Archive of Our Own

The crooked sign swinging above the ramshackle stall read:

“H. LEE — WIZARD FOR HIRE. POTIONS, CHARMS, CURSES (NEGOTIABLE).”

It was a lie, but that had never stopped Haechan before.

Lee Donghyuck, who had long ago decided that “Haechan” sounded more mysterious wasn’t much of a wizard at all. He had a few sparks of magic in him, sure, but nothing impressive. His real gift lay in performance. Theatrics, sleight of hand, a silver tongue that could make a seashell sound like a dragon scale or a vial of dyed water pass for a potion of eternal youth.

He perched lazily on a stool behind the stall, twirling a painted shell between his fingers. A little shimmer powder, a little story, and boom five silver. He’d sold three already this week.

Business was good.

At least, until the stranger arrived.

The boy had kind eyes, dark hair damp with travel, and clothes worn from the road but carefully mended. A lute was strapped across his back, and he looked around the marketplace as if everything shouting vendors, chickens darting between stalls, the smell of spices was a wonder.

When his gaze landed on Haechan’s stall, he smiled.

That should have been Haechan’s first warning.

“Excuse me,” the boy said, voice warm and careful. “Are you really a wizard?”

Haechan leaned back, twirling the seashell like it might explode. “Depends who’s asking. And how much they’re willing to pay.”

The boy’s ears went faintly pink. “Ah—I’m Mark. I’m traveling to the northern mountains, and… well, I was hoping for a charm of protection. Just in case.”

Haechan’s lips twitched. Easy target.

“You’ve come to the right place,” he said smoothly. He plucked another shell from under his stall, muttered gibberish, blew across it dramatically, then wrapped it in cloth before presenting it with a flourish. “Dragon scale. Guarantees safe passage. Rare, but… for you, ten silver.”

Mark’s eyes went wide. He held the bundle reverently, as if afraid to drop it. “Wow. Really? That’s incredible.” He dug coins from his purse and pressed them into Haechan’s palm without hesitation.

Haechan watched him walk away, grin tugging at his lips. He’d scammed plenty before, but none quite so earnest, so trusting. He almost felt bad. Almost.

He didn’t expect to see him again.

So when Mark appeared the next morning, beaming like the sun, Haechan nearly dropped his fake dragon scale.

“It worked!” Mark said, practically glowing. “Bandits passed me on the road last night they didn’t even glance at me! Your magic must’ve scared them off.”

Haechan blinked. “...Obviously.”

“And then it didn’t rain, even though the sky was dark all day! You’re amazing, Haechan.”

Something unfamiliar tugged in Haechan’s chest. Guilt? Annoyance? He wasn’t sure. But Mark’s smile was far too bright for someone who’d just been conned.

Against his better judgment, Haechan found himself saying, “Come back tomorrow. I’ll prepare you something stronger.”

Mark came back. Again. And again.

Each time, Haechan sold him nonsense:

• a “warding potion” (dyed wine),

• a “shadow cloak” (plain black fabric with glitter sprinkled on it),

• a “truth stone” (a pebble Haechan picked from the river).

Each time, Mark returned with stories: the potion helped him escape wolves, the cloak kept him from freezing, the stone made a stranger tell him the way to the mountains.

Renjun, who often loitered near the stall to heckle Haechan, nearly choked on his tea. “He actually believes you?”

Haechan shrugged, pocketing coins. “Hey, don’t knock my craft. The man pays, the man’s happy. Win-win.”

“Or,” Renjun drawled, “you’re just scamming the only innocent person left in this kingdom.”

Jaemin, sprawled beside them, grinned lazily. “Bet you he falls in love with you next.”

Haechan rolled his eyes. “As if.”

But when Mark returned later that week, offering Haechan half his bread because “I figured you’d forget to eat while making potions,” Haechan’s carefully built detachment cracked.

“You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, tearing off a piece of bread anyway.

Mark only smiled. “Maybe. But you don’t look like you get fed often.”

Haechan went quiet. Nobody had ever… noticed.

It couldn’t last forever.

One evening, as the market quieted, Mark arrived earlier than expected. He caught Haechan hunched over the stall, paintbrush in hand, carefully smearing shimmer across another seashell.

Their eyes met.

Mark’s smile faltered. “...That’s not a dragon scale.”

Haechan froze. His usual clever retorts shriveled in his throat. “I... uh... listen, it’s not what it looks like—”

“It looks like you’ve been lying to me.”

Mark’s voice wasn’t angry, not really. It was worse hurt, soft, disbelieving.

Haechan forced a laugh. “Come on, it’s just a little trick. Who cares if it’s not real, right? You got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t want trickery.” Mark’s voice cracked faintly. “I wanted to believe in something. And I chose you.”

The words landed heavy.

Haechan stared at him, suddenly unable to breathe. “Mark, I—”

“Why?” Mark asked quietly. “Why take advantage of me, of all people? Was I just that stupid to you?”

“No!” Haechan’s voice was sharp, desperate. “You’re not stupid. You’re—damn it, you’re the opposite. You’re… good. Too good. That’s the problem.”

Mark’s expression softened for half a heartbeat, then hardened again. “Then why lie?”

Haechan had no answer. Not one that wouldn’t make him sound like a coward.

Mark swallowed, eyes dim. “I trusted you, Haechan.”

And then he turned, walking away before Haechan could find the words he didn’t know how to say.

Days passed. Haechan told himself he didn’t care. Business went on. People came and went. Easy money, easy lies.

But the market felt emptier. His stall felt colder. Every painted shell reminded him of Mark’s face hurt, disappointed.

Then, one stormy evening, chaos erupted. A corrupted beast from the woods, a twisted shadow-creature lurched into town, scattering stalls and terrorizing villagers.

Haechan froze. His “magic” was useless here. He was a fraud.

Until he saw Mark, cornered near the fountain, the creature snarling at him.

Something inside Haechan snapped. He ran.

Words spilled from his mouth real words, not gibberish. His hands burned hot, and light erupted from his palms, searing into the monster. For the first time in his life, true magic roared out of him.

The creature dissolved into smoke. The storm quieted.

Haechan collapsed to his knees, chest heaving.

Mark stared at him, soaked but alive. “You… you actually—”

“I didn’t know I could,” Haechan admitted, voice raw. “Not until—” He swallowed, forcing the words out. “Not until you. You made me want to be better than… this.” He gestured weakly at the stall, the shells, the lies. “You made me believe maybe I could do more than tricks.”

Mark knelt in front of him, eyes searching his. “Then why push me away with lies? Why not show me this from the start?”

“Because I was afraid.” Haechan’s laugh was bitter. “If I told you the truth, you’d see how useless I really am. A con artist with scraps of magic, pretending to be something great.”

Mark’s voice softened. “Haechan. I didn’t need greatness. I just needed you to be honest with me.”

The rain pattered gently now, the storm broken.

Haechan’s throat burned. “I don’t deserve your trust.”

“Maybe not,” Mark said, smiling faintly. “But you’ve got it anyway. Because I meant it when I said I chose you.”

For the first time in years, Haechan felt something bloom in his chest that wasn’t guilt, or greed, or loneliness.

Hope.

Haechan had closed shop for the day. Or at least, he thought he had, until the sound of familiar footsteps made him groan.

Sure enough, there was Mark, standing at his stall with the same ridiculous smile he always wore.

“You again,” Haechan muttered, sweeping glitter off the counter. “Didn’t I already ruin your life with lies and seashells?”

Mark shrugged. “Yeah. But I was wondering if you had any more of those ‘truth stones.’”

Haechan raised an eyebrow. “You mean the pebble I picked out of the river last month?”

“The very one,” Mark said solemnly, fishing in his coin pouch. “Name your price.”

Haechan narrowed his eyes. “You’re unbelievable. You know it’s fake, right?”

“Sure,” Mark said, grin widening. “But maybe if I buy another, you’ll actually talk to me for more than five minutes.”

Haechan froze, caught off guard. “You—” His cheeks heated. “You’re paying me… for conversation?”

Mark leaned his elbows on the stall, chin propped in his hands. “Why not? You’re worth more than a seashell, but that’s all you’ll sell me.”

Haechan sputtered. “You’re impossible.”

“And you like it,” Mark replied easily.

The worst part was, he wasn’t wrong.

Haechan grabbed a pebble from his stash, tossed it at Mark’s chest, and muttered, “One silver.”

Mark caught it, laughing. “Best deal I ever made.”

Haechan tried, once, to return the coins he’d scammed. Mark laughed and refused.

“What am I supposed to do with all your seashells?” Haechan muttered.

“Keep them,” Mark said, grinning. “They remind me of you. Pretending to be scary when you’re actually just… kind of soft.”

Haechan scowled, cheeks hot. “Say that again and I’ll curse you.”

“With real magic this time?” Mark teased, eyes glinting.

Haechan smirked. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ll just make you fall in love with me.”

Mark leaned in, smile gentle. “Too late for that.”

And when he kissed him, Haechan realized that for the first time in his life, he hadn’t sold a lie.

This, whatever this was, was real.

fin.