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oftenderweapons · 3 years

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Mold Me New (4) – Taehyung

A Small Town Swoons story

Pairing: Taehyung x reader (nicknamed Frog — for now)

Wordcount: 4.7k

Genre: ceramic artist!Taehyung, divorced!reader, Strangers to Lovers, Fluff, Angst, Slice of Life

Rating: 18+ (for future smut and explicit thoughts)

Hello to my readers!!! Welcome to the Small Town Swoons Universe!🥰✨

In this episode: Frog and Taehyung have become very comfortable around each other, getting used to each other’s presence. Their bond grows even more once a ghost from the past comes back to haunt Taehyung. His natural response is growing even closer to Frog, relying on her completely for comfort and… a distraction.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Angsty themes in the second part (an “ex girlfriend” comes back, Taehyung puts up a wall, just a little). Frog starts asking herself questions about sexual attraction. There are some innuendos here and there. Taehyung receives unwanted attentions that make him deeply uncomfortable. That should be all.

The parts that look good were edited by the miraculous @joheunsaram (I recced one of her pieces right here in my main blog 💜)

In case you like my writing, here is my directory for idol!AUs, scenarios and imagines. Here is Tae and Frog’s music companion (spotify playlist, the playlist in case you wanna create it on other platforms)

Enjoy 💜✨

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7

Taehyung had become a comfortable addition to your life. He was steady and reliable — from your bi-weekly lessons, to drinks with his friends on the weekend.

Terry had extraordinarily managed to stay friends with both Jimin and Hoseok, occasionally taunting them, but overall keeping things neutral and platonic.

However, the one who was struggling with friendly, platonic feelings was you. It was difficult not to notice the way Taehyung always managed to predict your objections, your movements and your needs.

You felt a connection that made you feel weak, queasy, like clay gently sprinkled with water.

His lessons had become a secret guide to people and relationships.

The first time he had actually placed you at the wheel, helping you throw your first small bowl, he had given you the epiphany of a lifetime.

“Don’t let it dry too much. Too much water will mess it up. It will become too pliant and it won’t hold up.”

A revelation had struck you just then and there. That was it. The rule to love. You had bathed your ex husband in reassurance and affection, and just like that he had melted underneath your touch, and he had turned into nothing. And the love had run out.

“Every shape has its specific requirements,” Taehyung had explained, dipping your hands in the basin and letting the droplets fall from your fingertips. “Wet hands, but not drenched,” he had reminded you from the previous lesson. With a small nod he had invited you to press down the pedal lightly. “See, here we go. The clay will show how much water it needs. Easy on the pedal. Very slow. You’re warming it up. Be gentle. You’re not sure it’s good. Just like with people. Easy at first, and once it works you speed up,” he had smiled at the material underneath your hands.

“Gentle. Easy,” he had corrected you, his sinewy fingers gently leading your hands, recalibrating the pressure points. You had watched the greyish water stain his hands as he helped you. “That’s the secret to good things.”

In the following lesson he had taught you the importance of separation and remotion.

“It's been a few hours* what you have right there it's a leatherhard*. It's hard enough to withstand some pressure, but not ready to stand on its own,” Taehyung had shown you how to cut the bowl from the base, to turn it around and let it dry evenly.

“Still it wouldn't survive the kiln yet,” he explained. “You need all the water out. Water weakens the structure and your piece would crumble. And you would need to start anew,” Taehyung's delicate fingertips had lifted the piece, turning it around. “They're like children. One wrong move and, bam, you lose their trust and you need to earn it back, from ground zero. Yes, Frog. Just like that, easy with the pressure or you'll leave fingerprints,” he had scolded you, exhaling and closing his eyes once he noticed the damage had already been done.

You had looked at him with a sheepish grin, smiling apologetically.

What you didn't know is that he had scowled at the realisation that he simply could not keep a long face at you.

Taehyung had discovered an even weaker spot for you.

He had realised he liked you a lot.

You were quiet, observant, and incredibly intelligent.

And he liked chatting with you on your nights at the pub. And he liked your fashion sense.

He liked leaning his head against your shoulder, he was just extremely sorry he had to be half drunk to be brave enough — or to be somehow excused for the excess of clinginess.

He liked you, the cheerful and polite smile you wore while talking to Jimin and Terry indistinctly, like they had the same importance to you, no matter you had known Terry for ages and Jimin for a few weeks.

He liked the way you trapped the tip of your tongue between your lips while you focused on a piece, or the fact that once he had stopped by the bookshop, only to spot you curled up on an armchair with a fuzzy blanket on your shoulders while you read a book.

He had studied the sleepy smile you had offered him as he handed you a cup of tea that had just been brewed in Seokjin’s café. Taehyung had felt young and foolish as his smile mirrored yours. He’d wandered around the few shelves in your shop, studying a few books and asking questions about the organisation of genres on the shelves.

He asked for recommendations and chuckled as he noticed you growing increasingly chatty, disrupting your streak of quiet to passionately discuss authors and plots and publishing houses, little naive art books and detective novels and half unknown poets from entirely unknown countries.

It had been an amazing morning, with a lazy yellowy light floating in from the large windows.

After that, his visits to the bookshop had become more frequent, even stopping by during a reading date — which of course was not the two of you having a date, but rather other people coming in, mostly couples from university, to explore the shelves together, have that niche romantic academia experience, which sometimes meant that professors also came in with their husbands or wives. The loveliest of them all was the Ancient Greek professor, a seventy year old man who always came in with his wife, opening the door for her and walking around with her hand in his, usually stopping in front of the Russian section to see if they could find anything they liked. Taehyung had helped you create some artsy reading nooks that your customers truly appreciated.

The last month or so had been a blessing, for the both of you.

You both liked the steady, warm presence you could offer each other: he liked having you around because he felt less lonely, and because it was so easy to focus on you rather than the discomfort of loss; you enjoyed his respectful guidance, like a toddler still stumbling on their feet finds comfort in the parent walking right behind them; you felt free to move autonomously, but you also felt him there, never looking away in chase you needed a hand to hold. You had found a companion.

And with that many things started getting out of your control.

One in particular.

It was Tuesday afternoon and as usual the bookshop was closed. You parked your bike in Taehyung’s driveway, grabbing your tote and blushing a little as you fixed a classy, old school ribbon in your hair, covering the hair tie of your ponytail. You felt fickle and juvenile.

You felt romantic.

You felt ready to be pampered with tender guidance and soft touches, still strictly limited to your hands, always after mannered glances asking for your permission. With eager joy, you opened the door to the studio, only to notice an extra wheel beside the usual one.

And one extra person.

A woman.

Currently running her hand down Taehyung’s arm, toying with his fingers.

You blinked a couple times before you rebuilt your happy facade. “Oh, hi! Hello there!” you greeted with a smile.

Taehyung immediately took half a step away from the woman.

“Hello Frog, how are you today?”

“Happy,” you chirped in a way that had Taehyung warning immediately. He knew that kind of gleeful tone was dedicated to other circumstances — books, your friends, squealing when you managed to make a good piece. He frowned also because you weren’t one of those easily excited people.

What could have possibly made you want to show off so much happiness all at once?

“I’m glad,” he commented before noticing the extra wheel and suddenly remembering the guest.

“This is Dolly. Dolly is a fellow artist. She’s from a small town nearby. She is designing customised tableware for a resort cottage nearby. She’ll work with us today.”

You nodded, grabbing your apron — the only apron, you noticed — and got ready for the task of the day.

“Would you like to try making a plate for today?” he asked, taking out some premixed clay and preparing it on the table for you to wedge. “Or we could do some glazing while Dolly does her thing.”

“No, I could use two teachers,” you replied, trying to be inclusive, shushing all the unmotivated jealousy. How unreasonable!

“She won’t let you get away with things just because of your cute smile,” Taehyung warned, the stern reprimand sugared by the half hidden compliment.

“I almost don’t make mistakes anymore!” you complained before walking to the table, rolling up your sleeves and beginning to pat the corners of your piece of clay.

“Do you need me to do that?” he asked, feeling twice as apprehensive as usual.

“You could wedge some for me, Tae?” Dolly called, preparing a large disk and bringing it over to the table. “Please?” she cooed.

Taehyung agreed, feeling more comfortable at your side, both your foreheads growing sweaty with the warm spring weather and your arms getting sore as you worked the clay until it reached ideal plasticity.

“How was yesterday? I didn’t manage to bring you breakfast,” he mentioned almost casually as he started giving the final twists to the clay body.

“Oh, it was okay. Slow Monday. A couple teachers brought in some stuff to print. One of my parents’ friends asked me to grammar check her dissertation. I had a few books brought in for safety rebounding. Same old,” you said, sitting at the wheel and throwing the clay down. “How should I go about the plate?” you asked, looking up at Taehyung.

He was suddenly enchanted by your beauty as you looked up, a few rebellious locks escaping your hairband and making you look so unreal, so breathtaking and young.

Sometimes he forgot you were young.

Sometimes he even forgot he was young himself.

He was living the kind of fondness his grandma had always told him about, the kind of fondness she had met once sixty, ready to conclude her earthly struggles by herself. Instead, she had met an honest man, a widower who understood her past and her present.

The two had shared a quiet, tender feeling until she left. They were friends, they talked about the weather and gardening, went on walks, had picnics and went to church together. He always held her hand and kissed her forehead with a reverence Taehyung had never met.

Except for you.

He knew the only love he would never doubt was the one that accompanied his granny through her last days. He knew she passed a happy woman and that relieved him immensely.

Being the son of a single mother meant many complicated things, which included his mom moving half a continent away when he turned fourteen, chasing a man he barely knew.

He was glad he had his grandmother then, and the guys. Jimin and his family, although very complicated.

Taehyung didn’t understand the inner dynamics of relationships, and his lack of experience during high school had definitely not helped.

It’s not like he hadn’t tried, but he didn’t feel comfortable. He was always trying to learn while all the girls he had dated expected some sort of latin lover for unknown reasons — probably because of a rumour started by Jimin and Jeongguk, which had clearly, miserably failed.

All he could do was show kind devotion and gain continuous inspiration by the women in his life.

Pottery itself was an art he had learnt from his mother, who in turn had learnt from her mother. He had liked it from day one, like he had been called to it, made for it, even.

“Taetae please, could you help? I think I’m stuck,” Dolly whined, stopping to look at her attempt of dish. “What do you think?”

You tried to ignore the way her voice hurt your ears, leaving some clay aside to handbuild fruit for decoration to add later. Once done, you remodeled the amount for the plate in a round ball against your apron before throwing it a bit too aggressively on the wheel before starting to center.

“See, I’m not sure about the lip. Should i give it a wider edge or make it a bit… I don’t know. I kind of wanted it flat, with a slightly raised lip,” she pouted through her words, but you kept your focus, centering the piece flawlessly, repeating the procedure a few times, feeling the movements terribly familiar and comforting.

“It’s a good idea,” Taehyung confirmed, “a bit of a modern twist.”

“Aw, you’re so nice!” Dolly cooed, batting her lashes at him just as he turned to look at you.

“You’re still centering? All good?” he asked, noticing you stuck on holding the half dome under your palms, ready to bring it up again.

He let you go through the motion, finding himself the excuse of checking your technique only to stare at your strong but precise hands.

You went on without answering, letting the clay grow against your palms before feeling it peak and changing your grip, pushing your thumbs across and down.

“Good job, Frog,” he praised you, watching your face light up in a shy smile while you kept working the ball onto a large, thick disk.

“It’s a lot more than usual,” you commented with a sheepish grin.

“You’re doing perfect,” he reassured you. “Keep it even. Remember the ashtray-turned-jewellery plate?” he asked.

You nodded.

“Use the side of your hand. Press down harder,” he directed you. “Use your whole body, Frog. You’re handling a lot there, you need to be a bit more aggressive.”

He bit his lip before testing the waters. “Make it wetter, Frog.”

You felt yourself freeze for a second. You swallowed and dipped your dominant hand in the water.

“Don’t make it drip,” he corrected you.

“I’m gonna drench it,” you replied.

“Taetae—”

“Just a second, Dolly,” he replied absentmindedly. “Drench it, Frog.”

You obeyed.

“Gonna touch your back,” he warned you before you felt his forearms on your shoulders, pressing you down. “Use your whole weight. You need to make it to three inches. The thinner the easier.”

You felt his voice close to your ear.

“When it starts to drag, it’s too dry. Hug the side,” he rose and placed his palm against yours. “Just hold it. No pressure. Lovingly.”

“Tae—” Dolly called again.

He closed his eyes. “Just keep pressing,” he told you. “Tell me.”

“Can you help me with the lip?” Dolly asked, batting her lashes.

“First, make the base wider. Flatten it nicely, till the edge, then pinch the wall up. It will fall a little as it dries, but maybe we can find a way to secure it. If you make it short enough it should hold,” he explained professionally.

“Could you show me, please?”

He nodded. “Wait, Frog, stop there. Watch,” he commanded curtly.

You slowed down the wheel before stopping, holding your hands for a second before making sure that your piece didn’t get out of control.

“Okay,” you told him once you were ready.

“Come up here, I need you to see the details.”

You reached the two other people, Taehyung taking Dolly’s spot at the wheel. He fixed his stance before he wet his hands. Instinctively, his left palm went to hold the side while his right fingers grabbed a needle, measuring the thickness of the plate. “Just around two inches. And here it goes thicker, you see? Around three inches,” he showed, sticking the needle in.

“Did I do wrong?” Dolly asked, awfully dramatic.

“You just need to make it thinner,” he commented, already dipping a small sponge in the plate before squeezing it in the plate, still being very careful.

“Now, Dolly first used her fist — the side of it — and pulled it toward her to spread the clay lower. Repeat that several times. At least six or seven, based on the pressure you manage to apply. Then she used her fingertips, center out. Like this,” he said, showing the motion.

You felt ready to throw yourself out across the glass wall head first.

His middle finger pressed down with such firmness that you couldn’t not think of it doing very inappropriate things to your body.

You felt dumbstruck at the sudden thought, like it was some sort of exceedingly vivid dream, too realistic to actually be a dream.

“Rib next. Dolly didn’t use the rib properly here. She was too light.” He corrected the woman’s mistake, using his chest to press down, exhaling loudly as he did. “You have to go deep, Frog. Stay there. Be a bit stubborn.” He grinned. “Hold position.”

You nodded, licking your lips.

Dolly’s eyes were glowing with arousal next to you, his brow arching once he put down the rib after five minutes or so. “Wet fingers,” he reminded you, wiggling as gimey, grey water rolled down his wrists, the vision unfairly erotic for the dirt covering his hands, dripping down the hypervascular back of them, the veins of his forearms significantly thicker.

You shook your head with a grin as he wiggled his digits. “You put one inside, on the outside and press them together. Make sure you dig deep with the one on the inner side. You’ll want to press down firmly to collect all the material you’ll need for the lip. In this case, we keep pushing out, to further widen the plate and give it a short, erect lip.”

You were out of your mind, nodding just in hope to get away from torture.

“Oh, so that’s how I need to do the lip! Thank you Taetae!” Dolly exclaimed, giving you a way out.

You caught the chance immediately, sitting back at the wheel, drenching your hands before reapplying water to your piece.

“Wetter,” Taehyung called immediately.

Oh.

Your brain froze as you realised that wetter you were, indeed.

“Make a fist,” he ordered as he poured more water on your piece. “Press the side of your pinkie knuckle in the middle.”

You looked at him, crouched beside you, his mop of black hair tumbling back as his dark eyes met yours.

They hid so much longing, so much need for comfort. You read them immediately, nodding.

He placed his hand on top of yours. “Push down, Frog,” he murmured, in a way he hoped only the two of you would hear over the sound of the wheels’ engines. “Harder, lovely.”

You held your breath, his fingers and palm swallowing your fist entirely as he slipped his thumb into the hole created by your index and thumb. “Pull it towards you now,” he spoke softly. “Hard and slow, Frog,” he reminded you.

Your brain was far, far away, filled with questions about how you now found yourself comfortable about seeing Taehyung as a potential partner.

Duh. Because he knows you, dummy, the reply came instantly

Because he seemed to do everything just right for you, and when he ended up making a mistake, he seemed to know exactly how to ask for forgiveness and actually learn from his previous wrongdoings.

“Do I keep going?” you questioned, looking at him.

His face lit up slightly. “Yes, darling.” He let you go slightly after, cleaning up his hand.

You missed his guidance, but you convinced yourself you could do without.

“Slow down. Test the thickness,” he reminded you, offering the needle. “You did perfect, Frog,” he murmured with a fond grin.

“Really?” you reacted incredulously.

He confirmed, nodding as he stuck the needle along the side. “We need to work with your fingertips along the sides, here,” he showed, closing down the small puncture.

You wet your digits and placed your middle and ring finger on the center, slightly angled, letting them slide all the way to the edge as the wheel turned.

He assisted your outer hand, supporting it and showing how much pressure was needed.

“Keep going like this for a couple minutes. Make sure that it slims out. Just a few minutes—”

“Tae, do you think this is right?” Dolly asked with her squeaky voice.

His left hand grazed yours reverently as he parted from you.

Taehyung cruelly realised he was head over heels for you.

“It looks just fine to me, Dolly. I think you could give it a last test and then let it dry.”

“Yes, maybe you could give me some hands-on guidance with the next one. I could learn from a… master like you.”

You almost scoffed, giving a choked snort before you could actually control yourself.

“Uhm… I’m sure you just need to refine your timing.” Taehyung tried to evade the request.

During the rest of your lesson, you managed to throw two plates, even building a few decorations that would be added once the clay was leatherhard, in about twenty-four hours.

“I’ll add the decorations tomorrow,” Taehyung told you as you washed your hands. “Unless you want to stop by during lunch break.”

You dried your hands, thinking about his suggestion. “I think I’ll be busy tomorrow. You know, the Spring fair is soon and there’s some stuff I need to do.”

He pouted and nodded. “I’ll trim and decorate then,” he agreed. “If we’re having our Friday lesson, we can bisque them.”

You smiled and agreed.

“Maybe I can throw some plates for you and show you how to decorate while the kiln is working,” he reasoned, helping you to remove the apron once he noticed you were stuck in it.

“That would be lovely, if it’s not too much work for you!” you replied happily. You deposited the apron and caught your bag, fixing it on your shoulder. “It was a pleasure, Dolly!”

“Likewise!” she replied with a smile so sour it would have made milk curdle. “I’ll see you again!”

“Yes, for sure!” you cheered back, making your way out.

Taehyung accompanied you, almost as if you didn’t know the way. “I have a book to return,” he said, making you frown. He didn’t borrow any book from you.

“Uhm,” you started, trying to understand his intentions.

“Come in, I have it in the kitchen,” he said, leading you through the backyard.

“Taehyung,” you called, once you reached the door to his house, keeping your voice low. “Are you okay?”

He opened the door and led you through. His house was incredibly traditional compared to the way you had expected it to be.

“I’m… I just needed to check in on you. Dolly can be a very… loud… presence,” he said, grabbing a glass and a pastel pink porcelain pitcher. “Lemonade?”

You shook your head. “She is indeed very… loud.”

“I’m sorry,” he sat down and drank. He looked sad. Worried. “Are we okay, Frog?”

You stood at his side, looking at him before delicately placing your hand on his shoulder. “I’m okay, but are you? You look terrified of being in there with her.”

He placed both elbows on the table and held his head. “I’m just very tired today.”

Your hand moved to his nape, feeling the corded muscles. “Tell her you’re tired and that you’re calling it a day. I can make up an excuse for you.”

You were reminded just how much he had clung to you for the whole lesson. If she was giving him special attention, he clearly didn’t want it.

“Would you do that?” he asked, suddenly hopeful.

You frowned. “Of course?” you reacted, playfully disappointed in his lack of faith. “We can stay here. I can read, you can nap or watch the tv. We just need to make her understand it’s time to go. I’ll hide my bike and wait for you here. You’ll go in there and tell her Jimin or someone called and they need your help.”

“Are you sure you want to spend the afternoon like this? I mean, it’s your free day.”

You shrugged. Your plans were going home, getting rid of the awful tension running down your back and possibly going to the shop for some cleaning, maybe work on that dissertation… “You’re my friend. And yes, I want to help you.”

Taehyung knew that some people would have been highly disappointed by being called ‘friend’ by their crush, but that made him feel warm, like he was wrapped in a cosy comforter. “Go hide the bike,” he said, grinning like a child.

You grinned right back at him, starting down the corridor with long strides. He helped you choose a nice spot, hiding your bike between the house and the bushes tracing the outline of the garden.

After fifteen minutes or so, you heard Dolly’s annoying voice as she said something like “call me if you need help with Jiminie”, dramatically bidding Taehyung goodbye.

From the window, you watched her get inside a car in front of the house, Taehyung appearing a few minutes after. “We. Are. Free,” he panted theatrically as he flopped on the sofa, throwing his head back.

“Why did you let her come?” you asked, staring at him from your spot by the window.

“Because she’s an old friend. I met her way before she became like that,” he admitted. “I hadn’t seen her in ages. And now she’s clearly trying to get back in my life, using the commission as an excuse.” Taehyung rubbed his temples.

For half a second you wondered whether it was a good idea to ask. Would it make any difference? You realised it would. “Were you… In a relationship?”

“If for ‘relationship’ you mean ‘let’s fuck him so I can complete the friends collection’, then yes.” Taehyung propped his forearms on his knees, exhaling heavily.

You hissed, feeling slightly uncomfortable. You didn’t know what to do. “If you’d like to rest, I can go home,” you said, looking at him with cold, uncertain eyes.

He met your stare, suddenly feeling confused, scared even. He frowned and crossed his arms, trying to put some distance after he noticed his refuge turn hostile to him. “You can go,” he said, shrinking within his shoulders, trying not to show how much he feared being alone.

What he didn’t know is that you could feel the hurt in his voice and the pain in his eyes like needles sinking in your skin. You walked to him, touching his hair hesitantly, feeling wary about not receiving spoken permission.

You watched him bloom under your touch, his lungs inflating with a large inhale. He exhaled way more slowly, taking his time. “Do you want me to go?” you asked, letting your hand slide down the side of his face.

He shook his head, placing his hand atop of yours, holding it there just in case you foolishly thought he didn’t need your touch anymore. “Can you stay?”

You placed both your hands on his hair, cupping his face. “I’ll read, you take a nap.”

He watched you move your free hand away, putting down your tote and grabbing a book. He grabbed your wrist, staring at you with his dark puppy eyes. “Can you sit here? Close?”

You smiled and nodded, settling at his side before he grabbed a blanket, spread it wide and laid down, nuzzling closer, inch by inch, until you found his head on your lap.

“Can I?” he asked, adorably, his cheeks puffy and his eyes glittering vivaciously.

You smiled back at him and nodded. Fondly, you moved your book aside, watching him close his eyes contentedly as your thigh became his pillow.

After a couple pages, you almost thought he had fallen asleep already, only to realise you were mistaken once he reached for your free hand and brought it to his hair.

“Cuddle?”

You smiled even brighter, tracing the shell of his ear before starting to hand-comb his soft, dark locks.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered gently, barely holding back as you looked at his face, peacefully relaxed.

Your heart was a messy thing, but in that moment you realised that, could you have a new one, you would gift it to him and never ask for it back.

Taglist is open

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7

#taehyung fluff #taehyung x reader #kim taehyung fanfiction #thetruthuntoldnnet #thebtswritersclub #taehyung strangers to lovers #taehyung angst

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amethystpath-writes · 4 years

Text

Can Only Move the Eyes

Original Work

Can Only Move the Eyes

@badthingshappenbingo

Small Description: an immortal sorceress is trying to rid herself of immortality by taking the life of the one she loves.

******

You're strong, the lady's voice said, but not strong enough to counter my powers.

If Tysin could growl, he would have, but he couldn't move. Even his breaths were controlled by the sorceress at his side.

Have you had training? Defense against magic? the sorceress, named Giladiasana- Sana, for short- asked Tysin in his head. He could answer if he wanted, think a response loudly enough that she would hear, but he didn't care to talk to a woman who was about to bleed him dry.

Sana pushed a hard barrier on his mind, causing a sharp sting, one that would have made Tysin take a sharp intake of breath and even hold his head, but all he could do was squeeze his eyes shut. That was meant to happen differently, she whispered in his head.

When Tysin opened his eyes again, he glanced around, head unmoving, but eyes darting about. There was glass everywhere. Mostly bottles full of discoloured liquids. Other pieces of glass- colourful ones- dangled about on strings. Tysin assumed it was sea glass. The sorceress's hut was an alcove by the beach so it made sense.

You're ignoring me. Very nice. Sana purred in his mind and it felt to Tysin like it wrapped around his brain. He felt dizzy despite being entirely still.

Why shouldn't I? he finally replied. You pretended to be a friend and now I'm paralyzed. He laughed mentally and added, But let me guess. I should be grateful that I can move my eyes, right?

The sorceress crossed the room. She left Tysin's field of vision as he was laid down. Still, she reached out to his mind. How powerful was she? Depends, Sana sighed. Would you feel better if I kept your eyes closed while I did this?

In truth, he wasn't sure if not seeing was better or worse. Sure the sorceress' home was somewhat fascinating to look at- even if his vision was limited- but wouldn't it be a taunt when she finally dragged a blade across his arm and he began bleeding out? He'd rather see the sky while he died than a bunch of dried roots, twigs, and strange shapes made of clay.

Why are you doing this? Why me?

Which should I answer first?

Sana entered Tysin's sight again. If he could have, he would have lunged at her from his table. Just answer.

You're angry, she observed first. You don't have to be. I don't intend on killing you. I like you.

Tysin would have scoffed at this, except he couldn't imagine scoffing without his chest huffing, and his chest couldn't move. It was like his mind forgot what scoffing was without actually having the action. Whereas laughing was mostly a sound, scoffing required an attached feeling. He didn't have that feeling. It was odd. He blamed Sana.

As for why you...well it's what I just said. I like you, and I don't want to get rid of you. If you had been someone else, I might have killed you to complete my goal. But... Tysin rolled his eyes. The sorceress needed to stop pretending she had any amount of feeling for him. She was cleaning a damn blade so that she could cut him open. She didn't like him. She was keeping him, like a pet. You knew I was different from the moment you met me. You're observant like that. You knew there was something dangerous about me, but you still befriended me.

And this is how you repay me. Again, he wanted to scoff, but the concept was absent. Will it hurt? he asked instead. When I bleed out, will it hurt?

The cut would hurt, but I'll make sure you don't feel it, she said. Tysin was pissed hearing the genuineness in her voice. He refused to believe she felt any remorse for this. And anyway, I'm not bleeding you out, not fully. I'll have to do this a few times. The worst to happen is you'll feel faint and get a few headaches, but I have herbs to help with the latter.

Tysin didn't reply. He was confused- and angry, but mostly confused. Because she did sound sincere. She did sound like she cared, and like she didn't want to hurt him. But if she didn't want to...then why was she? What do you need me for? Why my blood? What are you using it for? He wanted to ask again, why him? Why not some other man or woman she'd met? Why did it have to be someone she apparently cared about? There were too many questions, and it seemed like there weren't enough answers. What she was doing was heathenish and no explanation could be enough.

I'm selfish, Sana told him. There was a long pause and Tysin's chest rose suddenly as the sorceress' did, too. She must have accidentally projected her own actions onto him. His eyes went wide at the swell of feeling. At the same time his chest had rose, he felt something ripping in his arm.

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean-

The pain in his arm increased and he screamed, his arm jerking to his chest. The skin on his chest felt warm, and he discovered he had mobility in his neck again as he looked down. Sana's control over him had slipped and he felt the pain she caused. She'd stuck the knife in his arm and it was bleeding now, bleeding through his shirt and settling on his skin.

"Tysin, I didn't- I'm sorry. I meant to numb you, but I- What am I doing?" sana sounded angry with the last question.

She rushingly put a hand on Tysin's shoulder, and he fell still again. His arm stung as it slammed against the table. He would have grunted but Sana had control again. His eyes were stuck in a pained squint. They burned as he couldn't blink.

"I've never-" Sana paced beside the table. Tysin didn't see the knife anymore. Had she dropped it. "I don't want to do this," she stressed. "But it's all I want, too." Was she sniffling? "You can still feel. Shit."

In the next moment, the pain in Tysin's arm was gone, and so was the warmth of his own blood on his chest when he cradled his arm. His eyes could move again, too, and he found himself actually be grateful that she'd decided to let them move unlike the rest of his body.

"You know what, I'm just going to say it." Sana took a deep breath. "There's a lot to it, but I'll simplify it as much as I can." Another breath. "I'm not just a sorceress, or a witch, or whatever you want to call me. Before that, I was- you'll never believe me..." Sana sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I'm a god. Or was. I was a god before I was made a sorceress on this Earth. And I'm immortal. I know it sounds crazy; I'm not even sure that you believe in the gods, but they do exist. The gods are real and they're the reason that I'm here as I am.

"I wanted to be mortal. I didn't want to be a god anymore, and they called me cowardice for wanting to abandon my powers and control. But I...life isn't worth living if you can't die. Why should I like to create if what I create has an expiration date and I don't? I want to die, Tysin. I don't want to live forever."

What does this-

You can talk. Sana nodded at him.

Tysin let his lips part before licking them. He tested his jaws, opening and closing his mouth and letting his teeth clack together. He ran his tongue along the backs of his teeth and along the skin of his cheek.

Finally, he spoke, "What does any of that have to do with me?" he asked. He didn't say whether or not he believed her outlandish story.

She swallowed. "They punished me," she explained. "They put me on a land of mortals and made me into another immortal, a one-of-a-kind. They made me into a target on this land. Witches were a scary tale created by mortals and the gods made it real, made me into that fictional form. I still want to die, so they surrounded me with death, and made it so that I can still never die."

Tysin gave a blank look. This still had nothing to do with him. She was avoiding the answer.

Sana caught onto his impatience and nodded, getting on with it all. "They have given me a choice. I still value the mortals as my creation. They are precious to me. So..." She sighed like she had done so often today. "I can obtain a mortal life for myself, but only if I kill a mortal I love." Sana walked closer to the table so that she could look Tysin in the eyes. "And I love you, but...I can't kill you. I won't." Her brows pinched together. "But I have to." Sana shook her head.

"You asked if it would hurt and before you asked that, I was still considering following through. I'm selfish, I'll say it again. But when you asked me that...I couldn't let you die. So what I want to do now is..." She grunted in aggravation. "There's so much playing into this. Okay, there are about 5.7 liters of blood in a human's body. And since blood is what allows for life, I must take yours for myself- drink it. What I want to do now, because I won't kill you, is I'll take 5.7 liters of your blood, but over a course of time. I'll take some today, let you recover. Take more another day, recover. And I'll keep doing that until I have enough to equate to one life."

Sana smiled, for the first time today. "Then we can both be mortal and I can love you until we both die. I won't have to be afraid of the person I love dying and therefore having to live on my own without them."

Tysin was almost in shock at the overload. "That...wasn't very simplified."

She gave a huff of a laugh, eyes bright.

"Let me get this straight. You want to take my life so that you can experience death?"

"In a way. I'm not actually taking your life because I won't be killing you, but yes. I am taking your blood so that we can be together."

What makes you think I want to be with you? Who was she to believe he would just be okay with her taking his blood? Sana was out of her mind! Sure she was a sorceress; he believed that in full. But an immortal god? One that needed his blood to overcome a neverending life? No. No, she was crazy.

But, he supposed, this is more up to my own selflessness now.

Sana could find another person to love. Love was limitless and could be presented in many forms. There's motherly love and platonic love. Romantic and admiration. Sana could make a new friend and do this to them instead of Tysin, but it didn't seem okay to do that. This was now a test of Tysin's morals, not the sorceress'. Could he be as selfish as her? Put someone else's life at risk or have them bled out day by day like Sana was proposing she do to him? No. Absolutely not.

"It's okay," Tysin said to the sorceress leaning over him. It wasn't okay. Not at all, but he wouldn't risk someone else's life for his own. Wouldn't make someone else go through being cut open ever day or week or however often it might happen to him. Tysin considered asking Sana to go ahead and kill him, but he knew she wouldn't do that. She loved him so much that she lost control even when she'd first hurt him with the knife. "Do what you must."

******

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