sharp like a blade.
She had never been more afraid in her life.
Not when she stepped through the door.
Not when she fell from the cliff.
Not when the hut burned down.
Nothing compared to watching Mingi convulse in pain in her arms while something that did not belong to this world hissed over him.
She held onto him anyway.
Even when the shadows lashed violently around them.
Even when his body trembled so hard she feared his bones would break.
Even when the specter’s final words echoed in the cave and everything shattered at once.
Then silence.
Heavy.
Total.
And he collapsed.
“Mingi!”
She barely managed to guide his fall so he would not hit the stone. He landed on the blankets they had spread earlier, his body limp, breath shallow but present.
For a second she could not breathe.
Her hands hovered over him, unsure where to touch, afraid to cause harm after what she had just witnessed.
“Mingi,” she whispered again, her voice breaking.
The cave felt too still.
Too quiet.
The rain outside had softened, almost as if the world itself was holding its breath.
She waited for the shadows to surge again.
To return.
To coil around him like they always had.
They did not.
Her heart pounded violently in her chest.
Slowly, cautiously, she leaned closer.
He lay on his side, face turned partly into the blanket. His hair fell loosely over his forehead. His breathing was steady, though faint.
There were no shadows.
None.
Not clinging to his shoulders.
Not veiling his face.
Not shifting faintly along his skin.
Nothing.
The absence was almost more shocking than their presence had ever been.
She stared at him.
She could not see his face fully yet. The blanket obscured part of it, and he was still half turned away from her.
But even from this angle, she could tell.
The darkness was gone.
The curse was broken.
And she did not care.
Not about what he looked like.
Not about whether his features were sharp or soft or different from what she had imagined.
All she cared about was the terrifying stillness of him.
“Mingi, please,” she whispered, her hands finally settling against his shoulder, gently shaking him.
Nothing.
Her throat tightened.
“Don’t do this,” she murmured, panic rising again. “You cannot just dramatically break a curse and then not wake up.”
Her voice cracked.
She pressed her hand to his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall beneath her palm.
Alive.
He was alive.
But still unconscious.
“Mingi,” she tried again, leaning closer, brushing hair from his forehead with trembling fingers.
For a long second, there was no response.
Then a faint movement.
His brows twitched.
His fingers curled slightly in the blanket.
Her breath caught sharply.
“Mingi?”
He stirred again, a soft, disoriented sound escaping his throat as his eyes fluttered open slowly.
She did not wait.
Relief crashed over her so violently that she leaned forward and pressed her face into his shoulder, her arms wrapping around him instinctively.
“You idiot,” she breathed, her voice muffled against him, tears spilling freely now. “You absolute idiot.”
Her body trembled with the leftover fear.
He inhaled sharply, still weak, but conscious.
“…Y N?” he murmured, voice hoarse.
She pulled back just enough to look at him.
And finally she saw his face properly.
No shadows.
No veil.
No distortion.
Just him.
Her breath hitched again, but not in shock.
His features were softer than she had imagined. Warm. Open. His skin flushed faintly pink from the strain of what had just happened. His eyes...those kind eyes she had always seen through darkness...were clearer now. Unobstructed.
And they were exactly the same.
Still gentle.
Still warm.
Still his.
She let out a shaky laugh through tears.
“You look the same,” she said softly.
He blinked, confused.
“Just… more pink,” she added with a small, trembling smile.
His brows knit faintly.
She cupped his face carefully in both hands, thumbs brushing lightly over his cheeks as if confirming he was real.
“You look like you,” she whispered.
And she meant it.
There was no grand reveal.
No dramatic transformation.
Just the removal of something that never belonged to him in the first place.
His appearance now simply matched what she had already seen in him all along.
Kind.
Gentle.
And, to her complete lack of surprise...Pretty.
She leaned forward again and kissed him softly.
Not urgent this time.
Not desperate.
Just certain.
“I love you,” she murmured against his lips.
He swallowed slowly, eyes still slightly dazed, but focused entirely on her.
“…The shadows,” he breathed faintly, almost in disbelief.
“Gone,” she confirmed gently.
Her thumb traced along his cheekbone.
“Completely gone.”
He exhaled slowly, as if testing the air for something that no longer lingered.
“I can feel it,” he whispered.
She smiled through the remnants of tears.
“Good,” she replied softly.
She kissed him again.
Longer this time.
Warmer.
And when she pulled back, she rested her forehead lightly against his.
“I love you,” she repeated.
Not as a declaration this time.
As a promise.
He looked at her for a long moment, something raw and vulnerable flickering in his now unshadowed eyes.
“…I love you too,” he said quietly.
The words were steadier than before.
Less hesitant.
More certain.
She smiled at him then, her fingers still cradling his face as the rain outside softened into a distant murmur and the cave no longer felt like exile.
It felt like the beginning of something entirely new.
For a long moment after she kissed him, Mingi could not move.
Not because he was weak.
But because his entire body felt unfamiliar.
Light.
He inhaled slowly.
The air felt different in his lungs. Clearer. Warmer. Not heavy with something clinging to his ribs. Not threaded with the constant, subtle tension of shadow wrapped around bone.
He lifted a trembling hand to his face.
No resistance.
No shifting veil.
No cold, restless curl of darkness at his fingertips.
His skin felt… like skin.
Warm.
Alive.
His heart pounded in his chest, but not from pain.
From shock.
From relief so overwhelming it bordered on unbearable.
The curse was broken.
It had not lingered.
It had not twisted into something worse.
It had not found a loophole.
It had simply… ended.
He looked at her.
Really looked at her.
Her cheeks still damp from tears. Her eyes bright and wide and steady. Her hands cupping his face without hesitation.
She loved him.
The thought alone made his breath catch again.
Someone loved him.
Not despite the shadows.
Not as a test.
Not with fear hidden beneath bravery.
But openly. Fiercely. Without condition.
It felt too big for his chest.
Overwhelming.
Terrifying.
And the most extraordinary thing that had ever happened to him.
“I thought…” he started, voice still hoarse. “I thought it would never—”
He stopped.
Because it had.
Because she had kissed him at midnight.
Because she had said the words without giving him time to retreat into logic.
Because she had chosen him.
He reached for her hand again, slower this time, not out of fear but out of disbelief that she was still there.
Still real.
Still smiling at him like that.
“I do not know how to—” he began, then let out a breathless laugh.
“I have no experience with this,” he admitted quietly.
“With what?” she asked softly.
“With being loved.”
The cave fell silent around them.
He felt overwhelmed.
Not lost.
Not burdened.
Just… full.
As if something hollow inside him had finally been filled.
And then the air shifted.
He felt it before he saw it.
A faint hum.
A disturbance like heat over stone.
They both turned toward the mouth of the cave.
And there it was.
A door.
Standing where there had only been rain moments before.
Unpainted.
Rough.
Familiar in the strangest way.
Light spilled faintly around ist edges, not firelight. Not sunlight. Something else.
Y N inhaled sharply.
Her fingers tightened around his.
“It’s the same,” she whispered.
He looked from the door to her.
Understanding settled immediately.
“This leads back to your world,” he said quietly.
She nodded.
Her eyes were wide. Not fearful. Not panicked.
Just aware.
A choice stood between them now.
He did not hesitate.
“I will go with you.”
The words left him before doubt could even attempt to form.
She blinked, startled.
“What?”
He stood slowly, still slightly weak but steady enough, and faced her fully.
“Nothing binds me here anymore,” he said calmly. “The village has made that clear.”
His voice did not carry bitterness now.
Only certainty.
“No one treated me gently in this land,” he continued. “Not until you.”
His gaze softened.
“If you return to your world, I will not remain here alone.”
He stepped closer.
“I wish to begin again,” he said quietly. “With you.”
Her breath trembled.
“Mingi, your home—”
“Burned,” he said simply.
“My past?” He shook his head faintly. “It was already ash long before the hut.”
He reached for her hands.
“You are not.”
Her eyes shimmered.
“You are my present,” he finished softly. “And, if you allow it… my future.”
Silence stretched between them.
Then she nodded.
Once.
Firmly.
They did not speak further.
They did not need to.
Hand in hand, they stepped toward the door.
He felt the same strange pull as before.
A shift.
A bending.
The world around him folded...
And then...
They were standing on stone.
Cold.
Familiar in a way that was not his.
Streetlights glowed overhead.
Bright.
White.
Artificial.
The scent of rain on pavement lingered in the air.
Cars stood parked along the road. Tall buildings rose above them, glass and metal reflecting light in ways that made his head spin.
He blinked.
Once.
Twice.
He had expected disorientation.
He had not expected… this.
The door was gone.
The forest was gone.
The cave was gone.
Only a quiet city street remained.
Y N stood beside him, staring around in disbelief.
“It’s the same,” she whispered.
He looked at her.
“You did not disappear for months here?” he asked carefully.
She shook her head slowly.
“I just… left,” she breathed. “And now I’m back.”
He exhaled slowly.
This world felt overwhelming.
Too bright.
Too structured.
Too loud even in ist quiet.
The buildings towered like cliffs made of glass. Light shone without flame from poles and windows. Somewhere in the distance, a machine roared past on wheels without horses.
His heart pounded again.
Not in fear.
In astonishment.
“This is your world,” he murmured.
She nodded.
Her hand squeezed his.
He felt small here.
And yet strangely fascinated.
The lights.
The smooth ground.
The scent of something unfamiliar in the air.
So this was the place that had shaped her.
The place she had described in fragments.
He felt no regret.
Only curiosity.
And gratitude that he stood here beside her rather than alone in a forest clearing.
She turned toward him.
“You can live with me,” she said suddenly, almost breathless. “If you want. Until we figure things out. You don’t have to—but you can.”
He stared at her for a moment.
Then, to her surprise, he laughed.
Warm.
Unrestrained.
“We have lived together for nearly four months already,” he reminded her gently.
Her cheeks flushed.
“That’s different,” she muttered weakly.
He stepped closer and took her hand again, fingers intertwining naturally with hers.
“I will live wherever you are,” he said quietly.
Her expression softened instantly.
She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him without hesitation, pressing her face against his chest as if anchoring herself to something solid in a world that suddenly felt unreal.
“I love you,” she whispered.
He rested his chin lightly against her hair, still taking in the brightness of this new world, the hum of distant traffic, the glow of lights he did not yet understand.
“I love you too,” he replied.
And for the first time in his life, standing in a world entirely unfamiliar beneath artificial stars, he felt certain of something.
Wherever the door led next he would not be walking through it alone.
A few months later, the world no longer felt like it was made entirely of glass and noise.
It still overwhelmed him sometimes.
The speed of it.
The lights that never dimmed fully.
The endless hum of machines moving even when no one seemed to be steering them.
But it no longer felt hostile.
It felt… navigable.
Mingi stood in a workshop that smelled of fresh wood and varnish, sleeves rolled up, hands steady as he measured a plank for the third time. Sunlight filtered through tall windows, catching in the fine dust that floated lazily through the air.
He had found work.
Carpentry.
The closest thing this world had to what he already understood.
Wood was wood, no matter the century.
Grain still ran in lines.
Knots still resisted blades.
Strength still required patience and precision.
His employer had been skeptical at first. Mingi had not exactly been able to explain his previous “experience” in a way that fit neatly into modern paperwork.
But skill translated without explanation.
And once he built his first table...solid, balanced, careful in every detail...the skepticism faded.
He worked quietly.
Efficiently.
And, as always, gently.
That word followed him here too.
Gentle with tools.
Gentle with coworkers.
Gentle even when someone accidentally bumped into him and expected him to react sharply.
He did not.
He never had.
Over time, faces in the workshop became familiar.
Yunho, who laughed loudly and insisted on helping even when help was not necessary.
Yeosang, who observed more than he spoke but noticed everything.
San, who moved with restless energy but worked with surprising focus.
They had welcomed him with curiosity at first.
Then with genuine warmth.
After work, there were evenings where they gathered together. Sometimes at small restaurants, sometimes in cramped apartments, sometimes at Y N’s place where conversations overlapped and laughter echoed against the walls.
Through Y N, he met Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Wooyoung and Jongho.
The first time he entered that circle, he had expected scrutiny.
Instead, he received teasing.
Questions.
Interest.
Wooyoung in particular had declared dramatically that Mingi had “main character energy,” which had left him staring blankly until Y N nearly choked on her drink laughing.
Seonghwa had been calm and perceptive, offering quiet reassurance that adjusting to a new life took time.
Hongjoong had asked sharp, thoughtful questions about how he learned woodworking so quickly.
Jongho had challenged him to arm wrestle within the first hour and lost with theatrical outrage.
They blended over time.
Work friends and shared friends merging into one group, conversations flowing naturally, jokes forming that made little sense to outsiders.
It was strange.
To belong.
To not be feared.
To not be whispered about.
To walk into a room and not feel people shift away.
He still startled occasionally when someone clapped him on the back without hesitation.
Still felt a flicker of disbelief when laughter followed something he said instead of silence.
But those flickers grew smaller with time.
Technology remained… complicated.
The first time Y N handed him her phone and told him to “just text in the group chat,” he had stared at the glowing screen like it might bite him.
“You press there,” she had instructed patiently.
He pressed too hard.
The screen zoomed in dramatically.
She burst into laughter.
“Why are you using it like it’s going to run away from you?”
“It is fragile,” he defended calmly.
“It’s not a porcelain cup,” she insisted between giggles.
He learned slowly.
Carefully.
Like an old man adapting to something new.
He typed too formally at first.
Used full sentences in group chats while everyone else responded with one word or emojis.
Accidentally turned on voice commands once and spent five full minutes trying to understand why the device was speaking back to him.
Y N laughed every time.
Not cruelly.
Never cruelly.
Just delighted.
And he found he did not mind being the reason she laughed.
Especially on evenings when the world outside quieted.
When their apartment was dim except for the soft glow of lamps.
When the city sounds softened into distant murmurs.
Those evenings were his favorite.
They would sit side by side on the couch.
A blanket draped loosely over their legs.
Her laptop open in front of them.
Stardew Valley.
He had learned the mechanics quickly.
Plant crops.
Water them.
Harvest carefully.
Repair buildings.
Speak to villagers.
It amused him deeply that the villagers in her game were kinder than the ones from his own world.
“See?” she would say smugly when a pixelated character gave them a gift. “Healthy community.”
He would shake his head faintly but smile.
He liked the quiet rhythm of it.
The simplicity.
The slow building of something warm and stable.
Sometimes, when rain tapped against their windows, he would glance sideways at her.
Her concentration face when she decided which crop to plant next.
The small smile when their farm expanded.
The way she leaned into him unconsciously when something in the game surprised her.
And he would feel it again.
That steady, overwhelming warmth.
The curse was gone.
The shadows had not returned.
But something remained.
The love.
It had not faded with the end of magic.
It had not dimmed under electric lights.
It had not weakened in a world without forests and kingdoms.
If anything, it had grown steadier.
Quieter.
Stronger.
One evening, as pixelated rain fell on their digital farm, she paused the game and turned slightly toward him.
“You’re staring again,” she accused softly.
“I am observing,” he corrected gently.
She smiled.
Then leaned closer and kissed him without hesitation.
No urgency.
No fear of midnight deadlines.
No curses waiting to be broken.
Just warmth.
When she pulled back, she rested her forehead lightly against his.
“I love you,” she said, like she always did.
As if it were a fact that required no drama.
He brushed a thumb along her cheek.
“I love you too,” he replied.
And under artificial stars, in a world that once would have overwhelmed him completely, he felt something he had once believed impossible.
Not just freedom.
Not just belonging.
But home.
Not in a hut.
Not in a cave.
Not in a kingdom.
But wherever she was.
And that was enough.
Epilogue
One tale began in shadow’s breath,
In war and curse and whispered death.
A soldier veiled in stolen night,
Who bore the weight of others’ fright.
One kiss at midnight, fierce and true,
Let dawn break through what darkness knew.
Where once a monster’s name was thrown,
Love claimed the heart that stood alone.
So Bearskin’s path has reached its end,
With ash turned gold and fate made friend.
A hut once burned, a curse undone,
Two hands now clasped, two lives made one.
Yet this is but the third to close
The first through flame and devil’s snare,
Of hidden doors and winding roads.
Where golden hairs were wrested bare.
In Yunho’s trial of death and flame,
The second walked a forest red,
Love called him back and broke the chain.
Where wolf and girl by moonlight tread.
In Yeosang’s tale of tooth and thread,
And now the third, through smoke and skin,
A gentler heart the shadows led.
Where night once curled but love broke in.
In Mingi’s curse of scorn and fear,
Three women stepped where doors appeared,
A steadfast heart drew daylight near.
Through midnight hush when none else heard.
Three hearts have chosen, fought, and stayed.
But listen close when twilight hums,
Three golden threads the dark unmade.
When wind through silent city drums.
Where fate waits patient in between.
For five more doors still stand unseen,
Five stories yet in shadow lie,
Five stars unclaimed in waiting sky.
And somewhere, just beyond your sight,
Another door will gleam tonight.
Fairytale Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Mingis Masterlist
After stepping through a strange door on a winter night, Y/N awakens in a summer forest under an unfamiliar sky.
In a land ruled by fear of an old curse, she is found by a shadow-veiled war hero who believes himself too monstrous to be loved and is quietly surprised when she does not recoil.
Pairing: Song Mingi x Reader (Y/N)
Tropes: Fairytale AU, Grimm-inspired Bearskin retelling, Cursed hero feared as a monster, Soft male lead with tragic backstory, Hurt/comfort, Slow burn romance, Soft, gentle giant cursed by shadows, Logical/ Quiet FMC
Genre: Dark Fairytale, Fantasy Romance, Slow Burn, Angst with Soft Healing, Mythic Fairytale Retelling, Mutual awkwardness
Fairytale Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Mingis Masterlist
Intro | HJ | SH | YH | YS | SN | MG | WY | JH
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
This is Part 3
The days after the village should have been tense.
Awkward.
Heavy with the memory of whispers and pitying looks.
Instead, something softer settled between them.
Something quieter.
And far more dangerous.
Two weeks passed in a rhythm that felt almost… natural.
Mornings began with shared tea and the soft chatter of Happy demanding attention. Y N would sit by the window, sunlight brushing her hair, while Mingi prepared simple meals with the same careful precision he used for everything. She no longer needed the crutch inside the hut, though he still watched her ankle with the same quiet vigilance.
She spoke more now.
Not just out of curiosity.
But comfortably.
Freely.
Sometimes about her world.
Sometimes about nothing at all.
And sometimes about him.
Not directly.
But in the small ways she lingered when he laughed.
He noticed that.
Every time.
She always went still for a second when he let out one of his rare, real laughs, like she was committing the sound to memory. It made him oddly self conscious, though he never mentioned it.
What surprised him more was how easily she adjusted to his presence.
The shadows.
The mask.
The height.
The strength.
None of it seemed to unsettle her.
If anything, she treated those things as secondary details to something she had already decided about him.
His gentleness.
That, she seemed to value most.
She would watch him carefully when he bandaged her ankle or handed her a cup or moved slightly out of the way so she would not bump into him in the narrow space of the hut.
Once, she had said quietly, half distracted while playing a game with carved stones,
“You are really a gentle giant.”
He had not known how to respond to that.
So he had simply moved the next piece on the board and pretended his chest had not tightened.
Evenings grew warmer.
Longer conversations.
Shared games by the fire.
Soft laughter.
Sometimes she would tell him about absurd things from her world and he would listen with genuine interest, even if half of it sounded like fantasy more unbelievable than magic.
And sometimes she would study him when she thought he was not looking.
He noticed that too.
He always noticed.
Especially when her gaze softened rather than hardened.
It confused him.
Deeply.
There were moments, when she leaned closer over the table to argue about a game rule or pouted when she lost, that he found himself staring before quickly looking away.
How, he wondered quietly, could someone this small, this soft faced, this openly expressive…
Not fear him?
Not feel disgust?
Not even hesitate?
He had seen soldiers flinch.
Veterans.
Men hardened by war.
And yet she simply rolled her eyes when he was overly cautious and laughed when he stumbled over his words.
It made no sense.
And yet, he found himself hoping...
Dangerously again...
That the days would stretch longer.
That the nights would remain peaceful.
That the hut would remain filled with her quiet presence and the sound of her voice humming absentmindedly while she read or cooked or scolded Happy for stealing food.
Hope was a foolish thing.
He knew that.
Which was why the sound woke him instantly.
Footsteps.
Not the soft rustle of animals.
Not the light skitter of squirrels.
Heavy.
Multiple.
Crunching over dry leaves.
Mingi’s eyes opened in the darkness.
Fully alert in a breath.
The hut was silent except for the faint sound of Y N’s steady breathing and the low crackle of dying embers in the hearth.
Then came whispering.
Low.
Urgent.
Too many voices.
His body tensed.
The scent reached him next.
Faint at first.
Then unmistakable.
Smoke.
His stomach dropped.
He sat up immediately.
The shadows around his shoulders thickened instinctively, curling tighter as if reacting to danger before his mind fully processed it.
The whispering outside grew louder.
Closer.
And the smoke… thicker.
They found it.
His chest tightened sharply.
Of course they did.
He should have known the village would not leave things alone after seeing her with him. After seeing her defend him. After witnessing that she was not afraid.
Fear did not retreat quietly.
It escalated.
He turned sharply toward the bed.
“Y N,” he said urgently, voice low but firm.
She stirred faintly.
“…mm?”
The smell of smoke grew stronger.
He stood in one swift motion and crossed the room.
“Wake up,” he said, gentler but more insistent now.
Her eyes fluttered open slowly, confusion clouding her expression.
“Mingi…?” she mumbled, half asleep.
The first thin tendrils of smoke began seeping through the edges of the hut door.
His jaw clenched.
“They are burning the hut,” he said quietly.
That woke her instantly.
Her eyes widened.
“What—?”
He did not waste another second.
He grabbed the blanket from his bed and wrapped it quickly around her shoulders before lifting her into his arms. She was still half awake, dressed only in a thin nightgown, far too light for the cool night air.
“I am sorry,” he murmured as he carried her toward the door. “There is no time.”
The smoke thickened as he pushed the door open.
Cool night air rushed in.
And beyond it...
Firelight.
Torches.
Figures.
Many.
A mob stood outside the clearing.
Villagers.
Dozens of them.
Faces illuminated by flickering flames, expressions twisted by fear and something uglier.
Anger.
Hatred.
One of them stepped forward.
“You should have stayed gone,” someone shouted.
Another voice followed.
“Leave these lands!”
“And take the corrupted girl with you!”
Mingi froze for half a second.
Then slowly stepped fully outside, positioning himself instinctively between Y N and the crowd, holding her securely behind his shoulder.
His heart pounded.
Not for himself.
For her.
If they were willing to burn his home…
What else were they willing to do?
His grip on her tightened slightly, protective without hurting.
He did not reach for a weapon.
Did not step forward in aggression.
Instead he laughed.
Tiredly.
Softly.
The sound startled the crowd more than anger would have.
“…Elric,” he said quietly, looking at one man holding a torch. “You used to chase squirrels near the well when we were children.”
The man stiffened.
His gaze shifted.
“Marla,” Mingi continued, voice calm but heavy, eyes moving to a woman near the back. “You cried when I bandaged your hand after you fell from the orchard tree.”
Whispers rippled through the mob.
His eyes moved slowly across them.
Naming them.
One by one.
People he had known for years.
Grown up with.
Fought beside.
Protected.
“I left the village,” he said, voice steady but laced with something unfamiliar now.
Resentment.
Raw.
Visible.
“So that you would not have to see me,” he continued. “Since I apparently became so frightening after saving you all.”
Silence.
Thick.
Uncomfortable.
His gaze lifted to the burning edges of the hut behind him.
“I expected avoidance,” he added quietly.
A pause.
Long.
Heavy.
“But I never believed you would burn my home.”
The words were not shouted.
Not angry.
Just deeply, painfully tired.
Behind him, Y N shifted slightly under the blanket, still half awake but trembling.
He felt it immediately.
That was enough.
Without another word to the crowd, he adjusted the blanket more securely around her shoulders with a soft, careful motion that did not match the tension in the air.
“It is cold,” he murmured to her gently.
Then he carried her to the carriage, placing her carefully onto the seat and tucking the blanket around her legs.
Happy darted to his side instantly, climbing onto the carriage edge and pressing close.
Mingi rested a hand briefly against the small animal’s back.
Then he turned toward the mob one last time.
“I will leave,” he said quietly.
His voice did not shake.
“You will never have to see your ‘hero’ again.”
The word tasted bitter.
Heavy.
Final.
The fire crackled behind him as he stepped onto the carriage, shadows swirling faintly in the torchlight, and for the first time since the curse began, he did not look back at the hut that had been his refuge for almost seven years.
The road was darker on the way back.
Not because the moon had hidden.
Not because the forest had changed.
But because the firelight behind them had faded into nothing.
Mingi did not look back.
Not once.
The hut had stood in that clearing for six and a half years. Every plank carved by his hands. Every beam lifted alone. Every small repair done in quiet mornings and long evenings while the forest listened and no one else did.
And now it was gone.
Reduced to smoke and flame behind him.
He held the reins loosely, guiding the horse along the forest path by instinct rather than sight. The wheels creaked softly. The night air carried the faint scent of ash that clung stubbornly to his clothes and skin.
He did not speak.
He did not know what to say.
What words existed for the loss of the only place that had ever felt safe since the curse?
None came.
His mind felt strangely empty.
Not numb.
Not shocked.
Just… quiet.
Dangerously quiet.
Beside him, Y N sat wrapped in the blanket he had placed around her, her thin nightgown barely visible beneath the folds of fabric. Her hair was slightly disheveled from sleep, and her breathing still uneven from being woken so abruptly.
Happy curled close at his side, unusually silent.
The forest sounds returned slowly around them. Crickets. Wind through leaves. The distant rustle of branches.
Normal sounds.
Unchanged.
As if nothing had happened.
As if a life had not just burned to the ground.
His fingers tightened slightly around the reins.
He should feel something stronger.
Anger.
Grief.
Fury.
Instead, all he felt was a heavy weight pressing against his chest.
He had known the villagers feared him.
Had accepted their distance.
Their whispers.
Their avoidance.
But burning his home…
That had crossed into something else.
He exhaled slowly.
The sound came out quieter than he intended.
Beside him, Y N shifted.
At first, he thought she was simply adjusting the blanket.
Then he felt it.
The subtle warmth.
The gentle weight.
She leaned into him.
Carefully.
Not abruptly.
Not hesitantly either.
Just… naturally.
Her head rested lightly against his upper arm, the blanket brushing against his side as she settled closer.
“I’m angry,” she said softly.
Her voice was still slightly hoarse from sleep.
Still warm.
Still real.
He did not respond immediately.
She continued anyway.
“You can be sad, you know.”
Silence stretched between them.
“And angry,” she added quietly. “You’re allowed to be both.”
His gaze remained fixed on the road ahead.
He swallowed.
“I am not—” he began automatically.
She cut him off gently.
“You just lost your home, Mingi.”
The words landed heavier than the fire ever had.
Her head shifted slightly against him.
“I’m angry about it,” she murmured. “So you should be too.”
His breath faltered.
For the first time since the flames had risen behind them, something cracked faintly in his chest.
He had not allowed himself to think of it that way.
Not as loss.
Not as something that belonged to him enough to mourn.
It had been a hut.
A shelter.
A place to exist quietly.
But it had also been where he learned to live again.
Where he healed.
Where he met her.
His grip on the reins loosened slightly.
“I should have anticipated this,” he said quietly, voice low and controlled.
She made a small, dissatisfied sound.
“That is not the point.”
He blinked faintly.
Her voice softened.
“…I don’t care where we go,” she said after a moment.
A pause.
Longer.
Gentler.
“As long as we stay together.”
The words were spoken simply.
Not dramatically.
Not shyly.
Just honestly.
And they stole the breath from his lungs entirely.
His hands stilled.
The reins slackened slightly before he caught them again, the horse continuing at a steady pace regardless of the silence that suddenly filled the carriage.
Slowly, almost unconsciously, he lowered his gaze.
She was looking down.
Not at him.
Her head still resting lightly against him, the blanket pulled close around her shoulders, her lashes casting faint shadows against her cheeks in the dim moonlight.
She looked small like this.
Soft.
Trusting.
Warm against his side as if it were the most natural place to lean.
His chest tightened painfully.
She said it so easily.
Stay together.
As if it were not a monumental thing.
As if it were not something he had convinced himself no one would ever willingly choose.
He stared at the top of her head for a long moment.
Unmoving.
Unbelieving.
She did not pull away.
Did not hesitate.
Did not seem aware of how deeply those simple words had affected him.
And then it hit him.
Quietly.
Clearly.
Without drama or denial.
He was in love with her.
The realization did not come like lightning.
It came like gravity.
Heavy.
Inevitable.
Undeniable.
He had never loved anyone before.
Not like this.
Not with this quiet, aching warmth that settled in his chest whenever she laughed.
Not with this instinctive need to protect that had nothing to do with duty and everything to do with her.
Not with this unbearable hope that flickered whenever she looked at him without fear.
His heart squeezed sharply.
He looked away immediately.
No.
That path was dangerous.
Foolish.
She was from another world.
She spoke of doors that appeared in winter streets.
Of cities filled with light and endless water.
Of a life that did not include cursed men wrapped in shadows and chased from their homes.
She would leave someday.
She had to.
And he...he was still cursed.
Still bound.
Still the man villagers crossed themselves to avoid.
He exhaled slowly, forcing the realization down into the quiet place where he kept all dangerous thoughts.
Ignoring it.
Suppressing it.
Burying it beneath practicality.
Carefully, gently, he lifted his arm and placed it around her shoulders.
Not possessive.
Not tight.
Just enough to steady her.
Just enough to share warmth against the night air that had begun to cool.
Her body relaxed slightly at the contact.
Trusting.
Always so trusting.
“We will find another place,” he said softly.
His voice was calm again.
Steady.
Controlled.
“I will build something new,” he continued quietly. “Somewhere safer. Further from the villages.”
His arm remained around her shoulders, shielding her from the wind as the carriage rolled deeper into the forest.
“You will not be without shelter,” he added.
A small pause.
Then, even softer...“I will make sure of it.”
He did not say the rest.
That he would make sure she was safe.
That he would make sure she was warm.
That he would make sure she never had to face a mob like that again.
He simply kept his arm around her as the road stretched endlessly ahead, his heart still aching quietly in his chest, and for the first time since the curse began, the future felt uncertain in a way that was not entirely empty.
Not entirely lonely.
And that alone frightened him more than the fire ever had.
The cave was not a home.
But it was shelter.
And after fire and smoke and the hollow space where the hut had once stood, shelter was enough.
It had been a week.
Seven days of travel, careful and quiet, until Mingi had found the cave tucked between stone and forest where the trees grew thicker and the paths less traveled. It was deep enough to block wind, dry enough to sleep in, and hidden enough that no wandering villager would stumble upon it by accident.
He had thought of everything.
Of course he had.
On the second day after the fire, he had gone back alone at dawn and returned with what little he could salvage. A bundle of clothes only slightly singed. A few utensils. A pot. Some dried herbs that had survived the flames. Even the carved game pieces.
She had watched him unpack them in silence, her chest tight the entire time.
He never said it outright.
But she knew.
Going back there must have hurt.
Still, he had done it without hesitation.
For them.
Now the cave held the faint warmth of a small fire near the entrance, the glow flickering against the stone walls. Their blankets were spread on opposite sides as they had been since the hut, though the distance between them had somehow begun to feel more noticeable in the confined space.
Rain drummed steadily outside.
Soft at first.
Then heavier.
The sound echoed through the cave in a low, rhythmic pattern that should have been calming.
Instead, it only made her thoughts louder.
Y N sat cross legged on the blanket, hands wrapped loosely around a cup of warm broth he had made from the last of their travel herbs. Her gaze drifted toward him, as it had done far too often these past days.
Mingi was sitting near the cave entrance, repairing a strap on one of the travel bags with quiet focus. Firelight brushed the outline of his shoulders, the shadows around him moving faintly with every subtle shift of his posture.
He looked tired.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
Quieter than usual.
More distant.
And yet still gentle in every small thing he did. Still making sure she ate first. Still checking the cave walls for drafts before she slept. Still placing extra cloth near her side to keep the ground warmer.
Her chest tightened.
It had taken her less than a week to understand something she had been slowly circling for days before that.
She was in love with him.
Undeniably.
Irrevocably.
Dangerously.
It was not sudden.
Not dramatic.
It was the accumulation of small things.
The way he spoke to Happy like the squirrel mattered.
The way he listened to her ramble about her world as if it were the most fascinating story ever told.
The way he laughed, softly and warmly, whenever she said something ridiculous in her anger.
The way he carried her without hesitation.
Protected her without question.
Chose gentleness every single time despite the strength he clearly possessed.
Even the shadows did not frighten her anymore.
They felt like a part of him.
Like a scar the world had given him for being too kind in the wrong moment.
And the worst part was....she no longer cared about going home.
The realization terrified her.
Because she should care.
She should want her world back.
Her life.
Her future.
But every time she imagined a door appearing again, offering her a way back to bright cities and electric lights and endless water and familiar skies…
Her chest hurt.
Because that world did not have him in it.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the cup.
What if he rejected her?
The thought came suddenly and sharply.
What if he did not believe her feelings?
What if he thought it was just gratitude?
Or pity?
Or loneliness born from isolation?
He had never loved anyone before.
He had said so without saying it.
And he was still cursed.
Still convinced no one could truly love him like this.
Her stomach twisted.
She was afraid.
Not of him.
Of his disbelief.
Of the quiet way he might step back and apologize and put distance between them if she ever said it aloud.
“…In my world,” she began suddenly, breaking the quiet before her courage could disappear, “there is a game I used to play a lot.”
He looked up immediately.
Curious.
Attentive.
Always attentive.
“A game?” he repeated softly.
She nodded, setting the cup aside.
“Yes. It is called Stardew Valley.”
He tilted his head slightly, the shadows around his face shifting faintly.
“…What do you do in it?”
Her lips curved faintly.
“You inherit a small farm,” she explained, her voice warming as she spoke. “And you plant crops. Raise animals. Fix up buildings. Talk to the villagers. Help them. Slowly make the place feel like home.”
His gaze softened.
“That sounds… peaceful,” he murmured.
“It is,” she said quietly.
She leaned slightly closer without noticing, drawn in by the conversation, by the warmth of his attention, by the way his voice always softened when he asked questions about her world.
“And there is rain sometimes,” she continued, gesturing vaguely toward the cave entrance where droplets fell steadily. “And you just stay inside and listen to it and talk to people you like and—”
She stopped.
Because she had leaned closer.
Too close.
Close enough that the firelight reached his face at a sharper angle.
Close enough that the shifting shadows thinned just slightly.
Close enough that she could see his eyes clearly through the veil of darkness.
Her breath caught.
They were kind.
So unmistakably kind that it made her chest ache.
Warm.
Gentle.
Careful in a way that did not match the way the world saw him.
And suddenly she realized just how close she was sitting.
Her face grew hot instantly.
“I—” she stumbled, words tangling together, “I mean, it is just a simple game and not important and—”
She leaned back abruptly.
Too abruptly.
“We should sleep soon,” she blurted out.
Her voice came out higher than intended.
Mingi blinked, clearly surprised by the sudden shift.
“…If you are tired, we should,” he agreed calmly.
She nodded far too quickly.
“Yes. Sleep. That is logical. Very logical.”
She turned away immediately, lying down and pulling the blanket over herself in a motion that was far less smooth than she intended.
Her heart was racing.
Ridiculously.
Embarrassingly.
Because she had seen his eyes properly.
Because she had leaned too close.
Because she wanted to lean closer again.
The fire dimmed gradually as the night deepened.
And the cold followed.
Caves held warmth poorly once the fire settled into embers. The rain outside intensified, the damp air creeping inward and wrapping around her skin in an unpleasant chill.
She curled slightly under the blanket.
Still cold.
Her teeth nearly chattered before she pressed her lips together to stop it.
She glanced sideways.
Mingi lay on the opposite side, back resting lightly against the cave wall, his posture relaxed but alert even in rest.
Warm.
He looked warm.
Her courage wavered.
Strengthened.
Wavered again.
This is ridiculous, she told herself.
You are freezing.
He will not mind.
Probably.
Maybe.
Her heart pounded.
Slowly, very slowly, she pushed herself upright and moved across the small distance between them without saying a word.
He did not react immediately.
Not until she gently pressed herself against his side and wrapped the blanket slightly around both of them.
He froze.
Instantly.
Completely.
Like a tree struck by lightning and left standing.
She felt it.
The stiffness.
The absolute stillness of his body.
Her stomach dropped.
Oh no.
He hates it.
Of course he hates it.
She moved immediately, flustered and embarrassed.
“I’m sorry, I just— it was cold and I thought— I shouldn’t have—”
She began to pull away.
An arm wrapped around her.
Firm.
Careful.
But unmistakably deliberate.
He pulled her back against his side.
Her breath caught.
“…It is cold,” he murmured quietly.
His voice was softer than she had ever heard it.
She stilled completely.
Then, slowly, she looked up.
And realized just how close they were.
Extremely close.
Her face was only inches from his.
Close enough that the shadows around his face shifted gently with his breathing.
Close enough that she could see his eyes clearly again through the darkness.
Close enough to feel the warmth of his breath.
Her heart began to race frantically.
Not from fear.
Never from fear.
From something far more dangerous.
And for a moment, neither of them moved at all.
He did not let go.
That was the first thing her mind registered.
Even after pulling her back to his side, even after murmuring that it was cold in that soft, careful voice of his, his arm remained around her shoulders. Not tight. Not trapping. Just steady. Warm. Protective in a way that made her chest ache.
And they were too close.
Far too close.
Her face was only inches from his.
Close enough to see his eyes again through the shifting veil of shadow. Close enough to notice the faint way the darkness curled and thinned with each breath he took. Close enough to feel the warmth of him through the thin fabric of his shirt.
Her heart began to race.
Fast.
Embarrassingly fast.
Because she wanted to kiss him.
The thought struck her so suddenly and so intensely that her entire body stiffened.
Oh no.
No, no, no.
Do not think that.
Do not do that.
Do not even look at his eyes like that.
She swallowed.
Hard.
Her gaze flicked everywhere except his face. The cave wall. The dim embers. Happy curled into a small ball near the fire. The blanket. Literally anything that was not his eyes.
Because if she kept looking, she was absolutely going to do something reckless.
Something very reckless.
And so, like her brain always did when overwhelmed, she started talking.
Quickly.
Too quickly.
“In my world,” she blurted out, voice slightly higher than usual, “school starts really early. Like, absurdly early. Children have to wake up before sunrise sometimes and sit in classrooms for hours learning math and history and languages and...and things like that.”
She internally winced.
Why am I talking about school?
But she could not stop now.
“It was very structured,” she continued, rambling, cheeks warm. “We had schedules and exams and teachers who expected you to participate even if you were shy. I was always the quiet one. The one who finished work early and then just… read.”
She risked a glance at him.
He was listening.
Properly listening.
Like always.
Not distracted.
Not confused.
Fascinated.
“…You enjoyed learning?” he asked softly.
She blinked.
The question was gentle. Curious. Not mocking.
“Yes,” she admitted. “I liked understanding how things worked. People always said I was too calm. Too logical. Too quiet. But I just… preferred observing first.”
She let out a small breath, the words coming easier now.
“I wasn’t very popular,” she added with a faint, self conscious smile. “Not disliked either. Just… there. The kind of person people forget is in the room until you suddenly speak.”
He tilted his head slightly.
“I would not forget you,” he said quietly.
Her breath caught.
Her rambling stopped for a fraction of a second before she forced herself to continue talking before her brain could process that sentence properly.
“I also liked games,” she rushed on. “Simple ones. Farming games. Calm things. Places where you could slowly build something warm and peaceful without anyone judging you for being quiet.”
The cave felt smaller somehow.
Warmer.
His arm still rested around her shoulders.
And he had not moved away.
“…It sounds peaceful,” he murmured again.
She nodded faintly, then fell silent at last.
For a moment, only the rain and the soft crackle of embers filled the cave.
Then he spoke.
“My life was… very different.”
Her attention snapped back to him immediately.
His voice was calm.
But heavier than before.
“I became a soldier young,” he said quietly. “I was good at it.”
There was no pride in his tone.
Just fact.
“I learned quickly. Strategy. Endurance. Discipline. Protecting others. It came naturally.”
She watched him carefully.
His gaze drifted slightly toward the cave entrance, though he clearly was not seeing it.
“I was trusted,” he continued. “Relied upon. Many of the villagers you saw today knew me as a child. Then as a soldier. Then as someone they believed would protect them.”
A pause.
Longer.
“I thought that would be my life,” he admitted. “Serving. Protecting. Growing older surrounded by people who knew me.”
The shadows around his face shifted faintly.
Then his voice lowered.
“Until the curse.”
Her chest tightened.
He exhaled slowly.
“I believed,” he said quietly, “that I would always be alone after that.”
The words were soft.
But they landed heavily.
“I accepted it,” he continued. “The fear. The distance. The silence. I moved away so they would not have to see me. I convinced myself that solitude was… appropriate.”
He hesitated.
Then, more quietly “Until you arrived.”
Her breath stopped.
“You made the days warmer,” he admitted, almost reluctantly. “More… lively. You speak often. You laugh easily. You become angry on my behalf. You tell me stories of a world I cannot imagine.”
He let out the faintest, embarrassed breath.
“It has been… enjoyable.”
The word was understated.
But it stole the air from her lungs.
“And,” he added, voice softer still, “for the first time in almost seven years… I did not feel entirely alone.”
Her chest squeezed painfully.
He froze suddenly.
As if realizing what he had just said.
“…You should forget that,” he muttered quickly, looking away. “It was unnecessary to mention.”
Her breath came out shaky.
Unnecessary?
That had almost broken her heart.
“You idiot,” she whispered under her breath, but not loudly enough for him to hear clearly.
He was quiet for a long moment.
Then, unexpectedly “There is something I have not told you.”
Her heart skipped.
His voice lowered further.
“The curse was not simply the shadows,” he said. “It was a condition.”
She stilled.
“I was cursed to remain veiled in shadow for seven years,” he continued quietly. “Unloved. Unaccepted. Feared.”
Her eyes widened.
“And if, within those seven years,” he added, “I did not find someone who could love me despite my appearance… the curse would remain forever.”
The cave went silent.
Utterly silent.
Her mind reeled.
Seven years.
Love.
Condition.
Her voice came out barely above a whisper.
“…Seven years?”
He nodded faintly.
“This,” he said quietly, “is the last night.”
Her heart stopped.
“I realized long ago that the condition would never be fulfilled,” he continued calmly. “It was an unrealistic expectation. No one would willingly love someone they cannot even look at properly. Therefore, the outcome is predictable.”
He sounded so certain.
So resigned.
So heartbreakingly calm.
“I will remain like this,” he finished softly. “It is acceptable.”
She stared at him in absolute shock.
“You—”
Her voice broke.
“You knew?” she whispered, breathless. “You knew this entire time?”
He blinked, confused by her reaction.
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t tell me?!” she suddenly snapped, pushing herself up onto one elbow despite the lingering ache in her ankle.
His eyes widened slightly.
“I did not consider it relevant,” he admitted.
“Not relevant?!” she repeated, incredulous.
Her chest was heaving now.
“You are unbelievably stupid,” she breathed.
He froze.
Actually froze.
“For thinking no one would love you like that,” she continued, voice shaking. “For not telling me. For deciding the outcome on your own like it was some logical equation!”
Her heart was pounding so loudly she could barely hear the rain anymore.
“You really thought,” she said breathlessly, leaning closer, “that after everything… after weeks together… after I stayed even when I could have left… that I—”
Her words failed.
Emotion surged too fast.
Too strong.
“I love you,” she blurted out.
The cave went completely still.
Even the rain seemed quieter.
His eyes widened in pure shock.
She did not give him time to doubt.
Did not give him time to reject it.
Did not give him time to apologize or rationalize or dismiss it as pity.
Because she was terrified he would.
So she leaned forward.
And kissed him.
Soft.
Breathless.
Exactly as the distant sound of midnight bells echoed faintly through the storm beyond the forest.
For a moment, he did not understand what was happening.
Not because he did not feel it.
But because his mind refused to process it.
Her lips had found his too easily.
That was the first thought that surfaced, absurd and misplaced and completely unworthy of the moment. Soft. Warm. Certain. As if she had never once doubted where to find him beneath the veil of shadows.
And that realization irritated him.
Deeply.
Because of all the things he should be thinking right now, that should not have been the first.
She was kissing him.
She had just said she loved him.
She had confessed without hesitation, without fear, without logic trying to restrain her words.
And his mind had chosen to notice how naturally she had leaned into him.
Ridiculous.
Dangerous.
Wonderful.
His breath faltered.
For a fraction of a second, he remained completely still, stunned beyond reaction. His body felt too heavy, too aware, too uncertain of how to respond to something he had never experienced before.
Then, slowly, hesitantly, he moved.
His hand lifted from where it had been frozen at his side and gently settled against her back. Careful. Almost reverent. As if she might disappear if he held too firmly.
He kissed her back.
Soft at first.
Uncertain.
Then a little deeper as his other arm instinctively pulled her closer, his chest tightening in a way that was both painful and unbearably warm. She was real. Warm against him. Close enough that he could feel her heartbeat racing just as wildly as his own.
She did not flinch.
Did not hesitate.
Did not pull away from the shadows curling faintly between them.
Instead, she leaned into him as if they did not exist at all.
When she finally pulled away, it was gentle. Breathless. Her lips lingering near his as if she was afraid the moment would shatter if she moved too far.
Silence followed.
One second.
Two.
Three.
He waited.
His breath shallow.
His body tense.
For the shadows to react.
To break.
To dissolve.
To vanish.
They did not.
They remained.
Still curling faintly around his face.
Still veiling him.
Still present.
A quiet tinge of regret settled heavily in his chest.
Of course.
He had known.
Logically.
Realistically.
Hope had been foolish.
He exhaled slowly, forcing his voice to remain steady despite the ache pressing against his ribs.
“It is alright,” he said softly.
She blinked.
“I am… alright with it,” he continued gently. “If the curse remains. I expected as much. Your feelings are not invalidated by the outcome.”
Her eyes widened.
“Mingi—”
“I will remain as I am,” he added, voice calm but quieter now. “And that is acceptable. I have lived like this for years. I can continue to—”
Her lips cut him off again.
Another kiss.
Warmer.
More urgent.
She did not let him retreat into logic.
When she pulled back, her hands came up instinctively, cradling his face despite the shadows shifting faintly under her touch.
“I love you,” she said breathlessly.
His chest tightened painfully.
“I love you,” she repeated, voice trembling but unwavering. “Do you hear me? Not a little. Not out of pity. Not because I am lonely. I love you. The way you talk to Happy. The way you listen. The way you treat me like I matter. The way you are gentle even after everything the world did to you.”
Her thumbs brushed lightly against the shadowed veil as if it were nothing more than mist.
“I grew to love you every single day,” she whispered, leaning closer again. “Even if you stay like this forever, I will still love you.”
Another kiss.
Soft.
Lingering.
Then another.
And another.
Each one more certain than the last, as if she was pouring every unsaid emotion into the space between them. As if she was trying to reach past the shadows themselves.
His breath became uneven.
His heart pounded so loudly he could hear it in his ears.
No one had ever spoken to him like that.
No one had ever held his face without hesitation.
No one had ever looked at him and chosen him so openly.
His voice came out quieter than he intended.
“…I love you too.”
The words felt foreign.
Fragile.
Terrifying.
True.
He had never said them before.
Not to anyone.
And yet they left him without resistance, carried by something far stronger than fear.
She stilled for a fraction of a second at the confession.
Then kissed him again.
Deeper this time.
And suddenly...
Pain.
Sharp.
Violent.
It tore through his body without warning.
His breath hitched into a strangled sound as his muscles seized, shadows around him flaring wildly as if reacting to an unseen force.
“Mingi—?” she gasped.
He could not answer.
The pain spread rapidly, burning through his chest, his limbs, his very bones as if something inside him was being ripped apart.
He let out a low, involuntary moan, body trembling as the shadows around him thickened, then twisted, then began to writhe unnaturally.
The cave darkened.
Not from night.
From something else.
Cold.
Ancient.
Familiar.
A shape emerged before him.
Not fully solid.
Not fully smoke.
The fractured soul of the Shadow King.
Ist presence coiled in the air, furious and unstable, eyes burning with dark resentment as it looked down upon him.
“You dare,” it hissed, voice layered and echoing, “to shatter the chain I bound?”
Y N froze beside him, but he could barely see her through the haze of pain and shadow.
The specter’s form flickered violently.
Then it spoke in rhyme, voice sharp with fury:
“Seven years in dusk confined,
Fear and scorn to cage your mind.
Veiled in night and shunned by sight,
Bound to walk in shadow’s blight.
Yet foolish heart and mortal flame,
Have dared defy my binding claim.
A love unshaken, fierce and true,
Has broken what I forged in you.
Curse undone by chosen sight,
By warmth that pierced eternal night.
Though rage remains and pride protests,
The bond is cut. The soul is blessed.”
The shadows around Mingi surged violently one last time.
Then they began to loosen.
Unravel.
Like threads dissolving in light.
He felt it.
The veil around his face thinning.
The weight that had pressed against him for years lifting in fragments he had forgotten even existed.
The darkness peeled away slowly, reluctantly, like something being forced to release ist hold.
The specter trembled, form fracturing.
“You were meant,” it spat, voice fading, “to remain alone.”
Ist shape shattered into drifting fragments of shadow that dissolved into nothingness.
Silence fell.
The pain reached ist peak.
Then vanished.
All at once.
His body gave out instantly.
The last thing he felt was the shadows fully slipping away from his skin like mist in morning light.
And then...Darkness.
Complete.
As his consciousness faded, his body collapsing forward, finally free, but entirely unconscious in her arms.
Fairytale Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Mingis Masterlist
After stepping through a strange door on a winter night, Y/N awakens in a summer forest under an unfamiliar sky.
In a land ruled by fear of an old curse, she is found by a shadow-veiled war hero who believes himself too monstrous to be loved and is quietly surprised when she does not recoil.
Pairing: Song Mingi x Reader (Y/N)
Tropes: Fairytale AU, Grimm-inspired Bearskin retelling, Cursed hero feared as a monster, Soft male lead with tragic backstory, Hurt/comfort, Slow burn romance, Soft, gentle giant cursed by shadows, Logical/ Quiet FMC
Genre: Dark Fairytale, Fantasy Romance, Slow Burn, Angst with Soft Healing, Mythic Fairytale Retelling, Mutual awkwardness
Fairytale Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Mingis Masterlist
Intro | HJ | SH | YH | YS | SN | MG | WY | JH
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
This is Part 2
For a moment, he did not move. Not a single muscle.
Even the shadows around him seemed to still, curling faintly along his shoulders as if waiting for a reaction he had long since learned to expect.
Y N watched him closely.
She could not see his face clearly, not really. The black, shifting veil obscured the finer details, blurring his expression in a way that should have been unsettling.
And yet, the rest of him gave everything away.
The slight stiffening of his shoulders. The way his grip on the axe handle loosened, then tightened again.
The faint tilt of his head, like someone who had misheard something important.
“…You are not,” he began slowly, then stopped.
A pause. Longer than necessary.
“…afraid?” he finished, voice quieter now.
She blinked. “No,” she answered simply.
That seemed to break something in him.
Not dramatically. But noticeably.
He shifted his weight abruptly, as if his body no longer knew what to do with itself, and lowered the axe fully to the ground before leaning it carefully against the woodpile. The motion was oddly careful, almost distracted, like his mind had suddenly gone somewhere else entirely.
“I… see,” he said.
Another pause.
Then, very suddenly, he started talking.
Fast. Too fast.
“As I said earlier, you fell from the ravine yesterday morning,” he began, words coming out in a slightly uneven stream. “You were unconscious when I found you. Your head was bleeding, but not severely. I cleaned the wound. It is bandaged. Your ankle is fractured but not displaced, so I stabilized it with a splint. You drank some water while half conscious. Also a small amount of soup. You slept through most of the day and the night. Your breathing remained steady. There was no fever. I checked several times. The swelling has not worsened. Which is good.”
He stopped. Then immediately continued.
“I changed your clothes because they were damp and covered in dirt from the fall. It was necessary for treatment. I did not—” he cut himself off abruptly, shadows around his shoulders shifting faster now, “—I was careful. It was purely medical.”
Y N stared at him.
He was rambling. Not in a chaotic way. In a very structured, overly detailed, slightly panicked way. Like someone listing facts to avoid thinking about the situation emotionally.
“…I see,” she said slowly.
He nodded once, too quickly. “Yes. That is… everything relevant.”
Silence followed.
Then he froze. Completely.
His body went rigid as if something had just occurred to him with delayed horror.
Very slowly, very stiffly, he looked down. At himself.
And then immediately turned halfway away from her in one abrupt motion.
“I am still—”
He cut himself off again. There was a very short, very awkward pause.
Then he reached blindly to the side where a shirt lay draped over a low branch near the hut wall and grabbed it in a hurry.
The movement was so sudden that his foot caught slightly on uneven ground.
He stumbled. Not dramatically. But enough.
Enough that his balance wavered for a brief second before he corrected himself with visible haste.
Y N blinked.
Then, before she could stop herself, she giggled.
The sound slipped out soft and breathy, more surprised than mocking.
His entire body went still again.
Slowly, he pulled the shirt over his head, movements suddenly much more careful, as if trying to regain some form of dignity that had been momentarily misplaced.
When he finished, he turned back toward her, posture noticeably more rigid.
“…I was distracted,” he muttered quietly.
Y N tilted her head slightly, amusement still lingering in her expression.
“Are you always this clumsy?” she asked lightly.
The reaction was immediate.
“…I do not believe,” he said, voice suddenly carrying the faintest hint of something almost resembling offense, “that I should hear such a statement from someone who fell down a cliff.”
She blinked. Then laughed again, this time properly. “…That is fair,” she admitted.
A small pause followed, softer now, less tense.
The squirrel chirped from near the woodpile as if approving the exchange.
Y N shifted her weight slightly, wincing faintly at her ankle, and steadied herself against the doorframe before looking at him more seriously.
“…Where am I?” she asked.
He stilled again.
Her next questions came quickly, grounded and practical.
“What time is it?” she added. “And… who are you?”
That last question seemed to affect him the most.
He blinked. Once. Slowly.
“You do not know?” he asked quietly.
Her brows furrowed. “…Should I?”
Another silence stretched between them. The shadows around his face shifted faintly as he straightened just a little, as if bracing himself for a reaction that had not yet come.
“My name is Mingi,” he said.
He waited.
Y N stared at him. Just stared. Blankly.
No recognition. No widening of the eyes. No flinch. No whisper of a title. Nothing.
Only confusion. “…Mingi,” she repeated slowly, as if testing the name.
His shoulders lowered by the smallest fraction.
Not in relief. In something else. Surprise.
“…You truly do not recognize it,” he murmured.
She shook her head. “No.”
Another long pause followed.
Then, as if adjusting his understanding of the situation entirely, he spoke again, slower this time.
“You are currently in the northern forests of the Northern Kingdom,” he explained. “Several hours from the nearest village. My hut is located outside their borders.”
Her heartbeat spiked. “…Northern Kingdom?” she repeated.
He nodded once. “Yes.”
She stared at him.
Then at the forest. Then back at him. Then at the sky above the trees. Then back at him again.
Her breathing became shallow.
“…No,” she whispered.
The word came out thin.
Almost disbelieving.
“This is not…” She swallowed hard. “This is not real.”
Her hand rose to her temple, pressing lightly as if trying to push reality back into place.
“Different stars,” she muttered. “Summer temperature shift. No signal. No modern infrastructure. Medieval style clothing. Northern Kingdom—”
Her breath hitched. “Oh my god.”
She took a small step back, panic beginning to creep into her voice now, quiet but very real.
“I’m stuck,” she whispered.
Her chest rose and fell faster.
“This is a dream,” she insisted weakly. “Or a concussion hallucination. Or I hit my head and I’m still unconscious somewhere and this is my brain compensating—”
“I am sorry.”
The words came suddenly.
Soft. Immediate.
Y N froze mid sentence.
Mingi had stepped back again.
Another full step. Distance.
His head lowered slightly, shadows shifting faintly around the outline of his face.
“I did not intend to frighten you,” he said quietly. “If my presence is the cause of your distress, I will leave and allow you space. Or guide you to the village immediately once you are able to walk.”
She blinked. “…What?”
He continued, voice low, careful.
“Most people react with fear after learning who I am,” he added. “It is understandable.”
Her confusion deepened. “…Why are you apologizing?” she asked slowly.
He hesitated. Then spoke even quieter.
“Because you are panicking,” he said.
She stared at him for a full second.
Then another.
Then realization hit her like a delayed wave.
“…You think I’m panicking because of you?” she asked.
He did not answer immediately.
Which was answer enough.
Y N let out a short, incredulous breath.
“No,” she said, shaking her head quickly. “No, no, no. That is not why I’m panicking.”
He stilled. Completely.
“My panic,” she continued, pressing a hand to her chest as if grounding herself, “has absolutely nothing to do with you.”
Silence. Heavy. Suspended.
She exhaled shakily and ran a hand through her hair.
“I’m panicking,” she clarified, voice still tight but more focused now, “because I think I landed in another universe.”
The words hung in the air.
Mingi did not move.
Did not speak. Did not even shift.
She gestured weakly toward the forest, the sky, the hut.
“I was walking home,” she said, voice unsteady but determined. “At night. In winter. In my city. And then there was a door. Just standing there. No wall. No building. Just a door in the street.”
His shadows flickered faintly.
She continued before she could second guess herself.
“It was unpainted. Rough. Snow stopped at the threshold. And when I touched it, it spoke. In rhyme.”
Her breath shook slightly.
“Then I stepped through it,” she said quietly. “And it was summer. A forest. Wrong constellations. No signal on my phone. No recognizable landmarks. And then I fell down a cliff and woke up here.”
She looked directly at him now.
Eyes clear despite the lingering panic.
“So no,” she finished softly, “I am not afraid of you.”
A small pause.
“I am afraid,” she admitted, voice dropping to a near whisper, “because I think I am very far away from my world.”
Silence filled the space between them.
And for the first time since she had woken, the panic in her chest felt less sharp.
Not gone. But steadier.
Because at least now, someone else knew the truth of how she had arrived.
She was not afraid.
The realization did not arrive all at once.
It settled slowly.
Uncomfortably.
Like something his mind refused to accept even as the evidence stood directly in front of him.
Mingi stared at her.
Not rudely.
Not intensely.
Just… staring.
His thoughts had gone unusually quiet.
For six and a half years, he had learned to recognize fear in the smallest shifts. A stiffening of posture. A widening of the eyes. The subtle step backward before the mind even registered the reason. The way voices trembled when addressing him. The way children hid behind their parents. The way adults pretended not to notice while carefully keeping distance.
It had become predictable.
Reliable.
Unavoidable.
And yet.
She stood there, pale, injured, clearly overwhelmed by her situation… and her gaze did not avoid him.
It did not dart away from the shadows around his face.
It did not flinch when the darkness curled faintly along his shoulders.
It did not recoil.
Instead, she looked at him directly.
Openly.
Confused, yes.
Panicked about her circumstances, yes.
But not afraid of him.
His chest tightened.
That alone should have been impossible.
His mind, seeking reason, grasped at the most logical explanation available.
Perhaps she was delirious.
She had fallen from a cliff.
Struck her head.
Spoken of another world.
Of doors that appeared in the night.
Of stars that were wrong.
Of a device that produced light without flame.
His gaze dropped briefly to her hands, recalling how she had earlier held a small rectangular object that glowed with ist own cold light. No oil. No wick. No fire.
Water everywhere, she had said.
Light without candles.
Cities larger than kingdoms.
It sounded absurd.
Unreal.
Mad.
And yet…
His gaze slowly returned to her strange clothing.
The stitching.
The material.
The unfamiliar cut.
No traveler dressed like that.
No villager owned such fabric.
No merchant would wander the forest alone with attire so impractical for this land.
And she had been in the ravine.
Alone.
Unconscious.
As if she had simply… appeared.
His shadows shifted faintly.
Something deep in his chest, something he had long forced into silence, stirred with quiet recognition.
It would explain it.
Why she did not know his name.
Why she did not react with fear.
Why she looked at the world with confusion rather than caution.
Because if her story was true…
Then she had never lived in a world where he was the cursed one.
Never heard the whispers.
Never seen the villagers’ mirrors.
Never watched people step away as if his very presence carried infection.
“…Another world,” he repeated quietly, more to himself than to her.
The words felt strange on his tongue.
Impossible.
And yet strangely fitting.
He became so lost in thought that he did not notice her moving.
Not at first.
Not until the subtle shift of air reached him.
His head snapped up.
Too late.
She had taken a step closer.
Then another.
Her weight shifted onto her injured ankle.
Her balance faltered instantly.
Her body tilted forward, breath catching in a small, startled sound.
Mingi moved without thinking.
One step.
Then two.
His hand caught her arm just as her foot slipped against the uneven ground.
The momentum carried her forward anyway.
And suddenly she was gripping him.
Both hands clutching the front of his shirt as if he were the only stable thing in the world.
Her body pressed lightly against him, unsteady, relying on his support completely.
His breath stopped.
Completely.
For a fraction of a second, his mind went blank.
She was holding onto him.
Not recoiling.
Not pulling away.
Not freezing in fear.
Holding onto him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Her fingers tightened instinctively in the fabric.
“…Sorry,” she breathed, though her voice was soft rather than frightened.
Then she looked up.
Actually looked.
Not past him.
Not at the shadows.
At him.
Directly.
And for the first time in six and a half years, someone did not avert their gaze when the darkness around his face shifted faintly under close observation.
Her expression did not twist in fear.
Did not tense.
Did not harden.
Instead, she smiled.
A small one.
Gentle.
Slightly embarrassed.
But warm.
Mingi’s chest tightened painfully.
She was looking too closely.
Too calmly.
Too kindly.
“…You have kind eyes,” she said softly.
The words landed like a blow far heavier than any weapon he had faced in battle.
Kind.
His breath left him in a quiet, uneven exhale.
No one had described his eyes in years.
Most people did not look long enough to notice them at all.
His throat felt strangely tight.
“I…” he started, then stopped.
His voice came out quieter than intended.
“We should go inside soon.”
He turned his head slightly toward the sky.
“It will rain shortly.”
She blinked.
Then looked up as well.
The sky was clear.
Bright.
Blue.
Sunlight filtered warmly through the leaves, and not a single dark cloud could be seen between the branches.
Her confusion was immediate.
“…Rain?” she repeated.
He nodded once.
“Yes.”
A small silence followed.
She looked from the sky back to him, clearly skeptical.
Which was fair.
The forest looked peaceful. The air warm. The light steady.
But he could feel it.
The shift in the wind.
The subtle heaviness in the air.
The scent of moisture carried faintly beneath the warmth.
The forest spoke in small signs if one listened long enough.
A soft drip landed on his shoulder.
Then another.
Then a third.
She froze.
A tiny droplet landed on the back of her hand.
She stared at it.
Then up at the sky again.
The drizzle began gradually, light at first, like a hesitant whisper of rain threading through sunlight.
Her eyes widened.
“…You predicted that,” she muttered, stunned.
Mingi simply turned slightly toward the hut.
“Happy,” he called softly.
The squirrel, who had been watching the entire interaction with unwavering interest, twitched ist ears and immediately scampered toward the hut door as if it had understood every word.
“Inside,” he added gently.
Happy vanished through the doorway without hesitation.
Mingi’s attention returned to the woman still holding onto him.
His gaze dropped briefly to her ankle.
Her weight was still partially resting on it.
Not good.
“…You should not stand,” he said quietly.
She seemed to realize their proximity at the same moment he did.
Her cheeks flushed faintly.
“I can walk,” she insisted quickly, though her grip on his shirt did not loosen much.
He shook his head once.
“You should not place too much weight on your ankle,” he replied calmly. “The fracture will worsen.”
Before she could protest further, he adjusted his hold.
One arm slid carefully behind her back.
The other beneath her knees.
Then he lifted her.
Effortlessly.
Her reaction was immediate.
A sharp intake of breath.
Her face flushed deeper.
“Mingi—!” she started, clearly flustered.
His movements remained steady and careful as if carrying something fragile rather than a person.
“You fell from a cliff yesterday,” he said gently, voice low and matter of fact. “You should not attempt to walk so soon.”
She stared at him, wide eyed, clearly not expecting to be picked up so easily.
The drizzle softened into a steady light rain around them, droplets catching in his hair and darkening the edges of his shirt as he turned toward the hut.
“I am not fragile,” she muttered under her breath, though there was no real annoyance in her tone.
“No,” he agreed quietly. “But you are injured.”
She went silent at that.
Only slightly stiff in his arms.
Not struggling.
Not recoiling.
Not afraid.
His chest tightened again at the realization.
He stepped inside the hut and lowered her gently back onto the bed, movements slow to avoid jostling her ankle.
The rain continued outside, tapping softly against the roof.
For a moment, he simply stood there, hands lingering in the air as if unsure where to place them now that he was no longer supporting her weight.
Then he stepped back.
Carefully.
Automatically creating distance again.
His gaze drifted to her face.
Still calm.
Still observant.
Still not afraid.
His voice, when he finally spoke, was quieter than before.
“…You truly are not frightened of me.”
It was not a question.
It was disbelief spoken aloud.
The first few days felt fragile.
As if one wrong movement might shatter whatever strange understanding had formed between them.
But the days passed.
And nothing shattered.
Mingi had expected fear to arrive late, creeping in once the shock of her arrival faded. He had expected her curiosity to thin into discomfort, her steadiness to fracture the first time the shadows thickened too visibly around his face.
It did not happen.
Instead, she stayed.
Four weeks.
Four weeks of her presence in a hut that had known only silence and the soft scratch of squirrel claws for six and a half years.
The forest adjusted to her first.
She limped carefully at the beginning, leaning on a makeshift crutch he carved for her from sturdy wood. Her ankle healed slowly but cleanly. The swelling reduced. The color returned to her face. The small crease between her brows, the one that appeared when she was thinking too hard, softened as her strength returned.
She filled the hut with sound.
Not loud sound.
Not chaotic sound.
Small things.
The scrape of a spoon against a bowl.
The quiet hum she did not seem aware of when she cooked.
The low murmur of her voice when she read from the small notebook she carried in her bag, though the paper inside was filled with writing he could not decipher.
She asked questions.
Constantly.
Not invasive ones.
Not cruel ones.
Just curious.
About the forest.
About the herbs.
About how he built the hut.
About the way he could tell rain was coming before clouds appeared.
And, eventually, about him.
He had not planned to tell her.
Not everything.
But she had a way of waiting that made silence feel heavier than truth.
So one evening, when the sky had turned amber through the window and the shadows around him had thinned into faint outlines against firelight, he told her.
About the war.
About the Shadow King.
About the sword.
About the transformation.
He did not speak of the exact curse.
Not yet.
He left out the rhyme.
Left out the seven years.
Left out the mirror.
But he told her enough.
Told her about the soldiers stepping back.
About the villagers whispering.
About mothers pulling their children away.
About leaving before their fear could turn into hatred.
He expected her to go quiet.
To process.
To nod slowly.
Instead she became angry.
Not loud.
But sharp.
Her brows drew together in a way he had only seen when she was speaking about injustice in her world.
“That makes no sense,” she said, voice tight with disbelief. “You saved them.”
He gave a small, humorless huff.
“Yes.”
“And they just… decided you were the problem?” she continued, incredulous. “Because your appearance changed?”
He shrugged faintly, shadows shifting at the movement.
“Fear is not logical,” he replied quietly.
“That is not an excuse,” she shot back immediately.
He blinked at her.
She leaned forward slightly, ankle forgotten for a moment.
“They could have tried,” she insisted. “They could have helped you adjust. They could have stood beside you. Instead they isolated you?”
Her jaw tightened.
“That is cruel.”
The word lingered between them.
Cruel.
He had never framed it that way.
Not truly.
He had accepted it as inevitable.
As the natural consequence of what he had become.
But hearing her call it cruel did something uncomfortable in his chest.
Like a door opening to a room he had long kept closed.
“They were afraid,” he said softly.
She shook her head.
“Then they should have learned,” she replied firmly.
He did not know how to answer that.
Later, when her anger softened, she told him about her world in return.
About cities where lights glowed without flame.
About buildings that touched the sky.
About water that flowed through pipes into every home.
About food from far lands brought into markets with ease.
He listened.
Quietly.
Sometimes struggling to imagine what she described.
But he did not interrupt.
When she spoke of her former life, her voice shifted.
Not bitter.
Just tired.
She told him about her ex boyfriend.
About how he needed constant reassurance.
How he mistook her calm for indifference.
How he believed she thought she was better than him because he was not particularly handsome.
Mingi’s hands tightened slightly around the small carved pieces they were using to play a game on the table between them.
“He demanded compliments?” he asked carefully.
“Constantly,” she sighed.
“And if you did not give them?”
“He took it personally.”
A quiet settled over the hut.
“You deserve someone who understands you,” Mingi said before he could stop himself.
She looked at him then.
Not teasing.
Not dismissing.
Just thoughtful.
“I deserve someone who does not need me to shrink so they can feel bigger,” she said softly.
He did not know why that sentence stayed with him long after she went to sleep that night.
Evenings became their quiet ritual.
After dinner, they would sit by the fire.
Sometimes she taught him simple games from her world using pebbles and scratched boards. Sometimes he taught her old strategy games he had played with fellow soldiers long ago.
She would lean forward when she concentrated, cheeks faintly flushed from the warmth of the hearth.
She laughed easily.
At him.
With him.
At Happy, who occasionally disrupted their pieces by darting across the table.
And at herself, when she misjudged a move.
Her laughter did something dangerous to him.
It made the hut feel less like exile.
More like… home.
After the first week, he built himself a second bed.
Not because she asked.
Not because she insisted.
But because he realized she looked uncomfortable every time she woke and found him sleeping on the floor.
So he worked quietly one afternoon while she rested, carving planks and securing them against the opposite wall.
When she saw it, her expression softened in a way that made him look away.
“You did not have to,” she said gently.
“I did,” he replied.
She did not argue further.
Over time, her ankle strengthened enough that she no longer needed the crutch inside the hut. Outside, she still leaned on it occasionally, though less each day.
She moved more freely now.
Walked further.
Helped gather herbs.
Sat outside in sunlight.
And sometimes, when she thought he was not looking, she would tilt her head slightly and study him.
Not in fear.
In curiosity.
In quiet assessment.
There were moments, when she laughed at something he said or rolled her eyes at his overly cautious advice, that he found himself staring.
When she bent over the table, focused on a game piece.
When she brushed hair from her face absentmindedly.
When she smiled at Happy like he was royalty.
She was smaller than he first thought.
But not fragile.
Her face was round in a way that made her expressions easy to read. Soft cheeks. Bright eyes that did not dart away from his shadows.
Cute, he admitted silently one evening.
Pretty, he corrected himself, before immediately looking away from his own thoughts.
He did not understand it.
How someone like her could look at him and see… anything gentle.
But she did.
And sometimes, when the firelight hit her face just right and her laughter filled the small space between them, he found himself hoping—
Dangerously.
That these days would never end.
It was the first time that time felt like something he wanted to slow down.
Until he opened the small storage chest near the hearth one morning and stared at the bottom.
Nearly empty.
His herbs were low.
The dried meat was gone.
The last of the preserved roots had been used the night before.
He had stretched his supplies further than usual.
Two people required more than one.
He should have anticipated it sooner.
He closed the chest slowly.
The decision settled heavily in his chest before he spoke it aloud.
“I will need to go to the village,” he said that afternoon as they sat outside, sunlight filtering through leaves.
She looked up immediately.
“Village?” she repeated.
“Yes,” he said, keeping his tone even. “I must trade for supplies.”
Her expression shifted slightly.
Concern.
“You mean… the village,” she clarified.
He nodded once.
“My former home.”
She went quiet for a moment.
Then—
“I am coming with you.”
He blinked.
“No,” he said automatically.
Her brows lifted.
“Why not?”
“It is not necessary,” he replied. “You can remain here. I will return before nightfall.”
Her lips pressed together.
“I do not want to be alone in the hut all day,” she said honestly. “And I want to see where we are. Properly.”
His chest tightened.
“No,” he repeated, more softly this time.
Her gaze sharpened slightly.
“Mingi.”
He looked away first.
“You have not seen how they treat me,” he said quietly.
She stilled.
The shadows along his shoulders shifted faintly as tension returned.
“They are… not kind,” he added.
Her expression softened, but determination did not fade.
“I can handle unkind,” she said.
He almost laughed.
She did not understand.
He did not want her to see it.
The distance.
The whispers.
The mirrors hung by every door.
The way children were pulled aside.
The way men refused to meet his gaze.
He did not want to watch her witness it.
Did not want to see her expression change.
And yet—
A quieter, darker thought lingered beneath that fear.
She would leave eventually.
She came from another world.
A better one, by her description.
With endless water and light without flame.
With cities and opportunities.
She would not stay in a forest forever.
When she learned the full truth of his curse.
When she heard the rhyme.
When she understood the weight of seven years...
She would leave.
Better she see the reality now.
Better she understand fully what it meant to stand beside him.
He inhaled slowly.
“…You may come,” he said at last.
Her eyes brightened slightly.
Relief.
Excitement.
Trust.
His chest tightened painfully.
But as he watched her smile faintly and begin planning what she would need to bring, one thought remained stubborn and quiet in the back of his mind.
When she sees how they look at me…
Will she still look at me the same way?
Over the past four weeks, Y N had learned many things about Mingi.
Small things.
Quiet things.
Important things.
He woke earlier than necessary, even when there was no reason to rush. He spoke softly to Happy as if the squirrel were an equal participant in every conversation. He always made sure she ate before he did, even when he pretended he was not doing it deliberately. He checked her ankle every evening without fail, his hands careful and gentle, his touch clinical but never cold.
And he laughed.
Rarely.
Quietly.
But when he did, it was soft and low and warm in a way that lingered in her chest long after the sound faded.
She liked that laugh.
More than she expected.
More than she should, perhaps.
It did not match the image people would probably assume if they only saw him from afar. Tall. Broad. Muscular. Shadows curling around him like something alive. A presence that could easily be mistaken for intimidating.
And yet he was the gentlest person she had ever met.
Gentler than anyone who had ever demanded reassurance from her.
Gentler than anyone who had ever mistaken her calm for cruelty.
Gentler than anyone who had ever made her feel like she needed to perform emotions instead of simply feeling them.
That contrast fascinated her.
The first time he told her how the villagers treated him, she had been angry immediately.
Viscerally.
Because the story did not make sense to her.
He saved them.
He ended a war.
And their response was fear?
Isolation?
Whispers?
It had not felt like justice.
It had felt like cowardice.
But even then, she had noticed something.
The pauses in his explanation.
The way his voice skipped over certain parts too smoothly.
The way his eyes, those kind eyes hidden behind shifting shadows, drifted away whenever the story approached a certain point.
He was a terrible liar.
Not because he invented things.
But because he omitted them.
And he omitted something important.
Something heavy enough that even six and a half years later, he could not say it aloud.
She did not press him.
Not yet.
But the thought lingered quietly in the back of her mind.
If he hid that detail, it must be worse than simple rejection.
Now, as the carriage wheels creaked beneath them and the forest slowly thinned into open land, her fingers tightened slightly in her lap.
The village came into view gradually.
Small rooftops.
Stone paths.
Wooden fences.
Smoke curling lazily into the sky.
It looked peaceful from afar.
Almost picturesque.
She glanced sideways at Mingi.
He sat straighter than usual.
More rigid.
Quieter.
The shadows around his shoulders seemed heavier today, curling closer as if reacting to his tension. His hands rested calmly on his knees, but she noticed the slight stiffness in his fingers.
He had not spoken much since they left the hut.
Not nervous.
Guarded.
That alone made her stomach tighten.
The carriage rolled closer.
And the moment they crossed the outer boundary of the village, the reaction was immediate.
It was not loud.
Not dramatic.
It was worse.
Silence.
A woman carrying a basket froze mid step.
A man near a well stiffened and looked away sharply.
Two children playing near the road were pulled back by their mother so quickly that one of them stumbled.
Someone crossed themselves.
Deliberately.
Another spat onto the ground in front of the path as the carriage passed.
Y N blinked.
Once.
Slowly.
Her chest tightened.
This was not subtle discomfort.
This was practiced fear.
Practiced avoidance.
The carriage slowed near the market square, and Mingi stepped down first, movements calm and controlled as always. He offered his hand to help her down, the same careful gentleness he had shown every day in the hut.
She took it without hesitation.
That alone caused three nearby villagers to whisper sharply to one another.
Her brows furrowed.
They walked through the market together.
Or rather, they walked and the market parted.
People moved aside before they even reached them. Conversations stopped mid sentence. Eyes lingered on Mingi for only a fraction of a second before darting away.
But when they looked at her—
Their expressions changed.
Not fear.
Pity.
Open, unmistakable pity.
As if she were something fragile.
As if she were trapped.
As if she were being held somewhere against her will.
Her confusion slowly began to twist into something hotter.
Anger.
They stopped at a stall to exchange goods for dried rations. The merchant did not meet Mingi’s gaze once. He spoke only to the counter, his hands trembling faintly as he handed over supplies, his voice tight and overly formal.
“Th-that will be sufficient.”
Mingi thanked him quietly.
The man flinched.
Actually flinched.
Y N’s jaw tightened.
They moved on.
Whispers followed them.
Low.
Persistent.
“Poor girl…”
“…does she know…?”
“…the cursed one…”
“…must have forced her…”
Her fingers curled into her sleeve.
The more they walked, the heavier the atmosphere became. Eyes lingered on her with increasing concern. Some villagers even gave her small, sympathetic looks when they thought Mingi would not notice.
But he noticed.
She saw it.
In the slight way his shoulders lowered.
In the way he stepped half a pace further away from crowded stalls.
In the silence that settled heavier around him with each passing minute.
Then a woman approached her.
Not him.
Her.
The woman’s eyes were wide, voice hushed but urgent as she leaned closer.
“You do not have to stay with him,” she whispered quickly. “If you need help to get away from the cursed monster, I will help you. You are safe here.”
The words hung in the air.
For one second, everything went still.
Y N did not react immediately.
Because her brain needed a moment to process what she had just heard.
Cursed monster.
Her gaze shifted instinctively to Mingi.
He had stopped moving.
Completely.
His head lowered slightly.
Not in anger.
Not in defense.
In quiet resignation.
Like he had heard those words too many times to react anymore.
And that was the moment something inside her snapped.
“Are you serious?” she asked.
Her voice was calm.
Too calm.
The woman blinked.
“I—”
“Are you all stupid?” Y N suddenly shouted, her voice ringing sharply across the market.
Silence fell instantly.
Every head turned.
Several villagers froze where they stood.
Even the whispers died.
Y N’s chest rose and fell rapidly as anger finally spilled over, hot and unfiltered.
“Or are you just not ashamed?” she continued, louder now, her eyes blazing as she looked around at the gathered crowd.
The woman recoiled slightly.
“You treat him like that?” Y N demanded. “Him?”
Her laugh came out sharp.
Incredulous.
She turned abruptly toward Mingi.
He was staring at her.
Completely stunned.
Shocked in a way she had never seen before.
She softened instantly when she looked at him.
“Did you get everything we need?” she asked, voice suddenly gentler.
He blinked.
Then nodded slowly.
“Yes.”
That was enough.
Without hesitation, she reached for his hand.
And held it.
Firmly.
Openly.
The reaction from the crowd was immediate. Gasps. Murmurs. Shock rippling through the square like a stone dropped into still water.
She did not care.
She turned back to the villagers, still holding his hand tightly.
“We do not need people this cruel,” she said clearly.
Her voice did not shake.
Not once.
Her gaze swept over them, sharp and unwavering.
“He has the most gentle heart I have ever met,” she continued, anger and disbelief woven together in every word. “And you treat him like some kind of monster?”
Silence.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
“You knew him before all of this,” she added, her voice rising again. “You knew who he was. What he did. What he sacrificed.”
Her grip on Mingi’s hand tightened slightly.
“And instead of helping him,” she said, eyes blazing, “you chose to fear him.”
Another bitter laugh escaped her.
“That is not caution,” she said. “That is cowardice.”
A few villagers looked down.
Others looked away.
None spoke.
“You are all so busy staring at the shadows,” she finished, voice sharp and unwavering, “that you cannot even see the person standing right in front of you.”
She took a step back, still holding his hand.
“And that,” she added firmly, “is your loss. Not his.”
The carriage had barely left the village gates when Y N exploded.
Not loudly at first.
But intensely.
Her arms were crossed so tightly across her chest that her knuckles had gone pale, and the pout on her face looked so unlike the calm, thoughtful girl Mingi had come to know over the past weeks that he found himself glancing at her more often than the road ahead.
She was fuming.
Absolutely fuming.
“I cannot believe them,” she muttered for what was probably the seventh time in the last ten minutes.
The horse trotted steadily along the forest path, wheels creaking softly beneath them, but the quiet of the road stood in sharp contrast to the storm sitting right beside him.
“They spat,” she continued, voice rising again, incredulous. “They actually spat. Like that was a reasonable reaction. Like that was normal behavior.”
Mingi kept his gaze forward, though the faint curl of amusement tugged at the corners of his eyes beneath the shadowed veil.
“They crossed themselves,” she added, leaning forward slightly. “Crossed themselves. As if you were some kind of walking curse and not the person who literally saved their lives.”
He remained silent.
Not because he disagreed.
Because he did not know how to respond to anger directed on his behalf.
It was… unfamiliar.
“They looked at me like I was kidnapped,” she went on, voice sharp. “Kidnapped. By you. Of all people.”
That part made something in his chest twist and warm at the same time.
She huffed loudly.
“And that woman,” she continued, almost vibrating with outrage now, “calling you a cursed monster as if she was doing me a favor. I swear, if my ankle had been fully healed, I would have—”
She cut herself off and let out a frustrated sound instead.
Mingi’s shoulders trembled slightly.
He tried to suppress it.
He truly did.
But then she leaned back against the carriage seat and muttered under her breath with full seriousness, “If stupidity were a currency, that village would be the richest kingdom in existence.”
That was it.
A laugh escaped him.
Not the quiet huff he sometimes let out.
Not the soft breath of amusement he usually restrained himself to.
A real one.
Warm.
Full.
Uncontrolled.
It startled even him.
He quickly brought a hand to his mouth as if he could push the sound back inside, but it was too late. The laughter had already left him, lingering in the air between them like something bright and alive.
Y N blinked.
Then her expression softened for a split second.
Because she liked that sound.
Very much.
But the anger returned just as quickly.
She turned sharply toward him, still visibly upset.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” she demanded.
The question was immediate.
Direct.
He stilled slightly.
“They insulted you,” she continued, brows furrowed, voice still heated. “Right in front of you. Openly. Repeatedly. And you just… stood there.”
Silence settled for a moment.
The forest path stretched ahead, dappled with sunlight breaking through the trees.
“I did,” he said quietly.
She blinked.
“What?”
“In the beginning,” he clarified, voice calm but softer now. “I tried to explain. To reassure them. To remind them that I was still the same person.”
His gaze dropped slightly to his hands resting in his lap.
“They listened,” he continued. “At first.”
A pause.
“Then the whispers began. And the fear did not lessen.”
Another pause.
“Eventually,” he finished gently, “it became easier to stop speaking than to watch them step away.”
The carriage rolled onward in silence for a few seconds.
Y N’s anger did not vanish.
If anything, it shifted.
Deepened.
Her lips pressed into a pout, her brows still knitted as she looked away toward the trees passing by.
“That still doesn’t make sense,” she muttered stubbornly.
He glanced at her.
“They knew you,” she continued, quieter now but no less firm. “They knew who you were before everything happened. How can they just… overwrite that? Like none of it mattered?”
He did not answer.
Because he did not know either.
She crossed her arms again, cheeks slightly puffed in clear dissatisfaction.
“I can’t understand them,” she said bluntly.
Her gaze flicked back to him.
“You are the most kind human being I have ever met,” she added, as if it were an obvious, undeniable fact.
The words hit harder than any insult ever had.
Mingi froze.
Not visibly.
But internally.
His breath stilled for a fraction of a second.
Before he could stop himself, his hand moved.
Slowly.
Carefully.
He reached toward her.
His fingers gently took her hand in his.
Warm.
Small.
Real.
She blinked in surprise but did not pull away.
And then, without fully thinking it through, he lowered his head slightly and pressed a soft, respectful kiss against the back of her hand.
“Thank you,” he murmured quietly.
The moment the action registered in his own mind, he froze.
Completely.
His eyes widened slightly beneath the shadowed veil.
“I—”
He pulled back immediately, releasing her hand as if it had suddenly become too warm to hold.
“I apologize,” he said quickly, voice flustered in a way she had never heard before. “That was inappropriate. I did not intend to overstep. It was simply a gesture of gratitude and I acted without proper consideration and—”
She laughed.
Softly at first.
Then properly.
The sound filled the carriage, light and warm and completely unbothered.
He stopped mid apology.
“…You are apologizing for thanking me?” she asked, amused.
His shoulders stiffened slightly.
“It was impulsive,” he admitted quietly.
Y N looked away.
Quickly.
Too quickly.
Because her heart had started racing.
Frantically.
For a reason she did not want to analyze too closely.
Her fingers curled slightly in her lap where he had held her hand moments ago, the ghost of that gentle kiss lingering far longer than it should have.
“That was…” she began, then stopped.
Her cheeks felt warmer than the summer air.
“…unexpected,” she finished weakly.
She cleared her throat and stared very intently at the passing trees as if they had suddenly become the most fascinating thing in existence.
Behind the shadowed veil, Mingi sat unusually still, his own embarrassment lingering quietly as the carriage continued along the forest road.
But despite the awkward silence that followed, something had changed.
Not dramatically.
Not loudly.
Just subtly.
Like a shift in the air before rain.
And for the first time since leaving the village, the anger in Y N’s chest softened slightly, replaced by something far more dangerous than fury.
Something warm.
Something fluttering.
Something she very deliberately refused to look directly at.
The carriage rolled on.
The forest swallowed the path behind them, and the village grew smaller until it was nothing more than rooftops between trees.
Silence settled again, but it was different now.
Not tense.
Not heavy.
Charged.
Y N still stared determinedly at the trees, pretending very hard that her heart was not racing because of something as small as a hand kiss.
Mingi kept his gaze forward.
But his thoughts were no longer on the road.
They had slipped somewhere deeper.
Somewhere darker.
Somewhere he had not willingly revisited in years.
The battlefield had been silent when it ended.
Too silent.
Smoke rising in thin lines.
Steel cooling in blood soaked earth.
The Shadow King kneeling, not defeated in pride, but in body.
Mingi could still remember the weight of the cursed sword in his hands. The heat in his veins. The way the sky itself seemed to dim when the blade pierced through shadow and bone.
And he remembered the final breath.
Not screamed.
Not cursed in rage.
Spoken.
Slow.
Measured.
Almost amused.
The Shadow King had lifted his head, dark eyes gleaming even as his body dissolved into smoke.
And he had spoken in rhyme.
The memory rose now, clear as if it had been whispered again beside him in the carriage.
“Strike me down and take my throne,
Yet you shall never walk alone.
For shadows cling where glory lies,
And mask the truth before men’s eyes.
Bear my mark and wear my night,
Let mortals shrink from altered sight.
Seven years in scorn confined,
No warmth of hand, no heart aligned.
But hear me well, O slayer brave,
There lies one path your soul to save.
When one shall look and truly see,
And love the man, not what you be,
When fear dissolves and shadows part,
By willing gaze and faithful heart,
Then chains shall break and dusk shall sever,
And you be free of me forever.”
The words had burned deeper than the blade itself.
Seven years.
He had counted them once.
Until hope began to feel foolish.
Until the idea of someone looking at him without fear felt like a fantasy meant to mock him.
Until the curse became less of a sentence and more of a reality.
He had stopped believing in the final verse.
Stopped imagining that anyone would ever look long enough to “truly see.”
And yet...
His gaze shifted, almost involuntarily, to the girl beside him.
Still stubbornly facing the trees.
Still pretending her cheeks were not slightly flushed.
Still not afraid.
She had held his hand in front of the entire village.
She had shouted at them.
Defended him.
Looked at him.
Really looked.
Not at the shadows.
Not at the mask.
At him.
His chest tightened.
He turned his gaze forward again quickly, as if the thought itself were dangerous.
The Shadow King’s voice echoed faintly in memory.
When one shall look and truly see…
He swallowed.
No.
He could not allow himself to think that way.
Not yet.
Not when she still spoke of another world.
Of cities and doors and stars that did not belong here.
Not when she might still leave.
But the rhyme lingered anyway.
Soft.
Persistent.
Like a thread of gold he had long ago convinced himself had snapped.
And for the first time in six and a half years, it did not feel entirely broken.
Fairytale Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Mingis Masterlist
Hongjoong would be the type to spend weeks planning the date without telling you.
The moment he learns about a café, art exhibit, bookstore, or hidden little spot he thinks you'd enjoy, he's already adding it to a mental list. He wants the date to feel natural and effortless, but in reality every detail has been carefully considered.
When he picks you up, he'd try to act cool.
"Ready?"
Meanwhile, he's secretly wondering if you'll like the places he chose.
The date itself would probably include several different activities. A cute café in the morning, walking through a local market, maybe visiting an art gallery or somewhere aesthetically pleasing enough for pictures.
Hongjoong loves hearing your thoughts.
He'd ask about your favorite songs, dreams, memories, and random little things.
"If you could travel anywhere right now, where would you go?"
"What's something you've always wanted to learn?"
He genuinely wants to know everything about you.
As the day continues, he'd find himself staring whenever you're distracted.
Watching you smile at something in a shop window.
Listening to you talk passionately about something you love.
Seeing you laugh.
Those moments become his favorite part of the date.
By the end of the night, he'd walk beside you quietly while holding your hand.
When you thank him for the date, he'd immediately become shy.
◟ .✦ ݁˖ genre : fluff
◟ ⋆⟢ # word count : 843
⬩➤ 「 warning 」 ᝰ. a lot of dialogue and not proofread
“EXCUSE ME?! But you did WHAT?!” You dad exclaimed in complete disbelief, staring at your mom with wide eyes as he nearly spitted out the fresh coffee he made minutes ago.
“You heard me, I’m enrolling our daughter at Ateez High School.” You mom casually said gleefully, as she fixed her suit’s coat.
“WHY?! AND HOW?! Out of all the schools you could have picked, why Ateez High School. Why not Atiny High School instead?!” You dad continues to question, setting his phone and coffee aside now.
“Oh come on, the high school is the closest one to our house. And so what if it’s an all boys school?”
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN SO WHAT?!”
“Relax, everything’s going to turn out fine.”
“And you know because?” Your dad asked skeptically.
“I graduated from an all boys high school and I turned out fine.”
“That doesn’t mean it’ll be the same for our sweet daughter!”
“Trust me, I have everything figured out.”
“I SURE HOPE SO! MY BABY GIRL IS GOING TO BE SENT TO A SCHOOL FULL OF FOOLS!”
FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL
You had just unbuckled your seatbelt, swung your backpack to your side, and got ready to open the passenger side door until your dad called your name.
“Yes dad?”
“Do you remember what I told you?”
“Yes dad.” You sighed with a grin. “If anything happens, I will call you.”
“And?”
“Don’t hesitate to throw or kick anyone if they make you feel unsafe.”
“And the last part?”
“If I have to use deadly force then the heavy duty flashlight in my bag will be a great weapon.”
“That’s right!”
“Okay, now can I go dad?”
“Yes and Sweetheart?”
“Yes?”
“I love you!”
“Love you too dad, now bye.”
After your dad drove off, you entered the building without a problem, although you did get a couple of stares. But they were easy to ignore. You walked in, greeted the security guard who looked totally confused like the rest of the students. Then off you go to put your things away in your locker and finally, go on a short exploration to find your home room.
Honestly, it’s kind of comedic to see everyone around you become extremely angsty when it usually is the opposite way around. You had to go up three flights of stairs to reach the fourth floor, by then you found your classroom. It was the first one you saw by the stairway.
“There it is. D-01.”
You prepared to walk in only to hear a bunch of guys screaming their lungs out for whatever reason they have.
The door easily slid to the side and everyone inside turned their gaze on you.
It fell dead silent.
Their eyes were wide open.
“Hello?” You awkwardly greeted, stepping inside.
“Hey?” One of the boys called out to you.
“Yes?”
“Who are you?”
“Y/N L/N. Nice to meet you all. And your name is?”
The room again fell into a tense quietness.
“I can’t believe she’s talking to him so casually?!” One of the other boys whispered to his friend.
“You don’t know who I am?” He asked, raising a brow.
“Nope, I’m new in town. So hopefully we can all get along.” You shrugged.
“Heh, you’re one interesting girl.”
“And you’re a tough guy. Now, name?”
“Hongjoong. Kim Hongjoong.”
“Cool name.”
“She just complimented Captain?!”
“Damn, I like you already.”
“Is he blushing?!”
With that comment, Hongjoong stared daggers at his classmate.
“Eeek!”
“So, is there a desk I can take?”
You looked around to see the entire classroom was ruined by utter chaos.
“This one, right next to mine.”
“Sounds good to me.”
For the next few periods, you and Hongjoong stayed in the same classroom as you watched how your teachers switched from room to room.
“Ughh… this is so boring…” Hongjoong groaned tiredly, leaning back on his chair and resting his legs on his desk.
“We’re almost there. Lunch is literally the next period.”
“I guess you're right.”
LUNCH PERIOD
“Am I seeing things?” Wooyoung asked, dropping his spoon onto his metal tray. “Or is that a girl next to Hongjoong?”
“More importantly, what’s a girl doing in our school?” San added.
“Guys? This is Y/N. Y/N meet my friends.”
“Hello?”
“So, you’re also a student at Ateez?” Mingi questioned.
“I thought the uniform would have given it away.”
“Damn, she’s got a good point.” Jongho chuckled.
“Anyways, Y/N, come with me, I’ll buy you lunch.”
“Pft! What?!” Seonghwa nearly spat out his food.
“Got a problem with that, Hwa?”
“Yeah! What about us?! You never buy us lunch!”
“Yeah and for good reason, now let’s go Y/N.”
“You think Hongjoong’s got a crush on her?” Yunho asked with a smirk.
“Pretty sure he does, just look at him grinning at her.” Yeosang joked.
“Who would have thought that the big scary captain at Ateez high school would fall for the first girl that noticed him?” Seonghwa commented, taking a sip out of his metal water bottle.
