THE SEASON YOU RETURN
Pairing: Mingyu x reader
Wc: 2.4k
Tags/warnings: Fantasy au, spirit Mingyu, slow burn, friends to lovers, angst with soft ending, cherry blossoms, soft Mingyu, hurt/comfort, temporary happiness, mutual pinning, non human Mingyu
Summary: Every spring, he returns.
For six years, you’ve watched Kim Mingyu appear with the first bloom of cherry blossoms and disappear before summer arrives. No explanations. Just soft smiles, afternoons, and a love that only exists between March and May.
But this spring feels different.
Because after years of waiting, you finally decide to uncover the truth behind the boy who belongs more to the season than to the world itself, even if it means learning that some beautiful things were never meant to stay forever.
A/n 1: This fic is part of the collab hosted by @dorereef , The Reed in Bloom. I am having a great time on this network. Everyone here is so amazing, sweet and eager to help you just can't help but fall in love with all of them. Most importantly thank you @mylovesstuffs and @nothoughtsjustfic for having me in this network and giving me an opportunity to share my work. Well that's a very different case that this is NOT my best work. (I know this is edited because when I was posting it i forgot to add these love notes to the network and team.) I was really excited for this one since it’s only my second time participating in a collab event. This was originally supposed to be a 10k fic, but my grandfather passed away recently, so I honestly didn’t have the time or energy to fully complete it the way I wanted to. I had to shorten it quite a bit, but I’m still really happy that I got to participate.
A/n 2: And most importantly, thank you so much to @thestraybunny for beta reading this fic and somehow making it readable, because trust me this fic was an absolute MESS 😭
Spring slipped quietly into your town, never making a fuss. No dramatic downpours, no sudden heat waves—just little shifts no one really noticed. Plum blossoms by the river showing up overnight. Laundry drying faster in weak sunlight. The old florist rolling out buckets of tulips before anyone else was awake. The air full of green scents and muddy earth, like everything was stretching out after being curled up too long.
And then, there was him.
Kim Mingyu drifted back with spring every year, as if he migrated with the birds. Always silent, always sure, always somehow surprising even when you expected him.
It happened every spring.
Since you were sixteen, without fail.
The very first time, he was standing under the cherry blossom tree behind the school. Petals spotted his hair, pale against the darkness, and he looked strange in the prettiest way—too tall, too perfect, too much like someone who’d been dropped in from a better place.
You’d asked what class he was in.
He just smiled. “I’m just here for spring.”
Back then, you thought he was flirting. The next year, when summer came and he disappeared, you figured he had moved away without a word. But at eighteen, when he reappeared exactly when the first flowers bloomed, matching smile and all, smelling like rain and grass, things didn’t add up.
Wrong, or miraculous. You never worked it out.
But this year, spring dragged its feet.
March hung on and hung on, cold and sharp, and you started to wonder if Mingyu would show up at all this time.
You hated how much that worried you.
You were twenty-two now, old enough to know better than to wait around for someone who vanished every year. Old enough to know folks who love you stick around.
Not that Mingyu ever promised love.
He only promised spring.
Somehow, that was even harder to swallow.
You stood outside the bookstore where you worked, holding a nearly-cold coffee, staring across at the naked branches of the cherry tree.
Nothing. No blooms, no Mingyu.
Hana, your coworker, knocked her shoulder against yours. “You’re doing it again.”
You squinted at her. “Doing what?”
“Looking like someone out of an old black-and-white film. A widow, or something.”
“Please.” You rolled your eyes. “I’m not that dramatic.”
“Sure,” she said with a grin. “Waiting for your seasonal boyfriend?”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Of course. Your annual hallucination, then.”
You tried to glare at her, but, honestly, you’d asked yourself the same thing more than once.
No one else seemed to know Mingyu, not really. People saw him around—a guy buying strawberries, walking by the river, sitting under branches heavy with flowers—but no one ever seemed to care where he came from or spent his nights.
Except you.
Whenever you asked him, Mingyu just looked at you with those impossibly gentle eyes and said, “If I tell you, you might stop waiting for me.”
It drove you crazy. But it worked, every time.
Hana sighed, over the top as usual. “You know, most people date year-round.”
“Good for them.”
“You vanish emotionally for three months straight.”
“That’s not—” You stopped. “Alright, maybe a little.”
She raised her eyebrows. “A lot.”
You were about to clap back when the breeze shifted.
Warm. Sweet. Carrying the unmistakable scent—flowers, sun, green things.
You stopped breathing for a second.
Across the street, the first cherry blossom petal dropped from the branch.
Then a second. Then a spray of them, as if the tree were suddenly waking up after a long nap.
Hana stared. “No way.”
Your pulse sped up.
And there he was, standing under the blooming tree.
Kim Mingyu. Untouched and impossible, as always.
Like he’d never left. Like winter was just holding him for a little while.
Cream sweater, beige coat, sleeves pushed up. Hair a little longer, softer, brushing his forehead. Petals stuck to his shoulders, almost like the tree missed him too.
Then he saw you.
He smiled.
And just like that, your anger dissolved into nothing. Useless.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Hana breathed.
Mingyu crossed the street without hurrying, hands in his pockets.
He looked you over, then said, “You cut your hair.”
No greeting, no apology. Just that.
You glared. “You were gone for eleven months.”
“I know.”
“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?”
He looked sheepish, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I missed you too.”
You hated the way those words hit you. With everything you wanted to say, all you managed was, “You can’t keep doing this—just disappearing and coming back whenever you feel like it.”
Something in his eyes changed—flickered and dimmed. Maybe sadness.
“I know,” he said, voice quiet.
Wind scattered more petals between you. For a second, neither of you said a word.
Then he held his hand out to you.
“Walk with me?”
You should have refused, really. But twenty minutes later, you were there beside him, following the river’s edge, shoes brushing through a coat of blossoms, sunlight painting everything gold.
The whole town changed shape in spring with Mingyu at your side.
Brighter. Softer. Like the world adjusted a little bit just to fit him in.
“You’re angry,” he said.
“You think?”
“You’re allowed to be.”
You glanced at him. “So explain it.”
He went silent.
That same quiet that always came up when you pressed too close to whatever secret he was hiding.
“You know I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
His jaw tightened. The wind picked at his hair, sent petals skipping over the water.
He stopped walking. “You ever notice how spring doesn’t last as long as it should?”
“Not really the point, is it?”
“Everything beautiful is short-lived.”
“That’s a terrible reason.”
He chuckled, soft and sad. “You always say that.”
“Because it is.”
He studied you, closer than ever—like he was trying to memorize you, just in case.
There was a heaviness in your chest that wouldn’t let go.
“Know what I love most about humans?” he asked.
Humans. Not just people. That word made your skin prick.
“What?”
“You love things fully, even when you know you’re going to lose them.”
He sounded almost in awe. Like the idea hurt him.
You swallowed. “Mingyu…”
For a second, it felt like you were finally going to get the truth.
But then he only smiled, softer this time. “Come on. I bet the magnolias up the hill started blooming.”
Just like that, the moment faded. Gone, like spring in a snap.
That evening, you walked streets thick with petals before dusk carried you home.
You paused outside your building. Mingyu stood a few steps down, hands shoved in his pockets.
“You’ll come tomorrow?” The words slipped out, unguarded.
His face softened. “I always come back.”
It should have been comforting.
Mostly, it scared you. Because someday, you realized, spring could roll around without him.
And you didn’t know what you’d do with your heart when that finally happened.
Mingyu always left before the sun disappeared.
You caught on during his second week back.
Every evening, no matter where you found yourselves, the riverside, the flower market, that hill behind town, he'd walk with you, smile quietly, flick a stray petal from your hair or tap your forehead, and slip away before the streetlights woke up.
At first, you figured he just liked his own company.
But then things got weird.
No one ever saw where he went.
Not once.
And this year, you weren’t letting it slide. You were tired of the half-truths and vanishing acts, tired of being pacified by gentle smiles.
So, when Mingyu left your apartment building one Friday evening, hands stuffed in his denim jacket pockets, you waited exactly thirty seconds and went after him.
“You’re terrible at sneaking.”
You nearly jumped out of your skin.
He was waiting at the end of the alley, beneath a cherry tree in full bloom, grinning.
“You knew?”
“Loudest footsteps in town.”
“I don’t stomp,” you shot back.
“You absolutely do.”
Your cheeks burned. “Then stop disappearing all mysteriously!”
His playful smirk faded.
The air shifted—heavier, somehow.
Mingyu glanced at the sky, which was losing the last bits of sunset.
“You should go home,” he said.
“No.”
His brows creased. “It's late."
“And?"
“And…” He stalled.
You took a step closer. “And what?”
The wind shook petals everywhere, looping around your ankles.
Mingyu looked honestly troubled now.
“You’re not gonna like the answer.”
“Try me.”
He hesitated, and then, almost too quietly, he said:
“You can’t follow where I go.”
Chills ran down your spine.
“Why not?”
“Because you belong here.”
You blinked. “Okay, now you’re just being cryptic.”
He let out a tired little laugh. “Maybe.”
“Mingyu.”
He looked up at the sky again. Night was swallowing the last of the blue.
For once, you saw fear in his face. Fear for you.
“Do you trust me?” he asked suddenly.
That caught you off guard.
“What?”
“Do you trust me?”
You just stared.
This baffling boy who came with the spring and left with the seasons. The one who always knew when flowers would open, who smelled faintly of rain and fresh earth, who looked at the world like it was made of glass.
The one you’d loved, quietly and relentlessly, for six years.
“…Yeah,” you whispered.
Mingyu let out a long, slow breath.
“Then go upstairs.”
“No.”
He groaned. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re hiding something.”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
Now his eyes met yours.
From himself, you realized.
Your heart skipped.
“Mingyu…”
But before you could get the words out—
The streetlights blinked on.
Mingyu vanished.
Not in the usual way. Not like he turned a corner. One second he was standing there under drifting petals—the next, he was gone.
You staggered backward, almost falling.
Your heartbeat thudded loud in your ears.
“No,” you breathed.
You scanned the street over and over.
There was nothing.
No footsteps. No shadow. Just a warm spring wind and trees swimming in blossom.
Fear prickled beneath your skin—not because he disappeared, but because deep down, you kind of always knew he could.
You didn’t sleep.
Of course you didn’t sleep.
Every memory twisted itself into something new. How Mingyu never ate much, always guessed exactly when flowers would bloom, how his hands stayed cold at the start of spring and only warmed up later. And that sadness in his eyes as summer crept closer.
By sunrise, your chest felt hollow.
You skipped work.
You ghosted Hana’s anxious texts.
Then—like common sense had abandoned you years ago—you went looking for him.
You found him where you should’ve guessed: the hill above town. Magnolia trees everywhere.
Spring had arrived overnight, real and frantic—white flowers blanketed the hillside, sky so blue it almost hurt.
And there he was.
Sitting beneath the biggest magnolia, petals tangling in his dark hair.
Waiting. Like he knew you’d come.
“You lied to me,” you blurted.
Mingyu looked wiped out.
“I know.”
“You disappeared.”
“I know.”
“What are you?”
He actually flinched.
Silence settled in.
He patted the grass next to him.
You hesitated, then sat.
Up close, he looked different—paler, almost translucent in the sunlight.
Like he belonged to spring itself, spun out of blossoms and wind.
Mingyu watched the town below.
“Ever hear that old story about spirits coming back with the seasons?” he asked quietly.
Your stomach clenched.
“No.”
“In some versions, spring shows up because someone brings it back.”
A breeze swept petals across both of you.
“Mingyu…”
“I wasn’t supposed to stay this long with people.” His voice barely carried. “But then I met you.”
You forgot how to breathe.
He smiled faintly, still staring out.
“You were sixteen and yelling at a tree about your exam scores.”
“I was not yelling.”
“You called the education system emotionally oppressive.”
“…Alright, maybe a little.”
He laughed softly.
God. That sound.
“I kept coming back because of you,” Mingyu said. “Every spring.”
You watched him, heart breaking more with every sentence.
“What happens when spring ends?”
He fell silent.
And suddenly you got it. You understood why he never answered.
The truth was brutal.
“I disappear,” he finally said.
It broke you.
“No.”
“It’s always been this way.”
“No. There’s gotta be another way—”
“There isn’t.”
Your eyes stung.
“You’re just… okay with this?”
Mingyu’s expression fell apart, the bravest version of him gone.
“Do you think I want this?”
His voice cracked.
He turned, looking straight at you, eyes shining.
“I wait for spring every year, it’s the only time I can be here with you. You can’t imagine how terrifying it is to love someone, knowing you’ll have to leave them again.”
The wind spun the blossoms into wild circles.
Your chest hurt. You could barely swallow.
“Mingyu…”
“I tried staying away.”
You blinked.
“What?”
“Three springs ago.” He smiled, sad and small. “Thought maybe you’d move on if I didn’t come back.”
That had been the year spring was colder than ever.
The year you cried for someone you couldn’t explain to anybody.
“I never moved on,” you whispered.
He looked at you.
“I always come back.”
And none of it mattered.
Not the vanishing. Not the weird explanations. Not even the bruises that would grow after spring left again.
You loved him.
And maybe loving was picking someone even when you knew they couldn’t stay.
Your eyes blurred, but you leaned forward and kissed him.
Mingyu stiffened, stunned.
Then his hands shivered against your skin, and he kissed you back—soft, desperate, like he’d been waiting for years.
Petals swirled everywhere in the wind.
And, for a fleeting, perfect moment, the whole world bloomed with him.
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