The schedule of Seonghwa's days shifted to accommodate more time for Hongjoong and soon, his mother noticed. Seonghwa got up early in the mornings to do all his work and returned late at night, utterly exhausted. Several times, he lost his orientation within their small home because he was so tired and one time; he started boiling water when they agreed to have bread and cheese in the evening.

Since she liked the permanent smile on his features that lifted the woeful gloom of the dying village, she didn't push him to sleep more. Whenever he came home and saw her waiting for him, he lit up and told her magnificent stories of his adventures. By now, he knew the mountains well, and he was unafraid of the graveyard. He even wanted to explain to the priest how the souls of the dead were nothing to fear and could be bartered with.

A few days after Hongjoong touched his nape so unexpectedly, Seonghwa's mind still kept returning to that moment, their peculiar conversation. He was scared to take the collar off suddenly after wearing it for so long. Believed it might be protecting him from the disease and that he would fall deathly ill upon removing it.

Or worse, that it had truly grown into his flesh and tugging on it would peel his skin off.

So, after spending another day touching his nape absent-mindedly and pondering on his path home from planting fresh flowers with Hongjoong, Seonghwa finally gathered his courage. He sat by their stew, stirring the leftovers of the prior day for their dinner, when the unyielding thoughts finally found their outlet.

"Mother... Why do I always wear this collar? From when I was a child, I never took it off. What does it mean? Others are well equipped without one," he mumbled, not looking up.

Yes, it would be best to ask his mother first. She would know. If she passed before Seonghwa ever asked, he might never take it off and the leather would become part of him.

A beat of silence passed. Usually, the breathing of his mother was so ragged, so the sudden stillness was so deafening, Seonghwa believed to hear the snowflakes settle on the roof. He bit his lip, didn't stop stirring. He was sorry to question her, but it became inevitable to wonder as he got older. Wooyoung mentioned he felt warm without a collar, too. What if Seonghwa only wore it if he went outside?

"Why bring it up, Seonghwa?"

Since she was brittle with her age and her inherent weakness of body, Seonghwa heard no rage in her voice. But he knew she was nervous. Felt her motherly nag.

"I... I just wondered. I always wear it, day and night. Wooyoung never had one. I was fearing it might grow into my flesh."

Seonghwa was a poor liar. And she knew. She had known him all his life.

"Did your new friend bring this up?"

Right, who else? No one in the village questioned it as they grew up to Seonghwa wearing it at all times. In winter, everyone often forgot since it was hidden under his scarves and coats. For the longest time, Seonghwa had also forgotten.

Hongjoong's cold touch lingered on his skin. Made him shudder when he thought back on it.

"He was curious about it, but he didn't ask me to take it off. Only to be careful."

"It won't grow into you," his mother whispered, and her voice was firm. Sure of herself, or convinced she was right?

After a beat of silence, Seonghwa just hummed. Was it so bad to take it off once to check? Or was she afraid he would make it a habit? Was whatever it protected him from such an imminent threat?

Now that the mystery was still unsolved, even though he had become an adult, the topic became uncomfortable. Seonghwa should know about himself and about what he wanted, no? He knew his parents looked out for him, but wasn't his worry also relevant?

When he frowned to himself, his mother spoke again without looking up. Felt his hesitation in the air.

"Perhaps you shouldn't visit that place anymore. He teaches you so many peculiar things. Be at ease with what you know, Hwa. The world out there is a scary place."

"Hongjoong isn't scary," Seonghwa protested without missing a beat. He liked going to the tomb, and he liked to learn. In the past months, all the joy of life left this village. Being healthy alone while all his friends died left a dark mark on Seonghwa's spirit. Hongjoong was good for him, peculiar as he might be. He never meant ill. And he promised to help where the court still hadn't replied to their pleas.

"Dark forces gather around the graveyard and the mountains. You know the tales. Hongjoong might also become their victim," his mother warned, but Seonghwa was stubborn. He would keep his new friend.

When Seonghwa didn't reply, his mother sighed. The times of blind obedience were over and all she could do was hope for the best for her child.

And Seonghwa was careful. Didn't trust foolishly. Hongjoong demonstrated he was kind-hearted even to the dead.

"Don't take it off," she said instead, and the plea in her voice was so desperate that Seonghwa's heart softened.

"I won't," he muttered, loyal to her wisdom and scared himself of what might happen. "I just wanted to know."

He received no answer, but his mother was soothed. Even if she couldn't hold him back from visiting the tomb in the mountains, the collar would protect him.

When they ate together, she made the effort of a brittle smile that didn't reach the hollow of her sunken eyes. Grateful, Seonghwa grinned back and didn't bring it up again. If it was safer, he would listen to his mother over the friend he had just recently met.

There was nothing more to worry about.

-

The days passed, and the snow melted around the well. Seonghwa visited Hongjoong at least every second day and they spent lots of time together. Gathered branches outside to build protective talismans, sorted the storage and made more potions. Their finished crystals got stored in the coffins of the wandering spirits inside the hall and while he had blanched upon gazing at their dusty skeletons, Seonghwa dutifully helped Hongjoong place them so everyone found their rest. Seonghwa learned how spell circles got drawn and Hongjoong even taught him how to read a few of the symbols he wrote in.

While winter was in its last breaths, the people of the village felt better. Fewer died and most symptoms had halted their growth. The baker lady even recovered from her cough and the delight spreading among the people ignited Seonghwa as well.

On yet another morning, after helping their smiling faces while everyone assured Seonghwa they could soon repay him for his help, Seonghwa scaled the mountain with a merry skip in his step.

Hongjoong had been right. In putting the dead to rest, he dispelled the misery lingering over the area. Seonghwa had truly helped him improve everyone's health, and he was immensely proud and grateful for that.

After all, his mother had been wrong. Hongjoong meant to help, and despite his withdrawn and complex character, he was a good person.

Today, Hongjoong sat on a mothy carpet in the corner of the room. His cauldrons didn't need intense care today, but he kept them close to keep an eye on. When Seonghwa entered, he found him cosy among the graves, surrounded by his shadowy friends and all his books.

Seonghwa knew so many of the spirits by now. Heard their stories from Hongjoong and discovered their graves where their bones rested at peace, not suiting their haunted souls.

Yunho had once been a court jester, and he had been dead the longest of them all. His jokes were honest and mischievous and he boasted a protection by the royal family where the heads of anyone else mocking them would roll immediately. Nevertheless, a single joke at an ill-timing got him beheaded. And for being asked to tell his jokes yet getting killed for it, he was still miserable.

Another knight was named Yeosang. He was the one cradling his guts. He fought and died in honest glory for his king, only to find out after passing that his body had been thrown into a pit, untended to and without any gratitude for giving his life for his ruler. Though that king was long since dead, Yeosang remained upset he wasn't honoured.

Then there was Mingi, the one who appeared as a snake. In life, he had been a stable hand, innocent of most palace schemes and kind in his daily work. He had fallen under the treason of that advisor, betraying the last king of this castle. Burnt to a crisp even when he never got involved in the battle and never lifted a blade. Like a snake, he assumed a new skin, so he didn't have to think back to the gruesome death he suffered.

San was the last in the bunch. Though elusive, his grin always unsettled Seonghwa when it appeared behind his shoulder. He wore the tail of a lion and sprouted two heads, one smiling and one twisted with anguish. He had been the playmate of the late king, cradling him yet relaying sensitive information to the advisor. Thinking he helped create a better country, he burdened the guilt of dismantling the kingdom along with the traitors.

There were some others. Fleeting ones. But these four seemed most fond of Hongjoong and often lingered with the pair. Today, as well, they perched around the blanket. Prodding at Hongjoong's items or even just sitting in wait to watch what he would do today.

When Seonghwa neared, Hongjoong put the books aside and asked Seonghwa to bring out the herbs they had been drying over the past few days. The ghosts scurried along, making faces at him and giggling in their mischief. They seemed somewhat fond of Seonghwa and even more invested in the friendship blossoming between the two unlikely humans.

Never sure if their joy was genuine, Seonghwa hoped it would distract them enough not to become wrathful before Hongjoong could put them to rest.

Seonghwa returned with the herbs and perched next to Hongjoong. They bundled the various dried stalks into handfuls of a kind, measured in portions, so Hongjoong could easily tell Seonghwa how many stalks to bring for a brew.

It was a relaxing task to do and even when it was tied to Hongjoong's bigger-scale project and not explicitly a cure for the village, Seonghwa knew Hongjoong didn't forget about it. The work he did already absolved the people of Seonghwa's home from their pain, and he couldn't be happier to help along.

Since Hongjoong was such a quiet fellow, Seonghwa made it a habit to talk about everything and nothing. He told Hongjoong about the village, about its people, about his home and his mother. Sometimes, it was impossible to tell if he listened. He barely reacted, but ever so occasionally, he piped in with a question and Seonghwa's chest warmed at the thought of being heard.

So he just never stopped. Whisked away the loneliness and assured the ghosts that life went on and kept its beautiful facets.

They spent a day like that. Sitting together to knit herbs. Seonghwa had never seen Hongjoong eat, so he made it a habit to munch in between during brief breaks. Today, his fingers tasted of rosemary and sage when he bit into his cheese.

While he nibbled away, Hongjoong sorted his herbs into their respective boxes. After that, he lingered, kneeling before Seonghwa while his staff rested on the ground by their sides. Somehow, Seonghwa knew he was being watched.

As he gulped down the water to wash out his mouth, he was about to ask if they had forgotten something, but Hongjoong spoke first.

"I like you, Seonghwa."

Swallowing just in time not to choke on his water, Seonghwa gaped at Hongjoong. The confession was so sudden that his mind was wiped blank, unable to understand or even dare to think about his own emotional state.

But Hongjoong didn't demand an answer from him. He merely picked up the box to bring it to the storage shelves while Seonghwa sat there with his nape and cheeks burning with his blush, wondering if his heart had ever beaten so fast and lively in his chest.