Instinctively, Chan rubbed his palms up and down Mihn’s trembling shoulders, aiming to soothe. He got snapped at and shrugged off for his efforts. She didn’t move away from him, though. Simply stepped in front of him, shielding him with her body.

Was this adorable witch really that much of a threat?

Hanji had gotten the lid of the barrel off, and dipped his finger in. 

Mihn tensed. She stood fists balled, knees bent, and ready to pounce. Her purple ponytail practically bristled.

Chan didn’t know what Hygrim nectar did, but he hoped against hope it was nothing harmful. If it was, he wasn’t sure if he should stop Mihn from lunging at the witch or not. She could incapacitate him quickly, but what if she got hurt in the process? Did Chan need to grab her and run?

But Hanji just brought his shaking, glistening finger to the rim of his glasses, drawing the clear, sharp-smelling liquid around the circle of one lens. He muttered an incantation, the single lens flashed once, and then Hanji’s eyes were roving all over Mihn. (Chan didn’t like that one bit.) 

“What did you do?” Chan asked cautiously, burying his own unease beneath a calm voice. He didn’t want to be the spark in their tense tableau: Mihn balanced on the balls of her feet, Hanji smooshed against the barrels, Chan hovering beside them with empty hands, swirling dust motes the only things in motion.

“I’m seeing truth right now,” Hanji said softly. The sparkling tears were gone from the corners of his eyes. He stood up slowly, meeting Mihn’s furious gaze with something akin to pity. “How did this happen to you?”

What? Chan looked back and forth between the adorable witch and his upset partner, something nasty curdling in his gut. 

Though Chan had no idea what Hanji was talking about, Mihn clearly did. She took two swift steps back from Hanji as if he’d thrust a spear at her, hands spasming out of their fists only to freeze into claws.

 “I’ll be outside,” she muttered, not meeting anyone’s eye. A moment later, she was gone, the door swinging shut behind her. 

The shop was silent, save for Hanji’s loud breaths and Chan’s blood whooshing in his ears. Something was very, very wrong. He swung towards the witch. “What was that about? What did you see?”

Hanji bit his lip, looked at Chan sidelong. “You two are… what are you?”

Chan didn’t see how that was relevant. “We’re co-workers. Friends,” he barked. That curdled nastiness was growing, multiplying like festering bacteria in his gut. What could make Mihn back down so quickly, make her flee instead of fight? What was so pitiful that it turned firecracker Mihn into…whatever that was?

“For how long?” Hanji asked intently, those cute round eyes flashing with caution and intelligence. Now, he looked like the greatest witch of the age.

Chan needed to know what was wrong with Mihn. He needed a straight answer, not these wishy-washy questions. Heat leaked into his voice even as he kept a grip on his civility. “A while. Years! Why did you ask Mihn that? What did you see?”

Hanji sighed mightily. “If he hasn’t told you himself, I probably shouldn’t. Also, I’ll come.”

Chan barely kept his hands from gripping that oversized hoodie and shaking the cute little witch until his skull rattled. What the hell did that mean?

Still reeling, it took Chan a few seconds to follow Hanji’s topic change. He went along with it, because he really didn’t want to give in to his own frustration. 

He ground out, “You’ll come?”

Hanji nodded briskly. “Yeah, to Anjeon. Let me get some supplies and I’ll be right out. How’d you guys get here?”

“Flying carpet. A small one,” Chan answered, staring holes into Hanji’s forehead. What did the witch see? Something Mihn had kept from him. Something that suddenly made Hanji willing to come to the Reserve. What was it?

“I’ll use mine, then.” With that, the witch disappeared into the hazy depths of his shop.

Chan didn’t waste another moment, sprinting to the front door and wrenching it open. Light and noise and stench assaulted him instantly, pushing him deeply off balance. If it bothered him this much, he was certain Mihn was moments from flying off the handle. Wherever she was.

He squinted, looking around for his partner. When he didn’t see her immediately, his heart picked up the pace. Don’t disappear, Mihn. Not when you’re so upset. I don’t want to break up a fight right now. 

Injae’s comment about wrangling Mihn burst into his mind, and Chan laughed humorlessly. Even he, who knew her better than anyone else did, despaired in the face of controlling her. 

Chan paced uselessly in front of Hanji’s shop for a few seconds before spying a familiar profile at a food cart halfway down the street. His shoes skidded over unsavory substances in his haste to get there. When he did, he grabbed Mihn’s shoulder and whipped her around. “Are you okay?”

She stared at him blankly, glistening teeth digging into meat on a skewer. 

Chan searched her face, her body for any of the…whatever that had made her tremble, made her flee from the shop. He found nothing but nonchalance.

Mihn’s lips stayed far from the meat as she tugged it off the skewer with her teeth. Then she tipped it toward Chan. Her tongue flashed as he asked, “Want some?”

Now Chan knew something was wrong. Mihn hated sharing meat. Snacks? Yes. Fruits? Always. Sweets? Usually. But never meat.

“Do I–no. No, I don’t.” Chan crowded closer to her, wishing they were anywhere but this crowded street. “Mihn, what was that back there?”

Mihn brushed past him, chewing peacefully. Chan followed helplessly. 

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. She licked her lips and asked, “Where are we going now? Back to Anjeon? Or to find a different witch?” Her bland neutrality made Chan’s heart hurt. She should be raging, shouting, snarling. 

You don’t need to hide from me. Chan wanted to push, push, push until he got an answer. But that was not how one behaved toward Mihn.

So Chan shoved his questions and his hands to the back of his head. “Hanji changed his mind. He’ll come. Right now.”

Mihn didn’t so much as quirk an eyebrow. What did the witch see when he looked at you, Mihn? “Okay, then.”

Chan grit his teeth to keep a scathing reply from tumbling out. 

They stood in the awkward silence of forced casualness for a few seconds, Chan’s hands straining against each other behind his head, Mihn slipping another chunk of meat off her skewer. She didn’t offer it to Chan.

The shop door opened, spitting out an over-burdened Hanji. He wore a backpack almost bigger than him, and held a rug under each arm. He looked at Mihn, then at Chan, and Chan wondered if his glasses were still helping him see truth, whatever that meant.

“Here,” said the witch, weakly tossing one carpet towards Chan. “This one’s yours, right?”

Chan unrolled it and nodded when the familiar threadbare pattern hit the light, clenching his jaw. 

Hanji shook his rug out at waist-height with a flourish, then fell forward. The hovering carpet dipped a bit, hugging him like a cuddly dog. “Ready when you are,” he said, head swiveling between the Rangers.

“I’m na’ ready,” Mihn said around a mouthful of meat. Chan sighed. There was one chunk left on the skewer. How long would she draw it out, just to be a pain?

Chan unfurled their carpet and clambered on belly-first. What happened to you, Mihn? Tell me so I can help. I just want to help. The inside of his throat suddenly tightened with embryonic tears that he would not give birth to.

Mihn did take her time, eyes unfocused as she savored the food. Hanji’s and Chan’s expectant gazes didn’t bother her in the slightest, and only after she swallowed down the last of the meat and stabbed the skewer into the mortar between the bricks of Han’s shop, did she slink over and flop onto Chan’s back.

“Ready now?”

“Obviously.”

Chan sighed, told Hanji “Follow me,” and directed the carpet to soar up, up, up above the city and into the pure winds that cleansed the urban stench from Chan’s nostrils. They couldn’t cleanse Chan’s frustration, longing, and hurt from him, though. No, that work was done by Mihn’s warm, living body. 

Each breath pushed her chest more firmly into his back, each heartbeat tapped against his spine, a calming, trusting rhythm. Each of her inhales took some of his hurt and exhaled it out for him. Each heartbeat reminded him that Mihn trusted him enough to climb on a high-speed death carpet with him and let Chan take the reins. It wasn’t the kind of trust that Chan ached for, but it was something. Actually, it was a lot.

As they flew back to Anjeon, Chan calmed. What did the witch see, Mihn? But the question wasn't tinged in the putrid yellow of desperation or anger. Now, it floated atop the wide pool of his patience like a lotus, preserved until the right time to ask it came.