Jinhwan smiled at the hesitation. He might have paused too – well, no, that was a lie. He had always been inclined to trust people, especially when he could usually tell if someone meant harm. In another life, maybe he would’ve second-guessed it. After all, he was a stranger: a man who spoke in half-riddles, who’d wandered into the shop like he was meant to be there.
And his sweet angel familiar had just turned herself into a ribbon.
So, really, Aaron’s hesitation didn’t surprise him at all.
Jinhwan listened while Aaron spoke, nodding in the places politeness required, smiling at the quiet domesticity threaded through his words. When he wrapped the ribbon around Aaron’s palm, his touch stayed gentle, reverent even. He murmured something under his breath, and the ribbon fluttered as if responding, then settled, warm and still.
“That should help with the pain,” he said softly. “A little more. Please – tell me if it doesn’t. I can try something new.”
As he spoke, the Witch unwound the ribbon. The moment it was free, feathers bloomed outward, and Dori shook her little head indignantly, wings ruffling. Jinhwan chuckled under his breath. “Thank you, little bird,” he said fondly, before his gaze lifted again – dark eyes finding blue.
“It sounds like you really love him,” he repeated, warmth threading through his voice. Of all the things he did, this was what he loved most: hearing people talk about love as if it were something sacred, fragile, worth naming out loud.
What he didn’t love was the edge in Aaron’s voice when he said he’d do anything. The way desperation clung to the words.
“I would hope there are boundaries,” Jinhwan said gently, not unkind. Just careful. He tilted his head, glancing at Dori as she resettled herself nearby. “To anything.”
But what would the ghost give up?
His eyes returned to Aaron’s. “Does he want to come back?”
