When Night Comes
Oh_Hey_Tae
Chapter 1
Jungkook discovers at half past ten that he might be at the wrong Halloween party.
Looking back, it’s a simple mistake. Because his phone recently took a dunk in the toilet, Yugyeom
wrote down the address change for Mingyu’s party on a post-it pressed to the fridge instead of
texting it to Jungkook, and it’s not Jungkook’s fault that Yugyeom’s threes look fives which look
like nines. Nor is it his fault that, when presented with a two-hundred year old hanok bathed in strobe
lights, Jungkook tried to call Seokmin to check that he was at the right place and got sent straight to
voicemail.
So Jungkook hung up, took in a deep breath, patted down his robes, and promptly entered the front
gates into the courtyard.
That was forty minutes ago. Since then, Jungkook has had three glasses of blue punch with little
gummy sharks floating in it that’s definitely been spiked with soju or vodka or both. Probably both.
Definitely both, seeing as Jungkook is currently sitting on a sofa in a large living area next to, what
appears to be, a solid white husky wearing a red sweatshirt.
Yeah. Yup. Alcohol has most definitely been consumed.
Jungkook’s tipsy, but he’s not buzzed enough to miss that he doesn’t recognize any of the four dozen
people here. And seeing as his friends aren’t ones to ditch and there’s no way they’d play a prank this
mean on him, Jungkook reaches the conclusion that he just walked into a stranger’s very expensive
home, uninvited, and started eating their food and petting their well-dressed dog.
“Oh. I’m so sorry,” Jungkook says, tugging his hand back from where it was resting between the
dog’s ears, casually scratching, to tuck between his knees so they can’t stray. The dog in question
slowly swivels its head to look at Jungkook, and Jungkook is startled to find a very human gaze
staring back at him.
Big dogs are rare in the city, but they’re Jungkook’s favorite to get at the shelter. They just have so
much love and joy in their bodies, and they always have the most compelling eyes. Like Jungkook’s
talking to another person and not an animal.
“You have very beautiful eyes,” Jungkook tells the dog. The dog in question blinks at him, its blue
eyes piercing. “I’m sorry for touching you without permission. I think those gummies in the punch
are like, fifty percent vodka by this point. You’re very soft. ”
The dog chuffs, ducking its head only to look right back up to Jungkook. Jungkook thinks it makes
the dog look bashful and he grins, his gaze turning back to rove over the party. “I work at a shelter a
few neighborhoods over. It’s kind of habit to pet everything I see at this point. But that’s not fair to
you. But you are very cute. ” Another little cough from the dog. “Sorry, do you not like cute?
Handsome? You’re very handsome. I bet people try to touch you all the time. My friends do that to
me, pet my hair. I tell them off but the attention is kind of nice.”
At the mention of his friends, Jungkook remembers that he’s still very much so in a stranger’s home,
chatting up their pet. He starts surveying the room again, looking for points of exit, but his attention
keeps getting caught on the other party-goers. Looks like costumes were mandatory here, as well, but
Jungkook thinks there’s a pitiful lack of diversity. No superheroes, anime characters, or pop-culture
icons. There are more than a handful of people in historic clothing. Lots of animal ears and tails.
Some people just look like they pulled everything that looked somewhat goth from their closet and
put it together to wear out.
Jungkook himself is wearing what he wore to school, one of his casual hanboks in dark blue, but
Eunjung lent him an embroidered overcoat to wear from the last play the theater department put on.
He forgot the fake sword back in the studio, but Jungkook thinks he pulls off the traditional drama
look well enough.
Something cold nudges Jungkook’s neck, and he flinches away only to find the dog from before has
scooted in closer to prod at Jungkook’s arm.
“Do you want me to pet you again?” The dog noses at Jungkook’s bare hand. “Oh. Okay.”
So Jungkook pets the polite dog. The alcohol from before is still very much so in his system, but
Jungkook can’t find it in himself to be too worried at the moment. Over anything, really. Not when a
dog is nearby. Very nearby. Dog in question is now trying to crawl into Jungkook’s lap without
understanding its own colossal size. Jungkook’s diaphragm gets stepped on in the process, all the
breath in his body whooshing out with a wheeze, and Jungkook tries to save himself from possible
internal injury by scooping up as much of the dog as he can and maneuvering him so that he’s
sprawled across Jungkook’s chest and thighs. Half the husky’s body is still laying on the next
cushion, though, but neither of them seem to mind.
Jungkook pets the dog mindlessly for the next bout of time. He should probably call the others, let
them know he hasn’t been abducted. He’s actually surprised no-one’s tried to contact him, then
realizes when he checks his phone that it’s out of service which is strange, because it’s Seoul, and
there’s always service everywhere. But Jungkook has a dog and half a cup of blue punch left and the
home he’s in smells like scorched firewood and maple syrup. Plus, whoever’s DJing has excellent
taste and no one has tried to approach him to make small talk.
All in all, it’s a wonderful party, even if it’s not the one Jungkook was supposed to be at; so
Jungkook settles in under the weight and warmth of his new friend and does what he does best when
he’s drunk. He babbles. He tells the dog about his job at the shelter (“Someone brought in a possum
last week thinking it was a cat. A cat. But have you ever seen a baby possum? They’re adorable.”)
and the art classes he’s taking this semester (“I switched from painting to graphic design because it’s
more practical, but Dr. Choi is acting like I’ve personally offended his ancestors or something.”) and
touching on new music he’s been obsessing over (“Do you like pop? Cuz Billie Eilish just released a
new album and every song is my jam.”).
Jungkook goes on about other things (historical slang terms for penis, why grapefruit is the worst of
all fruits, how Tony Stark is a raging feminist) and somehow he’s transgressed into a particularly
heated one-way discussion about Marxist capitalism (“When companies cut wages in an effort to
maximize profits, they’re really just settin’ themselves up for bankruptcy cuz people can’ afford to
buy the product, y’know? And then the whole system goes down which, y’know, fuck the rich but I
also really like bein’ able to buy video games.”) when a shadow falls over Jungkook from behind and
a crystalline voice says, “Joonie, you’re drooling.”
The dog in Jungkook’s arms growls low, nothing that has any heat, though, and Jungkook tips his
head back and sees the upside down form of the most beautiful man in existence.
“Wow,” Jungkook whispers as the man looks over to him. He’s got silver contacts in and his hair is
the color of cherry blossoms. When he smiles, Jungkook sees he’s wearing a set of fake fangs, but
like, the good kind that look like real teeth. Not the plastic ones you can get for a few thousand won
at E-Mart in the holiday section.
“Hello there, little one,” the man greets, voice bordering on a purr, and Jungkook feels his head go
hazy at the sound.
“Hello,” Jungkook replies, watching as the man walks around the couch to stand in front of him. “His
name is Joonie?”
“He hasn’t introduced himself?” The man grins, taking a seat on the coffee table so he can face
Jungkook. Wow, he’s even more gorgeous right side up. The man reaches out to stroke the husky’s
leg. “Joon, where are your manners?”
The dog, Joon, huffs against Jungkook’s neck. Jungkook adjusts so that Joon’s not pressing so hard
on his arm, which has started to go tingly from disuse. There’s a distinct wet spot on Jungkook’s
collar he had noticed before. “Sorry, is he yours? I didn’ mean to be so touchy with him.”
The beautiful man looks amused by Jungkook. “It’s okay,” he says in that lilting tone again, grin soft
and at odds with his sharp eyes. “Joonie does what he wants. He seems to have taken a liking to you,
though. What ever did you say to him?”
“Oh, uh.” Jungkook drops his hand between Joon’s ears again to scratch. “I told ‘im he’s pretty and
somehow started talkin’ ‘bout the fall of capitalism?”
The man laughs so hard they gather a few stares. He laughs so hard he looks surprised by it. Like he
hadn’t actually expected Jungkook to say something worth listening to. “That is definitely the best
way to woo our Joonie.”
People are looking at Jungkook curiously now, like they hadn’t noticed him before but now can’t
turn away. They’re eyeing the pink-haired man, as well, glancing between the two of them, as if
trying to piece together a particularly troubling puzzle.
Jungkook holds Jooon tighter to him, not liking the expression on some of them. Joon whines low
against his neck. “You’re very lucky to have him,” Jungkook says, consoling the dog with a pat.
“He’s really sweet.”
“I am and he is,” the man agrees, smoothing down the front of his suit. It’s made of a crushed blue
velvet and looks expensive. The man himself looks expensive and at ease, which is the polar opposite
of how Jungkook feels right now. The man is a Korean pear and Jungkook is but a lone apple slice
left to dehydrate on the sidewalk. “So, little one, mind telling me your name?”
Jungkook’s cheeks warm at the nickname. “Oh. Jeon Jungkook. Hello.” He ducks his head a bit,
trying to bow, and the man laughs quietly at him.
“Hello, Jeon Jungkook,” he says. “My name is Kim Seokjin. Welcome to my home.”
“Oh, this is yours?” Jungkook says before thinking, looking around the large space. He did three
walk-thrus of the building earlier, when he was searching for his friends, but he ended up here, in an
entertainment room that opens directly into the courtyard where a makeshift dance floor has taken
residence. “You have a beautiful home. Smells nice. Very clean.”
“That’s kind of you to say.” Seokjin’s smiling at him again. Well, he hasn’t stopped. Jungkook
doesn’t want him to stop. Seokjin’s smile is so disarmingly charming and he has this really
pleasantly-shaped mouth. Puffy. Like a cloud.
“You flatter me, Jungkook-ah.”
“You deserve to be flattered,” Jungkook says, not quite sure what he’s responding to. He feels fuzzy.
Joon’s fur smells like pine trees. It’s so warm in here. “You’re very beautiful. You should have
people tellin’ you everyday that you’re beautiful.”
Seokjin goes still and something in his face slips, like a mask melting away, and Jungkook likes the
wide-eyed wonderment he finds left behind there. When Seokjin first walked up, he didn’t seem
human. Too polished. A little hungry. But this look is tender and welcoming and makes something
small inside Jungkook’s chest blush and bloom and brighten.
“Seokjin-ssi,” Jungkook says, prying his eyes back open. When did they close? His stomach twists.
“Could you please get Joon off of me? I think ’m ‘bout to puke.”
The next few seconds are a whirl. Joon is gone and Jungkook is somehow on his feet, except he
can’t feel his feet and he’s pretty sure he’s not actually walking. The room is moving, though, and
Jungkook looks down and sees someone else’s feet moving. Feet attached to legs attached to a very
broad chest.
There’s a man carrying Jungkook, and he’s got sun-burnished skin and silver hair and when he
notices Jungkook staring at him, he smiles and and a pair of darling dimples grace his cheeks.
“Wow,” Jungkook whispers just before he’s set down on a tile floor, and Jungkook turns to the side,
sees the bowl of a toilet, and promptly throws up an ungodly amount of cotton candy vodka and the
remains of the little gummy sharks he should have taken to chewing more thoroughly.
The man who brought him to the bathroom holds his hair back, rubs his spine, whispers soft nothings
in this deep, rumbling voice that is doing nothing for Jungkook’s already shaky and discombobulated
limbs. Eventually his stomach is emptied, though, and Jungkook rolls onto his side and looks up into
the steady stare of the man from before. Jungkook notices immediately that he has unnatural blue
eyes. The color of a winter sky.
“Joon,” Jungkook says without meaning to, and the man grins and there are those dimples again.
Wonderful things those are. Everyone should have them.
“Hey, Jungkook-ah,” the man says, brushing loose hair from Jungkook’s cheeks. “Feel better?”
Jungkook gives a tiny nod, says in an even smaller voice, “Sorry for stainin’ toilet blue.”
“It’ll come off,” someone says from the doorway, and Jungkook’s head lulls to the side to see
Seokjin coming close with a glass of water. “Drink up. Slow, so you don’t upset your stomach. How
much did you drink, anyway?”
“Like three?” Jungkook says with a noncommittal wave, taking tiny sips of the luke-warm water.
“Maybe four? Those lil cups. Lots of sharks. Wow, you’re even prettier up close.”
Seokjin’s face warms. He seems startled, but that’s not possible. Seokjin has to know he’s the most
beautiful man, like, ever. Although Mr. Dimples is certainly a looker.
“Thank you, Jungkook, that’s very sweet of you to say,” Seokjin tells him after clearing his throat.
Twice. He turns to Mr. Dimples and says, “You sure he didn’t have more than that? It would have
taken at least five glasses just to get him buzzed.”
“Well I don’ know what your alcohol tolerance is,” Jungkook crows, falling into Mr. Dimple’s side
who wraps Jungkook up in his arms immediately, “but kudos to you for ur liquor threshold.”
Another blanket of silence falls over them. The glass in Jungkook’s hand begins to slip and Mr.
Dimples takes it away before it can drop. When Jungkook’s eyes flutter open again, Seokjin is still
kneeling in front of him, his gorgeous face pinched with worry. “Jungkook,” he says. Jungkook
hums, his eyes drifting shut again. “Jungkook-ah, can you tell me who you came here with?”
Jungkook hums a long, drawn out note. “No one.”
“Do you have someone we can call?”
“Yugyeom,” Jungkook murmurs, then frowns. “No, Yug busted his phone. Seokmin. He’s prob’ly
worried. I shoulda left here forever ago. Seokjin-ssi, ’m so sorry I crashed your wonderful party.”
“You didn’t crash anything, Jungkook-ah. Namjoon-ah, help me get him up.”
“But I did,” Jungkook whines as he leaves the floor again. He instinctively wraps his arms around the
dimpled man’s neck. “I was suppose’ta be at the other party but I accidentally came to this one but
then I had too many gummy sharks and Joon was just so nice and I didn’ wanta go and now 've
thrown up in your very clean bathroom. 'm sorry.”
They’re flying again, and Jungkook groans low and squeezes his eyes shut. Jungkook hears Seokjin
say in a hushed voice nearby, “Was there another event tonight?”
“Not this side of the river,” the dimpled man murmurs back. His chest thrums with it and Jungkook
nuzzles in closer. The arms around his waist tighten. “I can’t imagine he was so turned around he
ended up two hours out of the way, though.”
“Then that means…” The world stops spinning. Something pats Jungkook’s cheek. “Jungkook-ah?
Can you tell me your background?”
Jungkook’s head falls to the side. Seokjin is eye-level with him, his grey gaze terribly intentional.
How could anyone deny a face like that? “My background?” Jungkook asks. “All of it?”
Seokjin’s brow jumps. What tremendous eyebrows. “Is there more than one?”
“He might be mixed,” dimpled man says.
“Well I was born’n Busan,” Jungkook intones, interrupting them, trying to remember dates and
places. It’s hard enough to recall what he ate for dinner yesterday. “When I was eighteen I moved
here for school. That was three years ago? How old am I? Anyway—”
“Jungkook,” Seokjin interjects. “I mean your race.”
Jungkook nose scrunches. “Korean?”
“Yes. I mean no.” Dimpled man is chuckling and Seokjin just lets a sigh gust out of him before he
says, “Jungkook, are you a goblin?”
Jungkook cracks his eyes open again. “Do I look like a goblin?”
“Yes. You do.”
“Oh.” Jungkook looks down at his legs. His toes. He’s wearing Birkenstocks with wool socks. Must
be goblin fashion these days. “No 'm not a goblin.”
“Ghost?”
“What? I’m not dead. Are you askin' 'bout my costume?”
“No, Jung—” Seokjin presses the tips of his fingers to his temple and rubs in little circles, like he’s
trying to relieve a tense spot. “Oh my maker. Namjoon,” Seokjin says, looking up quick, and the
dimpled man hums. “I think he’s human. You’re holding a human. How did a human get into this
house?”
“Through the front gate,” Jungkook replies the same time dimpled man, Namjoon, his mind supplies,
says, “I don’t know, but we can’t just let him go like this. Half his blood content is probably vodka
right now. What if he gets alcohol poisoning?”
Seokjin snaps his fingers. “We’ll take him to Jimin.”
Namjoon whines low under his breath. “Hobi’s gonna kill us.”
“Good thing we can’t die, then.”
There’s a rush of cold air, a ruckus of cheers, and Jungkook pries his eyes open to see that Namjoon
has carried him out to the courtyard and is currently toeing along the edge of the dancefloor while
Seokjin keeps rocking up on his toes, searching for something over the mass of writhing bodies.
“Ah, found him!” Seokjin says, tugging on Namjoon’s sweatshirt sleeve. “He’s dancing with Tae and
Hoseok.”
Namjoon adjusts Jungkook in his hold and sets off to follow Seokjin, who has dashed into the fray,
fearless in the face of a few dozen drunks in costume getting down to an excellent Travis Scott
remix.
Jungkook tries to tell Namjoon to put him down because Jungkook isn’t slight by any means, he
works out at least once a day; but then Namjoon shifts again, hiking Jungkook up further, and
Jungkook feels the flex of his biceps and okay. Okay, then. That’s a thing. Maybe Jungkook can just.
Stay here. Just a bit longer.
There’s some surprisingly light prodding to make it through the throng of people seeing as most
people just, fall away, when Seokjin and Namjoon come close; but the next time Jungkook opens his
eyes it’s to Seokjin saying, “Jimin, we have a slight hiccup, I need you to work some magic,” and
Jungkook flops over to see a boy pull away from the body he was grinding on and okay, okay, okay
that is also a thing.
“Wow, you’re gorgeous, too,” Jungkook’s mouth says before his brain has a chance to catch up, and
the boy in question beams at him, smiling squinitily as he brushes the damp hair from his eyes.
Seokjin clears his throat. Says in a measured tone, “Meet Jungkook. He’s a human. He’s had a bit too
much to drink of the punch.”
Another face crowds in close. A boy with bright red hair. The one the squishy boy was dancing with.
Or on. There was a lot of skin contact happening. There’s still a lot of skin contact happening. “Your
smile issa heart,” Jungkook says when the new boy turns to him. “Did’ya know that?”
“You invited a human?” The redhead says the same time the squishy boy steps in close to take
Jungkook’s face in his hands.
“I think he wandered in,” Namjoon answers as tiny thumbs begin to stroke Jungkook’s cheeks. Heat
blooms under his skin, pin-prickling warmth that makes his insides twist.
“Past the glamour?”
“You are all very pretty,” Jungkook tells them when yet another gorgeous human being pops up in
his line of sight. This one is staring at him intentionally, straight-backed, chin up. Like he’s expecting
some kind of fight. Jungkook doesn’t want to fight anyone, but he would love a hug. “Can I go back
to Joon now?” He asks, because that’s all he wants to do right now. “I like Joon. Hes’so soft. Can
someone hug me? I could really use a hug.”
“Does he not realize that—”
“Jimin!” Seokjin screeches, clapping his hands with each beat. “Human! Here! Fix!”
The one still cupping his head, Jimin, rolls his eyes and presses his thumbs to the bridge of
Jungkook’s nose and splays the rest of his fingers under Jungkook’s eyes. Jimin begins to murmur
something soft and slow, and the heat from before spikes and flares, making Jungkook cry out. He
tries to draw away but Jimin only moves closer, holds him tighter. Namjoon’s fingers dig into his
thighs.
Jimin keeps his steady chant going and Jungkook clings to Namjoon’s chest, feeling like the air is
getting pulled out of him before it can reach his lungs. Just when Jungkook feels like he’s going to
pass out, the heat melts away and the gentle haze from earlier takes over. Jungkook groans and feels
Namjoon guide his head to rest on his shoulder.
“I got the alcohol out of his system,” Jimin says from nearby, “Enough to knock out two grown men,
so he’ll be feeling a wicked hangover any moment now. Put him to sleep in one of the rooms. He
won’t remember anything in the morning.”
~~~
Jungkook remembers everything in the morning. Given, half the night is coated in a golden, glowing,
drunken haze and the other half never made sense to begin with, but Jungkook thinks he’s handling
things pretty well, regardless. Things being: A) He just spent the night in a stranger’s home and B)
He hit on pretty much every person he met.
Fantastic. The most mortifying night of Jungkook’s young life and he couldn’t even get blackout
wasted for it. Pitiful.
The silver lining is that the dog he befriended, Joon, is currently curled against his side, snoring
loudly. This morning he’s wearing a green hoodie. It’s adorable, even though Joon is the size of a
very large grown man, but all dogs are just big puppies after all.
Jungkook runs his fingers through the thick coat of Joon’s neck, again and again. Listens to him
sniffle. Looks around at the room the others put him up in. It’s well-loved and lived in, with just
enough room for the futon he and Joon are lying on and a simple desk in one corner that’s stacked
high with books and loose paper. The art that doesn’t fit on the walls is arranged neatly along the
floor. One of the doorways is cracked open, and through it Jungkook can hear the stirring of others in
the household getting ready for the day, while another door looks to lead out into the courtyard.
The bedding smells like pine, and the air is just cold enough outside his cocoon that Jungkook closes
his eyes to breathe for a little bit. He can’t bring himself to be embarrassed over what happened, but
that might just be because at no point in the night did anyone ever make him feel like he should be.
What kind people.
Eventually Joon’s breaths quiet into the occasional tiny snuff, and Jungkook grins and tries to
extricate himself from the mobbing of sheets and quilts that were layered on him when he was out.
Joon is still asleep when Jungkook pads his way to the door leading into a cozy living area. The air is
cool but the floor warm, and Jungkook follows the distant clamour of voices through a living area,
then the front room and the connecting dining room until he hits a kitchen.
The redhead from last night is the first to notice him. He’s digging out rice from the cooker into a
long row of bowls on the counter when he stiffens. Sniffs. Looks over towards the doorway to see
Jungkook hovering. Jungkook waves shyly and the man’s answering smile is beatific.
“Jungkook-ah!” Seokjin greets from his place at the stove, his cheery voice successfully halting all
movement in the kitchen. Jungkook glances over the other two faces staring at him and only
recognizes Jimin, the one who held him gently and made his insides melt like human fondue.
“Good morning, Seokjin-ssi. Everyone.” Jungkook bows low, hands cupped in front of his thighs.
“Thank you for your hospitality. I’m sorry for any inconvenience I might have caused you in your
home.”
“What a polite human,” the new face grouses. It’s a man. He’s got dark hair and even darker eyes,
and when Jungkook looks too long at him, it feels like his knees might just give out.
Seokjin slaps the guy in the back of the head with a towel. Jungkook snaps back into the here and
now, feeling off-kilter. He takes a deep gulp to steady himself. “We’re just happy that you’re okay,
Jungkook-ah,” Seokjin says, returning to the stove where he was cooking up egg rolls. “Why don’t
you go and wash up? There’s a restroom outside in the courtyard, the small building to your left.”
Jungkook bows again, and just as he’s turning to head in the direction of Seokjin’s pointed finger,
there’s a bark from the other side of the building, followed by the scampering of claws against
hardwood and then the thudding of feet.
Namjoon slides into the door on the other side of the kitchen, hard enough to rattle the frame.
“Jungkook is—”
“Right here,” Seokjin interrupts, directing his gaze to Jungkook.
Namjoon’s eyes flick to Jungkook. His grip on the wall slackens. “Oh,” he says, patting down his
sweatshirt like he’s trying to dust himself off. It’s a nice shade of forest green. “Oh, yes. Sorry. I just
woke up and he was gone and…” The man trails off in a series of unintelligible throat noises.
Jungkook doesn’t know what else to do but bow again. “I’m going to go use the restroom.”
Seokjin nods. Namjoon nods. Jimin grins brightly at him while the dark haired man is still eyeing
him curiously. The redhead is glancing at everyone, eyes restless, this subtle smirk curling at the
corner of his mouth as he takes everything in.
Jungkook shuts the door to the kitchen behind him and immediately hears hushed, heated whispering.
They must have something important to discuss, so Jungkook takes his time in the restroom, tying
back his hair with the band on his wrist, washing his hands and face. He finds some toothpaste to
squirt on his finger so he can brush his teeth haphazardly. As he does so he takes in his reflection in
the mirror over the sink. His complexion isn’t too ruddy and there’s barely any stubble on his chin.
His eyes are clear. A quick sniff tells him his deodorant is still working hard from yesterday. Not too
shabby for being one third hungover.
By the time he returns, the kitchen has calmed, and everyone has moved into the connecting dining
room where a low-lying table waits with surrounding floor cushions. Seokin’s at one head of the
table and the dark-haired man, Yoongi he learns, is at the other. Jimin is patting the open spot beside
him on one side, so Jungkook shuffles over and neatly takes his place. Across the table Namjoon
rests, eyeing him with that darling, dimpled smile. Gone are the blue contacts. Beside him is Hoseok,
the redhead who also has some devastating dimples, and next to Hoseok is the other boy from last
night who looked angry by the very idea of Jungkook’s existence.
Right now he looks a lot less dangerous, with his long hair tossed into a bun and his eyes still puffy
with sleep.
Breakfast is rice and eggs and hangover soup, with a spattering of side-dishes placed in the middle
for people to pick at. No one looks particularly hungover, so Jungkook assumes the soup is for him,
although Jungkook doesn’t feel nearly as incapciated as New Year’s last year when he challenged
half the dance team to a jello shot contest, and definitely nowhere near the morning after his
nineteenth birthday when his friends dragged him out to drink for the first time. Jungkook only
knows what happened that night because of videos and well-recounted stories.
“So. Jungkook-ah,” Seokjin calls out. “Do you remember anything from last night?”
All eyes focus on him instantly. Jungkook swallows a thick bite of bean sprout. “Uhm.” They lean in
towards him. “I threw up in your toilet?”
Seokjin looks like he’s fighting off a smile. “Yes, that did happen. Anything else?”
“Uhm. I became good friends with your dog?”
Yoongi snorts. Hoseok chokes on his bite of rice and spits grains across the table.
“You certainly did,” Seokjin says, ignoring both of them and the rest of the chitters along the table.
“Uhm.” Jungkook places his spoon down. His neck is prickling from the attention. “I remember a
bunch of other stuff, actually, but none of it makes sense to me, and I think you might have been
joking with me?”
Seokjin folds his hands under his chin and stares at him. His eyes this morning are dark. His hair a
soft chestnut. He feels even more intimidating than last night when he had fangs. “How so?”
“Y-you kept asking me if I was a, uhm, a goblin?” Jungkook stutters, twisting the hem of his shirt
between his fingers. “I think?”
“Jin, I think he’s safe,” Yoongi interjects.
“I just want to make sure we’re not about to let a threat out,” Seokjin responds lowly. Jungkook’s
heart trips.
“Oh, am I the threat?” He says, looking around at them, unable to meet all their eyes. He turns back
to Seokjin. “I don’t know what I’m threatening, but I promise not to talk about the party, if that’s it. I
shouldn’t have been here anyway. I’m very sorry for invading your home.”
Seokjin opens his mouth, but the words must fall away because he doesn’t say anything. It’s Hoseok
who pipes up with, “How’d you get in, by the way?”
“Through the front gate?” Jungkook answers.
Hoseok’s lips pinch together but his eyes are dancing. “Yeah, I think he’s safe,” he says to Seokjin,
who is still staring at Jungkook. “He’s probably still half-drunk right now.”
Jungkook nods. “I concur.”
Another moment of drawn-out silence, save for the sound of silverware hitting plates and bowls.
Seokjin’s stare grows heavier the longer Jungkook holds it, but Seokjin must find what he’s looking
for because his body slumps backwards. He supports himself on his palms. “Alright, Jungkook-ah,”
he sighs. “Finish your meal and I’ll take you home after.”
“Can I say bye to Joon before I go?” Jungkook asks, flinching when Jimin’s the one to sputter this
time. Hoseok’s cracking up, too, and the sleepy boy is smiling big and goofy at Namjoon, who is
currently burrowing into his rice bowl to eat.
“Of course,” Seokjin says, his eyes curling prettily with his grin. “I think he’d love that.”
Quiet chatter falls over the table, with the occasional question directed at Jungkook, asking him
about hia job and school and hobbies. Jungkook makes sure to answer politely, and in the breaks he
pours water for everyone or refills rice bowls before they can do it themselves, seeing as he’s
probably the youngest by at least a few years. They seem startled by the action at first, and then
thankful.
Throughout the meal Jungkook continually feels eyes land on him, but no one tries to hide that
they’re staring. Yoongi’s pretty blatant about it but will at least look away when Jungkook meets his
eye. Taehyung, though, the sleepy one who turns out to be one of the loudest, doesn’t seem to follow
normal social cues. Jungkook catches him staring most, but Taehyung never looks away first. If
anything he does what he can to make Jungkook as uncomfortable as possible. An extensive amount
of winking ensues throughout the hour.
Jungkook helps to wash the dishes with Hoseok after while Taehyung dries. The others stay near,
though, keeping conversation up so there’s never a lull of silence, and soon it’s time to leave.
“Joonie should be here any mo—”
Joon comes barreling through the living room, and Jungkook opens his arms wide just as the dog
skids to a stop and plows right into Jungkook’s chest.
“Namjoon!” Seokjin yells, hands thrown out, like he’s ready to pull the dog off if need be. “Be more
careful, he’s fragile!”
Jungkook looks around, wondering what Namjoon’s done to warrant a warning, but he doesn’t spot
the man in any of the adjacent rooms. Instead Joon barks, tongue lolling out, tail wagging so quick it
shakes his whole body. Jungkook laughs and gathers as much of the dog in his arms as he can and
plants a hard kiss on the top of his head.
“Thanks for keeping me company last night,” Jungkook says quietly, scratching Namjoon’s ears with
both hands. “And for watching over me while I slept. That was very kind of you.”
A chuff, and Jungkook doesn’t have time to prep before a tongue works it’s way from his chin to his
temple.
“Joon, you can’t just lick people without their consent—” Seokjin scolds, but Joon just does it once
more and then wiggles out of Jungkook’s arms to sit at Yoongi’s feet, butt still shaking. Yoongi
presses a hand to the top of Joon’s head, who calms under the touch.
“It was nice to meet you all,” Jungkook bows again, dipping low. “Thank you for welcoming me into
your home and taking care of me.”
He receives a mixture of welcomes and apologies and goodbyes in response, and then he’s following
Seokjin through a sidegate of the courtyard into a garage with a couple SUVs, one black and one red.
They both look new, and Seokjin gestures for him to get into the black one and Jungkook slips into
the soft leather seat and notes that the car smells new, too. Jungkook can’t recall the last time he rode
in a car.
“Alright, little one. Where to?”
Jungkook flushes and buckles his seatbelt, rattles off his university and which gate he’ll need to be
dropped at to get to his dorm. They make idle talk along the way. Jungkook asks what he thinks are
safe questions that he mostly receives half-answers to. Seokjin works in business. The hanok has
been in his family for generations. His roommates he’s met through a handful of endeavors over the
years. Seokjin keeps his responses tidy and neat, no room for any pressing or further detail.
Jungkook knows it was an accident, him happening across Seokjin’s home, his party; but Seokjin
was kind to him, they all were, and Jungkook can’t help but hesitate as he steps out of Seokjin’s car
at the side entrance to his university. Would it be too much to ask for a phone number? It was only
one night, but it felt like a good night. Like a wonderful night. A wonderful night with wonderful
people that he kind of wants to see again, and not just for their dog.
Seokjin’s smile is pinched at the corners, like he knows what Jungkook is thinking and is trying to
think of the best way to let him down.
Jungkook doesn’t think he can handle that kind of rejection right now, so he just blurts out a shaky,
overzealous “Thank you!” and then slams the door. He jogs away before Seokjin has a chance to stop
him, call out. Not that he would. Seokjin is an adult, like an adult adult, with a house and a job and a
purebred dog. Plus, he’s got five roommates. What does a man with that much need from someone
like Jungkook, anyway?
~~~
The weeks pass. Jungkook doesn’t forget about the Halloween party or the people he met there, but
the sting of not being wanted has dulled into a quiet, manageable ache that only surfaces when
Jungkook passes an old house or sees a particularly fluffy dog at work.
“Hi, Dr. Lee! Hi noona!” Jungkook greets as he sprints through the front lobby to toss his backpack
in the office and grab a shelter vest off the rack by the cupboards.
“What’s the rush?” Dr. Lee grins, spinning around to watch Jungkook gather a travel bag and make
his way to the storage room.
“I found a fox!” Jungkook yells as he sorts through their stack of travel crates. He finds a medium
one in the back, normally used for their average-sized dogs and, on one occassion, a very obese cat.
“Looks like it got hit by a car or something. It’s hiding out in this alcove a couple streets over.”
“A fox?” Yujin says, looking to Dr. Lee then leaning down under the front desk to scrummage for
something. She resurfaces with a set of canvas gloves, and Jungkook tugs them on with haste.
“Poor thing must have wandered in from off the mountain,” Dr. Lee frowns as Jungkook finishes
packing up. “You okay to handle it on your own, son? I don’t have an extra set of hands to send with
you.”
“Nah, I got it.” Jungkook grabs the crate at his feet. “It wasn’t moving when I found it, but I think it
might just be in shock.”
“Don’t let it eat your heart!” Yujin tells him on his way out the door, laughter echoing in her voice,
and Jungkook rolls his eyes and takes off at a jog down the street in the direction he was coming
from school.
Jungkook takes a lot of side roads to get to the clinic, seeing as how the building is hidden in the
heart of the neighborhood, but it’s true that the base of Gwanaksan Mountain is only a half-hour walk
south of them. That’s why they get so many non-pet related critters coming in. It’s the first time
Jungkook’s seen a fox this far into the city, though, and as he runs the maze of back streets towards
the more populated area of town, he hopes that something else hasn’t found his new friend in the
time he’s been gone.
Jungkook slows to a shuffle beside a familiar alley. Unfortunately the stack of boxes the fox had
buried under is empty. Jungkook tugs out a flashlight from his bag and begins following the blood
trail left behind by the animal. There’s no way it could have gotten far this injured, and Jungkook
turns a narrow corner and looks ahead to see what looks to be a dog hobbling between the recesses of
buildings, trying to avoid the street lights.
“Has to get tired some time,” Jungkook mutters, so he adjusts his pack and his grip on the crate and
steadily follows from several yards behind. The animal is limping and doesn’t make much distance,
and Jungkook was right about it’s stamina. Only a handful of minutes pass before the fox veers into
an alley to rest, and Jungkook pockets the light and pads over to the mouth of the alley to peer in.
The fox is burrowed under another set of empty boxes, and Jungkook crouches down to release his
crate and pull out a bag of fruit he took from the office fridge (sorry Beomsoo) and the adjustable
leash.
The fox doesn’t notice him coming up behind, or maybe it just doesn’t care; but when Jungkook is
close enough he clicks his tongue to get it’s attention and watches it startle hard enough to knock
over the cardboard stack. As it wiggles it’s way out from under the mess, Jungkook manages to lasso
the leash around its neck, hating that he couldn’t take more time to gain some of the animal’s trust,
but it would be worse to lose the little guy at this point and have him bleed out somewhere.
“There, there, you’re okay,” Jungkook croons when the animal tries to thrash, and Jungkook keeps a
hold of the leash but manages to tug the fox out of the debris. Okay, little was an understatement.
This guy is the size of a coyote what are animals eating these days? “You’re okay, you’re okay,” he
shushes, offering a handful of berries, making sure to stay low and keep his hold firm.
The fox stills. It’s head whips up to look at Jungkook right in the face.
“Hey, there,” Jungkook grins, shaking a palmful of blueberries and strawberries again. The fox cocks
its head to the side as if searching Jungkook’s face, and Jungkook notes it has big, blocky black
brows that make its eyes seem terribly human. It wears the same black markings on its feet, like a
pair of short socks.
“You’re very beautiful,” Jungkook hums. The fox sniffs. Tilts its head to the other side. It’s not even
trying to fight. Maybe it is in shock. “What happened? Get hit by a car? You’re very far from home.”
The fox yips at him, almost like it understands, and Jungkook wonders if maybe this is some kind of
exotic pet someone snuck in. He tosses the berries into the crate he brought, hoping its big enough to
hold the animal at this point, and carefully begins to maneuver his new friend towards the carrier.
“I’m gonna take you back to where I work,” Jungkook tells it softly, still amazed by the lack of
response. What a docile creature. “I have a friend there that’s gonna get you patched up so you can
go home.”
The fox barks at him again but doesn’t fight, and Jungkook manages to get it inside the, albeit snug,
carrier without any trouble.
He stands and places his hands on his hips. Looks around, confused. Okay. Well. That happened.
Jungkook has to use both hands to carry the crate back and is a puffing mess when he walks through
the doors of the clinic a half-hour later. Yujin looks up from the paperwork she’s pulling for a patient
standing at the desk with a cat carrier, and Jungkook salutes as he hobbles through the back doors
and immediately makes for the treatment room.
“Dr. Lee!” Jungkook sets the crate on an open table and hears scuffling from behind. “I found him.
He’s lost a lot of blood and his back left leg might be broken.”
“Are you sure this is a fox?” Dr. Lee asks when he’s put on gloves and opened the crate door. “It’s
the size of a dog.”
“He’s big and beautiful, that’s for sure. Aren’t you, sweetheart?” Jungkook grins as the fox takes a
tentative step forward and goes straight for Jungkook’s chest.
Jungkook raises his arms, ready to push the animal down, but the fox just cradles in close to him,
ears pressed flat, sharp eyes set on Dr. Lee’s figure.
Dr. Lee looks from the fox folded up in Jungkook’s arms to Jungkook. “Are you the animal
whisperer now?”
“Looks like it,” Jungkook laughs, scratching the fox between its ears. It rumbles low in its throat, a
subtle purr.
“Well. Keep doing what you’re doing, I guess. Let’s get an x-ray and see what we’re working with.”
~~~
Yujin goes home around nine and Dr. Lee an hour later, but he lets Jungkook know to call if he needs
anything, just like he always does when Jungkook takes the graveyard shift at the clinic. Third-watch
definitely isn’t the most glamourous of hours to have, but Jungkook only has to do it once a week
and it’s when he gets most of his studying done for class, so there are perks.
One of which is right now, sitting on a pillow in the kennel room snacking on corn chips, his art
history lecture playing on an iPad while a sixty-seven pound fox sleeps bundled in a blanket in his
lap.
The fox had some blunt trauma to its back-end, probably a car accident, but fortunately it only
needed some stitches to its right side while the left leg will get a cast put on in the morning. For now
it has a splint and some pain meds and Jungkook to cuddle (it put up a nasty fight when they tried to
get it into the kennel cage earlier), while Jungkook has six hours of modern art to review as he
concocts a plan to keep Yujin from telling everyone on Monday about how he’s the new Snow White
of Seoul. Not that she’s far-off. Jungkook’s always been great with animals, but this is kind of
absurd. Next time he starts singing during rounds, a pigeon’s going to try to fly in. Every rat in the
city is going to attempt to befriend him now.
“Are you sure we’re in the right place?”
Jungkook tenses, his lecture on fauvism fading as he tugs his lone earbud out.
“This is where his scent led,” a gruff voice answers, the sound carrying from the back corridor.
Holy shit. Holy shit someone just broke into the clinic.
“Must’ve gotten picked up by somebody,” another voice says and OH HOLY SHIT MULTIPLE
PEOPLE JUST BROKE INTO THE CLINIC.
Jungkook tenses and maps out a floorplan in his head. Where he’s at now is more of a pass-thru area
between the treatment room and the consult rooms, open on both ends to make travel easier on their
busy days. Lulu the tabby and Cabbage the corgi are the only animals here with him besides the fox
since they both just had surgery earlier that day, but they’re asleep in their cages. The other animals
are all in the adjacent building where they keep the dog and cat rooms for people to look at for
adoptions.
“Here, he’s this way.”
“I hope he’s okay.”
“This happens every month, I’m sure he’s fine.”
Oh no, oh no. If someone broke in, what for? They’ve got some heavy prescription drugs, but can
people even have those? Well, people try to get high off anything, really. Did drug smuggling
burglars just bust their way in? But they would have had to pass through the treatment room where
all the meds are located. Why are they coming up this far? Money? There’s a convenience store
like three doors down.
“I smell him, he’s close,” the rumbling voice from before says, and Jungkook starts to rise to his feet,
having to squat so that he doesn’t throw out his back under the weight of the fox. His brain says to
make haste and leave the animal behind, but his heart cringes at the thought of abandoning the fox.
The guy has already had a harrowing evening as is, Jungkook can’t just drop him.
“Wait.” Jungkook holds his breath as he tiptoes towards the hall that will take him to the lobby.
Maybe if he sets off the alarm that’ll scare them away. Maybe they’ll just be angry and try
to bludgeon him with a baseball bat with nails on it. “I smell someone else.”
“We’re in an animal clinic of course you smell someone else,” a voice snaps, growing closer, and
Jungkook tenses on his way out the door because he knows that voice. Why does Jungkook know
that voice? “There’s like thirty dogs here what’d you… expect?”
Jungkook swivels around and at the end of the kennel bay, standing in the open doorway, is Kim
Seokjin.
“Are you here to steal drugs?” Jungkook calls out and then wishes he had his hands so he could
smack himself.
Seokjin looks bewildered, and then bemused, and then he turns to his right where Jungkook now
notices Jimin and Namjoon from the party are standing in equal parts confusion of the scene before
them.
“Uhm,” Jungkook says and tightens his grip on the fox, still dead weight in his arms. “Did you just
break in here?”
Seokjin looks like he’s trying to think of a story on the spot, but Jimin just pipes up with a peppy,
“Yup!”
Seokjin buries his face in his palms. “Jimin, please.”
“But it’s Jungkookie,” Jimin sings, making his way down the hall. “And you can just wipe his mind
later, anyway.” Jimin’s boots are pointy enough to stab someone. Jungkook is about to be stabbed by
designer Chelsea boots. “Jungkook-ah, could you help us out?”
“Uh, maybe?” Jungkook says, gaze flitting between the three men before him and Jimin’s fast
approaching death shoes.
“We’re looking for our fox,” Jimin tells him, coming closer, and something about his grin is
unsettling. Jungkook takes a step back on instinct to shift behind the door frame. “Have you seen
him?”
“Can you describe him?” Jungkook asks, like Jimin is asking for a lost phone at the mall and not a
forest predator.
Jimin plays along. “Yay big,” he says, holding out his hands past the point of an average sized fox.
“Very sweet looking. He has black feet and eyebrows.”
Oh.
“Oh,” Jungkook says, shifting forward. “Yes. He was hit by a car.”
Jimin stumbles to a stop, his face crumbling. He has to grab onto one of the cages to stay standing
and Namjoon comes up behind to hold him steady, Seokjin on his heels.
“Is he okay?” Namjoon asks, and Jungkook isn’t used to this expression from him. There isn’t a trace
of warmth in his face. “Where is he?”
“He’s here?” Jungkook says, shifting the bundle in his arms. Three gazes lock onto his chest. “He’s
okay. We gave him stitches and one of his legs is broken. Right now he has a splint on, but Dr. Lee
thinks he might need a cast.”
Jimin makes a sob noise from deep in his chest. “Give him to me,” he says, making grabby hands,
and Jungkook holds the fox tighter.
“Uhm, no offense, but you kind of just broke in here and I’m not sure what protocol is right now. I
think I need to call the cops?”
“Don’t call the cops,” Seokjin says in that lilting voice he took with Jungkook the night of the party.
Jungkook looks over and Seokjin is walking towards him, his eyes glinting grey under the ceiling
lights, and Jungkook feels the floor shift underfoot as his head swims. “Do you hear me, Jeon
Jungkook? You will not call the cops.”
Seokjin’s tone is sickly sweet and kind of unnerving. Jungkook shakes his head, feeling borderline
drunk. “I won’t? Sorry, but just because we kind of know each other doesn’t make burglary okay.”
Seokjin stutters to a halt. “Huh?”
“I’m gonna let this go, though, since you’re this little guy’s owners” Jungkook says, ignoring the
three of them to head towards the treatment room. He hears them follow after a moment and makes
for the nearest table to set his friend down on. When he unwraps the blanket, there’s a subtle intake
of breath, and Jungkook is nudged out of the way by Jimin who leans over the fox to pet its ears and
neck.
“Oh, Tae,” Jimin whispers, his voice so kind and sad and full of love. Jungkook almost can’t stand it.
“He’s totally fine,” Jungkook reassures them as they crowd the table. “The fracture wasn’t complex.
He’ll be good to take home in the morning.”
“We’re going to take him now,” Jimin says without looking over.
Jungkook blinks, his fingers stilling where they were messing with the hem of his hoodie. “No. He
needs a cast. You can come back in the morning.”
“I said,” Jimin responds lowly, swiveling to stare Jungkook down. Or up. He’s a couple inches
shorter. How does someone with such a small body have so much sheer fury inside of them? “We
are taking him home.”
“And I said.” Jungkook takes a step in close so that Jimin’s forced away from the table. Jimin looks
surprised by the action, like he hadn’t expected Jungkook to challenge him. “That he needs a cast or
his leg won’t set right, so he’s staying here with me.”
“Jungkook-ah.” Jungkook glances over and Seokjin is waiting for him. His eyes are grey again, his
voice a purr. “We’re going to take Tae home with us, now.”
“But you’re not,” Jungkook says, blinking fast as the film tries to coat his brain again. Seokjin’s grin
falters.
“Hyung,” Namjoon says, speaking up from where he’s holding one of the fox’s front paws between
both his hands. He’s grinning crazily. “I think you’re broken.”
“I can’t control him,” Seokjin hisses, looking genuinely upset, but if anyone has the right to be angry
at the moment, Jungkook thinks that title falls strictly to him and him alone.
“No?” Jungkook says, his shoulders bunching up in an irritable shrug. It’s going on three in the
morning, he still has half a lecture to review, and three of the men who he kind of had a crush on for
a few hours before they left him just broke into his workplace to steal his fox. “Why would you?
You’re pretty, hyung, but I’m not shallow.”
Jimin snorts and Namjoon falls into hysterics. Seokjin visibly and instantly deflates at their laughter,
and whatever tension that was building in the room dissolves as Seokjin rubs at his eyes and sighs
with his whole body. “Okay, okay,” he groans, dragging his fingers down his cheeks. “Jungkook-ah,
thank you for taking care of Tae. We will be back in the morning to collect him.”
“But hyung—” Jimin bristles.
“It’s Jungkook, Jimin. Jungkook will take care of him. Say goodbye.”
Jimin grumbles his way back over to the table. He murmurs something soft and lilting against the
fox’s head, pressing his mouth there for a gentle kiss. Namjoon comes up behind to kiss him, as well,
and then Seokjin does the same.
Jungkook walks them all out, through the front door this time, and makes sure to give Seokjin the
clinic card in case they need to contact someone.
“Will you be here when we come by?” Seokjin asks him, and Jungkook hates the small part of his
heart that still thinks Seokjin is beautiful and desperately wants to take him out on a date.
“I’ll try to be,” Jungkook nods. “We’ll get a cast on him first thing and I’ll be here to keep him
company the whole time.”
Seokjin’s lips curl into a grin. “Oh, I don’t think that cast will be necessary.” Then he walks away
from Jungkook with a wink, something sly and secret that Jungkook doesn’t quite understand until
Dr. Lee comes in the next morning and takes one look at Tae brazenly stalking around on all fours in
one of the consultation rooms and says, blanked-faced, “Are you some kind of magical healer on top
of being an animal whisperer, now?”
Jungkook can only shrug. He’s just as at a loss as the rest of them.
~~~
When the others return later that morning, Tae has been freshly fed the remaining fruit from the
fridge and is resting at Jungkook’s feet in the waiting room as they both doze. Jungkook put one of
the no-collar required leashes around his neck to keep him close because he wouldn’t go back in a
carrier. Not that he’s tried to leave Jungkook’s side much in the past twelve hours. Jungkook thinks
they’ve become great friends.
“TaeTae!” Jimin shrills the moment he’s stepped through the door, and Tae pulls so hard on the leash
Jungkook thinks he might choke himself. Jimin hurries over to pull the fox into a teary hug and
Jungkook shuffles away to give them a moment.
“How much do we owe you?” Seokjin asks when Jungkook comes around the counter to help with
the paperwork. Yujin’s briefing with Dr. Lee and a couple other vet assistants in the office for their
list of duties today. Jungkook’s shift ended two hours ago, but he wanted to see this thing through.
And maybe he wanted to see Seokjin and the others again, which is a terrible habit to develop.
“Dr. Lee says it’s on the house,” Jungkook answers as he tucks his hair behind his ears. Seokjin’s in
a floor-length peacoat in blush pink and it’s dashing on him. Plus, the smile Seokjin is giving him
could wreck a man. “We thought he was a stray and weren’t going to charge anyway. Plus, he seems
excellent this morning. You were right about that cast.” Jimin’s cooing and rolling on the floor with
Tae on top of him, not a sign of injury on his body. Dr. Lee even had to take the stitches out because
the wound had healed overnight.
Seokjin smile tips into a frown. “But he had medicine. And an x-ray.”
“It’s fine,” Jungkook waves off, handing over a few slips of paper that say what drugs Tae was
administered. “Just don’t break in again, how ‘bout that?”
Seokjin’s ears go red almost instantly. “One-time thing. Promise.”
“I think I distinctly remember hearing Namjoon say that he does this once a month.”
Jungkook sees the surprise cross Seokjin’s face, like he hadn’t expected Jungkook’s banter. But
talking to Seokjin is warm and easy, makes something in Jungook’s stomach flutter. “He likes to
sneak out,” Seokjin tells him, and his eyes do that melting thing that makes Jungkook feel very
young and very safe. “This is the first time he’s gotten hurt, though. We’ll have be stricter moving
forward.”
“Well,” Jungkook’s voice squeaks and he clears it, flushing when Seokjin smirks at him. “I’m glad
he’s okay. Bring him back if you see him limping or if a wound opens up again, okay?”
“Will do.”
And then this miraculous, ridiculous thing happens. Kim Seokjin studies his face gently, then takes
Jungkook’s hand, lifts it to his mouth, and presses the chastest of kisses against Jungkook’s knuckles.
Before Jungkook has a chance to recover, Jimin is bounding up to lean over the counter, and he
pecks the top of Jungkook’s head.
“We owe you one,” Jimin drawls, his smile genuine as he pulls back to go and gather Tae.
They leave without another word after that, and Jungkook remains at the front desk for a long time,
just kind of swaying there, enchanted, hands folded and held to his chest where his heart is making it
very known that it exists inside of him.
“Jungkook-ah,” Dr. Lee calls out sometime later, after the meeting has finished. Jungkook hums, still
staring at the doorway. “Did the fox’s owners come by?” Jungkook nods. “Strange, I didn’t hear
anyone come in. Anyway, I thought I told you not to charge them?”
Jungkook pushes away the thoughts of two gorgeous men kissing him and turns to Dr. Lee who is
holding a tablet with an expression of bewilderment. “I didn’t,” Jungkook frowns.
“Then why was five million won just deposited in our donation link with a note that reads ‘Thanks
for taking care of our TaeTae, Jungkookie.’ and signed with several hearts and a martini glass
emoji?”
“Fi-five million ?” Jungkook chokes, looking back out the door, like he expects to see Jimin cheekily
hiding out in a bush or something. “How much do they think a pet x-ray costs?”
Dr. Lee gives him a sturdy pat on the back. “I don’t know,” he grins, waving the tablet over his head
as he goes, “but looks like you just made yourself some friends in some very high places.”
Chapter 2
The first week of December, Jungkook reaches the conclusion that he’s being followed.
Not that it was difficult to sort out. Kim Seokjin is many things: stunning, a little dopey,
unimaginably nurturing to complete strangers who break into his home. Quiet is not on that list of
attributes, though, as he’s making abundantly clear in the refrigerated food section of E-mart.
“He’s staring at us,” Seokjin interrupts his story about deep-sea fishing to say at full-volume to
Yoongi, who’s standing at Seokjin’s side, hands casually thrust in his pockets, a look of extreme
indifference on his face.
“No he’s not,” Yoongi responds. Also at full volume. “He’s just looking. In general.”
“Uhm…” Jungkook toddles back and forth from foot to foot, squeezing the supermarket basket
handle, very much so still staring at them. “No. No, I’m staring at you. Have you been following
me?”
Yoongi and Seokjin startle and look to each other, wide-eyed.
“He can see us,” Yoongi says, and the situation is so absurd that Jungkook can’t help the laugh that
bursts out him.
“Were you hiding?” He asks, and Seokjin and Yoongi are still looking at each other, conversely
heavily with only their eyebrows. “You walked right behind me for, like, twenty minutes this
morning on my way to school.”
Seokjin’s head whips over to him. “You could see that?”
“I think everyone could see it,” Jungkook tells him, turning to grab a pack of vegetables for fried
rice. He walks a few slow steps down the aisle, scanning for sales on any packs of sausages or ham.
“You both stand out together.”
“Awww, do you think we’re pretty, Jungkook-ah?”
Jungkook only momentarily feels embarrassed. “You’re the one who said ‘I want to put a melon
between his thighs and see if he can crush it’.”
Jin sputters. Yoongi slaps one knee, this little crackling cackle coming out of his mouth. “What?” Jin
says, his eyebrows scrunched together, the shells of his ears bright red. “Who told you that?”
“You did,” Jungkook grins. “This morning. When you were following me. You haven’t exactly been
the next double-oh-seven, Seokjin-ssi.”
Seokjin continues to spew a bunch of unintelligible sounds that could be words, but Jungkook gets
distracted by Yoongi, who is looking at him as if in a new light. Less like Jungkook is something to
study and more like he’s something to admire. Jungkook feels very seen under the weight of that
look, and Yoongi must notice because he tilts his head to the side, curious, eyes going soft, and
Jungkook feels like he’s getting drawn into deep water.
“Is this all you’re purchasing?”
“What?” Jungkook snaps back and glances down to where Seokjin’s gaze is pointed at the contents
of his basket. Rice, mayo, mixed veggies, spam, a lot of ramen. “Oh, uh. Yeah. Pretty much.”
Seokjin’s nose wrinkles. “This is terrible. Do you eat like this all the time?”
Ice dumped down his back. Jungkook feels childish and mortified. His breathing is loud in his nose.
“Veggies and meat are expensive,” he manages out in a tone that sounds calmer than he feels, and
Seokjin looks at his face and nods, then reaches to take Jungkook’s basket from him and breezes
past.
“Come along,” Seokjin says over his shoulder, and Jungkook swivels, watching in growing panic as
Seokjin begins grabbing random items off the shelves without even checking the prices.
“Wait, what?” Yoongi shuffles past him and Jungkook watches their backs for a moment longer
before jogging to catch up. Seokjin has already made it to the meat section and is placing full plates
of beef with the rest of the haul. “Seokjin-ssi, hey, w-wait a second. I can’t afford any of this.”
“That’s alright,” Seokjin says as he fills the basket. “Yoongi-yah, can you go grab a cart and meet us
in the produce section?”
Yoongi nods and scurries off, a man on a mission, and Jungkook can only trail after Seokin when he
takes off down another aisle, this time to grab spices and condiments. Jungkook sees him toss in
three different types of organic pepper and his stomach starts to twist up. “Seokjin-ssi, you didn’t
hear me. I-I can’t afford this.”
“That’s why I’m buying it for you.”
Jungkook’s mind screeches to a halt. His feet follow after. “What? No. You can’t do that?”
Seokjin turns around to look at him, brow edging up. “But I can? You seem to be forgetting that we
owe you, little one.”
Jungkook ignores the nickname, confusion swelling inside. “Owe me?” Seokjin sets off again and
Jungkook frowns, taking after him. “But you already paid? That donation you left at the clinic was
more than enough to foot the bill for Tae.”
“No, we must repay you,” Seokjin says, turning the endcap of the aisle and heading for the wall of
fruits where Yoongi is leaning against the handle of a shopping cart, waiting for them.
“You really don’t need to do that...” Jungkook sees that Yoongi has already filled the cart with an
assortment of greens, along with little bundles of berries and bananas. He’s also managed to sneak in
some snack foods that Jungkook only splurges on when he gets a bonus at work around the holidays.
“Ah, thanks Yoongichii,” Seokjin grins. “Let’s check-oomph!”
Jungkook steps in front of them, sticking his foot out to catch on the bottom rung of the cart, jarring
it to a stop so that Seokjin rams into Yoongi’s side. Yoongi barely jostles and only narrows his eyes,
like Jungkook is being difficult, but Jungkook squares his shoulders and says, “Stop ignoring me,
please. I appreciate the gesture, but you don’t owe me anything, and I definitely don’t need a
handout.”
“You think this is a handout?” Seokjin looks to Yoongi and they hold another nonverbal, broworiented conversation. Yoongi stiffens. Seokjin’s shoulders sag. They turn back to him at the same
time.
“Jungkook-ah,” Yoongi says in a voice that makes Jungkook’s stomach flutter. “We didn’t mean to
ignore your wishes or act as if we know better than you, or that you cannot handle yourself. Please
accept our sincere apologies.”
“Oh, uh, that’s okay,” Jungkook stumbles, looking between them both.
Seokjin clears his throat. “It’s just that we’ve never done this before,” he says, and Jungkook wants
to ask what ‘this’ means, but Seokjin plows on, “and what you did for Tae, if you hadn’t found him,
if someone else were to—” Seokjin’s voice chokes up and Yoongi’s hand finds the back of his neck
to squeeze softly. “We are indebted to you, Jungkook, more than you understand, so please let us
care for you right now, just as you cared for one of our own.”
Jungkook feels very small under the depth of honesty in Seokjin’s words and the fact that he and
Yoongi both sound like they just walked off the set of one of the historical dramas Mingyu likes to
stream with the group. It takes Jungkook a moment to swallow down the cotton on his tongue so he
nods instead, and when he finds his voice again, says, “Okay. If it means that much to you, you can
buy my groceries. But just this once.”
Seokjin gives him this slow, intoxicating smile. Jungkook feels dizzy at the sight of it. “Thank you,
Jungkook-ah. Let’s go check out, alright?”
Jungkook busies himself when the cashier rattles off the total so he doesn’t have to hear it, but they
each walk out of the store with a bursting eco-bag in hand, which says enough on its own. Jungkook,
ever the fool, thinks this is the moment they finally part ways for real; but Seokjin and Yoongi start
walking , chatting idly, and Jungkook follows after, confused, until he realizes that they’re heading in
the direction of his university. When Jungkook asks if they have other errands to run this side of
down, Yoongi’s brow pinches and he says, “No? We’re walking you home. Did you want to carry
this all alone?”
“You okay, man?”
That was an unknown amount of time ago. Now Jungkook cracks an eye open to see Yugyeom
standing over him, eyes smiling but with a bit of borderline uncertainty, like he wants to make
Jungkook is actually okay before he fully laughs at his startfished form taking up the meager
floorspace of their kitchenette.
“Yup,” Jungkook tells him, shifting onto his side so that Yugyeom can open the fridge.
There’s a sharp intake of breath, then, “Holy shit, dude, did you rob a grocery store?”
“Ran into a friend,” Jungkook mumbles into the floor.
“And he bought you a cow’s worth of marble cut beef?” There’s rustling from behind, Yugyeom
most likely going through the bounty. “That’s not a friend, my man, that is a sugar daddy.”
Jungkook makes a wheezy noise that has Yugyeom laughing. “They feel like he has to repay me,”
Jungkook groans, curling to bury his face into the crook of his arm.
“Did you sell them your soul or something?”
“No, I just helped their pet out at the clinic.”
Yugyeom hums low. Pauses. Says, “Do these rich people have more pets you can help out?”
“Yes. I mean no. No,” Jungkook laughs when Yugyeom starts cackling. “This was a one-time thing.”
“Shame,” Yugyeom sighs, and Jungkook rolls over to his other side to see Yugyeom’s broken into
the honey butter chips. His mouth is stuffed full when he speaks, but Jungkook can make out, “Do
you even know how to cook any of this?”
Jungkook reaches into his back pocket to pull out his phone and gives it a wave. “Naver knows all.”
~~~
A week later, Jungkook looks up over the display-case of cameras he’s been window shopping for
and finds Taehyung and Jimin huddled together across the table, staring at him.
Jungkook blinks at them. They blink back in unison, which is creepy and unnerving, no matter how
lovely they both look in their pea-coats and leather shoes and slow-brimming smiles.
“Did Seokjin-ssi send you?” Jungkook asks, crossing his arms.
Their smiles spread, bright and scheming. “Nope,” Jimin answers, coming around the table,
Taehyung attached to his hip. “Of course not. We followed you on our own.”
Jungkook frowns. “Why?”
“To find out what stores you like,” Taehyung says, immediately reaching out to Jungkook when he’s
close enough to touch. Jungkook flinches, uncertain of what’s happening, but Taehyung just presses
forward to rewrap Jungkook’s scarf, which was starting to droop off his shoulders.
“Oh. Thank you. Why?” He asks again, and Taehyung looks up at him. Jungkook can hardly see past
his heavy eyelashes that throw his already dark eyes into shadow.
“To find out what things you like,” Taehyung answers, his fingers dragging over Jungkook’s
collarbone as he steps away to return to Jimin’s side.
Jungkook feels like screeching in the middle of this department store. “Okay, but why?”
“So we don’t have to guess what to buy you for Christmas,” Jimin pipes in, rolling his eyes. “Duh.”
Jungkook nearly chokes. “You’re not buying anything for me for Christmas.”
“We aren’t?” Jimin frowns.
“Why not?” Taehyung asks, equally pouty.
“Because I told Seokjin-ssi that he wasn’t allowed to buy things for me anymore,” Jungkook tells
them.
Jimin and Taehyung glance sidelong at each other. Jimin gives an exaggerated shrug. Taehyung’s
eyebrows have a life of their own as they dance on his brow. “He’s not, though,” Taehyung finally
says, twisting back to Jungkook, who has taken to picking at the fraying edge of his coat sleeve while
they did… whatever it was they were doing. “ We’re buying you things. Do you like that camera?
You’ve been staring at it for a long time.”
Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut. “No.”
“No you don’t like the camera?”
“No, I like the camera—That’s not—” Jungkook rubs at a tense spot over his brow. “No, I mean no ,
you’re not buying anything for me.”
“Why not?”
Jungkook opens his eyes to the sight of absolute, genuine confusion. “Because we don’t know each
other that well?” He says, and Taehyung and Jimin’s heads lag to the side, questioning. “Because
you don’t owe me anything? Because that camera is over a million won?”
Jimin doesn’t budge. He has a lovely face, all compassionate and determined and thoughtful. “Well.
What would be an appropriate gift for people who don’t know each other well, who don’t owe
anything to each other, and that costs less than a million won?”
“Uhm, I don’t know,” Jungkook says, brow creased. “A Starbucks gift card? A desk plant?”
Taehyung sniffs. “Those are very impersonal.”
“That’s why they’re meant for people who barely know each other,” Jungkook claps back.
They turn to each other to talk without really talking. A few beats pass. Jimin looks devious,
Taehyung excited. “Okay then,” Taehyung says, spinning to face Jungkook again, smiling wide.
“Jungkookie, would you like to join us for dinner?”
“What?” Jungkook chokes, looking around as if there’s someone else here. “Why?”
“Because it’s dinner time and we can get to know you better so that we can get you a better present
than a gift card,” Jimin chirps in delight.
Bewilderment fogs up Jungkook’s chest, swallowing him whole. He looks at the two of them, really
looks at them, and can spot nothing but sincerity in their soft smiles.
“Fine,” Jungkook says, blushing when they fistbump each other. “But you’re not paying for me.”
“But Jungkookie,” Taehyung croons, rocking forward into Jungkook’s space again, his deep voice
rolling through Jungkook like a wave set to devastate, “we’re your hyungs. Hyungs treat, don’t
they?”
“Fine,” Jungkook squeaks, shivering slightly as he steps away from them. “But just this once.”
Jimin and Taehyung both take an arm each, like Jungkook needs some kind of escort to the food
court; but between their cheerful chatter and sincere questions and steady hold on him, Jungkook
can’t help but feel this delicious buzzing inside, like maybe he’s embarrassed, but kind of happy, too.
~~~
“Hey, picked up a package for you from downstairs.”
“I didn’t order anything,” Jungkook grouses from the cocoon of blankets he’s been festering in for
the past couple days, after the last of his projects were submitted for the semester. The internet said
that sweating out a cold is the best way to break a fever, but Jungkook just feels modly and damp.
“It’s wrapped prettily,” Yugyeom says from the doorway, then closer, when he’s stepped into
Jungkoko’s lair, “Gift from someone?”
Jungkook groans weakly, rolling over so he can peek over the top of his comforter. Yugyeom is
standing in front of him, dressed to the nines for the blizzard Seoul has been getting battered with the
past week now. In his hands is an inconspicuous sized box in shimmery red paper with a big golden
bow. It is pretty.
“Does it have a note?” Jungkook asks, his voice husky and pinched.
Yugyeom flicks over a tiny card tied to the top. “Just says ‘Now that we know each other better, dot,
dot, dot. Enjoy. Love, hyungs.’”
Jungkook’s unearthing himself before Yugyeom has finished speaking, grabbing the pack from his
hands to tear open the paper. “I swear to every god…”
“D-u-u-de,” Yugyeom whistles when Jungkook holds up the product box. “That’s the camera you’ve
been ogling for months, now.”
Jungkook nods, nails digging into the cardboard. “I’m gonna kill them.”
“Your sugar daddies? Oh, how cute, they got you a lil’ succulent, too.” Jungkook looks up. Out of
the bag the delivery must have come in is a little plastic case with a tiny aloe vera plant in a glazed
pot. Jungkook’s on his feet. “Where are you going?”
“To kill someone!” Jungkook shouts on his way to the bathroom to scrub off the grime of being in
bed for forty plus hours.
“Let me know when you’re done so I can help you hide the bodies,” Yugyeom calls with cheer from
behind. “And can we keep the plant at least?”
~~~
It takes a thirty minute train ride and another two bus transfers to get close to the hanok, and even
then Jungkook has to trudge another three blocks in the snow to reach the front door. Last time he
just welcomed himself in, but Jungkook sleuths around and finds a dated doorbell and speaker.
A couple minutes and two more rings pass, and Jungkook almost gives up on there being anyone
home except that there are six people living in this house and it’s been advised the population of
Seoul to not travel unless under dire circumstances.
Jungkook feels like this is kind of dire.
The speaker crackles to life. “Uhm, hello? Yes?”
“Hi,” Jungkook says, leaning in close to speak. “Namjoon-ssi?”
A long pause. A hesitant, “Yes?”
Jungkook’s heart beats against the back of his throat, but that might just be the adrenaline catching
up. Or the soup Yugyeom forced him to eat before he came over. “It’s Jeon Jungkook. Is this a good
time?”
“Jungkook-ah?” There’s a thud on the other end of the line, some kind of screeching sound, a sudden
shout. Jungkook hears a smattering of voices crinkling in the background.
“Jungkook is here!”
“Jungkook is here?”
“Do you think he got our gift?”
“What did you two—”
“Eyes! Hide your eyes!”
“Uhm…” Jungkook leans into the speaker again. “Hello?”
“Just a second, Jungkook!” Namjoon shrills, and the then line cuts out to silence.
Jungkook steps away from the gate, rocking from foot to foot to keep some of the chill off, and a
minute passes in which Junkook thinks they might have actually forgotten that he was here, at their
doorstep, when the gate is thrown open without warning and Namjoon is standing there in a parka,
dimples on full display.
“Jungkook-ah!” He greets, his eyes curling prettily, sounding much more put together than he did
five minutes ago. “Hello. What brings you to our home?”
“Are Taehyung-ssi and Jimin-ssi in?” Jungkook asks, and not a moment after saying their names
there’s a ruckus from the house. Some screaming. Behind Namjoon the main door bursts open, but it
isn’t two boys who tumble out into the courtyard.
“You have another dog!?” Jungkook shrieks and immediately sinks into a crouch, dropping the bag
he was holding off to the side to spread his arms wide, laughter high in his throat when the collosal
husky comes running and throws itself into Jungkook’s chest. Jungkook falls back, splayed across
the snow as the dog wiggles on top of him, licking at every inch of his face it can reach.
“Hobi! Stop it!” Seokjin shrills from the doorway, and Jungkook peers under the dog’s frame to see
Seokjin trying to slide on a pair of boots as he runs out of the house into the yard. “You can’t just
tackle him he’s fragile. Namjoon, do something!”
“I’m okay!” Jungkook says from beneath the writhing mass of fur when Namjoon tries to step in to
pull the dog, Hobi, off of him. “He’s not hurting me, swear!”
“That’s not the problem,” Seokjin sighs, shuffling to a stop to stand over him, muttering a string of
what Jungkook thinks are curses under his breath. Namjoon’s chuckling off to the side, hands in his
pockets, the peak of nonchalance when Seokjin shoots him an unamused look.
“Oh. Oh, I’m sorry,” Jungkook says, immediately sitting up so that the Hobi rolls off him into his
lap. Hobi wriggles so that he’s lying on his back and blinks up at Jungkook. “You’ve probably been
training him not to jump.”
“Oh, no, that’s not—There’s no training Hobi,” Seokjin laughs, crouching down to give the dog a
hefty pat on the head and brushing off some of the ice in the process. “He’s a menace.”
Jungkook’s jeans are getting damp, and he shifts so he’s crouched again. Hobi moves with him, still
trying to maintain contact. “I think he’s just real friendly. You just love people, don’t ya, bud?”
Jungkook coos, scratching the dog under the ears, laughing when its tongue lolls out. “He’s really
gorgeous. I’ve never seen a red husky in person.”
While Joon is blank slate of solid white, Hobi is a full shade of russet, his coat shimmering in the late
afternoon light. Just like Joon, though, Hobi doesn’t seem to realize his sheer size and keeps trying to
crawl over Jungkook.
Seokjin flicks Hobi’s nose. “Stop it. You know better.”
Hobi makes a low whining sound in the back of his throat. Seokjin clicks his tongue. “Nope. You
can’t sway me. Go back inside to the others. We’ll be in, in a moment.”
Hobi huffs but crawls off Jungkook to pad back into the house, using his snout to nudge the door
open and then closed again. Wow. Jungkook wonders what Seokjin’s definition of “trained” is if
that’s not it.
“Up you go,” Namjoon says, lifting Jungkook from behind by his armpits with a practiced ease, then
handing over the bag he dropped in favor of cuddling a dog. “You were asking for Taehyung and
Jimin?”
“Yes,” Jungkook says, patting down his pants and coat. “Are they home?”
“They’re waiting inside. Please, come in.”
Warmth blankets him the moment Jungkook steps into the living room, thanking Seokjin softly when
he takes Jungkook’s coat and scarf to hang on a rack behind them. It smells like pine, and Jungkook
notices that they have a small, live Christmas tree set up in the corner with a haphazard arrangement
of ornaments dotted across its branches.
“Jungkookie!” Jungkook twists to see Jimin and Taehyung spilling through the doorway from the
dining room, but their smiles dim the moment they take in Jungkook’s threadbare expression.
“Hello,” Jungkook bows neatly, and they both tuck their heads in response. “Can we speak
privately?”
“Is this not private enough?” Jimin asks, and Jungkook looks around at the room and its five
inhabitants, seeing as Yoongi slipped in unnoticed to stand between Seokjin and Namjoon, looking
as rumpled as Jungkook feels.
“There aren’t any secrets between us,” Taehyung says, his smile kind. “Please speak freely.”
Jungkook doesn’t like feeling like he has an audience, like he’s on display, but no one’s made a
move to leave them alone. Jungkook clears his throat. “Okay. Well. Here,” he says, thrusting out his
hand holding the bag.
Jimin and Taehyung light up. “Is this a gift?”
“It’s your gift,” Jungkook says, and Jimin’s hand falls back to his side, his sweet face confused. “The
one you guys sent me. The one I specifically told you not to get.”
They look to each other, eyes wide. “Yes?” Jimin ventures. “And?”
“I’m giving it back,” Jungkook tells them, stepping closer to drop the bag at their feet when it’s
obvious they’re not going to take it from him. Taehyung stares at the bag like it’s about to come to
life and try to gnaw on his slippers, but Jimin is looking towards Jungkook, eyes heavy-lidded and
calculative, like he’s searching for something in Jungkook’s face.
“Why?” Jimin asks. “You wanted it, didn’t you?”
“That doesn’t mean I wanted you to buy it for me,” Jungkook protests, his cheeks warming under
their stares.
“Were you going to buy it for yourself?” Jimin presses, and embarrassment trickles its way up
Jungkook’s spine.
“No. But that’s not—that’s not the point,” he says, eyes slitting. He pulls his beanie off, feeling
overcome. Heated. “I-I asked you not to do something because it would make me uncomfortable and
you-you went and did it anyway. That’s not cool.”
Jimin and Taehyung finally look to understand how upset Jungkook is. Their fingers are loosely
tangled together, as if they need something to hold on to, and they won’t meet Jungkook’s eye.
“Most humans like receiving lavish gifts,” Taehyung mutters, peeking up under his long lashes to
find Jungkook. “Do they not?”
Jungkook’s breath comes out thick. “I mean, yeah, but—Maybe if we were family or like d-dating or
something,” he says, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “But I’ve only met you twice? I’m not—I’m
not trying to be coy or something here. I don’t need gifts,” Jungkook tells the room at large, making
sure Seokjin and Yoongi see that he’s serious. They both give him a curt nod.
“I would like it be noted,” Namjoon starts, holding up a tentative hand, “that Hoseok and I have not
tried to woo you with luxury goods.”
Namjoon’s face is open and earnest and Jungkook can’t help but bite back a grin. Namjoon smiles
back at him, dimples flickering, and just as Jungkook feels his chest begin to calm, Taehyung says
from the side, “How about instead of us spending money on you, we spend time with you instead?”
The floor gives out under Jungkook’s feet, the perfect sigh of a moment that was building between
them crushed.
“I’m leaving,” Jungkook snaps, turning heel to head for the door.
Seokjin steps in stop him, hands raised. “Woah, hold up, what’s the matter?”
“Did I do something wrong?” Taehyung says in a tiny voice from behind.
Jungkook can feel the clump rising in his throat, but what’s worse are the tears welling, so ready to
fall. “I don’t know if you guys are bored or what,” he snaps, pulling his hat back on, reaching over
Seokjin’s shoulder to grab his coat, “but I’m not a plaything, I’m a person , and I don’t want you
spending time with me because you think you owe it to me or you feel bad for me or something.”
“Jungkook,” Yoongi says when Jungkook pushes the door open and winter wind sweeps through the
room. “Jungkook-ah, let us explain—”
“Jungkook, stop.”
Seokjin’s voice echoes through his ears. A weight drops to Jungkook’s shoulders, spreading through
his chest and sinking to his feet, pinning him to the top step with one hand still on the door. The
silence screams as Jungkook heaves in a shaky breath.
He can’t move his legs.
“Oh wow, it worked for once,” Seokjin says.
“Must have put a lot of emotion behind it,” Yoongi quips.
“I did feel particularly riled—” Seokjin curls around him, spots the tears dribbling down his cheeks.
Seokjin’s expression shatters. “Shit, I take it back, I take it back, Jungkook.” Jungkook’s knees
buckle and Seokjin catches him under the arms, sinking to the floor with him. Jungkook sucks in the
sound of a sob and tries to take a few gulps of air. It’s scorching in Seokjin’s arms.
“He’s burning up,” Seokjin says from above. Jungkook’s eyes flutter shut. “Shit, did I break him?”
“He has a fever,” Yoongi murmurs. There’s a hand on the back of his neck, cool fingers rubbing into
the tense muscles there. “Jungkook-ah, can you hear me?”
Jungkook groans. “Don’t feel good.”
“Put him up in my room again,” Namjoon says distantly, and Jungkook feels the floor give way. His
stomach lurches at the movement, but then everything grows still. Humming, from close by,
something pretty and lilting. A hand wiping away the snot on his lip. Another, brushing back his hair,
which was matted to his forehead.
“Sleep now, little one,” a voice croons, and Jungkook doesn’t have the energy to blink away the
heaviness building behind his eyes this time.
~~~
There’s a low rumble near Jungkook’s ear, a little sneeze. Jungkook groans and feels the pressure on
his chest lift for only a heartbeat before it settles back down on top of him. Jungkook spends a long
moment trying to remember how to use at least one arm, but when he does, he lugs it up and lets it
fall over the thick fur pressed to his mouth.
“Can’t… breathe,” Jungkook manages out, and the snoring stilts. Ther weight shifts, and Jungkook
pries his eyes open and finds Namjoon hovering over him.
“Hey there, kiddo,” Namjoon grins, all teeth and dimples and squinty, adorable eyes. His hair is
sticking up. “How’re you feeling?”
Jungkook hums low, sighing despite himself when fingers card through the hair around his ear. “I
think… I’m dead.”
Namjoon barks out a laugh. “Trust me when I say you’re not.”
Encouraged by the petting, Jungkook rolls forward to plant his head against Namjoon’s chest, which
is covered in a soft cotton that smells like Christmas and a little bit of sweat. Jungkook feels like he
just dipped his face into the surface of the sun. He feels dry and shriveled and wrung-out, but there’s
something so inviting about being in Namjoon’s hold, something soft and safe that draws Jungkook
in, so Jungkook burrows in closer and sighs when Namjoon’s arm trails over his waist to pull him in
tight.
“Jungkook-ah,” Namjoon says lowly, his breath hot against Jungkook’s cheek. “Can I tell you
something?” Jungkook’s head is throbbing, but he nods a little. “The six of us,” Namjoon starts, his
fingers tracing figure eights against Jungkook’s lower back, “we’ve been together a very, very long
time, and it’s been a while since we’ve purposefully sought out someone else’s company the way
we’ve been seeking out yours. Jimin was the last.”
“You seem to all get along really well,” Jungkook mumbles, feeling like he could fall asleep at any
moment. “What do you need me for?”
“I’m honestly not sure,” Namjoon says, honest in that open way of his that Jungkook is learning to
admire. “But I thought the same thing when it was just me and Hoseok, and now I can’t imagine
what would have happened if I hadn’t opened up my heart to Jin and the others.”
“This is a very serious conversation for a Sunday morning with a near stranger who has thrown up
twice in your house.”
Namjoon chuckles and the sound rumbles from deep in his chest. The world seems to move a few
paces slower after that. Jungkook drifts off while Namjoon tugs and plays with his hair, shyly at first,
and then a bit more fearless the more Jungkook melts into his hold. “If I tell you something
fantastical,” Namjoon says in a quiet voice an unknown amount of time later, “will you promise to
believe me?”
Jungkook shifts, pulling away just enough to take in some fresh air. “I don’t know if I can make a
promise like that,” he says.
“Don’t run out on me, how about that?” Jungkook nods, and Namjoon must feel it because he says
right after, “That fox you rescued? That was Taehyung.”
Jungkook pulls back more. Namjoon lets him go, giving him space, but Jungkook doesn’t need
much. Just enough to look into Namjoon’s eyes, which are a smoky brown, like there’s something
burning deeper within them, waiting to step out.
Jungkook takes in those eyes, Namjoon’s soft, open face. Says, “Okay.”
“You saved his life that night,” Namjoon continues, voice steady, “which means our family owes you
a life debt. Do you understand, Jungkook?”
“In theory,” Jungkook nods, because he promised he wouldn’t run out and because he’s getting
answers to questions he hadn’t realized were drifting about his head all this time. A shapeshifting fox
doesn’t explain much, but it explains some, and that’s all Jungkook’s looking for right now.
“It means we owe you, Jungkook, regardless of whether you want us to or not.” Jungkook’s lip curls
at that and Namjoon gives him a rueful smile. “We’re bound until the debt is repaid.”
“So that’s why you’ve been so nice to me?”
Namjoon laughs, but it isn’t mocking. “No. We’ve been nice to you because you are sweet, and
compassionate, and humble. We’ve owed debts to others before this, but that doesn’t mean we’ve
been nice about it.”
“So I’m different?” Jungkook asks.
“You’re different.”
“So Taehyung is magic?” Jungkook asks.
Namjoon hesitates, looking unsure. “He’s a spirit,” Namjoon finally says, biting his lower lip, gaze
roving Jungkook’s face. “Just like many of us are.”
They stay together for a long while, eye-to-eye. Namjoon’s body is tense, like he’s bracing for a
fight. His near-white hair is still unkempt. His hoodie is red. His eyes are off. Jungkook doesn’t
know why, but he knows that they are.
“Joon,” Jungkook says, and Namjoon hums in response. “You’re Joon.”
“I am.” Namjoon blinks and gone is the hazy brown. In its place is the piercing blue from the night of
the party. It’s disorienting, but Jungkook just nods and pinches his arm and listens to the sound of
Namjoon’s laughter fill the room.
Jungkook’s feeling tired again, but he flops onto his back and presses his palms against his eyes and
makes some kind of half groan, half shrieking noise. Namjoon pats his stomach in consolation.
“Oh my god,” Jungkook moans, wriggling so that his back is to Namjoon. “I can’t believe this.
Everything I told you.”
“I have to say,” Namjoon interjects, a lone finger trailing down Jungkook’s spine, like he can’t keep
his hands away, “I didn’t realize you were human the night of the party. I thought you were a very
brazen spirit aware of who I was and who I’m bonded with yet determined to hit on me as heavily as
possible regardless.”
“That night makes so much more sense now,” Jungkook says, rolling back over to look at Namjoon
from the side. Namjoon is smiling, big and dopey. Definitely prime dog material. “So you’re all
together together?” A nod. “And you’re all not human?” Another nod. “And you have to repay a life
debt to me no matter what?” More nodding. “Okay, then.”
“You’re taking this very well,” Namjoon notes.
“It’s not like you guys are scary,” Jungkook shrugs. “And this explains a lot.”
“You don’t think we’re frightening?”
“I think you could be, if you wanted to, but you won’t.” Jungkook bites the soft spot of his cheek.
Reaches to press his palm against Namjoon’s chest, right over his heart. “Not with me,” Jungkook
says in a quiet voice, and just like the morning in the clinic with Seokjin, Namjoon takes Jungkook’s
hand and presses his mouth against Jungkook’s knuckles.
Jungkook swoons, but he thinks he hides it well, because the next second Namjoon is on his feet,
guiding Jungkook up. “Your fever broke this morning, so go wash up. There’s a bathroom to your
left with fresh towels.”
Jungkook’s still too tired to keep up with the change of pace, so he just nods and shuffles off to the
cracked doorway. Jungkook realizes that anyone could have been listening in on their conversation,
and going off the scurry of feet from the other side of the partition, he has a feeling they all were.
Jungkook spins around to face the room again. Namjoon is gathering up blankets to fold. “Namjoonssi?” Namjoon looks to him, a brow edged up. Jungkook bows neatly. “Thanks for trusting me.”
“Thanks for being trust-worthy,” Namjoon replies, his voice warm, and Jungkook ducks his head
again and hurries off to the restroom to drown his worries in the shower, all his misery melting away
the longer he spends under the warm spray of the water, the longer he spends dreaming about
Namjoon’s lips on his skin.
~~~
“So,” Jungkook starts, hands folded neatly in his lap. “A fox spirit.”
Taehyung winks at him. “Yup.”
“Could you…” Taehyung raises one of his delectable brows. “Tell me more about that?”
“Well,” Taehyung says, leaning towards him, chin in palm. His lashes are so dark, hovering over his
eyes. “I don’t feast on human flesh, if that’s what you were worried about.”
“Was definitely top of my list of concerns,” Jungkook nods, and a sudden smile streaks across
Taehyung’s face, cracking the look of lethal charm he’s been exuding since Jungkook settled down
across from him.
“I do have to eat a heart, though,” Taehyung says. “Once a month. Not human!” He interjects, when
Jungkook’s mouth parts into a little oh . “That’s what I was doing the night you found me. I was
heading back from the mountain after hunting and got into a spat of trouble on the way.”
This makes sense. As much as sitting across a dining table from a thousand year old fox spirit
wearing an oversized, striped sweater make sense in Jungkook’s world.
“I only have three tails,” Taehyung presses on when Jungkook doesn’t say anything, “but we can get
up to nine, depending on how long we live or the knowledge we possess.” Jungkook nods, intrigued,
and Taehyung chews on his lip. His foot is jiggling under the table. He’s nervous. Despite the sultry
bedroom eyes, Taehyung is nervous around him. “My role a long time ago was to ward off evil from
the land, but that was back when more people believed in and relied on us, lots of shrines and the
sort; but now I make sure bad people pay for their crimes.”
“Do you hunt them down?”
“I play tricks,” Taehyung answers, the tips of his ears pink from where they stick out under his long
hair. “Greedy businessmen, corrupt politicians, that kind of thing. I’m like a spiritual hitman.”
“And when you’re not protecting the good souls of Seoul?” Jungkook presses, leaning in confidently,
liking the way Taehyung’s eyes keep drifting over him, as if trying to swallow him up.
“I run a studio,” Taehyung says. “Doing restoration work.” He pauses. “Am I making you
uncomfortable?”
Jungkook scrunches his nose. “No? Why?”
“You’re just…” Taehyung hesitates again, then settles on, “I’m talking a lot.”
“So? I like listening to you.”
Surprise crosses Taehyung’s face, and then he shakes his head, and then he laughs. It’s a loud and
happy sound. Makes his whole face come alive with it. Jungkook can’t help but smile hearing it.
There’s a knock on the wood frame by the kitchen, jostling them out of the moment, and Jungkook
looks over and spots Seokjin hanging around the corner. “Jungkook-ah, the streets are cleared and
the car is ready. I’ll drive you home.”
Jungkook nods and Seokjin disappears, only for the others to file in after him. Jungkook stands,
alarmed at their arrival.
“We just wanted to see you off,” Hoseok tells him, noting the worry in his face.
Jungkook peers around them. “Have you been hiding out in the kitchen this whole time?” He asks.
“We wanted to be close by,” Jimin says, his eyes sparking in the lamp light. “In case things went
sideways with you and Tae.”
“But you’re taking the whole spirit world thing remarkably well, it seems,” Yoongi intones.
They’re all looking at him hopefully. Curiously. Cautiously. Jungkook feels an urge to burrow in a
cupboard.
“I’m not going to tell anyone, if that’s what you were worried about,” Jungkook says, looking them
in the face, wiping his hands on his thighs. “Not that anyone would believe me, but I won’t say
anything.”
“Oh, we’re not worried about that,” Hoseok says.
“Most humans can’t see us if we don’t want to be seen,” Taehyung tells him, rising to join the
others.
Jungkook swallows, absorbing this, but before he can ask what that makes him, a human who has
always been able to see them, Seokjin turns the corner and flails to avoid running in Namjoon’s back.
“What is this, an interrogation? Shoo, shoo,” he squawks, brushing past them. They part to let him
by. “Give him space. Come on, Jungkook-ah. Hyung will take you home.”
Jungkook folds into a neat bow. “Bye everyone. Thank you again for taking care of me.”
They bid him farewell, and just as Jungkook is toeing his boots back on, someone catches his hand,
stopping him before he can step out into the courtyard. Jungkook looks up just as Jimin starts to wrap
a second scarf around his neck.
“It’s begun to snow again,” Jimin mumbles, giving the fabric ends a little pull, and Taehyung comes
up behind to grab Jungkook’s hand, spread his fingers wide, slip on a leather glove, then another.
“It’s not a gift,” Taehyung says, his voice soft. He draws away when Jimin does. “Which means you
have to come back again to return them.”
Their eyes are looking right through him and Jungkook can only nod, so he does, several times.
Seokjin’s waiting in the same car in the garage, and he doesn’t take it out of park until Jungkook has
buckled his seatbelt.
“So,” Seokjin says as soon as they’re on the road.
“So,” Jungkook echoes, sinking into the seat warmers. “Are you gonna try to wipe my mind or
something?”
“Already tried,” Seokjin answers without a tinge of humor in his voice. His eyes flick over to gauge
Jungkook’s reaction, which, to be frank, he’s kind of hurt even though he probably doesn’t have any
right to be. “When I was dropping you off last time. It didn’t take. Nothing I do takes to you, except
for that command earlier, which I’m deeply sorry for.”
“Is that you’re thing?” Jungkook asks, looking out the window at the winter wonderland. The
sidewalks are filled with drifts of snow from the roads, nearly impossible to walk on. “Controlling
people?”
“No. I mean… I’m very powerful, Jungkook-ah,” Seokjin says with a sigh, clinging to the steering
wheel. “I’ve been alive for a very long time. With that comes a lot of power, and the danger that
accompanies it.” A long pause. “I have a family to protect,” Seokjin whispers.
Jungkook wants to say yes. Yes, you beautiful, kind-hearted man, I understand. But he doesn’t, not
really, and he hasn’t for a long time. And the idea of controlling someone against their will, making
them think what you want—It’s frightening. Maybe that’s what Namjoon meant earlier, when he
asked if Jungkook thought they were scary.
“I only control people when I need to protect someone else,” Seokjin says when the silence has
grown too large to manage. “Usually that control doesn’t work on you, but I guess with your state of
mind today and how scared I was to see you walk out our door like that—” Seokjin cuts himself off.
His hands clench on the steering wheel. “Something must have gotten through. I’m sorry, to have
scared you like that. I promise not to do it again.”
Jungkook tap, tap, taps a finger against the building condensation of the window. “Because I’m not a
threat anymore?”
“Because you are now one of the people I want to protect.”
Jungkook flushes and doesn’t comment. Minutes pass with nothing save for the cheery carols of the
radio, but every once in a while he’ll catch Seokjin’s eyes on him. Each time Seokjin gives him a
slow smile, and each time Jungkook feels himself becoming more and more charmed.
When they reach the gate that leads to his dorms, Seokjin flips the lock again so that Jungkook can’t
open the door. “Will you continue to come by the house?” Seokjin asks, turning fully in his seat to
face Jungkook. “The others have taken quite a liking to you.”
“What about you?” Jungkook asks, slowing his lashes. “Have you taken a liking to me?”
Seokjin shifts. His eyes drop to Jungkook’s mouth, where he’s biting his bottom lip. “You’re brattier
than I thought,” Seokjin huffs, lips pressing into a pout. “What happened to the sweet Jungkookie
who couldn’t stop talking about my lips?”
“That Jungkookie had a lethal amount of vodka in his system and a dog in his lap.”
Seokjin gives him his most enticing grin. “I mean, we can make that happen again if you’d like.”
It’s strange, how the flirting is melting Jungkook into a more relaxed state. Shoulders loosening,
hands unclenching. Seokjin seems to soften along with him and Jungkook likes that more than he
should; how easily they fall into each other’s pace.
Jungkook clears his throat and Seokjin looks up to him. “Give me some time to process. I would like
to come back, though, if that’s okay.”
“The invitation is always open.” Jungkook nods and flicks the lock open so he can push his way out
of the car. The December chill steals his breath the moment it hits his lungs. “There’s usually
someone always home, so drop by whenever.”
“Thank you, Seokjin-ssi.”
“ Jungkook,” Seokjin groans, “call me hyung, already. Please.”
A smile spreads on Jungkook’s face. He leans down to look into the car. “Aren’t you a bit old to be
my hyung?”
Seokjin’s eyes flash grey. Not a trick of the light, then, but maybe still a trick. Maybe next time he
can ask and get a real answer. “Little cheeky—”
“Bye, hyung,” Jungkook grins, biting his lip again, liking the way Seokjin immediately follows the
movement. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Go to sleep and eat some soup and take more medicine!” Seokjin shrills before Jungkook slams the
door closed. Halfway down the sidewalk Jungkook looks over his shoulder to see Seokjin lingering
outside the car, watching him go, like he’s waiting to make sure Jungkook is safe before he leaves.
~~~
“So, let me get this straight,” Yugyeom announces the moment Jungkook changes into sweats and
piles a mountain of blankets over himself on their tiny loveseat. “You went to your sugar daddies’
house to return a gift,” he says, sitting right on top of Jungkook’s feet as he inhales a mouthful of
ramen, “passed out because you still had a freakin’ fever, seriously dude, don’t do that again, and
they nursed you back to health and basically asked for you to be a part of their harem.”
Jungkook tries to kick him but Yugyeom just presses his weight down and laughs. “No. That’s so far
from what happened,” Jungkook grumbles.
“No, pretty sure that’s what happened.”
“No. I’m not—” Jungkook throws his head back. There’s a brown spot on the ceiling they’ve been
eyeing, trying to figure out whether it’s worth the hassle to get maintenance out here to check it.
“They didn’t ask me to join them. They just want to repay me still, which involves me spending more
time with them.” Yugyeom makes a throaty humming sound. Jungkook peeks over the top of his
mound to see Yugyeom staring him down. “What?”
Yugyeom purses his lips. “You sure you’re not just being self-defeating?”
“Because you don’t think I’m capable of managing myself around six beautiful men?”
“Because I don’t think you think you deserve being around six beautiful men,” Yugyeom corrects.
Jungkook’s nose scrunches. He turns to the TV where some kind of drama rerun is playing. Another
hospital one. People romanticize dying too much. “Don’t psycho-analyze me.”
“Fine.” Yugyeom sets his bowl on the floor and falls over so he’s sprawled on Jungkook’s lower
half. “I’m glad you’re safe,” he says, looking up at Jungkook with big, shining eyes. “I’m glad these
new friends you’ve made aren’t serial killers. Next time they try to buy you something, let them do
it, because it’s coming from a good place. ‘Kay?”
“You just want fancy gifts,” Joogkook grumbles, biting back a grin.
Yugyeom pinches his thigh. “You deserve fancy gifts, Kook.”
“No psycho-analyzing!”
Yugyeom smiles at him and Jungkook swats the back of his head, then lets his fingers rest there,
playing with Yugyeom’s hair the way Namjoon did for him earlier because that’s something friends
do for each other. The lingering touches, the brazen glances, the sweet words; Namjoon said they
owed him a debt and a debt they will repay, but that doesn’t mean there’s anything deeper or warmer
there waiting for Jungkook when it’s over.
Chapter 3
Jungkook notices a few weeks into the start of the semester that he is tired.
It makes sense. He’s a fourth year student in an art-related field where projects take thrice as long as
writing papers. His job at the shelter uses up his later afternoons and evenings. His new position
closing at a comic book café walking distance from campus is how he spends his nights. Jungkook
always makes sure to get at least a handful of hours of sleep, though, and he and Yugyeom are
running PRs every other day at the gym.
But Jungkook is tired, the kind that he can’t seem to brush off his shoulders. The kind that makes it
hard to smile, which means he’s probably also sad, but Jungkook doesn’t have time to be Tired or
Sad. He has a degree to finish and rent to pay and money to save. And if Jungkook has to start
blending protein shakes for every meal to make it between shifts and classes without being late, then
he certainly hasn’t been able to manage a trip back to the hanok to see the others.
It’s been over a month since he last left them, and while Jungkook might have told them to give him
some space to think and breathe and time probably runs different to them anyway because they’re,
well, kind of immortal? He hasn’t really figured that out. But he didn’t expect them to give him so
much space that he starts to question whether it was all just a wonky dream on his end.
Except, there's a cashmere scarf draped over Jungkook’s desk chair and a set of leather gloves resting
on his art history book.
Also, Yugyeom keeps bringing up when he’s going to get to meet his new in-laws.
That time might be never, now, seeing as Jungkook is probably going to freeze to death on this street
corner.
The café is great. The people are kind. Jungkook gets to snack as much as he wants when he’s on the
clock. But the neighborhood is filled with a bunch of bars, and sometimes stressed college students
like to get drunk, and sometimes those drunks like to hit on women because they think it’s fun and
they have a chance and girls, like, owe them or something.
Hence the dying on the sidewalk.
Jungkook didn’t get beat up. It was two guys who were more bark than bite up until one of them tried
to bite. A stray fist swung at Jungkook that he took easy and gave back two-fold. They scrammed
after that, and Jungkook walked the two girls to their bus stop and waited with them until it arrived.
Politely turned down their advances when they tried to get his number. And then, a block into his
walk back to campus, Jungkook noticed that the world was a bit bleary at the corners, and when he
tried to move left, he kept veering right.
So Jungkook hunkered down on a low retainer wall outside a closed stationary store and he called
Yugyeom. And when Yugyeom didn’t answer, he called Mingyu. And when Mingyu didn’t answer,
Jungkook tried Seokmin. And after that, Jungkook pressed his palms against his eyes and counted
backwards from a hundred by seven, which took more effort than he’d ever admit aloud to someone,
but it did the job. When Jungkook no longer felt half-hysterical, he picked his phone back up and
scrolled, searching for Seokjin’s number, and when he remembered he never got it, Jungkook
hugged his knees tight to his chest and told himself not to cry.
The concussion can’t be that bad. He runs twenty miles a week. He can make it back. That’s what
Jungkook tells himself up until the moment he stands, sways, then takes three, lurching strides to
throw up in a bush.
Jungkook goes back to his ledge and plops down. Looks around. It’s not a club scene and most of the
bars have given last call. The street he’s on is mainly retail and restaurants anyway and closed up for
the night. It’s empty, save for a stray cat sitting a few yards away, grooming itself.
“Hello,” Jungkook says, his voice swimming in his ears. The cat's ears prick up and it looks over to
him. “You wouldn’t happen to be friends with Kim Taehyung the fox spirit, would you?”
The cat blinks at him. Returns to picking at its paw.
Well.
That was a long shot.
But the boys are magic, aren’t they? At least a little bit. So Jungkook closes his eyes and clasps his
hands together and whispers, “Kim Seokjin, I choose you.” Like he’s nine and trying to pick out a
Pokemon and not call upon an immortal being who may or may not also be some kind of god.
Jungkook cracks an eye open, then the other. The street is still bare, his only company the cat.
Jungkook falls to the side so he can press his throbbing forehead to the cool stone of the wall. It’s not
that cold out. Most of the snow has melted the past week. He could wait out here for another hour, at
least until someone responds to one of the messages he left. In the meantime, Jungkook can rest.
Because he is tired, and his head hurts, and he feels very alone, and things always look brighter after
a nap.
~~~
Jungkook wakes up in his bedroom to the sound of voices outside the door; but then Jungkook
blinks, and he realizes he’s not in his bedroom. He’s simply in a bed, in a room, and curled up at the
foot of the futon, half draped over his legs and cutting off his circulation, are two giant mounds of
fur.
“Hyungs?” Jungkook croaks, the word feeling like slush in his mouth. His head doesn’t hurt
anymore, the ringing has stopped, but Jungkook kind of feels like there’s a film over his eyes that he
can’t quite blink away.
Sniffing, and then a nose appears in the fur, and then a set of bright, golden eyes. When Jungkook
tries to sit up and groans, there’s already a warm hand on his chest, pushing him back down.
“Woah, easy there, champ.” Jungkook rubs his eyes and tries to free up some of the gunk there.
When he opens them again, Hoseok is peering down at him. There’s a tiny dimple pressed into one
of his cheeks. “How’s the head?”
“Did I die?” Jungkook mumbles, heaving himself up. Hoseok eases an arm around him to help this
time.
“Not if we can help it,” Hoseok chuckles, pulling away to settle down cross-legged. He reaches to
dip his hand under Namjoon’s t-shirt to rub his now human back. Namjoon still seems half-asleep
with the way he’s flopped on his stomach, arms stretched overhead, but his eyes are open and trained
on Jungkook.
The room Jungkook in is new. At least to him. There’s still art spilling everywhere it can reach, but
it’s all bright and messy brushstrokes compared to the bedroom from before, where things were
earthy and composed of lots of lines. There’s a full wall of books. No plants. Things feel tidier. It
smells like firewood.
“Jungkookie?” Hoseok says, and Jungkook’s eyes snap open. He drifted off, but the two men are
watching him patiently, their brows knitted, like they half expect Jungkook to just keel over on
them.
There’s a window looking out into the courtyard. The sky is already light. Too light.
“I have… class,” Jungkook says, watching a bird settle on one of the trees. Panic washes over him in
an instant. “Shit, I have a class!”
Jungkook’s on his feet and stumbling for the door, but his legs either get caught in the blankets or
decide that they don’t want to do their jobs just yet because they crumble underneath him. He hits the
floorboards with an aching thud, and Jungkook curls in on himself and groans, rolling onto his side
to see Namjoon and Hoseok on their feet, moving in to crowd him.
“Jungkook?” Namjoon says, all husky and deep. “Are you okay?”
Jungkook wants to say something mean, he’s obviously not okay; but he has no fight in him. Not that
he had any to start with. Not that that he could fight them, anyway, when they’re both giving him
literal puppy eyes.
“I need to get to class,” Jungkook says instead, pushing their hands away and standing again, this
time much more slowly and with the support of the wall. “I have two studios today and a third of my
grade comes from attendance—”
“Jungkook, wait a second,” Hoseok calls out as Jungkook slides the door open. There are others
awake, Jungkook can hear them, but he just barrels on down the connecting hall until he reaches the
front room. Through the doorway Jungkook spots movement, but he goes straight for the rack where
his puffer coat is hanging and fumbles to put it on. Surely he doesn’t have this many arms. Where are
his arms? Is this inside-out?
“Jungkook?”
Jungkook looks up. Hoseok and Namjoon are standing on one side of the room, but Jimin just
entered from the other. He’s holding a granola bar. His stubby brows are pinched together. He looks
like he could kill a man. Jungkook briefly wonders if he has.
“I have to go to class,” Jungkook says in lieu of a greeting, already stooping down to tug his boots
on.
Creaking floorboards. “What? No you don’t.”
“It’s Tuesday. I have two studios and a lecture I can’t miss.”
“Jungkook,” Jimin says, closer this time. His shadow falls over Jungkook from behind. “Jungkook,
it’s already four o’clock.”
“What?” Jungkook pats down his coat and finds his phone tucked into one of the inner pockets. The
battery is low but the screen still reads 4:18pm.
Jungkook looks over his shoulder between them all, not really seeing them. He checks his phone
again. Several missed calls a string of messages. The time still staring him down from the top
corner.
Angry, everything all at once tears prick Jungkook eyes. He continues to pull on his shoes. “I’m late
for work.”
“Jungkook,” Hoseok calls. “We called into the clinic for you—”
Jungkook spins his body this time to meet them. “What?” He snaps, voice cracking. “Why?”
“Because you had a severe concussion and you need to rest,” Jimin tells him, his whole face a frown.
Everything is rattling around in Jungkook’s head. It feels empty up there, like something tries to slip
in and just falls out the other side. “It wasn’t that bad. I was fine. I am fine.” Jungkook stops and
looks around, like he’s seeing the room for the first time. “Why am I here?”
Jimin’s crouched in front of him, still wearing that dreadful expression. “Seokjin came and got you.”
“What?”
“You called him.”
Jungkook feels smeary. Jimin’s hand is on his forehead. Tiny thumbs. “I did?”
“Yeah,” Jimin says, pushing away the damp hair from Jungkook’s cheeks and temples. “He has a
spell placed on you.”
“He does?” Jungkook glances down at his person, like he’ll be able to see some kind of physical
manifestation of magic on his clothes or something. Jungkook looks back up. Jimin’s face says he
doesn’t seem to know if he should be concerned or amused. “Why are you in scrubs?” Jungkook
asks.
“Because I just got off shift at the hospital,” Jimin answers. “Will you please hold still so I can check
your head?”
“No,” Jungkook says even as Jimin takes his face to cradle. “I have to go to work.”
Jimin shushes him, and a moment later there’s a pricking warmth under Jungkook’s skin, fanning out
from under Jimin’s spread fingers on his cheeks. The warmth turns gooey, seeping into his bones,
and Jungkook closes his eyes and wakes up an unknown amount of time later in Jimin’s lap. They’re
still in the doorway, though, and Jungkook still only has one boot on. Namjoon and Hoseok are
looking down at him, like they want to help but don’t know how.
“Hey, there, handsome,” Jimin greets, a finger trailing the bridge of Jungkook’s nose. “How’s your
head, now?”
“Clearer.” Jungkook licks his lips. “Not so hazy.”
“Good. Concussion should be gone, now.”
Jungkook’s head lags to the side. Jimin has very firm thighs. He smells like antiseptic and lemon
cleaner and the most subtle hint of something herby. “What’d you do?”
“Worked a little magic,” Jimin grins, giving him a wink and some jazz hands, but Jungkook’s not
really in the mood for cute boys and their flirty ways.
He squeezes his eyes shut and takes in a few full breaths of Jimin’s hodge-podge scent. Then, when it
feels like he might doze off again, Jungkook heaves himself up. “If it’s gone then I’m good to work,”
Jungkook says as Jimin’s arms fall away from his waist.
“But we called you in—”
“I have another job,” Jungkook interjects, fingers moving nimbly this time as he ties his laces. “Shift
starts in a few hours and I need to get some homework done before then. Email my teachers.”
“We did that already,” Hoseok says.
Jungkook looks over to them again. “What?”
“Jin called your school and asked them to relay to your professors that you were injured and would
be out for a couple of days.” Hoseok continues. There’s a look on his face Jungkook has never seen
before. Not from him. Gone is the heart smile. In its place is something more steeled. “We let the
clinic know, as well, but we weren’t aware of your second job.”
“You wouldn’t,” Jungkook says, feeling tired again, like the air is swelling and trying to swallow
him whole. “But if I’m okay, that doesn’t matter. I can go.” He turns to Jimin for confirmation
because Jimin’s obviously the one in the medical field who has… magic hands, Jungkook supposes.
Jimin is clearly torn between lying and letting Jungkook go. “I mean. Yes,” he finally settles on,
looking to Namjoon and Hoseok as if for help. “But you should really rest some more, you were so
exhausted—”
“And now I’m not,” Jungkook grins even though he is. He is, he is, he’s so tired. “Thank you for
the… magic. I really appreciate your help.”
Jimin stands with him, a frown deeply etched on his sweet face. “Of course. We—”
“Owe me. I know. Thank you.” Jungkook gives them each a neat bow and doesn’t spare them a
glance on his way into the courtyard.
The sky is a dreary gray and promises the possibility of snow. Jungkook hunkers down inside his
coat against the chill and walks quickly, hoping to make the next bus a few streets over. The fog
inside his head is starting to take over again, though, and Jungkook doesn’t understand what that
means. Jimin said the concussion, however he managed it, is gone. So why is the weight pressing
against his eyes still here?
A cloud suddenly passes overhead, or at least what Jungkook assumed was a cloud except there are
only clouds above right now. A sharp breeze whips along the sidewalk, shifting his hair, and
Jungkook pushes the stray pieces from his face and sees Yoongi standing in front of him, just a few
steps away, hands shoved into his pockets and a beanie pulled low over his ears.
Yoongi nods. “Hey, kid.”
Jungkook lifts a hand. “Hello. Uhm. Did you just come from…” Jungkook points a finger to the sky.
Yoongi shrugs. Okay, then.
They stare at each other for an immeasurable amount of time. “Heard you got into a disagreement
with Jimin,” Yoongi finally says when it’s clear Jungkook might be too stunned to initiate
conversation.
Jungkook frowns. Was Yoongi there, listening in? Jungkook checks his phone. He has to get to the
bus. “I wouldn’t call it that.” Yoongi hums deep in his throat. “Are you here to lecture me?”
“I wouldn’t call it that,” Yoongi says with the smallest of grins. It almost makes Jungkook laugh, but
instead he just shakes his head and takes off down the sidewalk again, listening to see if Yoongi
follows. When he doesn’t hear footsteps, Jungkook glances over his shoulder and sees Yoongi there,
right beside him, keeping pace, his feet silent on the concrete.
Yoongi meets his gaze. They’re so dark, his eyes. Jungkook can’t even discern the pupil from the
iris.
“What’s going on up there?”
Yoongi’s voice snaps him back into the here and now. Jungkook doesn’t know how long he spent
lost in Yoongi’s eyes, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind. His expression is smooth, his gaze
thoughtful. He’s tapping the side of his own temple.
“What?” Jungkook says, not quite hearing his own voice.
“What are you thinking?” Yoongi asks, and it’s hard not to sink under the weight of that
stare. Jungkook’s feet slow to a stop and Yoongi follows. “Because the Jeon Jungkook I know is
kind, with a warm heart, and wouldn’t raise his voice at a friend trying to help him.”
Sinking, sinking below the surf. “Are Jimin-ssi and I friends?” Jungkook asks. He didn't mean for it
to sound so callous, but it is genuine, the question. “Are we friends? We’ve barely spoken. We barely
know each other.” Yoongi’s expression hasn’t changed. Jungkook’s not sure if he likes that or not.
“You don’t know what kind of person I am.”
“Jeon Jungkook.” Jungkook’s heart bangs against his ribcage. One person, one stranger, shouldn’t
have this much power over him. “You are an exquisitely honest person,” Yoongi says, casual as can
be. Jungkook’s throat pulses. “Your face can’t lie, and frankly, neither can you.”
Jungkook feels sick. With confusion, frustration, with everything. “I’m sorry,” he sighs. “I’m being
terrible, aren’t I.”
“Not terrible,” Yoongi hums, and Jungkook is surprised when Yoongi reaches for his hand. “I think
that maybe you’re confused and a little overwhelmed, though.” Yoongi squeezes his fingers. He has
a very good hand for a boy. Large, square, smooth. “Want to tell hyung about it? It’s not good to
hold on to things. They sometimes grow too heavy for us to carry, at least on our own.”
Jungkook has this box, inside his chest, where he stores the things he doesn’t need. Anger is one of
them. Envy, another. Regret. Rejection. Longing. Most days, Jungkook feels like he’s able to hold it
all together. It’s never been that difficult. It’s just a box, afterall. A box tucked beneath his heart is
easy to manage. It should be easy to manage.
A tear drips down Jungkook’s face, all the way till it drops off his chin. He sniffs. Says, “I have to do
well in my classes.” Yoongi doesn’t say anything. He just holds Jungkook’s hand. “ If I don't, then I
lose my scholarship, and if I lose my scholarship then I can’t live in student housing, and if I don’t
have the dorm then I don’t have anywhere and I-I have to finish my degree,” Jungkook rushes out,
his voice like whalesong in his own ears, his face wet. Still Yoongi holds his hand. “I can’t not finish
or no one will hire me, no matter how good my portfolio is. And I-I had to get a second job at this
comic book café, and everyone is really nice, but I always have nights and I’m just so tired, hyung.
I’m so...” Jungkook shakes his head, sucks in a breath, “I’m so tired.”
Yoongi takes Jungkook’s other hand in his own. “That’s sounds rough, Kook-ah.”
“It’s okay,” Jungkook manages out between sniffles. “I-I’m just being sensitive.”
“You’re working really hard,” Yoongi says.
Jungkook wipes his cheek with his shoulder. Blinks back tears. “Thanks.”
“Hyung is really proud of you,” Yoongi says.
Jungkook takes one look at Yoongi’s face, so intimidating the first time they met, now so full of
love, and Jungkook takes in one great, big breath and promptly began to bawl.
Yoongi tugs on his hands. Says, with all the warmth in the world, “Let’s go home, Jungkook-ah.”
~~~
Jungkook is settled in the living room on a mound of cushions with a cup of lightly spiked,
peppermint hot chocolate and a dog half draped in his lap.
“Told you we could make it happen again,” Seokjin gleams with a wink across the coffee table,
sipping from his own steaming mug. Jimin and Taehyung are out, while Hoseok and Yoongi putter
about the kitchen, making dinner. The house smells of garlic and red pepper. There’s a movie
playing on the TV, something off Netflix, something having to do with coral reefs, which is what
Namjoon’s eyes are focused on while Jungkook scratches at the thick fur around his ears.
“Jungkook-ah,” Seokjin says when Jungkook just drops his head with a flush instead of responding.
“Call into the café and let them know that you’re sick. Then, tomorrow, go in and turn in your twoweek notice and inform them that you’re sorry, but your workload with school takes priority.”
Jungkook taps his fingers along the porcelain of his mug. It looks expensive. Feels well-made. Along
the bottom are a set of carved initials. “Are you trying to do that voice thing on me again?” Jungkook
asks, glancing up under his lashes.
Seokjin gives a little shake of his head. “No. I’m trying to do the hyung thing where I guilt you into
taking better care of yourself.”
It’s a joke, and Jungkook thinks it would make him smile if his head wasn’t set on smothering him at
the moment.
Namjoon shifts in his lap, whining. “I can’t quit,” Jungkook mumbles, brushing a hand over
Namjoon’s head, dragging it down along his back. He’s wearing a bright yellow sweater. “I need to
start saving for after school.”
“Jungkook. Do you trust me?”
Jungkook looks up. Seokjin is no longer lounging. He’s sitting at attention, hands folded neatly in his
lap. He’s studying Jungkook with very serious, very gray eyes. He hasn’t bothered to hide them since
he walked in and found Jungkook curled up between Hoseok and Namjoon in dog form on his living
room floor.
“No,” Jungkook says. Seokjin edges a brow up. “Fine. Yes. But I probably shouldn’t.”
“You’re being very rude to someone who’s about to offer to pay for all your bills for the next year.”
Jungkook’s head falls to the side, considering. “What?”
Seokjin gestures for Jungkook to take a sip of his drink, which has gone untouched in his hand for
several minutes now. Somehow it’s still warm. “Your pay from the clinic goes towards groceries,
toiletries, school supplies and such, correct?” Jungkook gives a tiny nod. “If I cover that for you, you
can begin saving your earnings from the clinic and the second job will become obsolete.”
Seokjin says it so matter-of-factly. So reasonably. Like it’s all in the details and the details just aren’t
important. Don’t make a difference. Are so easy to just move past.
“But you—” Seokjin smiles at him. “You can’t do that.”
“I can do that,” Seokjin says, taking a drink from his mug, borderline smug.
Jungkook sputters. When he looks down to Namjoon, Namjoon’s eyes flicker to him and then back
to the TV, quick as can be. This is a planned attack. A group effort. “Well I won’t let you,” Jungkook
tells him, them. “I told you I don’t want handouts.”
“Then how about a trade.” Seokjin’s eyes are sparkling, as if he’s playing some kind of game, which
makes Jungkook the pawn who just fell in stride with him. “I pay your bills so to speak, and you
come over twice a week when you have time to entertain us.”
Jungkook’s brow furrows. “Entertain?”
“Sorry, it’s a colloquial term. I mean keep us company,” Seokjin explains, lazily gesturing about the
room. “Maybe have dinner. Play games with the boys. Chat. You can bring your schoolwork, if
you’d like.”
Jungkook presses his lips together and shakes his head. “I don’t know if that’s an even exchange—”
“It is, don’t worry,” Seokjin interjects. He’s smiling, big and happy. “We owe you, and if we happen
to see your cute face around the house more, I say it’s a win-win.”
Jungkook’s chest feels funny. He leans over Namjoon to set his cup down and begins to thumb at the
collar of Namjoon’s sweatshirt, tugging idly. Seokjin hasn’t taken his eyes off him. “Can I ask you
something and have you be honest with me?”
Seokjin nods, setting his own cup down, serious again. “You can always trust that you will receive
nothing but the truth from me, Jungkook-ah.”
“Do you guys like me?” Namjoon stiffens. Seokjin’s smile falls. “I just.” Jungkook takes in a huge
breath. “I need to hear you say it. That you like me and want to be my friend and it’s not just because
you owe me.”
Namjoon’s wriggling out of Jungkook’s hold and Jungkook lets him go, bending and curling his legs
to get some feeling back into them as Namjoon pads away.
“You thought all this effort was just so we can be freed of the debt?” Seokjin questions, looking
distraught. Out of the side of Jungkook’s eye he sees Namjoon shift, but by the time he looks over,
Namjoon is simply stretching, the tips of his fingers nearly brushing the ceiling, his stomach golden
and smooth where his sweater rose up.
“Kind of,” Jungkook answers as Namjoon goes around the table to stand behind Seokjin. “Not
entirely, but enough.”
“Joon,” Seokjin scolds, tipping his head back so he knocks against Namjoon’s knees. “I thought you
spoke with him about this?”
“I did,” Namjoon answers, his voice raspy, like it hasn’t quite caught up with him yet. He looks up to
Jungkook, eyes slitted and sleepy. “Jungkook, I thought I explained that the relationship we seek
with you isn’t just about the debt.”
“No?” Jungkook answers, looking between the two of them. “You said that I can’t do anything about
the debt, but that you guys like me, so it makes things easier.”
“Namjoon!” Hoseok squawks from the kitchen.
“I didn’t say that!” Namjoon shouts back. “You all were listening in, you know I didn’t say that!”
“Jungkook.” Seokjin’s brows are scrunched together. Jungkook can’t tell if he’s confused or hurt.
“It’s true that repaying the debt is easier because we like you, but you’re passing over the very
critical piece of information that we do, in fact, like you.” Jungkook’s cheeks warm. Seokjin’s
forehead smooths over. “Don’t you like to spoil the special people in your life? The people you care
for?”
“Of course,” Jungkook says, playing with the tasseled edge of a pillow. “I like seeing them happy.”
“Well we like seeing you happy—”
“And healthy!” Hoseok yells from the kitchen.
“—And healthy,” Seokjin adds, giving a playful eye roll.
Namjoon rocks from foot to foot. His eyes are as piercing as ever when he says, “We liked you
before we owed you a debt, Jungkook.”
Jungkook holds his breath. Lets is out slow. “Oh.”
“Are we good now?” Seokjin asks. “All caught up?”
“Yeah. I think so.” Jungkook sinks back into the cushions. “Wow.”
“Is the shock catching up to you?” Seokjin grins, cupping his face, striking a pose. “We are quite a
lot to take in.”
“No.” Seokjin drops his arms with a huff and Jungkook can’t help but laugh. It’s quiet and quick but
a laugh nonetheless. It makes them smile. “You guys are— Sorry, it’s dumb. I just—” Jungkook
shakes his head. The box, the box. He’s opened it once today and he doesn’t want to dredge up
unnecessary feelings again. “I’ve only ever had a few friends and now I have all of you. It’s a lot.
Are Jimin-ssi and Taehyung-ssi okay with this? Me being here and coming over?”
Namjoon snorts as he turns to cross the room, saying over his shoulder, “They are the ones who
pulled the ‘leave an item in the car on the first date so the guy is forced to see you again’ move.”
“As if you know anything about moves, Namjoon-ah.” Seokjin throws a pillow after him and it
swings wide by a good six feet. Namjoon barks out a laugh at him, slipping into the dining room,
probably planning to go sneak some food. There’s no way he’s going to offer to cook. Jungkook has
gathered from the others that Namjoon’s talents lie everywhere but the kitchen.
“Anyway, you can ask them yourself,” Seokjin yawns, leaning on his side to grab the remote from
the floor. He switches to the menu to start browsing movies. “They’re about to walk in. ”
Jungkook doesn’t even have a second to stand before the front door slides open and Jimin and
Taehyung stumble in, laughing about something, shaking off snow, kicking off their boots all while
still holding hands. Jungkook thinks they’re cute. Jungkook thinks he’d like to have someone to hold
hands with, then flushes when he remembers earlier, when Yoongi held on to him the entire walk
back to hanok without saying a word.
“Jungkook?”
Jungkook’s head snaps up. Taehyung and Jimin are watching him, wide-eyed with wonderment.
Jungkook swallows thickly. “Hi, uh, hyungs?”
“Hyungs?” Jimin says, cocking his head to the side, a delighted smile building on his face.
“Jimin,” Taehyung not so subtly whispers, “he called us hyungs.”
Jimin nods, giddy as can be. “I know, I heard, I can’t believe it.”
They both look to him at the same time again, a twin-effect that Jungkook guesses he’ll have to grow
accustomed to. But first—
“Jimin-hyung?” Before Jimin has a chance to respond, Jungkook rises, walks around the table, and
folds into a bow so low he nearly hits his thighs. “I’m very sorry for my attitude earlier,” he states in
a clear voice. “You were only trying to help and I treated you very poorly.”
There’s stillness in the room which Jungkook takes to mean they’re all looking to each other,
probably surprised. “Thank you, Jungkook-ah, but it’s okay.” A hand on his head, trailing down to
his cheek. Jimin tucks two fingers under his chin and lifts so that Jungkook finds himself looking into
the earnest hold of Jimin’s eyes. “I knew you weren’t feeling at your best. It’s okay.”
“Can I ask about that?” Jungkook rises and Jimin’s touch drifts away. “About you?”
Jimin smiles. Nods. “Of course. Just let us change.”
“Dinner’s going to be done soon,” Namjoon says from the doorway, popping what looks to be a
piece of sausage into his mouth. “Can someone help me set the table?”
“I’ll do it,” Jungkook offers, hurrying over. “I remember where all the dishes are and everything.”
Silence again, and Jungkook twirls around to see the others are looking at him, not each other, and
there’s such fondness in their faces that Jungkook literally has to leave the room to get away from it
before he bursts.
~~~
“So you’re a shaman.”
Jungkook asks because it’s nearing the end of the meal, if they’re not already there, and it seems a
good a time as any to bring it up again. Most of the plates have been wiped clean and everyone save
for himself and Taehyung has had a few bottles of soju. Which, apparently, is a casual amount of
alcohol to consume for someone whose body doesn’t function on the mortal plane.
Jimin leans until he falls against Taehyung’s side. His dark eyes find Jungkook’s from across the
table. “Yes,” he says evenly. “It’s been the role of my family for generations to manage the
interactions of the outerworld and the inner. Our focus has always been primarily on healing, though,
both of the body and the soul.”
“But you healed me, like, literally,” Jungkook says, wiggling his fingers the way Jimin did earlier in
the entry.
Jimin grins faintly. “Yes, I did. There are many types of shamans across the country. Most are
relatively young in the grand scheme. Some carry a false status and have no connection to the
spiritual world. Others have been initiated in through ceremony. But there are some of us that come
from long and powerful bloodlines.”
Jungkook notices that Taehyung is playing with the thick silver band on Jimin’s thumb, one of the
many rings Jimin has sprinkled across his fingers. “Does that mean you’re human?” Jungkook asks.
“Like me?”
Jungkook’s words hang heavy in the air for a long time. The others have grown still. They don’t
reach for their glasses, don’t try to speak. They just sit, quiet amongst themselves, gazes drifting
between Jungkook and Jimin like they’re preparing for disaster to strike.
“I was,” Jimin finally says. His eyes are soft and serious. “Not anymore.”
Jungkook isn’t sure what to say or do next. He feels ungrounded. Doesn’t notice his leg jostling until
something rests on his thigh. Namjoon gives him a close-mouthed smile, his fingers trailing from
Jungkook’s knee to his hand. Jungkook warms, when he hooks their pinkies together.
Jimin unfurls from Taehyung’s side, straightening through the spine. “There are a few different ways
to become a shaman,” Jimin says, “but nearly all of them are a result of a possession by a god. That’s
how my family was. My great-grandmother was possessed. It’s how the magic first came to be in our
bloodline.”
Taehyung gives a little snort. “The magic was already there,” he corrects, looking to Jimin. “We
can’t just pop into anyone and hope for the best.”
Jimin’s nose wrinkles but it’s playful, the banter between them. Jungkook’s heart trips. “Wait.” They
turn to him at the same time. “So you’re saying…”
“Some shamans and their families have a special relationship with a particular god with whom they
share their power,” Jimin says, then gives his and Taehyung’s clasped hands a little shake.
“Taehyung is that to my family.”
Jungkook feels knotted up inside, but his smile, when he gives it to them, is genuine. “Okay, that’s
neat. Tell me more?”
The room relaxes. Seokjin takes a drag of soju. Yoongi tops off Hoseok’s glass. Jungkook uncurls
his finger from Namjoon only to hold his hand fully. He spares a glance and Namjoon is trying not to
smile into his shot glass.
“It was a time of rampant illness,” Jimin continues, his voice lighter than when they began this
conversation. Jungkook turns his head back to listen. “Taehyung was the local spirit over the land
and saw that people were dying, so he gave us some of his power to help us heal our own.”
“That was before the wars and modern medicine, though,” Taehyung frowns. “And social media.
Now Jimin works as a nurse so he can heal people without causing suspicion.”
“Or cries of witchcraft,” Jimin grumbles. “The late eighteen-hundreds were rough, let me tell you.
Forgive me for not wanting people to drown in their own blood.”
“Consumption,” Taehyung tells Jungkook when he misreads Jungkook’s horrified expression.
“They call it tuberculosis now,” Yoongi corrects from the side.
“Ah, that’s right.”
Namjoon shifts at his side. “You doing okay?” He whispers against Jungkook’s ear.
Jungkook takes a deep breath, refusing to look at him. “Fantastic,” he says, but his voice cracks at the
end. He clears his throat. “Why?”
“Your heart rate is crazy right now,” Namjoon says. Pauses. His breath is hot on Jungkook’s cheek.
“Or is that just because I’m holding your hand?”
Jungkook snorts. “And Seokjin-hyung said you didn’t have moves.”
Namjoon snickers and doesn’t say anything to that, but he does lean in closer, just for a second, to
rub his nose along the line of Jungkook’s jaw before pulling away back to his own seat, their fingers
still laced together.
Jungkook inhales slow, trying to calm his heart, his breath, his mind. He feels thrown off-kilter, but
it’s not because of Namjoon. Jungkook knows Namjoon is just teasing him. It’s the number, actually.
The date Jimin gave. Like Jungkook, until this moment, hadn’t fully accepted that he’s in a room full
of mythical creatures who are very, very old.
“Okay,” Jungkook blurts and the table turns to look at him. “So you have magic powers passed
down through your bloodline from Taehyung.” Jimin nods, amused. “Is that why you’re not human
now?”
“No,” Jimin says, voice feather-light. “It’s because I have Taehyung’s bead.”
“His bead?” Jungkook questions, and Jimin quirks his head to the side, then dips his hand below the
collar of his sweater.
He pulls up a silver chain. Attached and dangling from the end is a small, milky white orb. “Fox
spirits all possess a bead of knowledge,” Jimin explains, and Jungkook watches, mesmerized, as the
bead seems to pulse along with the cadence of Jimin’s voice. “It’s immensely powerful and how they
gather their energy over the years.” Jimin looks over to Taehyung then. “It has part of Taehyung’s
spirit in it,” Jimin says quietly, so soft that Jungkook almost misses it. “As long as I carry it, I carry
him.”
Taehyung’s smile aches with tenderness. He stoops in quick to kiss Jimin full on the mouth. Jimin
giggles into it, and when he sits back, they stay there with their foreheads pressed together.
Jungkook’s heart flushes, and for the first time since the party, despite Namjoon squeezing his hand,
tethering him close, Jungkook feels more distant from them than ever.
“Something else on your mind, little one?”
Seokjin is looking at him, his eyes open and honest. It’s a devastating stare. One that Jungkook feels
like a punch to the spleen. One that probably gets most people talking. And maybe if Jungkook had a
few glasses of the blue punch he’d say what’s on his mind, but Jungkook doesn’t want to tell
Seokjin, any of them, that he feels left out. Because that’s freaking embarrassing. Because he doesn’t
have a place here to be left out of . So instead Jungkook looks down to Seokjin’s plate and asks,
“How did you eat the garlic?”
Seokjin blinks at him. “Well,” he says, glancing down and then back up, seemingly unsure of what to
say. “I admit I have a bit of an allergy, not sure how you knew that, but I am still Korean.”
“But you—” Jungkook looks around at the table. All eyes are on him. Jungkook takes his hand from
Namjoon and pretends to be very focused on origami folding his napkin when he says, in a tiny
voice, “Aren’t you a vampire?”
A horrible silence drapes itself over the table and then—
“You thought I was a vampire all this time!” Seokjin screeches.
Jungkook throws his arms in the air. With it goes his half-rumpled attempt at a swan. “You had
fangs!” Jungkook yells. “The night of the party!”
“It was Halloween!” Seokjin yells back. “I wanted to have a little fun!” Seokjin falls back into his
seat and then pauses, as if processing something. He’s on his feet again in an instant. “Did you think
I was hiding fangs all this time?!”
“Yes!” Jungkook cries out. “Was your pink hair fake too?!”
“Yes!” Seokjin has his head held between his hands and Jungkook can’t tell if he’s distraught or just
trying to hold back his laughter. The others certainly aren’t trying. Taehyung’s in tears.
“Vampires don’t exist, Jungkook,” Yoongi, the only one able to speak at the moment, says from the
foot of the table. His mouth is pinched from holding back a smile.
“Well, good to know I guess,” Jungkook grumbles, gaze finding Namjoon and Hoseok who are both
wiping their eyes. “I take it you two aren’t werewolves, then?”
Hoseok snorts. “No.”
“Quite far from it,” Namjoon grins, massaging his cheeks.
“Can we save this for another night?” Seokjin interjects, rubbing at his temples. He drags his fingers
down his eyes and looks out, unseeing, over the table. “I’m so tired.”
Taehyung grins, all teeth. “Feeling light-headed?”
“Need some blood?” Jimin snickers.
“You can suck my—”
“Demons!” Seojin shrieks, rising from the table so quickly he nearly upends it. His ears are bright
red. “Both of you! Be gone!”
Jimin makes a hissing noise. Hoseok reaches over with his chopsticks and pretends to stake Seokjin
through the heart. Seokjin immediately staggers into the table for support, delves into a stage-worthy
monologue about the inevitable sting of death, calls out Yoongi for stealing the last of his tea-tree
moisturizer, and then collapses to the ground, out of sight, still.
It’s quiet around the table for just a moment, and then Jungkook wheezes. It’s just too much. He falls
to pieces. He laughs so hard he starts to cough, and then he coughs so hard that Jimin scurries around
the table to check that he’s not actually choking. The whole time there’s this chorus of sound:
Taehyung leaning against the partition wall, bent in half, crying; Namjoon’s rolling on the floor,
clutching his stomach; Hoseok has fallen on top of him and isn’t making a sound even though his
body is shaking; and Yoongi just has his face in his hands, hidden, except his shoulders are jostling
and his ears are red and he keeps slapping the floor.
Jimin’s laughing too, this high trilling sound, and he drops into Jungkook’s lap and presses his head
against Jungkook’s shoulder and just sinks into hysterics along with the rest of them. His weight is
nice. This, all of them together, being dumb and ridiculous—Even if it’s temporary, this is really
nice, too.
They’re in the midst of a heated Fifa tournament on the PS4 when Seokjin comes into the
entertainment room. “Jungkook-ah,” he calls out, and Jungkook looks over to see Seokjin has his
keys dangling from a finger. “It’s getting late. I can take you home.”
Jungkook turns in time to see Hoseok get demolished by Namjoon on screen. Again. He starts
shrieking, but Taehyung and Jimin look up from the video they were watching on a tablet, their
expressions hard to decipher. “Oh. Yes,” Jungkook says, already standing. “Thank you.”
“Or,” Seokjin starts, pursing his lips to hold back a grin. He leans against the door frame and crosses
his arms. “You’re welcome to spend the night. Your university cleared you for tomorrow.”
Jungkook’s stomach plummets. “Oh.” Jungkook twists back to the room at large. Hoseok has quit
beating Namjoon with the controller. All of them are waiting for his reaction. Jungkook turns to
Seokjin again. “I don’t want to impose.”
“Which means you want to stay,” Yoongi says as he shuffles by in a fluffy robe, his dark hair an
inkspill across his forehead and neck from the bath. He continues into the hall without another word.
Jimin and Taehyung pounce.
“Sleep in our room!” Taehyung shouts, vaulting the sofa to slam into Jungkook’s back. Jungkook
holds his weight when Taehyung starts to climb him, but Jimin hits him a second later and he
stumbles and nearly collapses to the floor.
“Joonie-hyung and Hobi-hyung have gotten you three times now,” Jimin whines, winding around the
front to slip his arms around Jungkook’s waist and under Taehyung’s thighs.
Junkook hobbles backwards until his heel kicks the sofa. He releases his hold on Taehyung’s arms
around his neck, and Taehyung flails for a second before he falls over the backing with an oomph as
he hits the cushions. Jimin is still clinging, though, and his smile is lazy when he looks up at
Jungkook with his heavy-lidded eyes.
“Jimin, stop trying to seduce him,” Hoseok quips, batting him away with a pillow.
“Oh, I don’t have to try —”Jimin squeals when Jungkook grips his waist and lifts him over the sofa
to land on top of Taehyung. They both blink up at him, wound up in each other, startled. Jimin’s
cheeks are pink. Taehyung looks like he wants to eat Jungkook whole.
“It’s up to Jungkook where he sleeps,” Seokjin says, turning away to follow in the direction Yoongi
drifted. “Jungkook-ah, choose wisely. Some of us bite.”
Jungkook flushes when he sees the flash of fangs in Seokjin’s mouth. Why did he ever walk into this
house that night?
~~~
The room Jimin and Taehyung share is bigger than Namjoon’s or Hoseok’s, but Jungkook figures
that was a given, since two people share the space. It’s brighter as well, though, or at least more lived
in. There’s laundry piled in the corner and wrappers and paper strewn about the floor. The bookshelf
in the corner is split between knick-knacks and actual reading material.
Taehyung pats the space between him and Jimin on the two futons they have laid together on the
floor, his smile gargantuan, and Jungkook crawls between them both and is surprised when they
don’t reach for him. They give him space. Don’t try to touch. They do talk, though, about recent
events in the news and new movies and music that’s out, along with a slew of other topics that
Jungkook can’t seem to find a connection between but they both navigate fluidly.
Jungkook thinks that it’s lovely, how after a half-century of knowing each other, they still haven’t
run out of things to say.
It’s deep into the night when their chatter finally trails off. Jimin’s snoring lightly on Jungkook’s
right, but Taehyung is quiet to his left. Jungkook tilts his head, and in the soft shadow of the room,
Jungkook can see Taehyung’s eyes reflecting the moonlight.
Jungkook feels like he should be more frightened, being alone at night with a spirit who, in myth, is
known for being malignant and violent. Eating hearts, seducing men, destroying families. Taehyung
isn’t like that, though. Jungkook thinks, that if he gave Taehyung his heart, he’d treasure it dearly.
“Tae-hyung?” Taehyung blinks. Hums low to let Jungkook know he’s listening. “Why did you pick
Jimin-hyung to give your bead to?”
Taehyung looks back at him for a long time, and then his gaze flicks over Jungkook’s form when
Jimin makes a small sound in his sleep. Taehyung seems to smile despite himself. “Why does anyone
fall in love?” He asks, and then he takes Jungkook’s hand where its laying on the blanket between
them. Jungkook drifts off after that, and in the morning, even in sleep, Taehyung is still holding on to
him.
Chapter 4
Chapter Text
Two hours into his Friday night out, Jungkook notices that the man who keeps hitting on him at the
bar may not be completely human.
Sure, Jungkook might have had three pear martinis since he got here, but he’s not drunk. Nothing
beats Seokjin’s blue punch. If Jungkook can handle himself after basically chugging ten shots in
forty-minutes and eating the equivalent of four more in gummy form, a little vodka and lemon juice
is nothing.
“Sure you don’t want me to buy you a drink?” The man beside him asks. Again. Maybe he believes
in third time’s the charm. Except this is the fifth time he’s approached Jungkook, and Jungkook is the
last person in this building, maybe on this block, who is interested in hooking up with someone
tonight. Not when he’s got three friends waiting to dance with him and brunch with Jimin and
Taehyung in the morning at this cute crepe café.
“No, thank you,” Jungkook responds as he grabs the water bottles the bartender just set down for
him. He scoops them up and turns away without a shared glance, but it doesn’t stop the curl of dread
he feels trickling up his spine. It’s something deep, something dark, and Jungkook walks with his
shoulders back and his chin up and this ticking sense of trepidation licking at his heels.
Jungkook dances. He doesn’t drink more, even though the fuzzy buzz he had from before has all but
been smothered, and he makes sure that when Jaehyun goes up to order, he sticks to the far right side
of the counter because the crowd is a little thicker there.
It’s a feeling, deep in the gut, but Jungkook knows something has shifted here. Like the room’s been
thrown off one degree. Like he needs to stay away from the shadows. So Jungkook doesn’t leave the
safety of the dance floor strobe lights for the rest of the night, and he doesn’t think about the man
from the bar and his toothpaste commercial smile until he’s standing at a bus stop, hopping from foot
to foot keep his heart rate up in the chill of the early morning, and senses someone approach him
from behind.
“Hey, there.” Jungkook, with clenched hands, gives the stranger a non-committal look. He’s in a
trench coat now, black as the night and dripping down past his knees, but Jungkook recognizes the
gauzy metallic top underneath and that greedy grin.
Jungkook doesn’t meet his gaze. Jungkook has this terrible feeling that, if he were to meet this man’s
eyes, he might not be able to pull away.
“You headed home?” The man asks, saddling up to Jungkook’s side, so close that their arms touch,
their fingers brush. Jungkook’s pinkie burns where they made contact and he discreetly pushes his
hands into his coat pockets. Leans away. There’s no one at this stop, there’s no reason for this guy to
be so near, except that he’s a creep who doesn’t know how to take a hint. Not even a hint. It was
definitely direct rejection. Jungkook was very forward about how very not interested he was in
whatever was happening. Or wasn’t happening. Or was trying to happen.
“Gonna give me the silent treatment?” The man grins, leaning around to try to catch Jungkook’s eye.
“You drank quite a bit. Sure it’s safe to be out here alone?”
He’s got a pleasant voice. Smooth. Rich. Draws you right in.
Jungkook breathes in slow. It smells of dead flowers.
The bus comes, and when the man gets on after Jungkook, takes the seat right behind him, Jungkook
hunkers down and tugs out his phone.
JK [1:16am]
i think there’s a demon following me
They’ve had the group chat for three weeks now. It’s mainly used by Jungkook to let the others know
when he’s coming by so he doesn’t have to text anyone individually, but sometimes there’s a shared
meme or a tangent about a recent news event. Yoongi’s especially critical of anything political, but
Jungkook likes that. Just as he likes how Taehyung only talks to him about movies and Namjoon has
a penchant for obscure twentieth century literature. But those are usually private messages, and
Jungkook is still adjusting to the fact that he is in cahoots with six lovely men.
Joonie [1:17am]
just because you know about the supernatural now
doesn’t mean every odd person you meet is a monster
Kim Namjoon you idiot.
TaeTae [1:17am]
wait who’s following you
JK [1:17am]
thx tae hyung for the CORRECT response
some weird guy from the club i left
Hobi [1:18am]
demons arnt real kook
wait what??
Joonie [1:18am]
You’re actually being followed right now?
TaeTae [1:19am]
where are you
Jungkook
Jungkook squeezes his phone between his palms. Demons aren’t real. Demons aren’t real and neither
are vampires and werewolves and a bunch of other things, apparently, so what does that make this
thing sitting behind him that smells of death?
JK [1:19am]
got on a bus and he followed me on
he’s sitting right behind me
Joonie [1:20am]
Jungkook why’d you call the man a demon?
Hobi [1:20am]
the dude’s creep as fuck i’d call him a demon too
TaeTae [1:20am]
jungkook where are you??
Jungkook looks up. Sees the body of the Han passing to his right, a rippling sheen under the
moonlight and street lamps. Feels the chill of winter slipping around his neck, cutting off his breath.
JK [1:21am]
crossing hangang bridge
just have this weird feeling, bad feeling
like it’s hard to breathe
smells like dying flowers
INCOMING CALL JOONIE
Jungkook frowns and swipes the call button. “Namjoon-hyung?”
“Jungkook.” Namjoon’s voice is fierce. There’s the most subtle growl there, rocky at the edges, and
Jungkook’s stomach plummets. “I need you to move seats. Get as far away from that man as you
can.”
Jungkook’s already on his feet. “Uhm. Okay.” The bus is nearly empty. Just the man behind him and
another dozing two seats over. There’s a couple up toward the front chatting softly, and Jungkook
takes his new seat a few rows back from them. “You’re kind of scaring me, hyung.”
Namjoon doesn’t acknowledge him, instead he just asks, “Did you move?”
“Yeah.” Jungkook breathes and definitely doesn’t turn around to check if the man is still watching
him or tried to follow. “Just pretending I’m having a really serious phone call.” Jungkook’s brow
wrinkles. “Which I now kind of am, I guess.”
Namjoon, still with the no-nonsense, deep from his chest voice says, “I need you to call for Jin. Right
now.”
Jungkook blinks. Looks around. “Okay? Want me to put you on hold?”
“No, not call him,” Namjoon sighs. “Call for him. Say his name. Call him to you.”
“Does this have to do with the spell Jimin said I have on me?”
“Yes. Now do it.”
Jungkook’s frown deepens. “If I call him is he going to pop up on this bus?”
“Yes, but that’s fine. No one human will see him.”
“Uhm. Should I text him first?”
Namjoon growls, louder this time, a little more dangerous. “Jungkook, please be serious right now.”
There’s another voice on the line in the background, nothing but a quiet murmur, but Namjoon, much
gentler this time, says, “Jungkook-ah, this is important. Please call Jin.”
Four months Jungkook has known these people. He’s befriended them for nearly two now. Jungkook
likes that they are kindhearted, and interesting, and steady. Jungkook likes that he never feels small
around them.
Jungkook, right now, feels small in the worst of ways. Not because he’s frightened, but because
something is happening, something big, and Namjoon doesn’t seem to trust him enough to tell him.
A lot of them don’t trust him enough to tell him many things.
“Fine,” Jungkook snaps. He tugs his phone from his cheek despite Namjoon still speaking. Jungkook
closes his eyes, presses his hands together. Whispers, “Kim Seokjin, I choose you.”
Jungkook was unconscious the last time he did this, when Seokjin picked him up from the street
corner. Jungkook isn’t sure what to expect. Fire. Sparks. A heavenly choir.
Instead, Jungkook opens his eyes and standing in front of him, just standing, is Seokjin.
Jungkook doesn’t react at first. He just takes in Seokjin’s form, draped in one of his signature
peacoats. Gray today. He’s wearing a blue sweater underneath. It looks soft. He looks soft, with his
dark hair fluffed up, his lips lush as ever. His eyes, confused at first, go liquid when they meet
Jungkook’s.
“Hey, little one.” Seokjin’s voice is warm on the air. Jungkook takes his first full breath in what feels
like hours. “Why did you—”
Seokjin stops. Straightens through the back. Sniffs.
His eyes flash. His lips curl. In a passing second, he has become unrecognizable. Gone is the man
who makes Jungkook eggs in the morning, who helps him with his art history papers and picks him
up from his late shifts at the clinic and is always willing to play a game with him— the man who
looks at Jungkook with such admiration that sometimes Jungkook thinks about tugging him in by the
collar and kissing him wholeheartedly. Gone is that man, and in his stead is something colder.
Something inhuman.
Seokjin turns and, without regard for the other passengers, looks right at the man from the club. The
man who is now standing and staring at Seokjin as if he’s seeing a ghost. The man who should not be
able to see Seokjin at all if he were human.
“Hello, Shade,” Seokjin greets in a voice that has Jungkook’s fingers curling.
The man ducks his head in a brief brow. “Good evening, Goblin.” His eyes. They’re nothing but
hollow pits of darkness. Not a bit of light shining through. Jungkook’s stomach heaves. “Are you
here for the boy?”
“I am,” Seokjin says. “You wouldn’t mind me stealing him away, right?”
The man turns to Jungkook and Jungkook looks away, breath hitching, lungs twisting. “My
apologies,” he says. “I hadn’t realized the Kim clan had a claim on him.”
There’s a smile in Seokjin’s voice when he speaks. “It’s relatively new.” A pause, and then a hand
settles on top of Jungkook’s head, making him flinch. “If you could pass around that he’s taken, we’d
greatly appreciate it.”
“Will do,” the man says, and Jungkook looks up just as the last wisps of smoke are dissolving in the
air where the man once stood.
Okay. Okay, okay, okay.
A hand on his cheek, under his chin, guiding his face up. Jungkook looks at Seokjin. His mouth is
moving, he’s saying something, but Jungkook just drifts for a long moment as his limbs loosen up.
When had the bus grown so cold?
“—ook. Jungkook, look at me. Hey.” Jungkook blinks. Seokjin’s terrible grin is gone. Instead it’s
simply his wonderful face, soft and serious and hideously beautiful. “Are you okay?”
“Tired,” Jungkook says, sinking down into his seat. “Confused. But I’m fine.”
“Tired how?” Seokjin asks, taking a crouch. His hands rest on Jungkook’s thighs. Big hands. Boy
hands. Very good boy hands, just like Yoongi. “Like two in the morning tired or like you want to lay
down and die tired?”
Jungkook’s brow creases. He doesn’t like that Seokjin looks scared. “Uh… half and half?” He
considers for a second more. “Dying sounds a bit extreme.”
Seokjin lets out a gusty sigh. His hands squeeze Jungkook’s thighs, drag down to his knees. “You
should be okay until Jimin looks at you.” Seokjin looks like he wants to say more. He won’t look
away from Jungkook’s face. Like he’s searching for something. Memorizing.
When the silence persists, Jungkook says, “I’m meeting with him and Tae-hyung in the morning.”
He grins, giddy, despite himself. “We’re having brunch.”
Seokjin finally comes back to himself. He stands with a groan and falls into the open space beside
Jungkook, pressed in close so they’re touching foot to knee to shoulder. “Well you’re going to see
them a lot sooner than that,” Seokjin says. His hand twitches, and then he drags it back and folds his
fingers together neatly in his lap. “I’m taking you back to the house.”
“What? Why?”
“Jeon Jungkook, do you not want to spend time with your favorite hyungs.”
Cheeky. But Jungkook doesn’t want cheek right now. He doesn’t want humor or wit. He loves those
things from Seokjin, but he doesn’t want that now. “Seokjin-hyung.” Seokjin hums but doesn’t look
his way. “Please.”
Seokjin tilts his head back until it’s resting against the window. “I’ll tell you when we get home.”
Jungkook nudges his shoulder. “You’re gonna ride the bus with me for the next half hour?”
“Did you expect me to walk?” Seokjin shoots back, his eyes still closed, but Jungkook can spot the
smile creeping in.
“Can’t you just whisk us away with magic?” Jungkook asks, looking down to where Seokjin’s hands
are resting.
Seokjin pauses. “I’m not sure,” he says, voice pitched with interest. “Let’s try sometime.”
Nothing is shared after that. Seokjin keeps his eyes shut, and Jungkook wonders if Seokjin is
someone who needs to sleep. Wonders what a Shade is and why everyone was acting like death itself
had come knocking on Jungkook’s door. Wonders what would happen if he could actually travel
through space and time. Wanders what it would feel like to hold Seokjin’s hand.
~~~
As they approach the hanok, Jungkook spots Namjoon waiting outside the front gate in his dog form,
ears held high and posture kept neat, as if standing guard. When Jungkook kicks a stray pebble,
Namjoon’s head fwips their direction. He lets out a high-pitch yell, more human than animal, and the
sound brings a smile to Jungkook’s face.
“Hi, Joonie,” Seokjin coos, leaning in to scratch Namjoon under the chin, along his neck. His tail
beats erratically against the asphalt, and Jungkook watches as the lights behind the gate glow to
brightness.
Waiting for them at the door is Hoseok. He takes their coats and hats and whacks Namjoon when he
trods in some mud from the yard, but the entire time his steady gaze never drifts far from Jungkook’s
face. It’s just as Seokjin did on the train, like Hoseok’s checking him over, or trying to recall
something important.
“Why are you all up?” Jungkook asks after he’s slipped on a set of slippers and been shepherded into
the dining room and force-fed a cup of tea. It takes like spicy dirt, but it makes his heart warm, so
Jungkook drinks a second portion when Jimin offers it.
“Because you were almost eaten,” Taehyung says, his face puffy. There are still wrinkle marks from
a blanket on his face. “That’s why.”
“Eaten?” Jungkook squeaks, looking around, looking for Seokjin the way Jungkook’s wane to do in
moments like this.
Seokjin has his back turned at the stove, idle hands hovering here and there. Jungkook thinks he’s
trying to look busy. Jungkook thinks that Seokjin is doing a terrible job at pretending he’s not
ignoring Jungkook.
“It was a shade, right?” Hoseok asks, and Jungkook turns back to the table at large. Nods. Hoseok’s
face twists with a grimace, his worry dimples peeking out. “Shit.
“Hold still, Jungkookie.” Jungkook pauses, cup half raised to his mouth, and allows Jimin to gently
maneuver him to the side. Jimin smiles at him kindly, takes Jungkook’s face in his small, sturdy
hands, then presses his thumbs against the bridge of Jungkook’s nose. He splays his fingers wide,
pushes down with just enough pressure that Jungkook winces.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” Jimin murmurs but only presses harder. Jungkook squirms as a dull ache thrums
behind his eyes, spreading down his neck to his shoulders. Jimin heaves in a breath and Jungkook
feels this prick against his heart, a needle piercing skin, and Jungkook cries out once and tries to
draw away but there’s someone behind him, their chest in his way, their hands on his waist, and
Jungkook clenches his teeth as the pain flares out through his whole body and then just—
“Jungkook-ah?”
Jungkook bats his eyes open. The pain is gone. All that remains is this familiar warmth that Jimin
tends to leave in his wake, as if Jungkook spent too much time in the sun yesterday. His insides feel
gooey.
“Jungkook,” Jimin repeats, his hazy face coming back into focus. Jungkook hums. “How do you
feel?”
“Good,” Jungkook rasps, still blinking. Hoseok’s staring down at him. When did Jungkook end up on
the floor? “Wha…? Wha’dyou do?”
“That man trailing you was what we call a shade. A shadow spirit,” Namjoon answers from
somewhere to the right. Jungkook doesn’t try to look over. Too tired for that. Plus, Hoseok has the
most beautiful eyes. Like sunshine. Bright and warm and golden. “They have to consume the energy
of another life source to survive.”
Jungkook hums. Nods. Almost nails Jimin in the pelvis with his heel when he flails to sit up. “You
mean I ran into a dementor in a club in Itaewon!?” Jungkook shrieks.
The table blinks back at him. “What’s a dementor?” Hoseok asks.
“You know that British magical school series with the chosen boy wizard?” Jimin says.
Hoseok shakes his head. Taehyung claps his hands together. “Oh, yes. Good movies.”
Jungkook frowns. “Hyungs—”
“Jimin, how is he?” Seokjin interrupts, speaking for the first time since they entered the house.
Everyone goes silent to watch him.
“Resilient,” Jimin says, giving a vague wave. His dark eyes flick over Jungkook’s shoulder. “Hobihyung can you grab some apple juice from the fridge?” Hoseok nods and jumps to his feet.
“Jungkook, how long were you around the shade?”
Jungkook flinches at the attention. “Uhm. He hit on me like five times,” Jungkook says, shrugging,
fingers finding the frayed edge of his sweater to tug and pull. “Followed me from the club onto the
bus. Kept trying to touch me,” Jungkook says in a quiet voice, nose scrunching.
“Did he?”
“Touch me? Yeah.” An intake of breath, a subtle growl, the splintering of wood. Jungkook looks up,
wide-eyed, and sees that Taehyung has put a dent in the table. “Not like that!” Jungkook corrects,
unpleasant understanding washing over him. “Just like, brushed my hand or my arm.” Namjoon and
Jimin are exchanging a look that Jungkook probably wasn’t meant to see. “What’s that face for?”
“Nothing,” Jimin chirps, taking the glass that Hoseok has poured. He hands it off to Jungkook.
“Nothing at all. Drink that up, then go get ready for bed.”
“You can sleep in my room tonight,” Namjoon says, smiling weakly. “I’ll stay with Hobi.”
They don’t trust you, Jungkook’s mind whispers, but how is he supposed to argue with that? He
holds no power here. In all the ways a person can carry control, Jungkook is worthless around them.
“Minnie, what’s wrong?”
Jungkook stills. Slides to the side of the doorway the next room over. Hesitates, unsure if he should
be trying to eavesdrop on a band of monsters.
Jimin doesn’t answer Taehyung right away. Instead he lets loose a sigh so loud Jungkook can hear
the tremor in it. “He should be dead ,” Jimin says, voice trembling, and Jungkook’s heart stutters. “A
shade touches a human once and they’ll fall into a coma within the hour, but Jungkoook was touched
multiple times and is only lethargic?”
“We’ve spoken about this,” Namjoon joins in. “He’s probably got a third-eye.”
“I had a third-eye as a human but that didn’t make me impervious to spirits,” Jimin retorts, sniffing.
“Obviously.”
“Let’s discuss this tomorrow,” Seokjin interjects, voice weary. “We’re all too riled for this right
now.”
“Who’s going to tell Yoongi-hyung?” Taehyung asks.
Hoseok snorts. “Hyung’s gonna burn the city down.” A pause. “He’s not coming back, though, right
hyung?”
“I made it quite clear that Jungkook is ours,” Jin answers cooly, no room for argument, and Jungkook
leaves after that.
He’s tempted just to grab his coat and shoes and head home. Cuddle on the couch with Yugyeom, if
he isn’t out with Youngjae. The others would try to stop him, maybe, which feels nice to think about.
Maybe. But what doesn’t feel nice is this thought bubbling up in Jungkook’s head as he strips and
bathes and uses too much of Jimin’s lavender bath wash; this idea that Jungkook is simply a way to
pass the time for these beings. A dust mote in their otherwise very long lives. A thing that they own,
not a person that they cherish.
Jungkook likes them a lot. Jungkook likes them much more than he should.
Jungkook probably needs to start keeping a bit more distance from them. Just a bit. Just enough for
his heart to breathe.
~~~
Namjoon’s room still smells of pine. There are books and sheets of paper littering the floor, but it
looks like he tried to get everything into piles while Jungkook was in the bath, which is a kind
sentiment. The others know how tidy Jungkook likes to keep things, which is nice, but maybe not a
good thing. It means Jungkook’s been here too often, but that was part of the agreement, right? That
Jungkook be here. That Seokjin would pay his bills, and Jungkook would be here.
Jungkook sighs and rolls onto his side. There’s a dark void where the door should be. A shadow
shifts there, the scent of rotting flowers wafts in from the window, and Jungkook feels a shout rise in
his throat just as Seokjin steps into the room, hands raised, shushing him softly.
“Just me,” Seokjin whispers, stooping down to kneel at Jungkook’s side where he’s curled up, palm
pressed to the floor, ready to leap. “It’s just me, little one, you’re okay.”
Jungkook, heart pounding in his throat, rolls over so that Seokjin can’t look at him. “I can smell it,”
Jungkook croaks, fisting a corner of the futon. “Him.”
“It’ll fade by morning.”
So assured. So resolute. Maybe Jungkook read him wrong. Maybe Seokjin was never scared for him
on the train. “Hyung?” He says, voice small. “Will you stay with me? Just until I fall asleep.”
Seokjin, without hesitation, says, “Of course.”
So Seokjin lays with him. They don’t touch, and for a long while, they don’t speak either. Jungkook
fiddles with a thread on the quilt and the zipper of a pillowcase and a nick in the floorboards. Seokjin
breathes. Doesn’t do anything but breathe.
“What did the Shade mean,” Jungkook starts when it begins to feel like he might never fall, “when he
called you a goblin?”
Seokjin laughs. It isn’t a bright sound. It doesn’t make Jungkook’s chest warm. “I thought this was a
time for sleeping.”
“Hyung,” Jungkook says quietly.
“Jungkook,” Seokjin echoes in the same tone of voice. His hand finds the nape of Jungkook’s neck
and he squeezes the skin there, tugs at the fine hair. Jungkook’s eyes flutter. “I don’t want to talk
about it just yet, Jungkook-ah.” Jungkook hums low, bones melting, mind drifting. “Rest now.”
~~~
The days pass. Jungkook works on papers and paintings and researching internships at design studios
in the area. Someone brings in a shoebox of baby bunnies to the clinic that they found scattered in the
park. It looks like a cat attack, and Jungkook spends nine days nursing them back to health. They
only lose one out of five, and Dr. Choi says those are good odds, but Jungkook still goes home to lay
on the sofa and eat a bag of honey butter chips while blasting the soundtrack to Winter Sonata.
“You’re moping,” Yugyeom announces the moment he walks through the door, and Jungkook makes
this drawn out wailing sound from where he’s lounging half-off the sofa.
“I watched a baby bunny die today,” he says. “What’d you expect.”
“No. I mean, shit. Yeah, that’s awful,” Yugyeom responds, shaking his head. “Here, eat this.”
Yugyeom reaches into his eco-bag and pulls out a small package and hurls it at Jungkook’s sprawled
form. It’s a fish bun from one of the stalls down the street, still warm and oily, and Jungkook gives a
salute of thanks before biting into it. “But I mean you’re moping in general,” Yugyeom presses as he
unloads groceries. “You were mopey long before the bunny. Are your sugar daddies not giving you
enough attention?”
“Too much attention,” Jungkook corrects through a mouthful of red bean paste.
“You’re getting attached.” Jungkook half-screeches this time. “That’s not a bad thing, Kook.”
Jungkook goes to school, he goes to work, and three times a week he joins Seokjin and the others for
dinner. Because they ask him to.
Because it’s a part of the deal.
Because Jungkook is half-in love with them.
“It’s a bad thing,” Jungkook mumbles, then backward rolls off the couch with a thump.
Yugyeom’s busy cutting up vegetables. Now that they have wiggle room in the budget (it’s more like
a four-bedroom condo of space), they’ve been working on meal-prepping for the week by making,
well, actual meals. Their food pyramid has gone from the Upo Wetlands to Mount Seoraksan in the
span of a month. Jungkook’s skin hasn’t been this clear since pre-puberty, but that might also have
something to do with the different spicy tea Hoseok and Jimin have him drink every time he’s at the
hanok.
Jungkook sets to washing the rice, then preps a small pot for udon noodles. He and Yugyeom work in
comfortable silence for a long while, maneuvering around each other with practiced ease to reach the
fridge and cabinets where the spices are kept. Now that they have spices. Jungkook still plays it safe
with just garlic and chili pepper paste, but he’s hoping to start introducing roasted sesame seeds next
week. When he’s feeling real wild, they’ve also got some ginger lined up.
“Relationships are a good thing,” Yugyeom says, and when Jungkook glances up from the frying pan
where he’s waiting for the sausage to begin crackling, he finds Yugyeom staring him down. “It’s
good to have friends, Jungkook.”
Jungkook looks away, his brow bunching up as he slides a sausage along with his chopsticks. “I have
friends,” Jungkook says, frowning. “They’re not friends.”
“They aren't?”
“We’re in a business relationship,” Jungkook says, leaning across the counter to grab the mushrooms
and spinach from Yugyeom’s cutting board.
“Are you?” Yugyeom presses. Jungkook shrugs. “Huh. Maybe you should talk to them. They are
paying for our housing, you know.”
“See,” Jungkook clicks his tongue. “Business.”
Jungkook is being petty and horrible and sharp. All of the things he hates. All of the things he keeps
stored away in the box. There’s no use arguing with a psych major, but Jungkook keeps at it anyway.
Because the others like Jungkook, but the past two weeks Jungkook has gone to school and work,
and they haven’t spoken about the shade again. They continue to avoid talking about many things.
Many important things. Like how Seokjin can basically shame a spirit of death into submission and
Yoongi will occasionally use his claws to cut fruit and how Namjoon and Hoseok like to take walks
around the neighborhood in their dog forms but are vehemently opposed to being called werewolves.
Yugyeom doesn’t understand. Jungkook wants to talk to them. Jungkook wants to know everything.
Not just the monstrous things, but the miniscule as well. Their favorite colors and what they do
during the day outside the house and how they take their coffee. If they even like coffee. Jungkook
wants to talk to them, and be with them. He still wants to kiss Seokjin senseless. Kind of wants to
bite Taehyung. Definitely would like for Namjoon to smother him in a hug again.
Jungkook is used to wanting, though, and he’s used to rejection. So this relationship he has with
them, it’s enough. It’ll be enough. So tonight Jungkook is going to mope and be sad and want, and he
and Yugyeom are going to eat more kimchi fried rice than a stomach can realistically hold, and in the
morning, the box will be sealed and Jungkook will move forward just as he’s always done.
~~~
Jungkook isn’t near the club, when the shadow man returns. He’s nowhere near the club. He’s at the
supermarket, actually, in the cereal aisle, debating between a box of Oreo O’s and Jolly Pongs.
“Hello again, little human.”
Jungkook doesn’t look up. He pretends to be grossly invested in his cereal decision making. He and
Yugyeom can afford both, but Jungkook doesn’t like to splurge. He doesn’t want to make this idea of
having money habit. So he returns the Oreo O’s and goes for the Jolly Pongs because Yugyeom
likes to eat it in his yogurt, and then he turns heel and heads off with a measured gait down the aisle.
A draft of chilled air follows him, the scent of rotting flowers. “The cold shoulder yet again?” The
shade asks and clicks his tongue. Jungkook doesn’t answer. Jungkook doesn’t do anything but toss
his snacks in the cart Yugyeom has waiting in the produce section. “You know,” the man presses,
gliding into Jungkook’s line of sight. He’s in all black again. His eyes are still missing. Jungkook’s
heart trips and he pretends to be invested in a display case of specialty strawberries. “You’re causing
quite a stir in the spirit realm. The infamous Kim clan taking on a human as a
companion? Scandalous.”
Yugyeom is back. Yugyeom is saying something. Yugyeom is talking about a movie. Or a concert.
Or maybe his family studies class. It all strings together. The air is so thick it’s a wonder none of
them have been crushed by it.
“Still ignoring me?” The shade sings, voice dripping. “Alright, then.” A hand, bone bleach white,
trailing along the bar of the cart. Yugyeom’s arm, bare against the metal. “What if I just said hi to
your friend here?”
A shade touches a human and they’re in a coma within the hour.
“No!”
Yugyeom flinches and almost hurls a box of peaches across the display table. “The hell, Jungkook?”
“Sorry,” Jungkook squeaks. He backs away from the cart, hand clutched to his throat. The shade is
smiling. Following. “Uh. Bathroom. Be right back.”
Yugyeom says something else, but it doesn’t make it past the buzz of panic in Jungkook’s ears as he
rushes for the other end of the store. There’s a second exit there, and Jungkook slips past a family of
four and then a man on his phone loudly complaining about a car that cut him off earlier, and he curls
around the side of the building where there’s a connecting side street.
It’s empty. There isn’t great lighting. A couple of storefronts are boarded up. Definitely a shady
place where a murder could take place.
Jungkook spins. “Seokjin told you to back off,” he snaps, his voice carrying more weight than he
feels he can truly handle. The shade looks amused by the ferocity. He doesn’t think Jungkook’s a
threat. Not a bit.
“Ah, yes,” the shade drawls, rolling his eyes. Well. Kind of. “Kim Seokjin. King of the Goblins.” He
makes a scoffing sound, then spreads his arms wide to gesture around the lonesome half alley. “But
tell me, child, where is your master now?”
“He’s not my master,” Jungkook frowns, then says, “And I’m not a kid.”
The shade shrugs. Such a human motion from an inhuman form. “Call it as you will,” he says, “I’m
not here to argue.”
Ten steps back to the road. Phone in his pocket. Jungkook can’t call the police. He can’t put anyone
else at risk. And—
Humans can’t see us if we don’t want to be seen.
Jungkook’s head swells. He’s spent a good portion of his life alone, but this feels so different. “What
do you want?”
A charming chuckle, the flash of teeth. “Why your soul, of course,” the shade sing-songs as he sways
forward, forcing Jungkook to retreat until his back hits the building wall. “The little bit I had to drink
was marvelous. And so powerful. If I were to eat your soul...” The shade sighs, his long finger
pressed to the collar of Jungkook’s shirt. “Your heart,” he continues, dragging it down Jungkook’s
sternum. “I don’t think anyone could stop me. Not even your masters.”
“Not my masters,” Jungkook spits. Twelve steps to the road, to the light. Phone in his back pocket.
Who’s the last person he called? Yoongi? Jimin?
“It’s darling how you think you’re on equal footing with them,” the shade chuckles. He’s handsome.
That’s what makes it worse. This man and his empty eyes is actually quite beautiful. Maybe that’s
how he lures people in. A smile, a wink, a laugh. “You’re just a plaything for them. Food at best.
Last I remember, that fox spirit needs a heart? And the little imugi?” The shade’s voice crackles at
the edges as he leans down into Jungkook’s space. His breath is cold. There isn’t a bit of warmth on
him. “Snakes take their prey whole, right?”
Jungkook’s arms go numb, shaky. From his waist down to his knees, everything goes numb as this
intense emptiness floods his chest. Fear registers, just a blip in the back of his mind, but it’s enough.
Jungkook opens his mouth and shouts, “Kim Seok—inmph!”
The shade’s skin is like ice. It aches to to the touch.
“Now, now,” the shade smiles, his nails digging into Jungkook’s cheek. “We don’t want to ruin the
fun, do we?”
Black, black, black. Nothing there, there’s nothing there. Jungkook’s eyes brim with tears.
Kim Seokjin, Kim Seokjin, Kim Seokjin.
“Just one bite,” the shade whispers, leaning in, his other hand creeping along Jungkook’s throat. Ice
pricks at Jungkook’s lungs. “Promise.”
JIN-HYUNG.
A little sob noise escapes Jungkook’s mouth, and not a second later a rush of wind whips down the
alleyway. The streetlights buzz and burst, and Jungkook closes his eyes against the rain of glass and
feels the drag of nails across his jaw as the pressure lifts from his mouth, his throat, his chest as this
strangled scream echoes from the darkness.
Jungkook’s moving. Fleeing. He scrambles away from the wall and sprints for the end of the alley,
back towards the main road, back to the light. There’s another shriek behind him, like that of a
wounded animal, but Jungkook keeps running. He sprints a half dozen blocks before the wind from
before howls down the road, shaking the bare trees and kicking up loose trash as it steals all the
breath from his body. A second later a dark form drops onto the sidewalk, just a few strides away,
and Jungkook struggles to stop but ends up plowing into Yoongi hard enough that it feels like one of
his ribs just collapsed.
Yoongi doesn’t budge. Yoongi only pulls him into a grasping, desperate hug. Tells him firmly,
“You’re okay, you’re okay,” again and again and again.
Jungkook struggles to breathe. His legs crumble beneath him and his knees slam into the sidewalk.
Someone is yelling. Someone is yelling nearby. At him?
“—ook! Jungkook!” Seokjin snaps, cradling Jungkook’s face between his crooked fingers.
“Jungkook, talk to me. Are you okay?”
Someone catches his arm. Jungkook tries to look over but Seokjin’s hold on him is fierce. This can’t
be real. None of this can be real.
“Yoongi, he needs Jimin. Can he ride you?”
“Shit, maybe? You’ll have to hold him.”
Jungkook tries to protest, but his throat closes up. He heaves once, twice. Strong hands hold him
down and there are voices nearby, but they’re fogged over.
Jungkook is dissolving. Jungkook, bit by bit, feels as if he’s about to disappear.
~~~
It’s the wind that draws Jungkook back. There’s this roaring in his ears, a sting on his cheeks, and
Jungkook blinks and the moon is lingering overhead, so close it looks as if he could touch it. When
Jungkook tries to reach for it, he finds his arms bound at his sides. Someone’s holding him, keeping
him close.
“Don’t move,” a voice sings right against his ear, and Jungkook feels the blood settle in his body. His
limbs go loose, too heavy to lift, so he just lies there. Quiet. Still. Staring up at the moon as a boneaching chill seizes his heart.
~~~
Jungkook’s eyes snap open. He’s falling, stomach rising in his throat just before his body lurches as
the earth underfoot thunders. There’s a shout. Footsteps. Jungkook tries to rub at his eyes but his
arms have melted. Voices, again, smeary at the corners, and just as Jungkook begins to pick apart the
tones and syllables, he looks over and sees what looks to be a giant snake. And then he looks some
more and notices that the snake has legs. And ears. And antlers. And then Jungkook realizes that this
creature curled around the perimeter of the yard kind of looks like a dragon. And then this creature
that kind of looks like a dragon opens its mouth and says in an ageless growl, “Seokjin, you need to
hand him over to Jimin.”
Huh. Strange. The dragon kind of sounds like Yoongi.
“Yoongi… hyung,” Jungkook hears himself say, the words all balled up as they leave his mouth, and
the dragon’s head whips his direction and those eyes. Ah yes, those eyes. Deep as a winter lake.
They’ll draw you in and never let you go.
“How’s his soul, Jimin?”
“Can’t tell. He’s too deep in shock.”
Everything is dark and rattled. Too many hands. Jungkook’s face stings. His heart hurts.
“Jungkook. Open your eyes.”
Too exhausted for that, but his eyes pry themselves open against his will. The dragon is gone.
There’s a full set of stars out tonight. The moon seems so far away now.
“... so tir’d…” Jungkook mumbles. His neck gives out and he sags against the arm holding him up.
“Jungkook. Eyes open.”
“Don’ wanna…” Jungkook moans, but his body doesn’t follow. His gaze rests on a set of house
slippers. His spine is gone, disintegrated, and Jungkook slumps forward and something catches him
around the shoulders. “Tired. ‘m tir’d.”
“I know, sweetheart, but you have to stay awake a little more.” Big, watery, brown eyes. So warm.
So kind. Jungkook knows these eyes, as well. “Take a deep breath, okay?”
Jungkook takes in a huge gulp of air, and right when it reaches his lungs, a hand presses against his
temple, his heart, and a flare of fire slices between his ribs and pulls a scream from his throat, just
before everything goes dark.
~~~
The morning smells of wet earth, which doesn’t make sense, because Jungkook’s window has been
jammed for three weeks and Yugyeom doesn’t like to keep the patio door open because of the fine
dust.
Jungkook goes to roll but his ribs are splintering, and he sucks in a sharp breath and spends the next
several heartbeats trying to recall how his lungs should function. Jungkook bites down hard on his
bottom lip to keep from crying, and after a few steadying moments, he manages to take a gulp of air
that doesn’t feel like rocks rolling around in his diaphragm.
Jungkook slowly looks over and finds Namjoon watching him, his eyes lined with exhaustion.
“Hey there, kiddo,” Namjoon says, voice just above a murmur, but Jungkook can hear the hitch in it.
“How do you feel?”
Jungkook looks down to his feet where Hoseok is curled tight, face hidden but his ears sticking up
from the mound of fur. There’s an arm around Jungkook’s waist, loosely clasping, but Jungkook
recognizes the hand. Boy hands. Good ones. Yoongi. Yoongi smells like a rainstorm.
“Jungkook?”
Heaviness builds behind Jungkook’s eyes. He drags his gaze back to Namjoon. He’s never seen
Namjoon wear this kind of expression before. For the first time since they’ve met, Namjoon looks
impossibly old. The weight of the seasons on his shoulders.
Jungkook takes Yoongi’s hand in his own. Braids their fingers together. There’s a sniff against his
neck, a tiny groan. “I had a really weird dream,” Jungkook says as he thumbs against the vein of
Yoongi’s inner wrist. “It was really dark, and really cold, but the moon was so big. I saw a dragon.”
Namjoon takes a deep breath and slowly reaches over to push the stray hair away from Jungkook’s
face. “That wasn’t a dream, Kook,” he says, dragging his thumb across Jungkook’s cheek.
“Huh,” Jungkook simply responds.
“Jungkook?” Jungkook hums and Namjoon grabs Jungkook’s chin and gently pulls on it to force
Jungkook to look at him. Namjoon’s eyes are bloodshot, like he hasn’t slept. “Do you feel okay?”
Jungkook can feel his heart pounding. His fingers are warm. There’s this ache behind his eyes, like
when he forgets to drink water, but it isn’t crippling.
Something is crooked, though. Something inside of him feels wrong.
“Tired. Sad,” Jungkook says without looking into Namjoon’s face. “But I think I was tired and sad
before a shadow spirit tried to eat my heart.”
Jungkook shifts a bit more. Behind Namjoon is another body. Two actually, wrapped up in each
other, their dark heads pressed together, seemingly inseparable.
“He’s not coming back, Jungkook,” Namjoon says, and Namjoon is looking at him with the bluest
eyes and the most careful smile. His dimple flickers, and the longer Jungkook looks at him, the more
the worry hidden there begins to consume his face.
“Seokjin-ssi made a promise,” Jungkook finally says and watches as Namjoon’s expression cracks
down the center. “He promised. He made a promise. ”
“Jungkook—”
“You saved my life, right?” Namjoon doesn’t say anything. It’s answer enough. “That means you
repaid your life debt. A life for a life, right?”
Namjoon’s sitting up. “Jungkook, that’s—”
Jungkook gives him a quiet smile. “I don’t need to come here anymore, then.”
Namjoon opens his mouth to speak again, but the words must fall away. He looks confused and hurt
and angry, but he doesn’t say anything. So Jungkook wipes the snot from his nose and sits up,
ignoring Yoongi’s disgruntled groan and Hoseok’s tinny whine when he bumps against him.
Jungkook goes to wash and Namjoon doesn’t follow. In the bathroom Jungkook brushes his teeth and
tosses his toothbrush out after, and he takes one of the bands from the cabinet to tie back his hair.
Takes a long look at his face.
Sunken eyes and chapped lips. There’s bruising along his cheek. Four jagged lines of sallow yellow.
An injury that looks to be weeks old instead of just hours. It doesn’t hurt to touch, but Jungkook is
still careful as he washes his face and neck.
In the living room, Namjoon and Yoongi are heatedly whispering with Seokjin. It’s Korean, but a
version of it so old that Jungkook can’t parse what the argument is about. He can guess, though,
when the three of them grow silent and swivel his direction as he makes for the entry.
“Jungkook-ah,” Seokjin greets brightly. “I’m glad you’re awa—”
“You broke your promise,” Jungkook says simply. “I’m leaving now.”
Seokjin looks confused, and then alarmed, and then there’s an expression on his face that Jungkook
has never seen before, from anyone, and it makes salty tears build in his throat. Jungkook turns away
and looks for his jacket, but doesn’t see it hanging on the rack.
“I’m sorry, Jungkook-ah,” Seokjin says, stepping towards him. “I know I said the Shade wouldn’t
return. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know he—”
“No.” Seokjin tenses and comes to a stop, just an arm’s breadth away. Jungkook goes to pick at a
hole in his sweater and can’t find it. He looks down and realizes that he’s wearing someone else’s
clothes. Yellow sweatshirt, grey track pants. Scentless. Hoseok doesn’t like to use fabric softener
because his and Namjoon’s noses are so sensitive. “That was… That was scary,” Jungkook says,
gripping the hem of the shirt, trying not to dwell back to last night. The alley. The darkness. The
hand on his throat. Jungkook shakes his head. “That was—I can get past that. I’ll get past that.”
Bewilderment clouds Seokjin’s face.“Then what are you—”
“You used your voice on me again,” Jungkook interjects and watches as Seokjin’s visibly and
instantly deflates. “You said you wouldn’t control me again, and you did.”
No one says anything. Outside the light is dying. There’s not much traffic this side of the
neighborhood, so Jungkook can hear every chirp of the evening birds in the courtyard. Every sniffle
and snore from Taehyung and Jimin’s room. The creak of the floorboards under Namjoon’s anxious
rocking.
Seokjin finally finds his voice and says, “Jungkook. Jungkook, I had to, we were losing yo—”
“You didn’t, though,” Jungkook tells him, voice flat. Seokjin bites his cheek. “Do you know what
that feels like? To have no control over your own body? To be—To be completely useless ?”
Jungkook whispers, voice cracking. “To not feel like a person?”
Seokjin’s brow pinches together. “What was I supposed to do then,” he says unblinking. “Leave you
alone? Let you die?”
“I don’t know!” Jungkook bites back. “Why does it matter to you?”
Seokjin recoils. Color warms his face. Jungkook spots a familiar dredge of anger there, and when
Seokjin storms forward, feet heavy and eyes furious, Jungkook throws his arms up to protect his head
on instinct.
The blow doesn’t come. A hand rests on the back of his neck, another curls around his waist to grip
tight. Seokjin’s forehead drops to Jungkook’s shoulder and rests there, and Jungkook peeks over,
wide-eyed, to see Yoongi and Namjoon standing close to each other by the sofa with matching ,
unreadable expressions.
Seokjin shudders. “You brat,” he hisses as he squeezes Jungkook’s middle, so tight it almost hurts.
“Do you not understand how much I adore you?”
Jungkook’s breath catches. Seokjin leans back to look at him. His eyes are misty and his nose is
scrunched, like he’s trying not to cry, and Jungkook shivers when Seokjin pushes back his hair and
kisses him hard in the middle of his forehead.
It’s too much. A tear rolls down Jungkook’s cheek and then the flood happens. Jungkook’s shoulders
shake and he bites down hard on his lip when it starts to tremble.
Seokjin’s voice, soft, like he’s going to sing a lullaby, says, “Jungkook-ah, little one.” He places his
palms on either side of Jungkook’s cheeks. “Let it out. You don’t have to pretend here.”
It’s not a command, but it’s enough. Jungkook closes his eyes and begins to sob. He wails. He folds
Seokjin up in a crushing embrace, and for the first time since he left home, Jungkook allows himself
to cry.
~~~
The following morning, before the light has quite broken across the clouds, Yoongi wakes Jungkook
up while the others are sleeping. They grab coffee at a quiet café, then head for a park near the base
of the mountain that houses a few of the trails Jungkook likes to run on occasion after work, when
the world starts to feel very small and Jungkook needs the space to let his thoughts breathe.
It’s towards the trails that Jungkook heads for when they cross the parking lot, but Yoongi veers to
the left, guiding Jungkook to a small opening in the brush, far away from the path markers. They
walk in silence for quite a while, Yoongi following an invisible trail, his feet light against the dead
leaves and branches of the forest floor. If Jungkook wasn’t watching him, he’d say that Yoongi was
floating with how quiet he moves.
Eventually they reach a small stream tucked far into the park. It’s shallow and only a couple yards
wide, but Yoongi looks at it with soft affection and perches on a large rock outcropping near the
water. Jungkook follows, unbidden, and takes a seat beside him.
They drink in silence for an unknown amount of time, but it’s long enough for the air to grow golden
and warm and the birds to settle down. Finally, when it’s obvious that Yoongi won’t be the first to
speak and Jungkook has bolstered the nerve, Jungkook says in a clear voice, “You’re a dragon.”
Yoongi glances over and studies Jungkook face, then says gently, “I am.”
“I didn’t know that,” Jungkook says.
Yoongi’s mouth twitches. “You never asked.”
“I thought it would be rude,” Jungkook says, his voice cracking a little. He looks down at the ground.
“I thought you’d ignore me. Like Jin-hyung.”
“Seokjin and I are not the same person, you know.”
Embarrassment coils in Jungkook’s stomach. He squeezes his cup too hard and the lid pops off, and
as he works to snap it back into place, Yoongi says, voice rich and dark, “I was born an imugi. I
watched over a lake near Daegu for almost three hundred years before man sealed the river and the
water dried up.” Yoongi takes a long drag of coffee, his gaze settled on something far off in the
distance. “Jin found me not long after. Gave me a new home, a name. We’ve been companions ever
since.”
Jungkook kicks his boot against a patch of dirt. His leg won’t stop jiggling. “Imugis are serpents,
right? Like, really big, magical snakes?”
Yoongi’s laugh is bright and rough. “In simplest words, yes,” he answers, and Jungkook blushes
when Yoongi smiles at him. “But when we turn a thousand, we become dragons. I’ve had my dragon
form for a few decades now.” Jungkook just nods several times. Both his legs won’t stop bouncing
now. “Am I scaring you?”
“No, you just…” Jungkook shrugs. Digs his heels into the earth. “You talk about it so easily.”
“It is easy,” Yoongi says, fingers tapping in beats of four against his cup. “It’s who I am. But I’ve
had a very long time to figure it out.”
“I wish I knew who I was,” Jungkook mumbles, and then flushes over the depth of his honesty.
Yoongi just hums, though, as if understanding. Jungkook wonders if he would understand.
“Well, it helps to talk to people,” Yoongi tells him, his tone kind, and Jungkook turns and catches
Yoongi watching him. He’s looking hopefully at Jungkook, eyes clear and open. “And you’ve got
quite a few people who would like to listen. When you’re ready.”
Jungkook thinks that if he sat them all down and told them the way you look at me is frightening, I
don’t know who I am, the last time I had a family they decided I wasn’t worth it, they would
understand.
The buzzing in Jungkook’s limbs settles down. “Thanks, hyung,” he says quietly, ducking his head to
hide his flush.
Yoongi chuckles, then stands with a groan and a pop of his back. “Should we head home?”
Jungkook’s already on his feet. “Will you buy me some egg bread?”
Yoongi raises his eyebrows in surprise, and then he grins, delighted, and switches his coffee cup to
his other hand so that he can lace his fingers with Jungkook’s. “Let’s get enough for everyone.”
~~~
Jungkook’s out for the night again, and as he’s told Mingyu repeatedly throughout the evening, he
does not, in fact, have the hots for the DJ.
He’s just, y’know, really good at what he does.
Twice a month Jungkook goes out. He likes to drink and he likes to dance and if the music happens
to be aggressive and intense with some of the sickest transitions Jungkook’s ever heard this side of
the river, then that’s a plus. There’s never a lull in this DJ’s set and Jungkook likes that; that he can
immerse himself in the music for an hour and not even realize it until someone is forcing a water into
his hand and his ass into a seat for a break.
But Jungkook doesn’t want to hook up with the DJ. He doesn’t even know what the guy looks like or
how he feels about tattoos and gay marriage and the whale epidemic. But that’s not bad. Jungkook
could find out those things. Jungkook could go up to the booth and work some charm and get this
man to tell him his real name, maybe take off the faceless, white mask. Maybe kiss him.
Jungkook really wants to kiss someone.
It’s been three weeks since the Shade incident. Jungkook has yet to be stalked onto a bus again by a
man in a black trench coat, but his evenings at the hanok have doubled, and Jungkook is constantly
getting doted on by gorgeous men. Which is nice and all, they're all very nice and very gentle with
him; but what Jungkook really needs is someone to make out with him. Maybe feel him up a bit.
Maybe get a little rough. A little dangerous.
So Jungkook loses himself in the music. And maybe he has a couple more drinks. And maybe he
starts to sweat enough to take off his jacket even though his white tee is practically translucent by
this hour of the evening. And maybe the guy who came over to dance with him two songs ago is
starting to get a little forward, a little handsy. And maybe the same guy is suddenly apologizing, arms
raised high above his head as he backs away with a spark of absolute terror in his eyes.
Not a heartbeat later a hand settles on Jungkook’s waist, fingers digging just deep enough to be
possessive, and Jungkook tips his head back and feels the breath catch inside of him.
Taehyung grins at him, fangs on full-display, and Jungkook just shakes his head and falls back into
the hold with a sigh. “You scared him away,” he whines, nestling into the crook of Taehyung’s neck.
Taehyung’s mouth presses to Jungkook’s ear. He laughs. Says, “I did,” voice a low rumble that goes
straight to Jungkook’s toes. Lights him up like a Christmas tree. Jungkook loses feeling in his knees
for a solid two seconds, but Taehyung’s firm grip keeps him upright.
“Was that guy a monster, too?” Jungkook asks, steadily rocking side to side. It’s a more languid pace
than he was taking with the guy from earlier, slower than the beat probably deserves, but Taehyung
follows his movements, his other hand coming up to rest on Jungkook’s hip.
“Nope,” Taehyung says as he noses along Jungkook’s jaw. They sway, back and forth and back, and
Jungkook struggles to keep his eyes open. Taehyung doesn’t smell like a pine forest or a summer
storm. He just smells like boy and sweat with a little bit of vanilla, but the vanilla probably came
from Jimin. “Just getting too close for comfort.”
“What if I wanted him to be close?” Jungkook asks. Grins, when Taehyung’s hold on him tightens.
“Did you?”
Jungkook scoffs. “No.”
Except that might be a lie. Maybe Jungkook really wanted a stranger close. Just for a moment. Just
for a night.
They dance for a bit longer. If it can be called dancing. Taehyung just holding him, Jungkook just
allowing himself to be held. Taehyung shifts his hips forward and and Jungkook moves back to meet
him. They fit together. Not perfectly, not like a puzzle; they’re both too equal in height for that. But
they fit together.
“Do you want someone to be close with?”
Jungkook blinks. The strobe lights overhead blind him, and he thinks about what Taehyung just
asked as he waits for the colored spots to clear. Someone to be close with. Someone to dance with?
Someone to sleep beside? Someone to go home to?
Seokjin has taken to driving him more. Yoongi will hold his hand on their walks, and Hoseok loves
to braid Jungkook’s hair during movies. Taehyung and Jimin double-spoon him the nights he sleeps
over. Namjoon just likes to be near. Even if there isn’t any conversation happening, Namjoon will sit
in a chair close by and just read or write or listen. It’s nice, and it’s comforting, and it’s safe. But
lately, it doesn’t feel like enough.
“Maybe,” Jungkook says after a long time. He’s not sure what Taehyung is asking. What he means.
He’s not sure what Taehyung wants, or what Jimin and Hoseok want when they saunter up out of the
throng of dancers with their devilish gleam. Jimin’s lips are stained red, and when he leans into to
press a kiss to Jungkook’s cheek, his breath smells of peaches. The disconnect makes Jungkook’s
head spin.
“Hey, Jungkookie,” Jimin grins, his hands settling on Jungkook’s waist, just above Taehyung’s hold.
Jungkook hums, feeling warm and overwhelmed. Definitely shouldn’t have had that last mojito.
“What a surprise finding you here.”
Jungkook hums again. Hoseok is here somewhere. Behind Taehyung maybe. There are a lot of hands
happening right now. “Why are you here?” Jungkook asks.
“Yoongi-hyung’s playing tonight,” Hoseok answers. “We go to all his shows.” Ah, yes. Behind
Taehyung. Jungkook shifts, flips around so that he’s chest to chest with Taehyung. Taehyung’s eyes
are hooded as Hoseok mouths at his exposed shoulder, but his smile is contagious when he catches
Jungkook watching him.
Jungkook’s automatic smile falls as Hoseok’s words catch up to him. “Huh?”
Jimin’s hands creep under Jungkook’s shirt. They’re like ice against the heated skin of Jungkook’s
stomach. “Hyung’s the DJ tonight,” Jimin says, lips against Jungkook’s neck. “You didn’t notice?”
“That Yoongi-hyung is… Suga?”
Jungkook looks up to the stand to where the man he, in all honesty, has been lusting after for about a
year now is vibing to the music. Jungkook’s still seeing stars and the stand is all but in shadow, but
Jungkook can make out the slight form there. A big hoodie. Large hands. The shock of black hair
above the white mask.
It’s dark, and Jungkook is more than tipsy, and he might be getting drunk off the way Jimin’s hands
drag across his skin, but Jungkook would swear on his scholarship that Suga is looking at their little
group, and only their group, as he works.
Taehyung’s voice drags Jungkook back to the now. “You didn’t know?”
Jungkook watches as Suga suddenly lifts one hand, gives it a little wave. Jungkook finds himself
waving back as if in a daze. “I didn’t know.”
“Hyung says you’ve been coming to his shows for months now, though?” Hoseok says.
Jungkook shakes his head, feeling fuzzy, not sure if it’s because of the alcohol anymore. “I didn’t
know.”
Jimin presses in closer so their bodies are lined up, and then he moves closer still so that Jungkook’s
forced further into Taehyung’s space. They’re all rocking together, hands straying, mouths heavy
against skin. Jungkook closes his eyes when Taehyung and Hoseok swap places and Hoseok leans in
to nudge his nose and cheek along Jungkook’s throat. Jungkook tips his head to the side to give him
more room, and Hoseok growls low in his chest and Jungkook’s eyelids flutter when he feels the
scrape of teeth below his ear.
Jungkook needs to stop this, but it feels nice. The heat, the weight, the attention. Taehyung, eyes dark
and intense and delectable. Hoseok, claiming his throat, scenting him. Jimin, his practiced, nimble
hands tracing each muscle of Jungkook’s abdomen. And then Yoongi, controlling every beat,
watching over them from above.
“You have us, you know.”
Jungkook pries his eyes open. Taehyung’s watching him from over Hoseok’s shoulder. “Huh?”
“To be close with,” Taehyung says, his eyes open and soft and somewhat unsure.
Their conversation from before crops up and Jungkook can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of him.
Taehyung frowns at the sound. “Uh, do I?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I,” Jungkook sighs, shivering when Jimin’s thumbnails drag up his spine. “You guys do
this, stuff like this,” he says, voice coming out wrecked, “but it’s not real. I know it’s just playing.”
Taehyung’s watching him intently. Hoseok has pulled back and his eyes are different, too—not
amused, just determined and serious. Jungkook sees the surprise cross both their faces.
“Who said we’re playing?” Hoseok asks, his tone unexpectedly short.
Taehyung’s frown only grows. “Jungkook, we like you.”
“I know,” Jungkook says, brow furrowing, trying to catch up. What did he say wrong? Why are they
looking at him with such hurt? “You guys have told me.”
“No,” Hoseok says, his worry dimples peeking out. “I mean that we’ve been trying to court you for
months. That isn’t playing.”
Jungkook’s breath catches. “Wait,” he says. “Wait, wait, stop. Jimin-hyung, I can’t focus if you’re
doing that.” Jimin tugs his hands away from Jungkook’s waistband, then shifts around to latch onto
Taehyung’s side. The three of them stand there, unbothered, in the middle of a dance floor during a
rave, waiting for Jungkook to say more.
Jungkook doesn’t. He just shakes his head again. Tugs on the ends of his damp hair.
“Should we talk about this at the house?” Jimin asks when the silence stretches.
“No,” Jungkook says, trying to untwist his tongue as he speaks. “We can do it here. Just need some
air.”
Hoseok skips away to let Yoongi know they’ll be outside, and Jungkook hunts Yugyeom down to let
him know he’s stepping out for a moment. Yugyeom peeks over his shoulder and spots Taehyung
and Jimin hovering nearby, probably with their monster faces on because he flinches and then asks
Jungkook if he needs back-up.
“They’re friends,” Jungkook says, knocking his shoulder, giving him an intentional look.
“These are your sugar daddies?” Yugyeom hisses without taking his eyes off the two boys behind
him.
“A couple of them,” Jungkook says just as Hoseok slips in to press a hand against his bare arm.
Hoseok’s beaming, but his hold on Jungkook is a clear message that has Yugyeom smirking. “I’ll
introduce you another time,” Jungkook says quickly. “Promise.”
“Alright.” Yugyeom shrugs, but lifts a hand and points at the three beside him. “Thanks for paying
our rent, but if you hurt my best friend, I’ll make your life hell.”
Jungkook shoves him again Yugyeom cackles. They leave after that, head half a block down from
the club, away from the line and bass beating its way through the walls. “I like your friend there,”
Jimin says as they crawl to a stop, eyes sly and grin wicked. “What was that about sugar daddies?”
Jungkook deliberately clears his throat as they snicker. “Okay,” he claps. “Let’s talk.”
Hoseok shrugs and makes a gesture for Jungkook to continue. “Alright. Well.” Jungkook rubs his
palms together. The spring air is cool, but Jungkook’s cheeks just heat up under their sharp stares.
“You want to court me? What does that mean?”
“It means we want to be involved with you romantically,” Jimin says with an easy smile.
Jungkook holds his breath. Swallows thickly. His tongue is ten times too big in his mouth.
“Romantically?” He repeats, and the three of them nod in unison. “So dating? You want to date me?”
Taehyung looks delighted by Jungkook’s confusion. “Yes,” he says, clapping his hands together.
“We want to date you.”
This isn’t happening. Jungkook isn’t thinking straight. He needs to sit down.
“Jungkookie?” Jimin says, and the three of them step forward when Jungkook sinks to his knees.
Their hands are busy and ready to console, but when Jungkook lets out a long-winded shriek, they
freeze in place.
“What?” Jungkook shrills, peeking through his fingers. “WHY?”
Jimin’s nose is scrunched. It’s absolutely adorable. Jungkook needs to focus. “Why not?”
Jungkook gapes at him. “You all are immortal.”
“We’re not immortal,” Hoseok says.
“We’re ageless,” Taehyung interjects, “but we can die.”
“Okay.” Jungkook falls back onto his butt and stares up at them. They look nice tonight. Dangerous.
Delicious. Hoseok and Taehyung tend to go for baggy linens and Jimin’s always in scrubs or
sweaters, but tonight they’re dressed up. Dark jeans, silk shirts, jewels dripping from their throats
and ears. Jungkook would bet good money that the ruby in Taehyung’s ear is real. “Okay, well, you
all—”
Jungkook throws his arms wide to gesture to their bodies and they wait for him to elaborate. When
he doesn’t, Taehyung bites his cheek. Says tentatively, “...Yes?”
“You’re all gorgeous.” Pin-prickling warmth travels up the back of his neck. Jungkook’s voice
comes out weaker when he says, “And really nice... And very intimidating.”
Jungkook watches in horror as they laugh at him, but then Jimin takes a breath to say, “And you
carry none of those traits?”
Jungkook stares up at him. “Uh, no?”
“Jungkookie,” Hoseok says, crouching so they’re face to face. He’s not hiding his eyes tonight, and
they glint gold under the warm light of the bar sign hanging overhead. “Not to burst this bubble
you’re living in,” he says, casual and subdued, the most subtle of a smirk quirking his mouth up,“but
you are also gorgeous, and kind, and quite intimidating.”
Jungkook blinks. “I am?”
“You are.”
“Are you sure?”
Hoseok nods. “We are certain.”
“Oh."
Jungkook sits for a bit longer after that. People pass them by, surely giving him looks, but the others
stand around him protectively, probably doing the silent, eyebrow communication thing. They all
have impossibly expressive eyebrows.
Jungkook twists his fingers in his lap. Picks at his nail beds. His organs feel wobbly inside. “So you
all…want to date me?” Jungkook says to himself, but maybe he said it out loud because Hoseok, in a
clear voice, answers, “Last we discussed, yes.”
Jungkook lifts his head, wide-eyed. “When was that?” He asks.
“Tuesday?” Hoseok says, glancing over. Jimin shrugs and nods. “Yeah, probably Tuesday.”
“We talk about it at least once a week,” Taehyung tells him.
Jungkook brushes his hands over his thighs, his shirt. Slaps his cheeks. Turns to them again. “But
you’re all together?”
“Yes.”
“So… I don’t understand how I fit in here,” Jungkook says, feeling exhausted from this talk and
somewhat frightened. He looks to each of them and finds nothing but affection in their faces, which
is also kind of terrifying. They’re handling this very well. Jungkook is, well, not. At all. “I don’t get
why you…” Jungkook pinches his eyes shut. Breathes deep. “Why you need me.”
“Well, we don’t need you,” Taehyung starts, and Jungkook’s soul dims at his words.
“But we do want you,” Jimin finishes, and Jungkook’s head whips up. Jimin’s face is nothing but
compassion. Adoration. Jungkook’s throat goes tight.
Jungkook doesn’t know what to do or say next, but what he does know is that the moon is luminous
tonight and he’s with three beautiful boys who make him feel very seen. Who think he is gorgeous
and kind. Who want to be with him enough to have a formal discussion about it once a week with
one another.
“Can we go home?” Jungkook asks without quite hearing his voice.
“Of course,” Hoseok says. “We’ll walk you to the bus—”
“No,” Jungkook interrupts, his insides whirling when he looks up into their confused faces. “I want
to go home,” he says again without taking his eyes off them. “With you.”
“Oh,” Hoseok murmurs back cheerfully, but Jimin and Taehyung are already taking Jungkook’s
hands and tugging him off the ground, their smiles brighter than the shimmering sky above.
~~~
When they get back to the hanok, Namjoon and Seokjin are waiting up in the living room, watching
TV. Maybe. As Jungkook shucks off his shoes, he notices that Namjoon is holding a book to the side
while his hand cards through Seokjin’s hair where his head rests in Namjoon’s lap. Seokjin’s eyes
are closed, but his foot taps along to the rhythm from the soundtrack playing over the surround
sound.
Jungkook shucks of his shoes. The clatter makes Namjoon jolt and Seokjin almost rolls onto the
floor. “Hyungs!” Jungkook shouts and they both struggle to sit up and swivel around. When their
bleary eyes find him still standing in the entry, Jungkook takes in a deep breath and yells, “I want to
date you!”
Namjoon frowns. Seokjin sits up so fast he nails his head on Namjoon’s elbow and then releases a
string of colorful, colloquial curses.
“What?” Seokjin hisses, rubbing his temple, looking past Jungkook’s shoulder to where the others
are waiting. “What? Where did you find Jungkook? Is he drunk!”
“The club!” Taehyung says. “Where Yoongi-hyung is playing!”
“We confessed!” Jimin continues. “He said yes!”
“I am a little drunk!” Jungkook adds. “But I still want to date you!”
Seokjin stares at them for a moment longer and then turns to Hoseok. Hoseok laughs at his
expression. “We had a long conversation,” Hoseok says, brushing past Jungkook to fall into an
armchair. “Jungkook didn’t realize our intentions all this time. He’s agreed to be courted.”
“By everyone?” Seokjin squeaks.
“By everyone,” Jungkook says without an ounce of hesitation, and the way Seokjin is looking at him,
eyes wide and his puffy lips parted into a little “oh”, makes Jungkook’s insides feel fizzy and full.
Jungkook is tempted to plant a kiss on him right now, but he’s not sure what the rules are for
courting six magical beings at the same time who are already romantically involved. Are they
romantically involved? It seems that way, but Jungkook’s only ever seen Taehyung and Jimin kiss.
Hoseok likes touch. Yoongi acts like he isn’t the softest creature on earth but Jungkook knows
better.
Namjoon rises from the sofa with a groan, then pads over to fold Jungkook up in a heavy, warm hug.
Jungkook returns it immediately, heart fluttering, and hums to himself when Namjoon’s cheek rests
on top of his head.
“Love your hugs,” Jungkook mumbles, squeezing Namjoon’s middle. “Love all the hugs.”
“Yeah, he’s definitely drunk,” Namjoon laughs, voice rumbling against Jungkook’s chest. “We
should revisit this in the morning after Yoongi’s home.”
“Love Yoongi-hyung,” Jungkook sighs, sinking further Namjoon’s hold. His woodsy scent is almost
intoxicating. “Love you. Love all the hyungs. So good. So nice. So warm. Like you s-o-o-o much.”
There’s a spattering of laughter at that, and Jungkook’s eyes flutter open and sees the others have
huddled together and are giving each other slow smiles, like they’re all in on this secret together.
Jungkook wants to know the secret. Jungkook wants to know everything about everything.
“Come on, Jungkook-ah.” Jungkook’s feet leave the floor. Namjoon’s scooped him up easily, and
Jungkook allows himself to be carried to the bathroom where he brushes his teeth with his new
toothbrush and washes his face with the warm towel Hoseok comes in to prepare for him.
He ends up in Taehyung and Jimin’s room because they have the largest space and it looks like it’s a
cuddling night. Jungkook has this tiny buzzing ball resting at the base of his throat as he wriggles
into a comfortable position under the covers, listening to the house prepare for bed, laughter and
voices filtering in through the crack in the door. The buzz doesn’t feel like anxiety, though. Doesn’t
feel like it’s trying to choke or smother or burn.
“Jungkook-ah?”
Jungkook sighs. His limbs and eyelids are too heavy to lift. “You guys really scare me.”
The futon dips. Someone brushes against his arm. “I’m sorry,” Jimin says. “Do you want us to go?”
Jungkook ignores him. “The last time I felt this way,” he says, voice soft on the air, “I ended up
homeless.”
Silence settles over the room. The scuffling, the ruffling, the quiet murmurs in the hall. All of it just
fades away. Jungkook can feel the weight of their stares looking through him.
“You can’t… leave me,” Jungkook whispers, words tapering off as his mind begins to slip. “Please
don’t leave me.”
Jungkook’s body gives up on him after that, but in the morning, when he wakes before the sun,
Jungkook blinks away the daze of sleep and realizes that both of his hands are clasped in the hands of
Hoseok and Jimin. Taehyung has Namjoon in a vice hold on the other futon, and Seokjin and Yoongi
have dragged in blankets from another room and are tucked in close at the foot of the beds, bodies
curled in towards each other.
Jungkook’s too tired to process it all, but what he does know is that he feels safe, and warm, and that
if this group of kind, wonderful men were ever going to abandon him, it definitely, undeniably,
without a doubt, would have happened a long time ago.
Chapter 5
It takes Jungkook three weeks to learn that dating six men is an experience.
Jungkook thought he was ready. He thought he was going to be in the right headspace for it,
especially since, after rising the morning following his drunken confession, he was almost
immediately bombarded with hugs, handed a bowlful of jigae, a handful of vitamins, and then guided
gently into a seat at the dining table while the whole of the Kim clan sat around him in various states
of undress as Jungkook slowly consumed his soup and they explained to him the dynamics of their
family.
It was a lot. Many a detail was presented. Like how Taehyung and Jimin are soul-bound. Like,
they’re literally soulmates. Not in just the cheesy, awwww, romantic way but like. Soulmates. Which
explains the creepy twin telepathy they have at times and why they can’t be separated from each
other for more than a handful of hours.
“When I’m older and have more tails, we’ll be able to be apart longer,” Taehyung explained as
Jungkook tried to force down a too large mouthful of rice. Namjoon gave him a hefty pat on the back
that just made Jungkook inhale his food, and then Hoseok leaned over to coo and rub at his spine
which only made Jungkook cough harder.
“Not that it matters,” Seokjin had snorted into his coffee mug, eyes half-closed and puffy with sleep.
“You could have a hundred tails and still wouldn’t leave Jiminie’s side for more than two hours.”
Taehyung had blushed but didn’t deny it, which must have pleased Jimin greatly because he curled a
finger under Taehyung’s jaw and tugged him in to kiss him quick and hard and a little dirty. It was
certainly a sight for nine in the morning.
Jungkook, warm around the ears and chest still sore, had just shoved more rice into his mouth.
Seokjin and Yoongi met by chance. Well, Yoongi says it was chance. Seokjin says it was fate. Fate
brought them together nearly a thousand years ago. It was summer, and the sky was bleak and the
earth was cracked and Seokjin had looked at Yoongi and thought that this beautiful young man
staring off into the distance of the forest looked just as empty as the riverbed he was standing in.
“You make me sound miserable,” Yoongi groused, his neck pink and splotchy above the stretched
out collar of his sweater, and Seokjin, chin in his palm, just smiled and said, “You were miserable,
darling. But you’re not anymore. That’s what matters.”
Jungkook shoved more rice into his mouth when Seokjin took Yoongi’s hand to kiss the thin skin of
Yoongi’s inner wrist, and then forced in some more when Yoongi had only grumbled but didn’t pull
his hand away. Left it there on the table for Seokjin to lace their fingers together.
Jungkook had other questions: Where Seokjin was going, where he came from, how they came
across the others, why Namjoon and Hoseok can turn into wolves. But he had to clock into work
soon, so Jungkook swallowed down all his words and the ungodly amount of grain in his mouth, and
he took the lunchbox that Taehyung had neatly packaged for him and tried not to faint under the heat
of his blush as each of his hyungs lined up by the door to give him a hug before he left.
That was nearly two weeks ago. Since then, Jungkook has had two paintings, a life-drawing
sketchbook, and an art history paper over minimalism to finish for class; at the clinic he’s been put in
charge of a diet and exercise routine for a very obese cat named Sprinkle who hates all mankind;
Yugyeom’s gotten himself a boyfriend and spends his evenings (and sometimes nights) at Jaebeom’s
place nearly an hour away; and all of this is just to say that Jungkook has been very busy and
disgustingly lonely.
“Call your sugar daddies,” Yugyeom tells him over the phone that afternoon when Jungkook checked
to see if he should prep dinner for two tonight. The answer was no, Yugyeom was supposed to meet
some of Jaebeom's upperclassmen friends. They’re going bowling. Jungkook loves bowling. “If you
can’t go to them, have them come to you.”
“Terrible advice,” Jungkook says, eyeing the street just before he takes the crosswalk outside the
campus gates. “I’ll look clingy. And needy. And sad.”
“You are clingy and needy and sad.”
“Yes, but they don’t need to know that,” Jungkook hissed, sidestepping around a group of young
women taking photos outside a coffee shop. “They’re all way older than me,” he continues, “with
like, money and jobs and proper skincare routines.”
Yugyeom cackles, and then says, in all seriousness, “And they’re smitten for you and like to take
care of you and I’m sure they miss you just as much as you miss them.”
Jungkook sticks his tongue out. Scrunches his nose. Avoids colliding with a man who just rushed out
of a fried-rice stall. “You’re going soft.”
“Always been soft for you, babe,” Yugyeom coos.
“Ewww gross. Love you, I guess.”
Yugyeom’s laughter is big and happy and contagious. Jungkook feels a small something inside spark
at the sound. It’s hard to be upset with him when there’s nothing to be upset about. He and Jaebeom
have been toeing around each other for a few months now. This is good for them. “I’m not gonna
force you to reach out,” Yugyeom says as Jungkook turns onto the street for their building, “but if
you’re dating now, like actually dating, and they have the time, just invite them over. It doesn’t have
to be a big thing.”
Jungkook makes some kind of noncommittal grunting sound which has Yugyeom cursing at him.
They bid their goodbyes, and then Jungkook goes home. He straightens up the shoes in the entry,
dumps his book bag on the sofa, takes one dragging look around the barren living room, and hates
the small part of his heart that feels shriveled and worn and a little empty.
It’s only been two weeks. And Jungkook met up with Jimin and Taehyung for lunch last weekend.
They got pizza and then walked him to the clinic before Jimin’s shift at the hospital. They both gave
him hugs so big Jungkook thought he might bawl on the sidewalk then and there, which is dumb,
because he shouldn’t feel this desperate to see them, all of them. To hear their voices. To hold
someone’s hand. They’re not even at hand-holding yet, except for maybe Yoongi, who just does
what he wants. But they haven’t talked about it and Jungkook just really, really wants to talk about it.
About everything, about anything, to someone. To them.
JK [5:16pm]
so
Hobi[5:17pm]
so??
Joonie[5:18pm]
What’s up?
Chim [5:18pm]
hey jungkookie!
Jungkook tosses his phone on the carpet and drops to the floor to do a couple dozen push-ups. When
he’s done with that, he does a set of burpees. And when he’s done with that, he goes into the kitchen
to wash the meager amount of dishes left out from breakfast this morning.
He comes back to a bunch of question marks and various notes of concern, and Jungkook heaves in
one huge breath that he doesn’t think actually makes it to his lungs, like, at all, because he has to take
three more.
JK [5:33pm]
I was wondering
only if you want to ofc
and I know it’s last minute
but Yugyeom is out tonight
and i was wondering if you guys want to come over
to my apartment
for mb dinner?
but you dont have to no pressure lol
i just kind of miss everyone
but you can say no it’s ok
Jungkook holds his phone in both hands, crouched low beside the TV stand, and waits.
And waits.
And waits.
Eight minutes pass with radio silence and Jungkook yawps and pretends to chuck his phone into the
wall. Instead he stands, neatly places the device on the kitchen counter, and then goes to take a halfhour shower in which he may or may not challenge himself to hit all the high notes in the Titanic
theme song. When he’s successfully outsang Celine Dion herself, Jungkook takes a long look in the
mirror as he towel dries his hair.
Summer is sneaking up on the city, and the bridge of Jungkook’s cheeks and nose is flushed from his
afternoon walks with the dogs. His skin is clearing up, though, and Jungkook thinks it might be
because of all the herbal tea he’s trained his body to tolerate at the hanok.
Jungkook opens his mouth to give himself a pep-talk, one of those self-guided mantra things
Yugyeom talks about that he picked up from class or pilates or something about how Jungkook is
handsome and kind and worthy of good things; but Jungkook immeditely feels stupid about it even
though he’s the only one here to listen. Instead, he just slaps his cheeks and legs and shakes his hair
out and wraps a towel around his waist and walks into the living room to brave his phone only to find
that his home has been invaded by a gaggle of familiar men who are now all staring at him in various
states of distress.
Hoseok, curled up small on the sofa with his hands between his knees, is the first to speak, even if
it’s only a quiet and choked, “holy fucking shit,” under his breath.
“Uhmm…” Jungkook’s brain must have been left behind in the bath. He spins around and re-enters
the bathroom, shuts the door, counts to ten, and zombie shuffles back out to find that no, nope. Okay.
Everyone is here. Sweet.
“Uhm,” Jungkook tries again, looking around. His teeth catch his bottom lip and he lifts a hand in
greeting. The edge of his towel droops. “Hi?”
There isn’t much room in their apartment, and Jimin and Taehyung are taking up most of the meager
space, sprawled on the floor. They’re staring at something on Jungkook’s stomach. Jungkook glances
down and doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary, just bare skin and a sliver of his birthmark, and he
looks back up and finds Seokjin in the kitchen with a bag of rice clutched to his chest while Yoongi’s
at a cutting board, knife held over a half-sliced onion, wide-eyed and mouth agape.
Jungkook fixes on a smile. He’s happy they’re here, but he also kind of feels like his spine just got
pulled from his body and he has two seconds to figure out if he can make it to the couch before his
body collapses in on itself.
The front door beeps and Namjoon sweeps in, big and loud, telling a story about how he ran into this
old man a block down who was selling flowers. “I just had to get the tulips, do you think he’ll—”
Namjoon stumbles as he kicks off a shoe, looks up and meets Jungkook’s curious gaze, and then
promptly rams his shoulder into the corner cabinet and goes crashing to the floor.
There’s no movement in the room. Not a twitch of muscle. Jungkook frowns and shuffles over to see
if Namjoon’s okay, and Namjoon blinks up at him, dopey and dazed, and the sight is so adorable that
Jungkook can’t help but laugh. He pushes a loose strand of damp hair behind one ear and Namjoon
blinks upside down at him. Takes in a huge breath. Blurts, “Holy shit, Jungkook-ah, you’re so hot?
Why are you so hot? Have you been this hot the whole time?” Namjoon picks up his head and looks
to the room at large. “Has he been this hot the whole time? What?”
Jungkook’s brain shuts down. His lips are numb. He twists to look over his shoulder, surprised to
find everyone still staring, as this little tidbit of information makes room for itself in his heart. Ah.
Okay. They like what they see. They’re looking at Jungkook like he’s not just something precious to
them, but like he’s something desirable.
Jungkook smiles despite himself, feeling very seen and very warm. “I’m gonna go change,” he says,
and there’s another half-hidden “holy shit” from Hoseok when Jungkook lifts Namjoon off the floor.
“Make yourselves at home, I guess?”
“You don’t have to put clothes back on,” Jimin croons, and Jungkook looks over to see that he and
Taehyung have arranged themselves in compromising positions on the carpet. Jungkook’s neck
flushes. He’s certain everyone can see.
Hoseok smirks and splays across the sofa cushion. “If anything we can take some off—”
“OKAY!” Seokjin shrills from the kitchen, making Jungkook jump. Seokjin points towards the back
hall. “Jungkook, please make yourself decent before one of the children eats you. Children,” Seokjin
snaps, “behave yourselves, heavens, is this how I raised you?”
“It’s weird when you refer to us as your kids,” Hoseok sniffs, tucking his knees back to his chest.
Taehyung nods as he extricates himself from Jimin’s lap. “Especially since I suck—”
“AGGHHIISSHHHHHH,” Seokjin shrieks, flinging the rice bag around. Yoongi ducks just in time
to avoid getting nailed in the temple. “Demons! Miscreants! The lack of decorum! Where is your
sense of propriety!”
Taehyung and Jimin, encouraged by how indignant Seokjin sounds, simply crawl on to each other
with dangerous smirks and wandering hands. Seokjin screeches. Hoseok is cackling. There’s a tug on
Jungkook’s pinkie, and Jungkook glances over, smile brimming on his cheeks, and finds Namjoon
crowded in close.
“Jungkook-ah,” Namjoon says, his dimples flickering with delight. He holds up the bouquet of red
tulips, somehow in one piece from the fall. He presses them into Jungkook’s open palm. “For you.
Thank you for inviting us over.”
Jungkook blinks down at the flowers, bright and heavy and beautiful in his hand. There’s a quiet
yank below his stomach. “Thank you,” Jungkook breathes and clutches the bundle to his chest. The
plastic pricks against his skin. “Uhm. Thank you. For being here.”
Namjoon nods, ducks in quick to press his cheek against Jungkook’s, then pulls away to step over
Taehyung and Jimin and greet Hoseok by rubbing their noses together. Hoseok laughs into it, then
kisses Namjoon for real when he’s settled on a cushion, which then spurs Jimin and Taehyung on
about how they haven’t received evening kisses, and Jungkook hurries away to his room to the sound
of Namjoon’s booming ha-ha-ha-ing laughter.
Jungkook considers putting on a pair of jeans, maybe his light wash ones that Yugyeom says makes
his ass look perky. But Jungkook’s never tried to dress up for the guys before, and they legit just saw
eighty percent of his glistening body, so he throws on a pair of joggers and a baggy yellow sweater
he doesn’t remember buying.
Out in the living room everyone is chatting. Someone’s connected a phone to the bluetooth speaker
and the smooth voice of a foreign singer mixed with the bustling from the kitchen fills in any gaps in
conversation. After arranging the tulips in a reusable water bottle and getting shooed away by
Yoongi and Seokjin in the kitchen when he tries to offer to help with dinner, Jungkook slips back to
the living room to take a seat on the arm of the sofa. He hovers there, just kind of taking in the scene,
feeling this pool of warmth settle at the base of his spine. Kind of like how he feels when Jimin
works his magic. Safe. Blanketed. Dazed.
But that might also be because Namjoon’s large palm is currently resting on his upper thigh and
Namjoon himself keeps glancing over, stare heavy and hungry. Like for some reason Jungkook’s
now shapeless form is more attractive than his straight from the shower nudity.
Jungkook’s brow furrows in question but it only makes Namjoon grin. Laugh. “I like seeing you in
my clothes,” he says, simple and forward in that honest way of his, and Jungkook looks down and
realizes oh. That’s right. This is Namjoon’s sweater. He forgot to return it.
Jungkook clears his throat. “So,” he starts, and several gazes fall to him even though he wasn’t really
addressing them all. But this is good. Talking is great. “Uhm, why are you here?”
Taehyung frowns where he has his head resting in Jimin’s lap. “You invited us.”
“Well. Yes,” Jungkook says, twisting his fingers together. “But you were taking forever to respond. I
thought you wouldn’t—” Jungkook cuts himself off. I thought you wouldn’t want to see me. He
clears his throat again when a glob of anxiety tries to cut off his breath. “I didn’t expect you to just
show up while I was in the shower. How did you get the passcode?”
“Jin-hyung charmed the security guard,” Hoseok grins.
Jungkook looks over to where Seokjin is attempting to hide behind Yoongi as he works. It’d be
endearing if Jungkook didn’t feel the dredge of anger sinking in his stomach. “You weren’t
answering your phone!” Seokjin cries at Jungkook’s heated expression. “The meat was getting
warm!”
“You didn’t even wait twenty minutes!” Jungkook shouts back.
“Well excuse us for wanting to see our boyfriend,” Seokjin snips, voice cracking, cheeks pink, and
Jungkook straightens through the back, truly stunned.
“Oh,” he murmurs cheerfully, glancing around. “Oh.”
Namjoon perks up at his side. “You seem surprised,” he notes.
“I just—I guess I forgot that we’re, like, together?” Jungkook squeaks. Bewilderment clouds their
faces. “It’s, uhm, still new?” He tries to explain, wringing the hem of his sweater in his hands. “And
we haven’t really talked? And I still kind of feel like I’m bothering you guys? When I, y’know, ask
for things?”
Jungkook tries to keep his tone light, but by the end his vocal cords have gone all weird and wrung
out. No one says anything. Jungkook looks around, not quite able to look them in the eye, but he sees
their slight frowns. The intentional glances they’re sharing with each other. Their secret
conversation. Jungkook’s toes curl against the floor. He scratches at his hand, uncomfortable.
Black-socked feet come into his line of vision. “Jungkook-ah.” Jungkook looks up into Yoongi’s
waiting face. His brow is creased but his eyes are warm. “Jungkook-ah,” he says again, taking one of
Jungkook’s hands in his own. “We love spending time with you. Okay?”
“Okay,” Jungkook mumbles, flushing when he feels Namjoon’s hand squeeze thigh.
“We’re happy you asked us to be here with you,” Yoongi continues is his rumbling voice. “Okay?”
Jungkook nods. “Okay,” he whispers.
“We care for you very much,” Yoongi says, crouching down so he can look up into Jungkook’s face.
His grin is soft but determined. “Okay?”
“Okay,” Jungkook echoes, just as quiet. He bites the soft spot of his cheek, then leans in to press a
dry kiss to Yoongi’s temple. “Thanks, hyung.”
Yoongi inhales sharply, but his eyes light up. “Anytime, kid.”
Yoongi ruffles his hair as he pulls away. Namjoon squeezes his knee again. Hoseok just crawls over
everyone to pull Jungkook in against his side and holds him tight to his chest for the next half-hour
while everyone finishes debriefing. It’s a thing they do. Jungkook’s seen, or heard, he guesses, them
go through it the evenings he’s spent at the hanok. Everyone sits together and talks about the best and
worst moment of their day. Bests are usually petting a stray cat or discovering a new bakery or
having a kind conversation with a stranger. Worsts are sometimes a delay on the subway or getting
rained on.
Except for Jimin.
Jimin’s best is always saving a life. Jimin’s worst is not getting to someone in time.
“It’s the ER,” Jimin shrugs. His brows are squared and turned down, eyes dark and tired. There’s no
product in his hair and it hangs limp against his forehead. “There are rules and I can’t be everywhere
at once.”
“Have you thought about opening your own clinic?” Jungkook asks and Jimin looks up, surprised.
Jungkook feels guilty almost immediately for speaking on something he doesn’t understand, but
everyone’s just kind of watching him, so Jungkook presses on. “Like an emergency clinic in one of
the neighborhoods. You could make your own hours and see everyone you wanted.”
“Yeah,” Jimin says, the sound coming out more as a sigh. “But there’s red tape to follow. We’d have
to forge a lot of documents.”
“We already do that though,” Taehyung mentions. “And you’ve been at the hospital five years.
People are going to start questioning your age soon.”
Instead of answering, Jimin just shrugs again, like he’s done with the conversation. Taehyung kisses
his forehead and then asks a question to Hoseok about some new acquisitions at the library. Hoseok
takes the bait, reading the room, and delves into the discussion with enthusiasm that would be fake
on anyone else except that’s just the kind of earnest person he is.
Jimin’s quiet and curled up at the foot of the sofa, playing with a ring on Taehyung’s finger.
Jungkook wriggles his way down to the floor and drops his head to the crook of Jimin’s neck. Jimin
inhales and tenses, but then his other hand loops around Jungkook’s fingers, loosely clasping.
“Sorry you had a bad day, hyung,” Jungkook says quietly.
Jimin hums. “Thanks, Jungkookie.”
Jungkook snuggles in closer, curling his feet under him, wishing he would have put on socks or
grabbed a blanket. “You have a beautiful voice,” Jimin suddenly says, voice soft on the air. “I didn’t
know you could sing.”
“Oh. Yeah.” Jimin’s fingers dance over his hand, a gossamer touch, and Jungkook has trouble
finding his words. “I, uhm, have a bad habit of singing like, all the time. I try to be careful when I’m
around you guys.”
“Why?”
“Why don’t I sing around you?” Jungkook asks.
“You’re good at it,” Jimin says, tracing soft patterns on Jungkook’s open palm. “And even if you
weren’t, it’s something you love, and we love what you love.”
Jungkook’s throat is tight. It takes him several heartbeats to answer.“I— I got in trouble for it,” he
mumbles, pressing closer into Jimin’s side, shivering when Jimin’s hair tickles his cheek. “A lot. At
home. Guess I just like to be careful now.”
Jimin shifts. He turns completely, forcing Jungkook to look up. “You don’t have to be careful with
us, you know,” Jimin says in a low, intense voice. “You don’t have to hold back.”
Jungkook sniffs. Ducks his head to wipe his nose on his shoulder. “Thanks, hyung.”
Jimin swipes a thumb over his cheek. Traces the bridge of Jungkook’s nose. Jungkook, for just a
second, thinks that Jimin might finally close the distance and kiss him; but Jimin only pushes away
the fringe from Jungkook’s forehead and flicks the skin there.
“Hey,” Jungkook whines, and Jimin giggles, high and sweet. Back to himself.
They play games after that, and after arguing for twenty minutes over what movie to rent, they gorge
themselves on pork belly and dumplings. There’s only the sofa in the living room and it’s a small
space to start, so most of them end up pressed together on the floor. No one seems to mind, though.
Jungkook definitely doesn’t. His stomach is full and he’s being touched on all sides and anytime he
meets someone’s eye, their smile is full of flirt. Sure, he’s exhausted by the end of the night and a bit
sweaty and everything smells like cooking oil, but Jungkook feels adored, and cared for, and like
their worlds are colliding in the most wonderful of ways.
~~~
The day is gray and humid when Jungkook hears a voice calling to him from a storm drain.
He ignores it at first because that’s what sane people do. They ignore disembodied voices. But he’s
halfway to the bus stop when the voice calls out again, high and sharp, “Hey. Hey! Kid. Kid, over
here,” and Jungkook pretends to be really focused on reading the overhead shop signs and not on the
creepy, legless figure now trailing after him, hiding between alleyways and trash bins, like it’s afraid
to step fully into view.
“Kid!” The voice shouts again, and Jungkook shrugs his backpack higher and picks up his pace. He’s
seen the clown movie. He knows better than to talk to weird demons that came out of the sewers.
“You’re the Kim clan’s new companion, right?”
Jungkook can’t calm his beating heart where it’s pulsing in his ears. Jungkook walks faster. The
figure follows. At the next storm drain, bright eyes pop up in the darkness again. “Kid, I’m not gonna
eat you.” Jungkook scoffs. The thing grins, teeth gleaming. “Swear on my family.”
“Do demons have families?” Jungkook finds himself saying. The thing’s grin only grows at the
sound of his voice.
“Demons don’t exist,” it says. “Didn’t your masters tell you that?”
“Not my masters,” Jungkook grumbles. He pointedly turns his back on the monster, but he doesn’t
feel death and despair curling along his skin. If anything it’s simply cold, nearly on the brink of
chilly despite the humid evening air pulsing around him. Jungkook turns back around. The thing
blinks at him. “Fine,” he says. “Can you, like, come out here, though? I’m not having a conversation
with you through a grate.”
The thing actually ends up being a spirit of a woman. She’s dressed in a dated, pea-green hanbok and
looks less like a spawn of evil and more like one of those cosplayers that hang around the palace
taking photos for social media. Sure, she’s missing her feet, but those are just logistics.
“So,” Jungkook starts, gripping his bag straps tight. Can he fight a ghost? Is that a thing he can do?
“How can I help you?”
The ghost’s eyes rove his face, bemused, and then she says in a clear and bell-like tone, “I’m here to
pass on a warning.” Jungkook frowns at that. “You’ve upset the shadow realm, kid. That shade Mr.
Kim banished? Only heir to the shadow throne.”
Every organ in Jungkook’s body shrivels. “What ? That guy was a prince?”
The ghost shrugs. “Not exactly,” she says and starts to walk. Well, float. Jungkook follows after her.
“The spirit world is split into a lot of powerful houses, but the shades are the only house that don’t let
outsiders in. Everyone else mingles, but shades are…” Her nose scrunches. “Well, to be frank,
they’re bigots. Think they’re better than all the spirits.”
“Sounds about right,” Jungkook mutters, thinking back to that night. “He tried to eat me.”
The ghost whistles, long and low. “Shit. What an idiot. I’m surprised Mr. Kim didn’t kill him on the
spot.”
Jungkook frowns deeper at that. “Seokjin-hyung wouldn’t kill someone.”
The ghost looks at him for a long moment. Hums softly to herself. “They don’t tell you much, do
they?” Jungkook’s chest aches. It’s true, they don’t, but he doesn’t want her to know that. “Not my
tale to tell. But we all figured the shades broke an accord. Mr. Kim is a nice guy. Terrible jokes.
Everyone loves him. Last time he started a fight, it was to defend one of the fire dogs.”
She’s saying things, but none of it quite makes sense in Jungkook’s brain. He doesn’t have the
context for this yet. “Fire dogs?”
“Yeah,” the ghost says, edging a brow up. “He’s got both of ‘em. You didn’t know?”
Jungkook’s squeezes his bag straps until the skin of his knuckles feels like it’s going to split. “I’ve
never heard of fire dogs before.”
“You didn’t know two of your masters are fire dogs?” Jungkook doesn’t try to correct her again, just
shakes his head. The ghost looks at him, really looks at him this time, and Jungkook starts to see the
dredge of pity in her gaze. “Wow. They’re really keepin’ you in the dark.”
“Can we get back to the first bit?” Jungkook bites. His insides feel balled up. He was already toeing a
line, and finding out that he’s got a target on his back and Seokjin is apparently a potential murderer
and Hoseok and Namjoon are some kind of elemental beings is a bit much for a ten minute
conversation. “About the angry shadow people?”
“I’d let Mr. Kim know myself,” the ghost says, “but he only goes to work at night, and that’s when
the shades walk.”
Jungkook kicks at a loose stone on the pavement. Hikes his backpack up higher. Tries not to let his
heart crumble. “So you want me to tell Seokjin-hyung that he’s pissed off the shadow world and
they’re what, prepping for a fight?”
A man walks past them, eyeing Jungkook strangely, and Jungkook can’t tell if it’s because it must
look like he’s talking to himself or old people are just judgey that way. “Exactly,” the ghost nods.
“You need to watch your back, kid.”
Jungkook takes a deep breath. His head throbs. “Why are you warning me? You don’t know me.”
“The Kim clan treats spirits well,” the ghost says with a shrug. “They do us right, so we try to repay
them when we can.” They come to a stop at the end of the sidestreet. In the distance Jungkook spots
the main road, bustling with foot traffic. “Plus,” the ghost adds, drawing him back, “I may be dead,
but I’ve still gotta heart. If something were to happen to one of their companions and I could’ve
stopped it, I wouldn’t rest for three centuries.”
“Oh. Well.” Jungkook ducks his head in a low bow. “Thank you very much.”
The ghost shakes her head. “You’re very polite for a human,” she says, watching him intently.
Curiously.
Jungkook frowns. “Are humans not polite to you?”
The ghost throws him a jaw-dropping grin. “Humans can’t see me,” she sings, eyes flickering just
before she slinks back into the darkness of a passing alley.
It’s quiet, when Jungkook arrives at the hanok. Usually there’s the padding of feet or quiet murmurs
from one of the rooms. Or screeching. But Jungkook toes off his sneakers and hangs his bag on a
hook and looks around to see the living room bare. When he heads to the kitchen to pour a glass of
water, he finds it empty as well.
Jungkook feels a bit like he’s intruding. Sure, he’s welcome here all the time. In theory. He knows
the passcode and he has toiletries in the bathroom and Hoseok might have cleared some space in his
closet for him to keep some clothes here even though Jungkook just ends up wearing their stuff
anyway. But it’s different to walk in and not be bombarded by noise or hugs. But it is only three.
Hoseok’s probably at the library, Taehyung and Namjoon the studio. Jungkook checks the calendar
on the fridge and sees that Jimin’s on shift until seven.
Maybe it’s a good thing everyone’s out. Jungkook can chill and watch a variety show and maybe get
some reading done for class and not freak out over the remarks of the dead, legless woman from the
sewer who tracked him down and told him he’s not human and his boyfriends are hiding things from
him again. Still. Can’t hide things again when the things have always been hidden.
The floorboards creak and Jungkook looks up just as Namjoon shuffles out of Hoseok’s room into
the kitchen. He pauses in the doorway and gives Jungkook a half-lidded sleepy smile. Steps forward
with open arms. Jungkook can’t resist. He falls into Namjoon’s hold easily.
“You smell weird,” Namjoon mumbles, voice thick with sleep. “Like winter.”
“I ran into a ghost,” Jungkook says against his shoulder. Namjoon stiffens. “She was very nice. She
says I’m not human. Want to explain that to me?”
Namjoon pulls away completely and holds Jungkook at arm’s length. His eyes are piercing.
“Hoseok? Can you come out here?”
There’s shuffling from the inner room. Hoseok curls around the doorframe, squinting in the light. He
gives Jungkook a charming, beaming smile. “Thought I heard Jungkookie. What’s up, buttercup?”
“I met a ghost,” Jungkook repeats, tongue fat in his mouth, difficult to speak around. “She said I’m
not human.” Hoseok’s face is awake now, alarmed, as he steps up to Namjoon’s side. “The night of
the Halloween party,” Jungkook presses, looking to them, “I walked through the gate, no problem. I
can see you guys when you have your glamour on. I can see other creatures, too. I know you’ve been
talking about me behind my back,” Jungkook says and feels the mortifying impulse to burst into
tears. He bites it back. “Tell me what you know.”
Hoseok reaches for him and Jungkook forces his gaze forward, refusing to be bribed, and folds his
arms tight across his chest. Hoseok’s hands fall back to his sides, his whole body dropping with hurt.
“Our best guess is that you have a hidden third eye,” Namjoon says, and Jungkook turns to him,
brow furrowed, trying to look intense and intimidating and not like one small push might send him
spiraling. “A sixth sense. We’ve met a human here and there over the years with a similar gift, but
nothing on par with your spiritual energy.”
“Why didn’t you talk to me about this?”
“You never brought it up,” Hoseok answers. “We didn’t want to overwhelm you.”
Jungkook laughs, an incredulous sound that visibly shakes them. His panic is rapidly shifting to
anger. “If I was going to get overwhelmed don’t you think it would have happened by now?”
Namjoon looks unconvinced. Hoseok grimaces. Jungkook feels very young with the way they’re
looking at him right now and the heat in his chest roils, acidic, spreading spreading, threatening to
take over.
“You don’t talk to us about everything in your life either, Jungkook,” Hoseok says. Like this is some
kind of competition. Like their reasoning behind not telling him these Big Important Things is
because Jungkook won’t open his heart to them which isn’t fair because, well, there’s nothing there
inside to share.
“Yeah, but I’ve got nothing important to tell you,” Jungkook snaps. His hands are trembling and he
fists the hem of his shirt to keep them still. “I’m not magical! I’m not a dragon! I don’t have powers!
I’m not thousands of years old! I don’t have a century long feud with a family of shadow spirits who
like to eat people!” Jungkook’s words come out jagged and sharp. Hoseok and Namjoon are
terrifyingly still. “I-I have history papers to worry about! An-and making sure to be on time at work
and that I don’t skip the gym and that I take a vitamin every day!”
Jungkook’s breath is hitching, snagging on itself, and his whole chest shudders on his exhale.
“Please, just—” He presses the heels of his palms against his eyes until stars burst behind them.
“Just talk to me. I’m not gonna run away.”
No one says anything, and Jungkook’s hands drag down his cheeks. Namjoon’s lips are pinched
together, like he’s contemplating what to do. Jungkook hates that Namjoon feels he has to be careful
with his words, with him.
“The spirit world is built out of multiple realms,” Namjoon starts, surprising him, but Jungkook
doesn’t unwrap his arms, doesn’t quit holding himself as Namjoon’s words take shape on the air,
even when the spark behind his ribs that was about to flicker out flares up again. “One of these
realms is the Kingdom of Darkness. Shades dwell here, among other creatures of the night.”
Namjoon sucks in a huge breath. “There was a king in this realm who had grown weary of the
darkness and wished to steal the light from the other realms for his own. So he created us,” Namjoon
gestures from himself to Hoseok, who is listening attentively, watching Jungkook’s reaction, “the fire
dogs.”
Jungkook gives a tiny nod. Namjoon gives a timid smile in return, hesitant enough that his dimples
stay hidden. “Hoseok,” Namjoon says, reaching blindly behind, trusting that Hoseok will be there to
take his hand, which he does, “was meant to be the only dog. For years he tried to capture the sun,
but the heat was too great, so the king created me to steal the light of the moon instead. It too was
impossible to take, though, and the king grew angry, so we were banished.”
“I know that story,” Jungkook tells them, voice small. “I think my grandma told me about it. It’s the
myth for why we have eclipses.” Namjoon nods and Jungkook stands there for a heartbeat, looking
between them, these two beautiful men who were meant to hold the sun and moon. “But I guess it’s
not really a myth, is it?” Jungkook says. They both shake their heads. “But you both are so fluffy?”
They stand there in silence. Hoseok and Namjoon exchange a look that Jungkook can’t read, but
that’s okay, because Jungkook is already planning his getaway. If he pushes past them to exit through
the kitchen window, he can be on the street and out of sight in twenty seconds, but that’s only if he
gets the passcode on the first try.
There’s a snort. Jungkook’s head whips up from his toes to see Hoseok fold himself in half in
hysterics. Namjoon follows quickly behind, his laughter loud and happy, and the two of them cling
together, absolutely losing it, while Jungkook stands with his hands clutched to his sternum, waiting
for the moment the floor gives way underfoot.
When they’re done laughing at him and have wiped their tears, Hoseok smiles at Jungkook in a way
that changes the whole shape of his face. Makes it come alive. “Fluffy. Oh my heavens. You’ve
never seen us in our full form.”
“There’s a reason they call us fire dogs,” Namjoon winks and holy hell, has Namjoon ever winked at
him before? Can he do it again?
Jungkook swallows thickly. Pats his cheeks. They both grin at him, expressions going melty.
“Hyungs, this is so cool? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
Hoseok shrugs, but his cheeks are dimpling. “Thought we might scare you off.”
“Yoongi hyung is a sixty foot snake that can control the weather and you thought you would scare
me off?” Jungkook swipes at his cheeks again and freezes. “I gave you tummy rubs two days ago!”
They laugh again, but then Namjoon asks more quietly, as if he’s afraid of the answer, “You really
don’t mind?”
Jungkook, feeling like sunlight is going to burst from his mouth any moment now, shakes his head.
“I really, really don’t.”
“Jungkook-ah,” Hoseok says, eyes twinkling. “I would very much like to kiss you right now.”
Jungkook’s breath catches. “Oh. I—” They’re both staring at him. Jungkook is going to get crushed
under the weight of their gazes. “That is a thing I would like to happen, too, I mean as well, but I—
Uhm…” Jungkook shakes his head, confused, unsure of how to voice aloud a feeling that has no
words. “I want it to be all together?” He watches their eyes spark with understanding. “Like,
obviously no one has to kiss me but I like… I like the idea of kissing you all together,” he mumbles.
“At the same time. I don’t want anyone to feel left out.”
“Oh my heavens,” Hoseok says with wonderment. “I want to kiss you more now.”
“Do you think if I sent a group text everyone could be here in the next ten minutes?” Namjoon asks.
“Stop teasing! Oh my god, just…” Jungkook throws his arms out and flushes when they each grab a
hand to hold. “Let’s just let it happen, okay? When the moment’s right I’ll—I’ll know.”
“Jungkook-ah,” Hoseok says, swinging their arms. “Have you been with someone before?”
“Like dated?” Hoseok nods. “Not really. I’ve been on dates, but nothing serious. The last person I
remember really wanting to be with that way…” Jungkook worries his bottom lip, liking that they
both follow the movement, liking that they both suddenly look concerned. “Well, my dad caught us.
Me and him. We haven’t spoken since.”
Namjoon frowns. “You and the boy, or you and your father?”
“Both. All.” Jungkook traces one of the lines in the tile with his toe. “They kicked me out that night.”
“Your parents kicked you out?”
“Yeah,” Jungkook says, wondering how they went from Hi, I met a ghost today to Hi, my parents
don’t want me because I’m gay. “I was seventeen. I packed a bag and stayed with friends until I
graduated. Got accepted into college here in Seoul on scholarship. Haven’t really looked back since.”
This changes their expression. They soften, now looking at Jungkook like he’s something small and
fragile they picked off the street. It’s atrocious. He tries to pull away from them but they hold fast.
“Please don’t give me the puppy eyes.” He tries to tug his hands back again but they won’t let him
go. “I’m fine. Honest.”
Hoseok snorts, but it isn’t unkind. More than anything it’s simply fond. “You know we can smell that
you’re not. Honest, I mean.”
Jungkook blinks at them a few times while he processes this. “You can smell when I lie?”
“We can smell many things,” Namjoon says plainly. “Deceit. Ill-intentions. Lust.”
Namjoon says the last part with a smirk, and Jungkook’s chin drops to his chest. His cheeks feel
scorched. His insides are wasting away. “Oh my god, this is my worst nightmare.”
“That your boyfriends are living lie detectors?”
“Yes!”
Hoseok’s laughter squeaks out of him. “Our noses are to thank for our family staying together. When
you can’t lie to someone, it's easier to communicate and build bonds.”
“Yoongi hated it in the beginning,” Namjoon beams.
Hoseok’s answering grin is sweet. “He’d lie through his teeth even knowing we knew.”
“He still does it, but it’s kind of cute.”
“Cheeky, is what it is.”
Jungkook hasn’t said anything to interrupt them and Namjoon looks over, grin slipping. “Jungkookah? Are you alright?”
Jungkook hums low. Just kind of nods along, tapping his foot. His palms are sweaty. His bones are
restless. “So you can smell my emotions,” he says.
“And hear your heart rate,” Hoseok adds gently, as if he might spook Jungkook into running and oh
god, he probably smells Jungkook’s anxiety bubbling below his skin. No wonder they always know
when to give him hugs.
“And that thing you do,” Jungkook says, shifting uncomfortably, looking at the space on the wall
between their shoulders, “when you rub your cheek on me? Scenting?”
Namjoon’s voice comes out smooth but small. “It’s nice when you smell like us,” he says. “Let’s
others know you’re one of ours.”
“Other monsters can smell that?”
“Most can smell that you’re human and who you’ve been with,” Hoseok answers, voice taking on the
same tepid quality that Namjoon’s did, like they’re both afraid Jungkook might bolt the next time
they blink, “but only the animal spirits can smell your mood shifts.”
“Do I smell human to Jin-hyung and Jimin-hyung?” Jungkook asks.
Hoseok shakes his head. “Jimin can’t pick up on that kind of thing. He senses energy shifts, though.”
Hoseok pauses and looks to Namjoon, unsure. Namjoon ducks his head and Hoseok clears his throat,
attention back on Jungkook. “But you also don’t smell human, Jungkook.”
“Oh,” Jungkook mumbles. “Well, what do humans smell like?”
Hoseok’s nose wrinkles. “Potpourri.”
Jungkook snorts and their shoulders loosen at the sound. “Seriously? Potpourri?”
“Yes. But like, dusty,” Namjoon says, wrinkling his nose. “The scent is almost stripped. Not quite
rotten, not quite old. Just… unpleasant.”
Jungkook nods. He looks down at their clasped hands and finds that his thumbs have been tracing
idle shapes against their inner wrists. Jungkook’s breath hitches but he doesn’t stop the movement.
“So what do I smell like then?”
Jungkook can almost hear them swallow. “Rum,” Namjoon tells him quietly.
“Really?”
“Yes,” Namjoon says, his voice coming out raspy. Jungkook looks up and Namjoon’s pupils are
blown wide. “Very sweet and smoky. It’s... intoxicating.” Jungkook drags a nail across Namjoon’s
palm and watches as Namjoon’s whole arm trembles. “Why do you think we lay with you so often?”
Jungkook’s chest feels funny. “Because you like me,” he sings, grinning when Hoseok makes a
growling noise low in his throat.
Jungkook’s laughter is cut short when Hoseok uses their hold to tug him close to them. “Getting
brave are we, little one?” Hoseok murmurs near Jungkook’s ear, sending a cascade of shivers up his
spine. Hoseok’s laughter puffs against Jungkook’s cheek. “We know how much you love
endearments.”
Jungkook’s heart trips. They must hear it because they both chuckle, and Jungkook holds his breath
when Hoseok’s hand dares to dip under the loose cotton of Jungkook’s shirt. Namjoon’s traces a path
down the hollow of Jungkook’s neck with a finger, then presses his palm flat where Jungkook’s heart
is working double time to keep up with them.
“Your heart is so easy to read,” Namjoon laughs.
Jungkook scrunches his nose and wriggles when Hoseok’s touch presses to the bare skin of his back.
“Don’t tease me.”
A knowing smile twitches at Namjoon’s mouth. “But you like teasing.”
Jungkook’s eyes flutter when he feels the press of teeth against the column of his throat. Four sharp
pricks. Hoseok’s fangs are out. “God, I just want to mark you up.”
When Jungkook said he’d know the right moment to move forward with them he didn’t think that
moment would be, like, now. In the kitchen. At four in the afternoon on a Tuesday.
Jungkook lets his head fall back, baring more skin for them to reach as his body relaxes in their arms.
Namjoon’s practically holding him up but isn’t showing any strain. “Go ahead,” he breathes. “Mark
me.”
He hears them both inhale sharply, their touch on him stiffening, and it jars Jungkook back to the
here and now. Holy shit did he just say that? Like, aloud? Without a stupid amount of alcohol in his
system?
Jungkook straightens up again, or tries to. It’s difficult with the way Hoseok has two arms wrapped
around his waist, pinning him against Namjoon’s side. “Unless it’s like that weird alpha sex kink
thing where I’m eternally bonded to you or something,” Jungkook tells them when they both meet
his eye, trying to clear the charged air. “Please don’t do that.”
Hoseok cackles and yup. Fangs out. That really shouldn’t be hot. They’re just teeth. Jungkook tilts
his head back and Namjoon smiles down at him, his own canines sharpened to a point. Oh hell. “No,
no,” Hoseok says, still laughing when he stoops in press a wet kiss to Jungkook’s cheek. “Just a
possessive hyung thing.”
“Kinky,” Jungkook grins.
“Brat.” Hoseok smacks his butt and Jungkook sticks his tongue out. “You sure?”
Jungkook tilts his head again and rests it on Namjoon’s shoulder, eyes drifting shut when Namjoon’s
fingers start to drag through his hair, pulling harder than Jungkook’s used to. It feels nice, though.
Being here in their arms, getting manhandled. It’s nice.
“Bite me, hyung,” Jungkook says, trying to make it sound jokey, but there’s this note of transparency
that creeps in, a tremor in his voice that has Hoseok’s hands cupping his face, breath hot against his
neck, and Jungkook feels a sharp ache against the skin beneath his jaw, a whine building his throat—
“Excuse me, this is the kitchen and Jungkook-ah is not a chew toy.”
Jungkook groans, drawn-out and exasperated, and opens his eyes to see Seokjin standing with his
hands on his hips in the doorway from the living room. He’s in a suit. Not the crushed velvet one
from the party, but something equally debonair. Pinched at the waist and taut through the shoulders.
His hair is pushed off his forehead. His eyebrows are incredibly sculpted. Wow.
“Hyung, you’re so pretty,” Jungkook breathes, looking Seokjin right in the face as he says it.
Seokjin’s posture is crazy when he turns on Namjoon and Hoseok. He looks twice as big. Like if he
laid down on Jungkook, he’d just be a big, warm blanket. “Is he drunk? Did you get him drunk in the
middle of the day? In the middle of the week?”
Jungkook frowns at that. “I can’t tell my boyfriend he’s pretty unless I’ve got some vodka in me?”
Seokjin’s mouth clamps shut, opens. He clams up again when Jungkook smirks at him, but it’s hard
to act sexy around Seokjin, so Jungkook just ends up cracking a squinty smile. Hoseok coddles him
and gives him another spitty kiss before slipping across the kitchen to greet Seokjin with a peck on
the cheek, and Jungkook’s grin only grows when Namjoon ruffles his hair before going to Seokjin to
ask for a hug.
“Are you just going to stand there?” Seokjin says when Jungkook remains in his spot, watching
them. “Come welcome your hyung home.”
Jungkook rushes forward, nearly knocking Seokjin off his feet, and Seokjin rocks back with
an oomph as he catches his footing before they slam into a wall. Seokjin grumbles something
unintelligible, more feeling than thought, but rests his palms against Jungkook’s lower back and rubs
up and down his spine.
“Hyung doesn’t like biting,” Hoseok stage-whispers as he passes by to enter the living room. There’s
another set of voices from the entry, the low drawl of Taehyung and Yoongi’s voices melding
together. Jungkook’s heart flushes at the sound, knowing that, slowly but surely, everyone is coming
home.
“I don’t like pain,” Seokjin snaps without any heat to it. “There is a difference.”
“I like pain,” Jungkook mumbles, wanting to move to greet the others but also very comfortable
tucked in small under Seokjin’s chin, his big hands still mindlessly grazing Jungkook’s back. “At
least, I think I would.”
Seokjin’s breath stutters. “Well,” he says, voice coming out husky. “We have all the time in the
world to find out, now don’t we?”
Jungkook hums, the words settling wrong in his stomach as he rocks up to kiss Seokjin’s temple, fast
and hard, laughing when Seokjin makes another disgruntled noise. His pink ears betray how pleased
he is, though, and Jungkook laughs again and kisses him once more, right in the center of the
forehead, and then shuffles into the living room to greet the others, trying not to think about how
easily Seokjin talked about forever. As if Jungkook, one day, won’t have to say goodbye.
It’s not until later, after they’ve eaten dinner and Jungkook is but a boneless heap on the living room
floor after getting the best massage of his life from Jimin who, in every sense of the phrase, has
magic fingers, that the buzzing from before worms its way back under Jungkook’s skin. There’s this
pulsing ache, smack dab in the center of his core, and Jungkook almost curls on his side to tug on
Namjoon’s hand where it’s hanging off the sofa and ask if he can smell if Jungkook is, like, dying or
something.
Instead he curls up small, arms holding his stomach, and he must doze off because he wakes when
the moon is high, tucked between Jimin and Taehyung, with nausea roiling so thick up his throat
Jungkook starts calculating if he can make it to the bathroom to hurl.
Jungkook, groggy and disoriented, raises his head to see if there’s a trashcan nearby and startles
when he finds Jimin sitting up, eyes round, staring off into yard behind the window.
“Hyung?” Jungkook croaks, and then again, when Jimin doesn’t move, “Jiminie-hyung?”
Jungkook waves a hand in front of Jimin’s face, remembers what they say about sleep-walkers and
how you shouldn’t touch them. So he rolls over and shakes Taehyung’s shoulder, speaking softly,
and Taehyung’s lashes flutter and he groans, humming low. “Tae-hyung,” Jungkook whispers,
nudging him again. “Hyung, Jimin-hyung’s freaking me out.”
Taehyung is alarmed. He sits up quick, nearly taking out Jungkook’s nose as he goes, and Jungkook
topples to the side when Taehyung squirms and scoots around Jungkook to check on Jimin.
“Jimin-ah?” Taehyung says at full-volume. “Jimin.”
Jimin doesn’t blink, doesn’t budge, hands clasped in his lap, eyes locked on the darkness.
Jungkook’s chest is tight. He rubs at the knot building beneath his sternum. His heart is burning. Not
quite like he ate too much spicy cucumber salad at dinner, but more like someone plucked the organ
from his chest and chucked it into the surface of the sun.
It hurts, and Jungkook opens his mouth to ask Taehyung what’s happening, if maybe that vase he
picked up in the study was cursed or something, when Jimin suddenly gasps, sucks in a harsh breath
and says, voice echoing against the walls, “They’re here.”
There’s a flash of blue light. Jungkook cries out when Taehyung’s hand, claws extended, catches him
across the chest and shoves him down on the futon just before the glass of the window blows out.
Jungkook screams, all the air pushing from his stomach, and looks up from under his arms. The room
is burning. This pulsing, blue flame laps across the floor and bedding, but when it licks at Jungkook’s
bare feet, it’s cool to the touch, ocean water against his skin.
Jungkook’s ears are ringing, but he hears someone shouting, calling out, and his head bobs over and
finds Taehyung kneeling over Jimin, shielding him with his body. Taehyung is looking at him, his
hazel eyes slitted down the middle, mouth moving. “—kook! Jungkook!” Jungkook blinks. “Are you
okay?”
Jungkook can only nod, so he does, multiple times, and watches as three dark shadows shift behind
Taehyung’s shoulder. Jungkook feels a warning rise in his throat, but his voice stutters when
Taehyung stands and the shadows follow. Tails. Three huge black fox tails, shifting in the air,
dragging on the floor as Taehyung surveys the room, as the blue flames drip from his fingers.
There’s thudding in the hallway, the click of claws, and Namjoon and Hoseok slam through the door,
the fur of their coats sparking, crackling, their eyes alight in the dull glow of the room. Yoongi’s
hovering behind them, feet barely scraping the floor, breeze kicking up his hair. His gaze is wild
when he takes in the sight of Jimin struggling to his feet and Jungkook curled in the corner.
“What the hell happened?” Yoongi hisses, floating above the fire as it spills out into the hall.
“I don’t know,” Taehyung growls, still on alert as he scours the room. “Jimin had a vision. Someone
broke through the seals.”
At the sound of his name, Jimin twists around, searching, gaze settling on Jungkook’s crumpled
frame. His whole body melts with relief. “Kook. Jungkookie,” he says, voice fierce, already reaching
for him. “We need to get you out of here.”
The air feels thin but Jungkook forces himself to breathe. He nods again, glass crunching under his
palms, sinking into his skin as he pushes himself to his feet. His legs fold beneath him and Jungkook
catches himself on the wall. Tells himself that now is not the time to retch. That his hyungs are here
and it will be okay. Whatever is happening will be okay.
Someone catches his arm, then the other, tugging him back, and Jungkook looks up just in time to
see Taehyung flinging himself forward, face twisted with fear, hand outstretched, reaching for the
hem of Jungkook’s sweatpants as he’s tugged through the window, out of sight, into the dark of the
night.
Chapter 6
Taehyung lurches forward, his snarl sinking into a shocked cry as he careens into the wall under the
window, empty hand stretched towards the space Jungkook just stood.
A heartbeat. That’s all it took for him to be taken.
“Kookie!” Taehyung shouts, fingers curling against the window frame as he searches the yard. The
trees are calm and the air still. There’s no one here. There’s no one left. “Jungkook !”
Taehyung’s half out the window when a hand settles on his nape, pressing firmly, and Taehyung
growls low in warning but the hand just pushes harder, grips him by the collar, pulls him down until
Taehyung’s standing on solid ground again. His arms are cold, legs cramped and shaky. His hands
sting, and it isn’t until Jimin is guiding him away from the shattered glass that Taehyung realizes his
palms are sliced open. His fingers are still dripping fox fire.
“Tae,” Jimin murmurs, taking Taehyung’s hands in his own without regard for the blood, the fire. He
knows it won’t hurt him. “My Tae.”
“He was right here,” Taehyung says, voice echoing in his ears as Jimin draws Taehyung’s hands to
his mouth to whisper against them in a low chant. “He was just here he was just—He was here I had
him, I don’t—” Taehyung can’t breathe. He sucks in air. Closes his eyes. Can only see the fear in
Jungkook’s eyes as the night consumed him.
Taehyung makes a watery sound and Jimin’s face crumples. He looks around for help and finds
Yoongi hovering by the window. Yoongi catches his eye and the anger in his face melts into misery.
He floats over, still mindful of the glass, and wraps his arms around Taehyung from behind. Presses
his cheek against the broadest part of Taehyung’s back.
“None of us could have stopped them,” Yoongi rumbles. Taehyung hiccups and Yoongi slips his
hands under Taehyung’s pullover, splaying his fingers wide against the warm skin there. Taehyung
trembles under the touch. Fat tears coat his cheeks but his breathing goes even.
There’s scampering from the doorway. The three of them look up just as Hoseok shifts in one fluid
motion. “I scouted the yard and Joon’s covering the street, but there’s no sign of him,” Hoseok says,
voice clipped as he rolls his shoulders, muscles adjusting to the change. He pauses and scents the air.
“Is Tae hurt?”
“Just finished healing him,” Jimin answers and Taehyung glances down. His palms are still painted
red, but the skin is unmarred.
He stoops to kiss Jimin quick. “Thanks, Jiminie.”
There’s a howl in the distance. Taehyung’s ears prick but it’s Hoseok who curses and says, “Joon
couldn’t find him.”
“Of course Joonie didn’t find him.”
The four of them turn to where Seokjin stands, frame filling the doorway. He’s in the checkered suit
and waistcoat that Taehyung picked out for him earlier that evening. He looks important. He looks
beautiful. He looks ready to kill.
“Hyung,” Jimin says softly, watching as the shadows in the room curl against Seokjin’s feet. He’s
still wearing shoes, which means whatever business he was in the middle of, he left with it
unfinished. “Hyung, I’m sorry—”
Seokjin shakes his head and Jimin tucks his hands close to his chest. “Even you couldn’t have
predicted this, Jimin-ah.” Seokjin steps fully into the room, unbothered by the glass. He looks around
as if taking in the scene. No one makes a move, not until Seokjin opens his mouth, breathes long and
slow, and says, “He’s not here.”
“I could have told you that,” Yoongi grumbles.
“They’ve taken him out of the realm,” Seokjin continues. His eyes flash in the muted light of the
room, flickering with fury. The tips of his fingers are charred black. “They’ve taken Jungkook to the
shadow world.”
Taehyung makes a wounded noise and Jimin grips his wrist. “He won’t survive there,” Hoseok says,
looking at them wide-eyed. His swallow is audible. “He can’t survive there.”
The Shadow Realm. A brightless, lightless place hidden deep in the spiritual divide where only those
who feast on misery reside. No human thes goes there comes out alive. It’s where humans go, or are
dragged, to die.
Seokjin rubs a hand over his eyes and says to the quiet of the room, “I know.” He’s still for a
moment, and then, in a ragged voice, “I’m going.”
“Wait, what?” Seokjin’s already out the door when Taehyung’s hand catches him around the arm.
“Hyung.” He tugs but Seokjin keeps moving. “Hyung, stop.”
“Jin,” Yoongi calls out from close behind. The wind’s picked up outside and has begun rattling its
way into the house. Seokjin turns only to give Yoongi a look. Yoongi gives him one back, but the
noise subsides. “You’re not the only one angry here,” Yoongi says, eyes pleading. “You can’t go
alone.”
Seokjin’s teeth grate at the inside of his cheek. “Well last I checked,” he begins, pushing Taehyung’s
hand off of him, ignoring the hurt that blooms across Taehyung’s face, “three of you have never been
and like hell I’m going to let Joon and Hobi go back there.”
“Don’t make decisions about us for us,” Hoseok bites, stepping fully into the hall. “Sure, I fucking
hate the Shadow Realm, but if my knowledge of it brings Jungkook back in one piece, you bet I’m
going.”
There’s a clatter from the entry. Namjoon throws the door aside and steps in, feet caked with dirt,
and pauses when he sees them all gathered. “Shades,” he grimaces, running a hand through the mess
of his fringe. “They opened a portal right outside the gates.”
“They took him to the Shadow Realm,” Seokjin says and watches as Namjoon’s face falls into
despair. “I’m going to go get him. Alone,” he adds, looking back to Hoseok who is still glaring at
him.
“Who made that decision?” Namjoon frowns.
“Seokjin did,” Hoseok grins, all teeth. “By himself. Because it’s not like there are six people in this
family whose perspectives and experience are useful or deserve respect or anything.”
Anger flares in Seokjin’s chest. “Hobi—”
“We’re wasting time,” Taehyung interjects. His voice is steady but his tails are twitching and
twisting behind him. “Jimin said humans only last half a day in the shadow world.”
If the shades don’t eat him first, Seokjin doesn’t say aloud, but the unspoken words hang heavy in the
air.
“Jungkookie might have a bit more than that,” Jimin says, coming out of the bedroom with his arms
circled around his stomach, as if he might be sick. Namjoon’s already crossing the room to pull him
into a grasping hug. “Since he’s got that spark. But I don’t want to risk it.” He sinks into Namjoon’s
hold with a sigh. Namjoon’s palms trail the length of his spine, up and down and up.
“This is ridiculous,” Seokjin sighs, rubbing at his temple where a dull throb has grown. “We are not
having a family meeting about this,” Seokjin tells them. “It is not up for discussion. I’m going to go
pack, and then I am going to get Jungkook.”
Taehyung and Jimin instantly and visibly deflate. “Jin-hyung,” Jimin says, stretching a hand out that
Seokjin twists away from. He makes for the back of the house, and as soon as Seokjin shuts the door
to his bedroom, he plows his fist into the plaster beside the frame.
It’s like the air is pushing down on him, trying to swallow him whole. Seokjin’s heart is tripping, but
he won’t panic. He doesn’t have the luxury of panicking.
“You know,” Yoongi grouses, and Seokjin glances with narrowed eyes over his shoulder to find
Yoongi hovering in the doorway. His expression is smooth, impassive, but Yoongi’s voice carries
weight when he says, “For an infamous general, you’re being pretty fucking stupid about this rescue
mission.”
Seokjin’s nose wrinkles. He turns to face Yoongi head on. “I wasn’t a general. I was simply his
weapon.”
“Logistics,” Yoongi shrugs and nudges the door shut with his shoulder to lean against. “Now talk to
me,” he says, crossing his arms, tilting his head. “Why are you pushing us away?”
Yoongi is wearing one of Taehyung’s sweaters. It’s difficult these days to keep track of clothes and
they’ve long since given up on fully separating out the laundry anymore, but Seokjin knows this is
Taehyung’s sweater because there are paint splatters near the cuffs. He knows this is Taehyung’s
sweater because it used to be Namjoon’s sweater. Seokjin remembers buying it for him back in the
nineties when they were in Europe on holiday.
“Seokjin,” Yoongi says, and Seokjin drags his finger along the base of Yoongi’s throat where the
fabric has slipped away to expose his collarbone. “Jin. Are you with me?”
Seokjin hums low. Presses his palm to the base of Yoongi’s throat. Feels the heat thrumming there
where Yoongi’s fire rests. “This is my fault.”
Yoongi inhales. “Don’t say that.”
“It is.” Seokjin splays his fingers wide, palm almost covering the width of Yoongi’s throat. “I
provoked them.”
“You defended one of our own. It’s not the first time nor will it be the last.”
Seokjin’s head throbs. He squeezes his eyes so tightly he sees colored spots. “I can’t make Namjoon
and Hoseok go back there,” Seokjin whispers fiercely, batting off old memories he doesn’t care to
remember. Two wolves with burns on their skin, driven feral and frightened by the darkness. “I
won’t do that to them.”
“You’re not doing anything to them, Jin.” Yoongi wraps his arms around him. Seokjin feels fingers
in his hair, breath warm on his neck. “They want to go,” Yoongi tells him gently. “They want to help.
We all do.”
“It feels like a set-up,” Seokjin says as he folds Yoongi in close.
“Because it is. But we’ve gone into these situations blind before and come out on the other side.
We’ll be fine.”
Seokjin smiles despite himself. “You have an answer to everything, don’t you?”
Yoongi makes a soft sound. “I’ve had a long time to study you, is all.”
Seokjin’s body slinks forward. He rests his forehead on Yoongi’s shoulder and sighs when Yoongi
strokes the back of his head. Places a kiss against his jaw. “How did things come to this, my love?”
“The world is dark,” Yoongi hums, cradling Seokjin close. “Light doesn’t exist without casting a
shadow.”
“Always so poetic.”
“I’ve had a few years to practice. Hey. Look at me.” The softest, most upturned mouth greets him.
Seokjin can’t help but give a close-lipped grin back. “We are going to get him back,” Yoongi says
without looking away. “We are going to be okay.”
“What if we don’t?” Seokjin braids their fingers together, says quieter, like he’s afraid to speak it
into existence, “What if we’re not even when we do?”
Yoongi’s fingers dance across the back of his neck, a gossamer touch. In the light of the moon,
Yoongi’s eyes are hypnotizing. They’re what first caught Seokjin all those years ago. Those ocean
eyes, that delicate smile. “We’ll handle that then,” Yoongi says, drawing Seokjin back in. “Focus on
the now.”
“Always know what to say,” Seokjin repeats. His head drops to the crook of Yoongi’s neck and rests
there.
“That’s right,” Yoongi answers. “So when I say you’re a fool and we’re doing this together, you’re
going to listen to me. Alright?”
Seokjin’s eyes slip closed. He breathes. “Alright.”
“Wonderful.” Yoongi kisses his temple, his cheek. “Jimin’s packed the bags. We’re ready to head
out when you are.”
Seokjin allows the rest of his doubt to pass with his next exhale. He straightens through the back and
kisses Yoongi on the way up, just a soft thing, but Yoongi grins, eyes crinkling, and adjusts the collar
of Seokjin’s suit. Pats down his shoulders. Straightens his tie. “Let’s not keep the underworld
waiting, I guess.”
Yoongi pushes a stray curl out of Seokjin’s eyes. His claws are out, teeth sharpened to a point. He
looks vicious. He looks stunning. “That’s my man,” he trills, and when they step out into the hall,
Hoseok pushes away from the wall he was resting against and digs his nails into the back of
Seokjin’s neck to drag him in for a dirty kiss.
“We do this together,” Hoseok hisses, breath hot as he stands with his brow pressed to Seokjin’s. His
eyes are burning bright. “We are a team and we do things together. Got it?”
“Together,” Seokjin agrees and glances over to where the others are grouped and waiting. “And in
the words of our favorite human,” Seokjin grins, eyes flashing, “let’s get it.”
~~~
Jungkook wakes to nothing.
There’s a dull ache in his lower back and this fuzzed-over feeling in his brain. His hands are loose,
legs as well. He’s unbound, but the heavy darkness is so disorienting that when he goes to stand he
feels almost formless and topples to the side, knees hitting cold, packed earth once more.
A little sob noise trickles out of his mouth. He lets a few tears fall and then closes his eyes and scrubs
his face hard and stands again. The darkness isn’t so bad when it’s on purpose, when it’s him
controlling it, so Jungkook continues to breathe and takes slow, broad steps forward with his hands
outreached until his fingers curl into more dirt. The wall.
He guides himself along the perimeter of the room, hands busy as they feel for an outlet. There are
no corners, only curves, and Jungkook is walking for a solid minute until he drags his finger into the
wall to create a long gash. He walks again, feeling along the wall. Stops when he finds the mark he
made.
There’s no door.
Jungkook’s breath tries to shudder out of him and he swallows it down. His eyes brim and he wipes
them away.
Just because there isn’t a door doesn’t mean there isn’t a way out.
A pit. He’s in a pit. Pits have openings. Pits have ceilings.
Jungkook jumps and doesn’t hit anything. He lifts his arms above his head, gets into a squat, and
leaps as high as he can. His knuckles smack against a bar and he hisses against the sting as he falls
back to the ground.
A pit. A barred ceiling. Jungkook opens his eyes and darkness shrouds him.
“Kim Seokjin, I choose you,” Jungkook sniffles. “Kim Seokjin, Kim Seokjin, Jin-hyung, Jin-hyung.”
Seconds pass into minutes. That’s how Jungkook knows that this place he’s been taken isn’t human.
Because Jungkook, deep in his heart, knows that there is nowhere on earth Seokjin wouldn’t go to
find him. To bring him home.
~~~
They’re halfway down the Forgotten River when Seokjin’s breath shudders. He presses his palm
against his throat and lurches forward. Someone cries out and a hand settles on his nape. He bats it
away, the sensation too constricting with his stomach currently roiling.
“Jungkook’s okay,” he rasps, nails digging into the soft skin of his chest where it feels as if
someone’s got their fingers wrapped around his heart. “He’s calling.”
Yoongi crouches in front of him, not touching this time, just close. “And you can’t go?” He asks.
Seokjin shakes his head and gulps down a breath. “No,” he says, rubbing his sternum. “There are
seals wherever they have him held. I can’t get through.”
“But he’s alive?” Taehyung says, turning in his seat to face Seokjin head on. “He’s not hurt?”
“I can’t tell, but he’s awake and he’s calling for me.” Seokjin winces at a particularly hard tug.
“Fuck, that stings.”
“Can you feel where he’s calling from?” Hoseok asks.
“The Shade’s Manor for sure. He feels muffled.” Seokjin pries his eyes open. The others are
watching him warily. “I bet they have him in the catacombs.”
Yoongi hums low. Their eyes meet. Seokjin studies his face and finds frustration there, fear. It’s been
a couple centuries since they’ve been to the manor, not since they amended the last accord, and while
they stayed in the guest suites of the mansion, Seokjin could feel the dredges of death seeping
through the earth below.
Seokjin doesn’t know the details of what the shades do in the tunnels beneath their home, but he
knows it's where they keep souls until they’re ready to feed.
Yoongi nudges his foot to get him to look up. “He’s bait,” Yoongi murmurs, reading Seokjin’s
silence. The others look unnerved at his words. “They’re playing a game,” he continues regardless.
“They’re going to toy with us, yes, but that means they won’t be quick to kill him.”
“Always searching for that silver lining,” Hoseok mutters. Yoongi swats his thigh and Hoseok makes
a wounded noise that has Yoongi grinning.
“Jiminie.” Taehyung’s voice is husky in the darkness. “Don’t lean too far. You’ll fall.”
Jimin, who has been quiet since they set off, doesn’t move away from the edge of the boat. His arms
are folded against his chest, eyes locked in the distance. “I saw them take him.” He says lowly.
Seokjin sits up straighter. “Again and again and again I saw it but I just couldn’t—” Jimin laughs
under his breath. The sound is twisted. “I couldn’t wake up. Not until it was too late.”
Seokjin swallows. “We all failed Jungkook, Jimin.”
“They were my seals that were broken.” Jimin takes a breath, refusing to look at them. “It was my
vision that came late. And I don’t have any powers, not like you guys. I couldn’t—”
“I couldn’t get to him either,” Taehyung bites. “How do you think I feel?” Jimin doesn’t say
anything. It’s a stupid question. Jimin knows how Taehyung feels all the time.
Taehyung’s nose crinkles. He kicks his boot against the bottom of the boat and murmurs, “I
practically handed him to them.”
“Both of you just stop,” Hoseok snaps. Says, softer, “We’re getting him back. Jungkook will be
home in a few hours, that’s all that matters.”
“And if we do get him and he doesn’t want to come back?” Jimin grimaces. “What if this is it?”
Jimin bites his lip, looks back out over the water. His voice carries, and Seokjin almost misses it
when he says, “What if after this he’s had enough?”
“You mean you think he’s going to leave?” Taehyung says in a small voice. “Us?”
“Would you leave us?” Hoseok questions.
Jimin shrivels, looking appalled by the very thought. “That’s different,” he says, and Seokjin
wonders if it is. “Jungkook is human. We’ve known him less than a year.”
“But he loves us,” Taehyung tells them.
“He barely knows us,” Seokjin says without thinking. Less than a year, not even half of it, really. Has
Jungkook really only been in their orbit for so little?
Seokjin, from the first moment they met, with their easy banter and quiet musings, felt as if he’d
known Jungkook for centuries. All his life.
“And who’s fault is that,” Hoseok quips, his tone short enough to startle Seokjin back to the
conversation.
“You can love someone you just met,” Taehyung frowns, his face scrunched in confusion. “I loved
you all from the start.”
“Joon?” Yoongi says, his voice pointedly pushing through the conversation. “You’re awfully quiet.”
Namjoon makes a low humming noise in his throat. He’s leaning over the boat, long limbs easily
allowing his fingertips to skim the surface of the water. Fear buzzes in Seokjin’s lungs, and he’s
about to tell Namjoon not to touch the water, doesn’t he know better than to risk the effects, when
Namjoon half says to them, to himself, “I forgot how dark it is here.”
Seokjin goes quiet and still in his seat. That’s right. Namjoon does know better. Excluding Hoseok,
Namjoon probably knows the best about what it means to be down here.
“Sometimes you have to leave the people you love because they’re not good for you,” Namjoon says,
still looking out over the water, like there’s something out there only he can see. “Maybe we aren’t
good for Jungkook.”
None of them say anything more for a while. Namjoon idly traces shapes in the water. Hoseok taps a
steady rhythm against the side of Yoongi’s thigh, who doesn’t stop him. Jimin sits close enough to
rest his head on Taehyung’s shoulder.
Seokjin sits with his hands clasped together, uncomfortable in his body. After seven hundred years
he should be used to it, this form, but there are some days, some moments, like here in the pitch
black nothingness, where he feels too small for the space he’s been given. Like he might just dissolve
inside himself at any moment.
Someone takes his wrist. Seokjin looks up and Namjoon is holding on to him. Not looking at him,
just holding, keeping him weighted, grounded.
Seokjin pats Namjoon’s fingers and Namjoon gives him a reassuring squeeze back. “Okay,” Seokjin
says, sitting up to his full height. The others look to him, hopeful. “Listen up. I have a plan.”
~~~
Jungkook’s been laying in the dark for what feels like hours. No one’s come to check on him. No one
has even drawn near. Jungkook doesn’t know what they’re waiting for, what his purpose serves, what
the end goal is.
He knows he was taken by shades. Even down here in the dirt he can smell rotting roses and the
scent of blood. Death.
Jungkook rolls on to his back. His hands and feet feel dirty and his lungs dusty. The air is damp. His
shirt is damp. His hair sticks to his temples. Damp.
“Jin-hyung,” Jungkook says aloud to the darkness, and his voice seems to sink into the walls, not
even an echo to follow.
Jungkook rolls onto his side. Something digs against his thigh, and he squirms and shoves a hand
into the pocket of his sweats. He traces the items there. A stick of gum. An elastic for his hair. Two
bobby pins.
Two bobby pins.
Jungkook shoots up, hand wrapped tightly around the metal in his pocket.
Two bobby pins.
Jungkook crawls to his feet. Three steps forward and he’s hit the wall. Three steps to the right and
he’s in front of the square engraved in the dirt that marks where the door overhead rests.
Two bobby pins. Jungkook lived on the street for five months. He’s picked a lock with less.
Jungkook starts to dig. The earth is packed but as if by hand, small lumps and notches here and there
that break easily under pressure. Whoever designed this hell hole obviously wasn’t thinking longterm containment, and Jungkook digs his fingers in and tugs and molds the dirt, careful of his breath
as a small mound begins to form at his side.
Two bobby pins and a little lift. Jungkook can work with this.
~~~
“Remember what we discussed,” Seokjin starts when the shoreline comes into view. It’s been a long
while since he’s taken a traditional mode of travel to another realm, and Seokjin frowns when he
checks his wrist watch. Time is skewed down here, and what has felt like minutes on the river has
been closer to two hours. “Hoseok, Jimin, stay with the boat,” he says, meeting each of their eyes as
he speaks. “I want you ready to leave at any moment. Taehyung and Joon, pair off. You’re taking the
east wing. Yoongi, you’re with me in the west. We’ll work our way in and meet in the middle.”
“I don’t like splitting up,” Taehyung mumbles, twitching fingers tapping against his thigh. Yoongi
takes his hand and squeezes. Lifts his hand to kiss his knuckles.
“We’re too conspicuous as a group,” Seokjin tells him as the boat crawls to a stop. “This is about
speed, okay? Don’t engage with anyone if it can be avoided.”
“What if we do have to engage?” Yoongi asks.
“Make it quick, but not lethal,” Seokjin says as the floor beneath them jostles as they breach the
beach. “We aren’t trying to start another war here.”
Hoseok sniffs. His worry dimples are peeking out. “They certainly are.”
“They’re always trying to start something with someone,” Seokjin sighs as he straps his sword belt
around his waist. The sheath is empty, but they all know better. “We’ll handle it later at a clan
meeting.”
Seokjin pulls Namjoon and Yoongi aside to discuss something in low voices, and Taehyung stands
there, watching the dark waves lap at the black sand of the beach. There’s no reflection from the
torch on the water, as if it was consuming the light. Overhead is nothing but a blanket of abyss.
Taehyung heard the stories of how Hoseok and Namjoon tried to steal the sun, the moon. It always
sounded absurd to him before this, more like a myth or fairytale rather than a memory; but now he
thinks it makes sense. Taehyung would do anything to get rid of this darkness curling around him,
eating away at his bones.
“Hey.” Jimin nudges his side and Taehyung hums. If he tries to speak, he might start crying.
Jimin sees right through him. He steps around and takes Taehyung’s face in his hands. “My brave,
beautiful boy,” he murmurs, and a horrible ache builds inside Taehyung’s chest. He closes his eyes to
fight off the tears. “It’s gonna be fine.” Jimin pauses, thumbs stroking Taehyung’s cheeks, and adds
gentler, “ I’m gonna be fine.”
Taehyung shudders. Their bond tugs, like it can sense they’re about to separate. “I don’t like leaving
you.”
“Hoseokie-hyung’s got me. Right, hyung?”
Taehyung looks over his shoulder “Someone tries to touch you,” Hoseok says with a bright smile
from where he’s leaning against the boat, fangs flashing in the firelight, “I’ll rip off their face.”
“See?” Jimin stands on his tiptoes. His lips are gentle against Taehyung’s. “I’ll see you soon, love.”
Taehyung nods and then Namjoon is there, paws pressed to Taehyung’s chest so he can drag his
tongue the length of Taehyung’s cheek. “You couldn’t have kissed me before you shifted?”
Taehyung spits as saliva goes into his mouth. Namjoon chuffs and licks him again.
They bid soft goodbyes. Taehyung looks over his shoulder until even his night vision doesn’t give
him a clear view of Hoseok and Jimin’s forms any longer, and then he drags his hand through the
thick fur of Namjoon’s neck and breathes.
The trek is quiet. Joon can’t speak in wolf form, not the way Yoongi projects his voice, but
Taehyung wouldn’t want to take the risk regardless. Instead they move in tandem, steps matched one
for one. Taehyung’s nose is blunted this deep in the earth where the only scents are soil and the
cloying, rotting sweetness of death; but Namjoon stops every several yards and scents the air. Turns.
Pads down a side tunnel in the opposite way they were moving.
They’re deep underground when Namjoon comes to a bristling halt. Taehyung stills and holds his
breath. Down the tunnel, just around a corner, is the quiet thrum of conversation.
Warm breath hits Taehyung’s neck. “Tae,” Namjoon says softly, his lips brushing Taehyung’s ear.
“There’s a group of shades just ahead. Jungkook is near. I’m going to draw them away. Find him.”
Taehyung crumples. That’s the only warning he has before Namjoon shifts again and takes off into
the darkness, out of sight, too far for Taehyung to track.
Stillness, screaming silence. Taehyung closes his eyes and breathes.
Before Japanese occupation, fox spirits were known as benevolent, helpful spirits. Taehyung loved
his shrine and the lands it was attached to. The wishes he granted, the health he restored, the earth he
healed— Long before Jimin’s great-grandmother became his first vessel, Taehyung watched over his
territory with care. That’s how the others first knew him. A land deity stripped of his title but still
doing what he could for the people who no longer believed in him. That’s how the others still see
him. A boy with a heart too big to do harm.
When he hears nothing but the unsteady rhythm of his own heart, Taehyung moves forward with one
hand raised and ready to strike.
That’s why Namjoon left him behind. That’s why they always leave him and Jimin behind. And
when they get back to the house, all of them, together, Taehyung is sitting everyone down to share
some words.
For a few minutes more, Taehyung walks with his ears pricked. The space behind his eyes aches
from peering into the darkness for so long out of fox form, and he’s just about to slow to a rest,
maybe try to scent, when a lump appears on the path before him, large and unmoving. Taehyung
clenches his teeth and pads forward, fingers burning, and sees a leg, an arm.
It’s a body.
Taehyung’s heart twists, but when he moves closer, he finds that the sprawled form is a shade. The
man is alive, though, just knocked unconscious, and Taehyung has a flare of hope that Namjoon is
near when he hears shuffling behind him. Hoarse breathing. His hackles rise, and Taehyung snarls
and whips around, hand outstretched, fangs bared as he grips the body behind him by the collar and
slams them against the wall. There’s a sickening crack, the stone breaking underhand or maybe a
bone, and Taehyung is about to dig his claws into soft flesh when he hears a choked whimper, a
raspy, “Hy-hyung!”
Breathy, tinkling. Familiar. Taehyung stills. Snaps his fingers.
“Jungkook?” In the muted blue light of his fire, Jungkook’s eyes sparkle. Taehyung takes in his open
face, those melting eyes, and he loosens his hold on Jungkook’s windpipe only to fold him up in a
fierce hug.
Jungkook’s hands grasp blindly at his back as Taehyung buries his nose against the crook of
Jungkook’s neck and inhales deep. “Hyung,” Jungkook breathes, rocking forward to hold him
tighter. “Hyung, what are you doing here?”
“Rescuing you, of course.” Taehyung leans back and takes Jungkook’s face in his hands. Jungkook
flinches away from the fire still falling from Taehyung’s fingertips, then makes a small sigh of a
sound when he finds them cool to the touch. “Shouldn’t you be locked up?”
“Broke out of my cell.” Jungkook’s lip is scabbed over and there’s bruising around his eye, but he’s
whole. He’s alive. He sucks in a breath as he pulls away from Taehyung and curls in on himself.
“Shit, I think you cracked my rib.”
“Sorry. Thought you were a shade.”
“Same. I was going to try to take you out like that one, but you’re a lot faster.” Pride swells in
Taehyung’s throat. Jungkook broke out of a cell and took down a guard? Multiple guards, maybe?
“That’s really hot, Jungkookie.”
“Well, I’m not going to roundhouse kick anyone again any time soon,” Jungkook groans. Taehyung
strokes the back of his head instead, running his fingers through the tangled hair there, not knowing
how else to soothe. They need Jimin. “Where are the others?”
Taehyung draws his hand away as Jungkook unfurls himself. “How do you know the others are
here?”
Jungkook edges a brow up. His lips curl prettily, eyes shining with his smile, and Taehyung, not for
the first time, wonders how someone so lovely, so untouched, ended up in their world. “There’s no
way the hyungs would let you go alone.”
“You don’t think I can handle myself?” Taehyung murmurs. Jungkook’s grin only grows. It makes
Taehyung ache with tenderness. He holds out a hand and Jungkook doesn’t flinch away this time. He
leans into the touch easily, allowing Taehyung to stroke the bridge of his nose, the curve of his jaw.
“You and Jimin-hyung haven’t slept apart in like a hundred years.”
“Brat.” Jungkook’s lashes flutter as Taehyung traces the dark bruising around his temple. “Jin and
Yoongi went off together and I got separated from Joon. Hobi and Jimin are waiting by the boat.”
“Boat?”
“Only way into the Shadow Realm is by the Forgotten River.” Taehyung draws back again and
breathes into his palm. A small flame flickers to life and he whispers something soft to it. Jungkook
watches in awe as it floats above Taehyung’s palm and then takes off like a spark on the wind. “A
message,” Taehyung explains. “It’ll find Yoongi and Jin hyung. Come on, we’re heading back to the
boa—”
A piercing pain across the crown of his head. Taehyung hears a warbled scream just before the fire
on his palms is snuffed out and darkness overtakes him.
~~~
Jimin knows something is wrong before his knees even hit the earth and the cry is pulled from his
throat. Hoseok is at his side, hands straying, shushing him frantically—but Jimin just digs his nails
into the packed dirt as pain ricochets through his skull.
“Ta-Tae,” he chokes, mouth gathering with saliva. He rolls onto his side and hurls. Sobs. “Taehyung.
So-something happened to Tae.”
“Is he alive?” Hoseok asks, and when Jimin doesn’t respond he grabs Jimin’s chin and pulls on it so
they’re forced to look at each other. Only Hoseok’s eyes betray his fear. Everything else about him is
steeled for a fight. “Breathe. Focus. You’re right here with me, baby.” Jimin unclenches his teeth. He
knows he’s okay, but the link still thinks he’s injured. Phantom pain spreads through his body in
heavy pulses. “I know it hurts, but you’re alive, which means Taehyung is alive.”
Jimin presses a trembling hand against his bead. It’s warm and pulses steadily. A heartbeat. His and
Taehyung’s, moving together. “Yeah. Okay.”
Hoseok’s palms smooth over his cheeks lightly, catching the tears there. “Can you find him?”
Jimin shakes his head. “No. Whatever got him must have knocked him out.”
“Can you—” Hoseok pinches his lips together. “Joon?”
“I don’t know,” Jimin whispers. “My senses down here are blunted. Too much dark energy. It’s like
wading through mud.” He wipes snot from his nose. “God, I’m so useless.”
“Jimin.” Jimin looks at Hoseok reluctantly. Their faces are inches from each other. Hoseok’s jaw is
clenched and his eyes are somber. “You have to put twenty thousand won in the swear jar when we
get back.”
Jimin blinks. Snorts. Rocks forward to kiss him hard. Hoseok laughs into his mouth. “You are such a
dick.”
“The best dick,” Hoseok smirks and Jimin knocks his shoulder and kisses him again. The touch, the
warmth, the familiarity—it’s reassuring and draws Jimin back to himself completely, the dull ache
behind his eyes slowly seeping away.
“Jimin-ah!” Jimin scoots back and looks over Hoseok’s shoulder. Seokjin is jogging towards them,
Yoongi behind him, feet not quite touching the ground as he follows. “Jimin, are you hurt?”
“No,” Jimin answers as he uncurls from his crouch. Hoseok’s hand is steady on his arm. “But
something happened to Tae.”
Seokjin’s face clouds over. “He’s not here?” Jimin and Hoseok frown. “He sent a fox fire message.
He found Jungkook and said he was coming back to the boat.”
“What about Joon?” Hoseok asks.
“He said they were separated.”
Jimin’s stomach churns. Yoongi holds out a hand to him and Jimin takes it, groaning lowly as he’s
pulled to his feet. Yoongi swipes a thumb over his cheek, going over the tears Hoseok missed, and
Jimin plants a quick kiss on the inside of his wrist that makes Yoongi warm.
The four of them look to each other, not knowing what to say, how to console. Seokjin’s been in
tighter corners and wheedled himself out, but never at the expense of someone who mattered.
“It’s safe to assume that the shades have Taehyung and Jungkook,” Seokjin says in a low, intense
voice. “Let’s also assume that Namjoon is with them since no one’s heard from him.”
“What do you want us to do?” Yoongi asks. There’s no wind down here, no weather of any kind
really, just a perpetual staleness to the air; but Yoongi’s hair flows around his temples as if he’s
caught underwater. His eyes are darker than the river they flowed here on.
Seokjin knows if he asked, Yoongi wouldn’t hesitate to kill. But Seokjin’s done that before and he
doesn’t want to resort to it again.
“I guess it’s simple,” Seokjin sighs, his face curling into something dark and debonair. Yoongi
smirks, recognizing the change. They all turn towards the far-off light of the manor. “We ring the
front door.”
~~~
Jungkook’s shoulder collides with stone first, followed by the side of his head. He sucks in a harsh
breath at the blooming pain behind his eyes and does his best to blink away the sparks of color as the
fabric over his head is torn away. Jungkook flinches at the brightness of the fire raging in the center
of what looks to be a courtyard. He’s been in the dark for so long now that he’s nearly overwhelmed
by the sight of the light.
There’s a thud beside him. Jungkook’s head lulls towards the sound and he finds Taehyung crumpled
on the ground, unmoving, so still that Jungkook thinks he might not be breathing.
“Hy-hyung,” Jungkook chokes. His breathing is shaky and he takes a few gulps to steady himself.
“Tae-hyung!” He yells and rolls forward only for a hand to sink into his hair and hold him in
place. Something cold slams into his jaw and flings his head back hard enough for his neck to pop.
“Shut up,” someone hisses as Jungkook curls in on himself. In the distance is a strangled outcry. A
roar. Jungkook’s cheeks are stained with tears. He teeters to the side and spits out a mouthful of
blood, right onto a leather-clad foot.
Jungkook gags and grasps at his neck as he’s dragged forward by his collar. The grip on his shirt
goes to his hair again and pulls hard, forcing his chin up.
“You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?”
The man looking down at him has a charming grin. Bright. Aged, but familiar. The same smile from
the night of the club, the bus, the supermarket. The same smile that haunted Jungkook on street
corners for weeks.
There's only darkness where his eyes should be.
“Lee Chinhae.”
Seokjin’s voice is as clear and dark as the night. It unglues Jungkook instantly, who bites back a sob
of relief when he manages to twist enough to see a group of bodies framed by the high flames of the
bonfire raging behind them.
“Kim Seokjin,” the man overhead croons. “What an honor to have—”
“Pleasantries aren’t needed here,” Seokjin interrupts, tilting his head, smiling in a way that floods
Jungkook with fear. He’s the man from the bus again. The man who would kill, has killed, for one of
his own. “You’ve taken something that is mine and I’m here to collect.”
“Oh, your little fox spirit?” Chinhae’s nose wrinkles as he prods a foot against Taehyung’s arm.
Jungkook hears a growl in the distance, low and dangerous. Hoseok. “Caught him snooping around
my home. You can have him back. I never liked the taste of fox souls. Too spicy.” Chinhae snaps his
fingers and a couple guards slip from the shadows and heave Taehyung up under the arms.
Taehyung doesn’t stir, not even when he’s dragged to the foot of the stairs and dropped there. After
the guards have returned to their posts, out of sight, Jimin rushes forward and, in a low, intense
voice, begins chanting as his hands cradle Taehyung’s head close to his chest.
Chinhae clicks his tongue, lip curling like he’s eaten something foul.
“You’re one for two,” Seokjin says cheerfully.
Chinhae looks down and studies Jungkook’s face. “The boy?” He says, like he wants to laugh. “Oh
this is grand.” He gives Jungkook a shake. Jungkook grits his teeth to keep from making noise. “The
rumors are true, then. The great Kim Seokjin has brought on a filthy human as a companion.”
Chinhae pulls on Jungkook’s hair hard enough for nausea to roil. “Tell me, great king,” Chinhae
starts as he pushes a stray hair away from Jungkook’s face. “Why lower your standards for this one?
I guess he is quite prett—” Chinhae pauses. Inhales shakily as the tips of his fingers press against
Jungkook’s cheek. “Oh,” he grins, cradling Jungkook’s jaw, “how delightful. His soul is so warm.”
Wind whips through the courtyard, vicious enough to howl. Jungkook can’t turn to see what
expression Yoongi is making for a storm to start brewing, but it’s Seokjin’s voice that says, “Take
your hand off of him.”
“Or what?” Chinhae grins. “Take notice, Seokjin, you are outnumbe—.”
Silence settles over the courtyard. Chinhae looks down at Jungkook, eyes wide, and slowly wipes the
mixture of blood and spit from his cheek. Jungkook licks his bottom lip and smirks.
“You insolent little maggot,” Chinhae sneers. He forces Jungkook’s head back and raises his hand. In
his grasp is a dagger. “You’ll pay fo—”
There's a ragged scream. A spray of warmth. The clatter of metal. The tension on Jungkook’s head
disappears and he lolls forward with a gasp.
There’s a severed hand twitching on the ground beside his knee.
Jungkook rocks to the side and heaves.
“Shall I take off the other, as well?” Seokjin chirps, the sword in his hand now coated with a sheen of
fresh blood.
Chinhae has his arm clutched to his chest. Jungkook sees it was a clean cut. The edges of the wound
of charred black, like whatever sliced him was hot enough to seal it, as well. “You bastard!” Chinhae
seethes. “You dare to harm a member of the royal—”
“We both know that your title is just as ludicrous as mine,” Seokjin bites. “The last member of the
royal family was lost long ago and we all know it.”
Chinhae bares his teeth. Jungkook looks out across the courtyard and takes his first good look at the
others. Seokjin, standing on the frontlines with his hair pushed back and his collar undone, Yoongi
and Hoseok flanking him, claws out, faces scorched with fury in the firelight. Jimin is behind them
now with Taehyung cradled in his arms, still chanting low. His eyes, usually dark, warm, are an
electric green, the same shade as Taehyung’s fox’s.
Jungkook’s heart lurches. He looks over the group again, but they’re still one short. Namjoon isn’t
with them.
“You know how goblins work.” Jungkook looks back over. Seokjin’s mouth has curled into a wicked
grin. His teeth gleam in the firelight, as bright as the sword at his side. “We love a good game and we
make our own rules; the more blood the better. Do you really want to challenge me?” He pouts, tips
his head, swings the blade around loosely, comfortably. “After what I did to your crown prince?”
A low hiss that only Jungkook can hear. Chinhae shifts, and Jungkook inhales sharp and holds it
when a blade presses against his throat.
“An eye for an eye, then,” Chinhae calls out. Jungkook feels a sting against his skin. Warmth on his
neck.
Seokjin’s got his sword in a death grip. “Do not tempt me, shade. I will curse you to the Last Realm.”
“You were always weak, Seokjin,” Chinhae laughs. “You took away my heir so I’ll take away your
toy. I find that more than a fair trade.”
Seokjin steps forward, weapon raised. Jungkook doesn’t know what kind of magic he worked earlier
for the sword to act on his will, but it won’t be enough this time. Jungkook feels it when the blade
breaks skin. He sees it, the wild rage in Seokjin’s face morphing into fear. Despair.
Jungkook wonders how he would have died had he never walked into that Halloween party. Old age?
Illness? A freak accident? Is this considered a freak accident? Is definitely a freak something.
He doesn’t regret it. The six months he had with the others were good enough to fill a lifetime.
He finds the other’s eyes. Finds Seokjin again, his face wild with sorrow. Jungkook doesn’t hesitate
to mouth a silent I love you just before a snarl rips through the darkness and the pressure on
Jungkook’s neck, against his spine, is torn away. He heaves in a breath and falls forward, palms
scraping stone as he drags himself to his feet and stumbles down the steps, tripping into Hoseok so
hard his ribs splinter.
“Hyung!” He cries and Hoseok holds him, shushes him, presses him in close. “Hyung, Hoseok—”
“Namjoon, don’t kill him!” Seokjin screams as he races past, Yoongi right at his side. Jungkook
squirms and looks over his shoulder to find a white wolf at the top of the platform where he was just
standing, its mouth locked around the neck of a shrieking Chinhae.
“Jungkook, look away,” Hoseok murmurs, but Jungkook can’t. Jungkook forces himself to watch as
Namjoon releases Chinhae only when Seokjin has him at swordpoint. The conversation that follows
doesn’t last long. Seokjin shakes his head and turns away, and Jungkook watches as Namjoon’s teeth
clamp around Chinhae’s uninjured arm.
There’s blood this time, a lot of it, but Jungkook feels a terrifying sense of satisfaction knowing that
Chinhae won’t ever be able to touch someone again and it’s his hyungs that made it happen.
“Come on, Jungkook-ah. Let’s go home.”
Jungkook doesn’t keep up with his surroundings the walk back, not that there’s much to see. There’s
a brightless, starless sky above and the direction they travel is dotted with only the occasional torch.
Half the time they’re blind, trusting Yoongi as the helmsman as he leads them on an invisible path.
Jungkook hears the water but he can’t see it. He’s ushered into a wooden boat that’s lit by a lone
torch that leaves no reflection. Hoseok guides him with care, hand never straying from his elbow,
and Jungkook looks over just as Namjoon sets Taehyung down in the space between the benches.
Yoongi’s on the floor already and gently places Taehyung’s head in his lap to hold. They all settle in.
No one rows, but the boat begins the trek into the darkness regardless.
Jungkook watches Namjoon’s face in the firelight. His mouth is stained red.
“—ook. Jungkook,” someone says, and Jungkook looks over. Jimin is kneeling in front of him. His
fingertips hover above Jungkook’s knees, as if he’s afraid to touch. “Jungkook, can I heal you?”
“Taehyung,” Jungkook rasps. “Is Taehyung okay?”
“He’ll be okay.” They’ve lied to him before, but they wouldn’t lie about this. Jimin wouldn’t lie
about Taehyung. “Will you let me take care of you, now?”
“Yes. Please,” Jungkook says, and as Jimin takes a seat in front of him, Jungkook looks over his head
and finds Seokjin’s gaze trailed on them. “We’re going to talk.” Jungkook states.
Seokjin closes his eyes. His shoulders lift, fall. “Of course,” he says. “When we get home—”
“We’re going to talk now,” Jungkook says as he digs his nails into his palms. His breathing feels
unnatural, like his chest is fighting the air coming in. “We are going to talk now, and you are going
to tell me what the fuck just happened.”
“Kookie,” Jimin speaks softly. He carefully pries Jungkook’s hands apart before he can break skin. “I
think you’re in shock—”
“I’m on a magical boat in the underworld after getting kidnapped by a dark spirit who tried to kill
me. We are talking,” Jungkook says, looking from Jimin to the others, each of them forced into eye
contact. Their posture is stiff, faces clouded. “Now.”
Seokjin sighs. He pinches his lips together. Jungkook can tell he’s contemplating what to do. It
makes his insides twist. Do they really not trust him after everything that’s happened? After what
they just went through, how could Seokjin hesitate?
“Lee Chinhae is the head of the shade clan,” Seokjin starts. He places his hands on his knees and
takes a deep breath. “His nephew, Wooyoung, is the man who attacked you, the one who I killed, and
his only successor. In retaliation, he abducted you. We’re currently in the Shadow Realm.”
Jungkook can feel his heart pounding, heavy and big in his chest. “The place Hoseok and Joon hyung
are from.”
“Yes,” Seokjin says. “It’s also the place I do the most business.” His smile goes crooked in all the
wrong places. “I’m what you call important in the spirit world.”
“King of the Goblins?”
Seokjin shakes his head. “The only monarchy that exists in our world died off with the loss of the
Light Kingdom many centuries ago. My title is strictly one for show.”
The boat veers left and Jungkook squirms in his seat. Jimin’s hands are warm under his shirt,
prodding delicately against his abdomen as he heals Jungkook’s ribs. Jungkook usually isn’t awake
for this part, but he refuses to rest his eyes despite how warm he is, how the water gently rocks them.
Jimin’s voice is crooning, warm, like a lullaby.
“Goblins are created, we aren’t born,” Seokjin presses on. “Objects that humans owned, ones that
were cared for deeply, ones that—” Seokjin looks him straight in the face. Jungkook doesn’t shy
away, and Seokjin’s voice is softer when he says, “Ones that were stained with human blood. When
our owners die, the object we once were has life breathed into it.”
Jimin rubs his hand along Jungkook’s spine, working his way up and around to the base of
Jungkook’s throat. Jungkook whimpers when his fingers brush over the cut there. “Sorry, darling.”
“‘s okay,” Jungkook breathes. He pries his eyes open and finds Seokjin watching him with a terrible
expression. Jungkook wipes his nose. “So you were a sword?”
It takes Seokjin several beats to answer. When he does, he won’t look Jungkook in the eyes, instead
choosing to stare out over the water. “Yes.” More silence. Jungkook thinks it might just stretch on
forever when Seokjin finally says, “I was the sword of General Yi Seonggye, later known as Taejo,
who put to death the Goryeo kings and established the Joseon Empire. At his hands I took enough
souls to build one of my own.”
Jungkook shivers as Jimin smooths his palms along the side of his face. He’s whispering something
low. Jungkook blinks back the haze curling at the corner of his vision. “How do you become King of
the Goblins?”
“Power. Blood,” Seokjin spits, like the word was torn from him. As if it's a curse. “The more blood
you’re stained with during your human’s lifespan, the more power you receive in the afterlife.”
“So if someone, or something, were to—kill, a bunch of people,” Jungkook asks, “would they
become king instead of you?”
Seokjin turns to him with a frown. “In theory. But technology has advanced. A bullet touches one
man, a bomb decimates a city. None of these new weapons draw blood the way a sword once did.”
Jungkook’s head bobs. His face aches. There’s pressure building at the back of his neck, and before it
can swarm him, Jungkook sucks in a ragged breath, the first one to reach his lungs in what feels like
years.
“All done,” Jimin grins with a pat to Jungkook’s cheeks. He pulls himself up, lengthening through
the spine with a wince. “Anything else hurting?”
“I’m fine.” Jungkook gives him a once over. He catches Jimin’s fingers and tugs lightly.
“Are you okay?”
“Just tired.” Jimin gives him a relaxed grin and shakes their hands before stepping away to settle into
the open space at Namjoon’s side. Namjoon’s long arms wrap him up and Jimin’s whole body sighs
against him. “And this place isn’t good for my energy.”
Jungkook hums. He’s exhausted. Feels like his spine is made from sponge. Heaviness builds behind
his eyes and Jungkook closes his eyes to fight off the tears. Now is not the time to cry.
“Jungkook-ah?” Yoongi prompts softly.
Jungkook inhales deep and squeezes Hoseok’s hand. “I’m just processing.”
“Now you see why I didn’t want to speak about this with you,” Seokjin mutters.
Acid rises in Jungkook’s throat. “You didn’t want to talk about a lot of things with me,” he snaps,
“and now look where we are.”
Seokjin’s brows are turned down. It looks like he wants to be angry but is too bewildered to get that
far. “I’m not human, Jungkook.”
“Yeah. I know. None of you are.” Jimin said he was good to go, but there’s still an ache in
Jungkook’s chest. The bone may be healed but his heart still feels bruised. Tender. “Hyung,”
Jungkook says, his voice sounding wrinkled, even to his own ears. “Seokjin-hyung, please look at
me.” Seokjin raises his head. He looks defeated. Like whatever Jungkook is about to say just might
break him a little. His hands, clutched in his lap, are shaking.
“Hyung,” Jungkook breathes. He wants to touch Seokjin’s beautiful face. Hold his trembling hands.
“You do this cute twirl with your wrist when you go to push up your sunglasses.” Seokjin frowns.
His hands go still. “You always stick out your pinkie when you drink something. Your ears turn red
when I compliment you. You suck at Dance Dance Revolution. You make the best tofu stew I’ve
ever had.” Jungkook studies his face. Says gently, “I don’t care that you’re not human. I care that you
are kind, and that you put others before yourself, and that I feel safe around you.” Seokjin looks
winded. Like Jungkook hit him where it hurt. “I love you and you are more than your past, hyung.”
Seokjin makes a pained noise, like it was punched out of him. “Idiot,” he hisses, voice cracking. He
drags a wrist across his eyes. “Where the hell did you come from?”
“Busan,” Jungkook grins. Says, tentatively, “Are you going to say you love me back?”
Seokjin’s reply is anguished. “I love you,” he says, and the boat rocks as he rises to his feet and steps
over one bench, then the other. “Jeon Jungkook I am so in love with you.” He drops to his knees
between Jungkook’s legs, places his palms on Jungkook’s thighs. Leans in close, as if to share a
secret. “If you try to die on me again I will kill you, though.”
Jungkook’s face curls with his smile. He drops forward and presses their foreheads together. Gives
them a rub. Says, with just a breath of space between them, “I’m going to kiss you now, hyung.”
Seokjin shudders. “Please kiss me.”
Jungkook’s hands immediately go to Seokjin’s hair, tugging him in, spreading his legs so that
Seokjin can settle between them fully. It’s a soft kiss, more of a suggestion than the actual thing; but
then Seokjin tilts his head and coaxes Jungkook’s mouth open. There’s teeth, and tongue, and
Jungkook doesn’t stop the whimper that slips out. He can feel the corner of Seokjin’s mouth tug up a
little. He laughs, but it isn’t mocking, and Jungkook pulls away just enough to take Seokjin’s kind,
beautiful face in his hands.
“Why’d you stop?” Seokjin says, a bit breathless, and leans in to kiss Jungkook again, deep and
determined. Jungkook clutches at the back of Seokjin’s head, tugging on the long hair there, thankful
that they’re sitting down because he doesn’t think his knees are currently functioning at full capacity.
“Hyung,” Jungkook gasps, and even when he pulls away again Seokjin follows and mouths along his
jaw. “We have an audience.”
“Don’t mind us,” Hoseok beams, chin in hand, eyes sharp.
“I’d love to be a participant,” Jimin adds with a wicked smirk. He licks his bottom lip and Jungkook
giggles.
They’re playing, but their faces are warm and open. Namjoon is also looking at them with this
glowing wonderment. “Didn’t you say you wanted to kiss all of us at once?” He pouts.
Jungkook rests his chin on Seokjin’s shoulder and sighs when Seokjin’s arms wrap around his waist,
pulling them flush together. “You are going to brush your teeth first for a very long time before I
get anywhere near your face.”
Seokjin squeaks against Jungkook’s neck and Jimin nearly tumbles over the edge of the boat.
Namjoon is slack-jawed. Jungkook chokes on his laugh. “And to think I bit off a man’s hand for
you,” Namjoon bemoans as Yoongi pats his thigh.
“Namjoon-hyung,” Jungkook says with all the warmth of the world in his voice, voice stuttering as
he holds back his grin. “I love you very much. Thank you for committing graphic violence for me.
You are not kissing me right now. Jin-hyung?” Jin hums lowly, the sound going straight through
Jungkook’s chest. “Could you put me to sleep?”
Seokjin shifts in his hold. “You… What?” Seokjin tries to pull back and Jungkook whines and holds
him in place with his thighs. “You want me to use my voice on you?”
“This river’s honestly freaking me out,” Jungkook breathes, using his index finger to trace lazy,
looping shapes against the column of Seokjin’s spine. Seokjin shivers under the touch. “And Jimin’s
magic always makes me sleepy and I would love to just take a nap the rest of the way. I think I’m
tired enough for it to work right now.”
Seokjin tightens his hold. “But you said…”
“I trust you and I’m asking,” Jungkook interjects. “Consent is sexy, right?”
Seokjin smacks the top of his ass. “So sassy.”
“You love it,” Jungkook giggles as Seokjin’s hands slip under his t-shirt to pinch the skin there. His
palms settle, and the heat of his touch is soothing. “You’ll be there when I wake up, right?”
Seokjin leans into him further, cheek to cheek, to press his mouth against the shell of Jungkook’s ear.
“Of course,” he whispers fiercely. “I’ll always be there when you wake up.”
Sweetness aches behind Jungkook’s ribs. “That’s a promise?”
“It’s a promise,” Seokjin says as he kisses Jungkook’s temple. His voice goes soft and warm in the
air. “Now sleep, little one, let hyungs take care of you.”
Jungkook’s body goes limp, but Seokjin has such a tight hold on him that Jungkook just lets the daze
take over, trusting that Seokjin will keep him from falling.
~~~
Jungkook wakes to darkness.
His breath stutters, vision tilting, and Jungkook claws at the weight over his stomach that’s pinning
him in place.
He can smell blood. He can smell blood and charred flesh and the gagging sweetness of dying
flowers as a hand clamps around his throat and squeezes.
The panic rolls so thick through his stomach he heaves. There’s a raised voice, then another, nothing
but gibberish in Jungkook’s ears as he thrashes against the hold on him. Something catches him
around the wrist and pulls, but when Jungkook cries out at the flare of pain, the hand is quick to
release him.
Jungkook throws an elbow and there’s a sharp groan as something hard gives way with a crunch. The
weight on him vanishes, and Jungkook scuttles to the side and makes it to his knees when the room is
suddenly thrown into light.
Jungkook flinches and curls in on himself, careful not to put his back to the room as he rolls into the
wall and blinks past the stars in his eyes to find Hoseok standing next to a doorway, his hand on the
switch, face pinched with fear as he meets Jungkook’s gaze.
“H-hyung,” Jungkook gasps. His limbs are quaking. It feels like his organs might just vibrate out of
his throat. “Hyung,” he says again. There’s movement by Hoseok’s feet and Jungkook looks down to
find Yoongi crouched and waiting, watching Jungkook with wide eyes.
“Hyung,” Jungkook says once more, his breath coming back to him. Beside Yoongi is another body.
Namjoon, holding the front of his face where blood seeps through his closed fingers. Jungkook
swallows. The room spins. “Hyung?”
“I’m fine.” Namjoon’s smile is soft. Sad. Careful. Acid rises in Jungkook’s throat and he swallows it
down.
“You were having a nightmare, sweetheart.” Jungkook flinches and looks to his left. Seokjin is
sitting cross-legged, just within reach. His voice is delicate when he says, “Joonie tried to wake you
up and ended up scaring you. We’re sorry, darling.”
“No, I—” Jungkook shakes his head. His spine is starting to ache from how tense he is, pressed up
along the edge of a bookshelf. He slides to the floor and untucks his feet. “I couldn’t see. I woke up
and couldn’t—it was so dark. I can—” Jungkook shakes his head, trying to dislodge the memory. “I
can still smell them.”
“It’ll fade by morning,” Seokjin reassures him, just like all those nights ago.
Jungkook looks down at his toes. He’s wearing wool socks. His clothes have been changed.
Jungkook doesn’t recognize who they belong to.
“Sorry,” he mumbles as he relaxes completely, all the adrenaline leaving behind a ragged exhaustion
that settles over him like a blanket. Jungkook closes his eyes and forces himself to suck in a drag of
foul air. He needs to breathe.
“Joon-ah, let’s go find Jimin,” Hoseok says. Jungkook doesn’t watch them leave, but he hears the
door slide open and quiet footsteps thump down the hall.
“Sorry,” Jungkook says again. He’s mortified when big, angry tears well in his eyes. He tries to
squeeze them away but it just makes it worse. He hiccups.
“Oh, darling,” Seokjin croons. Jungkook opens his eyes and finds Seokjin waddling towards him. It
makes him laugh, it makes him cry harder. He sucks up snot and Seokjin falls into him with a huff.
“Go on, let it out. You’ve been through so much. It’s okay to cry.”
“I’m just so tired,” Jungkook sobs. He rubs at his cheeks and settles against the wall. Seokjin curls
over him, cheek pressed to Jungkook’s thigh, a hand smoothing down his knee. “God, none
of you are having a breakdown. You cut off a man’s hand!”
“I don’t know if it’ll make you feel better,” Seokjin states, slow and measured. “But last night was
not the first time I’ve cut off a body part.”
“Yeah, I’m not sure that makes me feel better,” Jungkook says, voice so flat it makes Yoongi cackle.
“We’ve also had longer to adjust,” Yoongi says, still smiling. He, too, crawls across the floor until
he’s within touching distance. Instead of draping himself over Jungkook’s spread leg, though, he
simply takes Jungkook’s ankle in his grasp and holds on. “Trust me, the first time I saw something
like what happened back at the manor, I didn’t sleep for a week.”
“Yoongi,” Seokjin snaps. “That is not helpful.”
“You just told him you regularly commit torture,” Yoongi bites back.
“I do not regularly—”
Jungkook laughs so hard he snorts. His insides still feel twisted tight, like any moment he might
snap, but the bickering is warming him up into something softer. Familiarity is what he needs right
now, and whether the others are aware that’s what they’re giving him, Jungkook is thankful for it.
Yoongi rubs at his ankle bone. Seokjin shifts so the crown of his head is pressed against Jungkook’s
stomach. Jungkook tangles his fingers in Seokjin’s hair. “I’m okay,” he says, tugging lightly at the
strands there. “We might just have to sleep with a lamp on for a while.”
Seokjin rolls over in his lap so he can stare up into Jungkook’s face. “We?”
“Yeah,” Jungkook says. “You’re stuck with me forever, remember? You have to be beside me every
time I wake up.”
“Of course.” Seokjin’s grinning crazily. “Does this mean you’re going to move in?”
“Is this you inviting me?” Jungkook asks.
“Is this you saying yes?”
“You both are impossible,” Yoongi groans. He squeezes Jungkook’s foot. “Jungkook-ah, we
discussed it on the ride back and we’d love it if you were to move in with us. In your own time, of
course.”
“So like, asap as possible,” Seokjin grins.
“Impossible,” Yoongi mutters.
“I’ll have to think about it,” Jungkook hums. He leans down and presses his nose to Seokjin’s.
Seokjin goes cross-eyed to meet him. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
“Really?” Seokjin says.
“Are you taking it back?”
“No, not at all. I just—” Seokjin’s eyes uncross. Jungkook pulls back just enough to look at his
whole face and all its tells. The divot between Seokjin’s brows. The bottom jut of his lip as he thinks.
The way he gives a forceful blink, processing what to say next. “Usually it takes a little more
coercing to get you to agree to things,” he finally settles on.
Jungkook won’t deny that. He leans back and rests his head against the wall, hand idly scraping
Seokjin’s scalp.
Jungkook is tired. He’s been tired for as long as he can remember. And maybe this isn’t a good idea.
Maybe Jungkook is setting himself up for heartbreak he won’t bounce back from this time.
“Two near-death experiences in a month does stuff to a man,” Jungkook tells them with a sigh. “Plus,
why should I keep denying myself accessible cuddles and kisses from my six hot boyfriends?
Speaking of—Yoongi-hyung.” Yoongi’s already looking to him, face flushed. “Please come here. I
need to kiss you.”
Yoongi grins wide enough to show off his gums. “You need to?”
“Or I will die,” Jungkook nods.
“Well, we don’t want to chance those odds,” Yoongi chuckles. He shuffles forward on his knees and
Seokjin rolls out of the way, arm still a casual pressure against Jungkook’s hip, but now there’s room
for Yoongi to swing a leg over and straddle Jungkook’s thighs.
Yoongi’s looking down at him, which is new and kind of really nice, and he slides his fingers into
Jungkook’s hair to tilt his head back which is also really nice. It has Jungkook’s breath hitching, and
Yoongi doesn’t hesitate to lean into the space between them and slot their mouths together.
It might have been the circumstance, but Yoongi doesn’t kiss him the way Seokjin did in the boat,
where it was all impulse and desperation and maybe a tad bit of hysteria. Yoongi settles against him
with a sigh, the line of their bodies pressed together at every point, and kisses Jungkook with an easy
languidness that has Jungkook’s toes curling, blood singing.
Yoongi smiles into his mouth. Bites his bottom lip, but not hard enough sting. He kisses Jungkook
like he’s searching for something, and Jungkook falls into his pace because he wants to give Yoongi
the world.
Jungkook woke from the darkness and Seokjin was there, Yoongi was there, the others were there,
here, just as they promised. Jungkook looks forward to waking up the days he gets to see them. So
what if they’re on borrowed time? So what if there are lifetimes between them? Jungkook can’t
imagine spending a single day in this one without them by his side.
An unknown amount of kisses later, Jungkook finds himself being carried through the house. “Not
that I don’t love being manhandled,” Jungkook starts as they turn a corner and head down the hall,
“and not that I doubt your strength,” he continues as they pass through the living room, “but Yoongihyung, how the hell are you managing this right now?”
Jungkook’s ass, which is directly next to Yoongi’s cheek, receives a light smack. “I’m a thousand
year old water dragon, Jungkook.”
“And that means you have super strength, like, all the time?”
Yoongi grunts. “Pretty much.”
“Whoa.” Jungkook stares at the back of Yoongi’s thighs. He’s wearing a matching plaid pajama set
today. “Are you stronger than Joon-hyung?”
“Exponentially so.”
“Whoa,” Jungkook breathes again. He adjusts his neck just enough to find Seokjin, who’s trailing
behind them with a phone pulled out, looking much too delighted with the situation. “Jin-hyung, do
you have super strength?”
“Of course not,” Seokjin says. “Do you know how powerful I would be if I had mind
control and physical prowess? The universe would not be able to contain me.”
“Humility skipped him, as well,” Yoongi mumbles.
“I know my assets, Yoongi,” Seokjin instantly replies, slipping his phone into his hoodie pocket.
“Nothing wrong with having self-respect.”
Yoongi’s chuckle is so soft Jungkook’s probably the only one to hear it. It makes him smile and relax
further into Yoongi’s hold. Jungkook feels brighter now. Making out for an obscene amount of time
has turned him into dough, soft and malleable. The stillness in his chest is comforting rather than
alarming, more like something has settled rather than because it's missing or jostled.
A door slides open, a lamp is flicked on. Through his upside down view, Jungkook sees that they’ve
entered Yoongi’s room. It’s smaller than Jimin and Taehyung’s but larger than Namjoon’s or
Hoseok’s because of the space needed for a massive workstation. This desk is for making music,
though. There’s a building next to the outdoor sauna that acts as a shop for Yoongi’s woodworking.
Rustling, grumbling. A slurred, “Wha’s happn’n?” Jungkook curls around Yoongi’s hip and finds
Taehyung groggily hovering over a passed out Jimin, arm crossed over Jimin’s body as if to shield
him.
Jungkook’s stomach lurches. “Hyung,” he gasps and squirms. Yoongi huffs and squats to set him
down, and Jungkook scurries over to the futons where Taehyung is still blinking away heaviness
from his eyes.
“Jungkookie?” Taehyung mumbles like his tongue is too big for his mouth, and Jungkook’s legs give
out beneath him. His knees hit the cushions and he leans over Jimin, careful not to squish him, and
kisses Taehyung full on the mouth.
Taehyung makes a surprised noise and then groans, leaning his weight to rest against Jimin’s
stomach as he guides Jungkook in by the back of his head. Jungkook might have instigated, but
Taehyung’s quick to take the lead as he licks into Jungkook’s mouth.
“You taste like Yoongi-hyung,” he grouses, still sleep-idled, and pecks Jungkook’s mouth as if to get
another taste. He must decide it’s not enough and coaxes Jungkook back into an impossibly deep
kiss.
Jungkook goes fuzzy. He tilts his head to break for air. “What?” he gasps. “How can you tell?”
“It’s an animal deity thing,” Taehyung smirks lazily. Jungkook watches as his tongue strokes along
his bottom lip. He pulls Jungkook back in by the collar and kisses him hard.
“Are you seriously making out right above me?”
Jungkook flinches, breaking the kiss, but Taehyung just chuckles and nips at his ear. “Shut it,” he
says to Jimin, who is blinking up at them with half-lidded eyes. “You love to watch.”
“Allow me to rephrase.” Jimin hoists himself onto his elbows, forcing himself into the already nonexistent space between Jungkook and Taehyung. “Are you seriously making out right above
me without me?”
Jungkook cackles and gives Jimin’s cheek a wet smack. Jimin’s resulting giggle is a wonderful,
tinkling sound, so Jungkook kisses his other cheek, the center of his forehead, the tip of his
scrunched nose. Jimin’s laughing hard by the time Jungkook kisses him properly, and Jungkook
gives a little sigh as Jimin rocks into him because kissing Jimin is like kissing a cloud. His bottom lip
alone is so full that when Jungkook bites down on it, his teeth sink right in.
Jimin fists his hands into Jungkook’s hair and pulls. Jungkook inhales shakily, trying not to make too
much noise, but then something scrapes the side of his neck, just beneath his ear, and Jungkook
moans so loud that Jimin has to pull away because he’s snorting too much to hold still.
Hoseok unlocks his mouth from around Jungkook’s skin. “Sorry, babe,” he croons and licks the
length of the mark he made, looking all but apologetic. “Couldn’t resist.”
“Hobi,” Seokjin squawks. “We talked about this you can’t just bite—”
“Hyung can bite me whenever, wherever,” Jungkook grins, leaning into Hoseok’s space with
confidence. Hoseok smiles with glee and pecks him on the mouth. Giggles. Leans in again to kiss
him a bit deeper. Giggles some more. Jungkook’s heart clenches. How can someone be so hot and so
adorable at the same time?
“Where’s Joon-hyung?” Jungkook asks, tilting his neck as Hoseok noses and nuzzles along his
throat. Yoongi and Seokjin are sitting against the far wall playing with each other’s hands. Jimin and
Taehyung are lounging against each other on the pillows, gazes dazed, like they might pass out again
any moment.
“He went outside for some air,” Hoseok tells him, nipping at his collarbone. Jungkook squirms at the
tingle that goes down his spine, all the way to his toes. “He’s okay. Jimin fixed him up.”
“I want to see him,” Jungkook pouts.
Hoseok’s teeth catch his ear and Jungkook jolts. “The five of us aren’t enough to satiate you?”
“You have no idea,” Jungkook smirks with a slyness Hoseok must not be accustomed to because it
makes him freeze and then laugh so hard it comes out more as a wheeze.
Jungkook groans as he rolls to the side and pushes himself up to his knees, then his feet. They weight
of every gaze in the room is on him. “I’ll be back with Joon-hyung,” he says, and on the way to the
door someone catches him by the hand. Yoongi tugs Jungkook’s wrist to his mouth and places a
tender kiss to the skin there.
“Sometimes Namjoon goes deep in his thoughts,” Yoongi tells him. “Try to coax him out easy,
okay?”
Jungkook gives a small nod. “Okay, hyung.”
Jungkook finds Namjoon in the garden. There aren’t many flowers here, but there are plenty of herbs
that Yoongi and Seokjin like to use when cooking. Namjoon’s sitting beside the thyme, finger idly
stroking its leaves, staring off at the luminous, luminous moon above.
“Hi, hyung,” Jungkook greets softly as he sinks into the space beside Namjoon, and because he
probably heard Jungkook approach, Namjoon doesn’t flinch. Just says, echoing his tone of voice,
“Hey, Jungkook-ah.”
Jungkook isn’t sure what to say or do next, but he knows he doesn’t want to leave, so he sits there,
studying the side of Namjoon’s face, softly lit in the moonlight, wind shifting his long hair, thinking
about how beautiful he is. Thinking about how it’s been a long time since he last saw Namjoon’s
dimples and then startling when he realizes it’s only been a day.
It feels as if Jungkook’s been away for years.
“Jungkook.” Jungkook hums and blinks, coming back to himself. Namjoon doesn’t look at him when
he says, “You can break up with us, you know.”
Jungkook processes those words. He doesn’t mention that Seokjin, just an hour ago, invited him to
hold a permanent position in their home. “Do you want me to break up with you?” Jungkook asks
instead.
“No.” Namjoon heaves in a great sigh. “But maybe it would be the best for you—”
“Hyung. Stop it.” Jungkook leans up against him and takes Namjoon’s busy hand into his own before
he crushes the plant. Namjoon holds him tightly but still refuses to look at him. “Just because you’re
like, a million years old, doesn’t mean you know everything.”
Namjoon huffs. A dimple flickers. “I ask how to use the can opener one time…”
“Hyung,” Jungkook says again. He splays Namjoon’s fingers wide. Traces the longest line of his
palm. Smiles when Namjoon shivers at the delicate touch. “Namjoon,” he says, and when Namjoon
doesn’t turn to him, Jungkook takes Namjoon by the chin and forces him to look. His eyes are so
light they shine in the darkness. There’s a tear track on his cheek. Jungkook kisses it away.
“I love you,” Jungkook tells him, mouth still pressed to skin. “I want to be with you all the time.”
When Jungkook pulls away, Namjoon looks unconvinced. “We’re afraid of hurting you.”
“Well, I’ll have you know that everyone in a relationship, magical or not, has that fear. You’re not
special.” Jungkook tries to sound jokey, but he hates the note of vulnerability that creeps in. “You’d
think having five boyfriends for this long would teach you that.”
Namjoon’s smile spreads. The dimples grow deeper. “Bold tonight, aren’t we?”
“Still tired,” Jungkook corrects. His shoulders, tense up until now, go lax. “And my chest hurts.”
Namjoon’s face falls. “Do you need Jimin? I can go get—”
Jungkook shoves him against the chest, curls his fingers into Namjoon’s tee. “Hyung,” he sighs
without any real heat. “Not everything can be fixed with magic.” He smooths his hand down
Namjoon’s bare arm, tracing the line of muscle there. “Some things just take a little time to heal.”
They sit together in silence. Namjoon watches Jungkook’s fingers ghost across his skin, flipping over
his thoughts. A breeze rustles noisily through the trees by the front wall, but other than that, the
sounds of the city are kept at bay. Magic, probably, whatever magic is. Jungkook is still figuring that
out.
“I love you,” Namjoon says quietly a long time later. Jungkook swallows thickly and squeezes his
hand. “I care for you more than I even understand.”
“I know,” Jungkook says softly.
“I want to be with you always,” Namjoon continues in the same tone of voice, words shivering on the
air. “I want to be with you—”
Namjoon stops, closes his eyes, sighs deeply. Forever hangs unspoken over them. It’s not something
they’ve brought up yet. Jungkook is scared he might burst when they do.
“I’m serious, you know,” Namjoon continues instead. “If you ever need to leave us—”
“Hyung,” Jungkook whines.
“It’s just we’ve put you in danger so many times ,” Namjoon rebuts.
“But you really haven’t?” Namjoon blinks at him, confused. “Everything bad that’s happened to me
is because I’ve been in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong people,” Jungkook says.
“You guys have literally never done anything to hurt me.”
Namjoon rolls his words around. His shoulders relax. “Huh.”
“Yeah,” Jungkook grins and gives their twined hands a shake. “And you’re always there to get me
out of it. If anything, I’m the one who’s been putting you guys in danger.”
“I just don’t want to lose you,” Namjoon says simply.
“Then maybe stop trying to push me away,” Jungkook responds.
“Oh,” Namjoon says, a little surprised. He looks over at Jungkook again, studying him like he’s
seeing something marvelous and strange. He looks open and warm and hopeful. “I brushed my
teeth,” he says as if sharing a secret. “And washed my face.”
Jungkook blooms. Namjoon meets him halfway, and for all that Namjoon is strong and decisive and
determined, he kisses Jungkook so kindly, lips gentle, touch steady as he rests his palms on the side
of Jungkook’s face to hold.
They don’t kiss for long. The nightwind grows cool and the hour late enough that, when they break
away, it’s because Jungkook can’t force back his yawn any longer.
“That instills me with confidence,” Namjoon laughs low.
“Hyung, you are amazing, A+ on the tongue thing you did—” Namjoon sputters, abashed, “—But I
am so tired. Like, I might just lay in the dirt right now and die tired.”
“Well we can’t have that,” Namjoon says in much the same way Yoongi did earlier. It makes
Jungkook laugh, and one moment Jungkook is half curled in his lap and the next Namjoon has him in
his arms as they head towards the house. “Can I hold you tonight?” Namjoon asks quietly as he
slides the door to the front entry open.
“You might have to fight Yoongi-hyung,” Jungkook grins as he rests his cheek on Namjoon’s chest.
His heartbeat, just a little faster than a human’s, thrums quick and steady beside Jungkook’s ear.
“I could take Yoongi,” Namjoon scoffs.
“I don’t know,” Jungkook muses as they step into the living room. “Hyung seemed pretty convinced
he was stronger than you.”
Namjoon’s nose wrinkles. “We’ll see about that.”
There are voices coming from down the hall, muffled and low lilting. Jungkook places a hand against
Namjoon’s throat and presses down on the pulse point there. Namjoon makes a questioning sound as
they head for Yoongi’s room, but Jungkook doesn’t know how to put into the words that these
sounds around him, this warmth he’s grown used to, these people he’s learned to cherish, who have
come to cherish him—somehow, somewhere, they have became his home.
Namjoon places him back on the futons, now straightened and with new additions so the entire floor
is coated in cushions. Jungkook suddenly feels tired, too tired for anything, and when Taehyung curls
around his back and Jimin takes his hand to hold, when Namjoon and Hoseok shift to lay at his feet,
when Yoongi rises to flick on another lamp, when Seokjin asks if he can sing Jungkook to sleep once
more— Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to close his eyes and tell him yes because Jungkook knows that,
when he wakes in the morning, it'll be to them by his side.
Chapter 7
Halfway through Jungkook’s Tuesday shift at the clinic, Beomsoo pops his head into the cat room
with a giddy grin and says, “Jungkook-ah, you have a visitor.”
Jungkook looks away from Sweet Potato, their newest resident and a hunking mass of orange flab
and fur, and frowns. “A visitor?”
“A very handsome one,” Beomsoo nods, already halfway out the door. “Better go quick. I think
Yujin is gonna try to steal him.”
Jungkook quirks a brow and checks the clock on the wall. Four in the afternoon. Everyone should be
at work, save for Seokjin, but he’s not supposed to pick Jungkook up for another two hours. “Stay,”
he tells Sweet Potato, pointing with a stern finger. Not that the command is really necessary. The cat
aspires towards one thing in life, and that is to move as little as possible from whatever spot she’s
claimed in the room that day.
Sweet Potato blinks at him. She looks at him the same way Hoseok does Namjoon when Namjoon
breaks into nineties ballads, dance numbers and all, in the middle of the kitchen during breakfast:
unimpressed, mildly indifferent, and maybe just a bit endeared. Like she’s watching something small
and harmless and a little dumb.
Jungkook washes up at the basin and brushes his wet hands over his fringe, trying to tuck his hair
behind his ears. It falls uselessly back into his face and he huffs, drags his fingers down his cheeks.
His face is fuller these days, which makes sense, since Yoongi has had hundreds of years to perfect
his bulgogi recipe and it shows.
Something flashes in the mirror as Jungkook turns away, drawing him back in. He tugs at the ends of
his hair. Like his skin, they’re going gold from the summer sun.
Jungkook pieces out one particular hair, lighter than all the others, and tugs. Holds it up to the
ceiling. It’s so light it’s nearly blond.
A dog is barking in the lobby, loud and happy and human-like. Jungkook recognizes it instantly and,
sure enough, when he slides through the main doors, Hoseok’s head juts through Yujin’s legs, his tail
wagging so hard as he scampers to get to Jungkook that he has trouble walking a straight line.
“Hy—Hobi!” Jungkook hisses, feeling blushy and frantic as Hoseok yips and rises on his back feet to
press his paws against Jungkook’s chest. Jungkook sputters when Hoseok licks the full length of his
face. A bit of drool drips from his jaw. Hoseok laps it up.
“Jungkook-ah,” Dr. Lee says, leaning behind the front desk, face warm with his smile as he watches
them. “I didn’t know you had a dog.”
“He, uh, belongs to my boyfriend,” Jungkook says, sputtering when Hoseok starts to jump on him,
paws swatting at his chest, a wriggly mess. Jungkook manages to catch him under the hind legs and
heave him up, nearly losing his balance under the weight and flailing limbs.
Hoseok stills. Rumbles low in his throat. Jungkook, equal parts endeared and pissy, just sighs and
rubs at the scruff of Hoseok’s head. “I’m sorry, he’s been really lonely lately,” he tells the team as
Hoseok buries against his neck. “Must have followed me here even though he knows I’ll be back
tonight.”
Hoseok gives a warbled whine. His nose is cold when it presses under Jungkook’s ear.
“Well, since he came all this way,” Dr. Lee says, “he can stay in the back while you do rounds.”
“Wonderful,” Jungkook grins. He bids them farewell, shuffles to the back hall, and as soon as the
flap doors have shut, he dumps Hoseok on the ground. “Hyung!” Jungkook whisper screeches,
turning on Hoseok so fast that Hoseok visibly flinches. “Why are you here?!”
Hoseok rolls onto his back, kicking his legs, tongue lolling out. It’s adorable and just pisses
Jungkook off more, which Hoseok must see or smell or whatever it is he does because he whines low
in his throat again. Gets on his stomach. Shuffles forward and paws at Jungkook’s foot. His eyes are
big and watery, literal puppy eyes, and Jungkook scowls and prods him away with his toe. “I told
you, you can’t hang out here. If my boss finds out—”
Hoseok shifts. He's suddenly eye level, and Jungkook yelps and stumbles but Hoseok already has his
hands on Jungkook’s hips and tugs him in close so that they’re nose to nose.
“No one’s going to find out,” Hoseok grins, canines on display, just out in the world for whoever
wants to see.
“They will if you shift!” Jungkook shudders when Hoseok nips at his jaw, then slams a palm against
Hoseok’s shoulder. “Dummy!” He hisses. Hoseok just grins into his throat. “Change back!”
“But I haven’t seen you in days.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t work so much.”
“We’re opening a new wing of the library in two months,” Hoseok answers flatly.
“Well it’s not like you’re alone at the house.”
Hoseok sighs. “That’s not the point,” he says, and then twists so that he can walk Jungkook
backwards. Jungkook doesn’t try to fight him, just allows himself to be led until Hoseok suddenly
grips his waist and lifts. Jungkook squeaks, arms flying out to wrap around Hoseok’s shoulders as
he’s placed on top of an exam table.
Hoseok’s smile is pretty and sweet, so at odds with the way he pushes Jungkook’s knees apart to slip
between his legs. “Is this okay?” He asks, fingers kneading into the meat of Jungkook’s thighs, and
Jungkook doesn’t answer him, doesn’t know how to. “Jungkookie.”
“No,” Jungkook says, voice breaking. Hoseok begins to pull away and Jungkook feels a wave of
discomfort begin to swell. He draws Hoseok back in by the strings of his hoodie. “No, I—I don’t
know, I’ve never—”
Jungkook’s cheeks feel splotchy. The back of his neck is tense. Hoseok’s eyes rove his face,
considering, and then he brings one hand up to stroke his thumb under Jungkook’s eye. “Do you
really want me to go?” He asks, no longer amused, just soft and serious. “Because if you’re truly
upset, I’ll head home. I don’t mind.”
Jungkook’s chest tightens. He’s not sure what he feels, but he knows Hoseok is warm under his
palms. That his face is open and kind. That, one word from Jungkook, and he’s gone. No argument.
Jungkook clutches Hoseok by the collar, his other hand sliding into Hoseok’s hair. “No,” he says,
and Hoseok releases a small sound when Jungkook scratches at his scalp. “You can stay. Just be
good, okay?
Hoseok lifts his gaze from Jungkook’s mouth, where Jungkook was worrying his bottom lip. “A
good boy?” He asks, one corner of his mouth curling so that a dimple peeks out.
“The best boy,” Jungkook tells him. His shyness is morphing into something more wild, a little
fearless. Hoseok must sense it because there’s a wicked gleam in his eye when he drags his palms
further up Jungkook’s thighs.
“And what do I get if I’m the best boy?” Hoseok asks, twinkling, and Jungkook bites his lip and
presses his thumbs into the dip of Hoseok’s lower back. Hoseok narrows his eyes, but Jungkook just
hooks his pinkies into the waistband of Hoseok’s jeans and tugs him in closer, locks his legs around
Hoseok’s waist.
“I’ll let you feel up my chest while we watch a movie later,” Jungkook sings against the shell of
Hoseok’s ear, smirking when Hoseok’s breath stutters. With the barest hint of pressure, Jungkook
grinds forward, the front of their jeans brushing, and Hoseok’s chest rumbles. A warning growl.
“You’re getting manipulative,” he groans, knocking his head against Jungkook’s shoulder, and
Jungkook snickers and kicks Hoseok’s ass with his heels and gives him a wet kiss on the cheek.
“You’re spending too much time with Jimin.”
“Shift. Now,” Jungkook says, dropping his legs so Hoseok can back away, liking the way that
Hoseok’s grip on him lingers. “I’ll scratch your ears when I’m done cleaning cages.”
“You think I’m an easy man?” Hoseok frowns. Jungkook edges a brow up and Hoseok’s eyes slit.
“Fine,” he huffs, and then holds his arms wide.
Jungkook raises both brows this time. Hoseok gives him jazz hands. “Fine. One hug,” Jungkook
says, sliding to his feet and opening his arms up. “One—”
Hoseok slams into him with enough force to ache, wrapping Jungkook in close, hands already
slipping under his shirt to squeeze at his waist. Jungkook giggles and squeezes him back. “You smell
like sunshine,” Hoseok sighs as he nuzzles into Jungkook’s neck. His nose drags across the skin
there. Jungkook can hear him inhaling. “So soft,” he groans and pushes further into Jungkook’s
space. “So warm.”
Jungkook’s soul seizes.
He shudders, a chill spreading through his chest, pushing out all his breath like he just got nailed in
the gut. Jungkook fights to inhale, and by the time he comes back to himself, Hoseok’s an arm's
distance away. Worry has twisted his mouth into a triangle. “Jungkookie?” He questions, and
Jungkook shakes his head. The panic he felt has already faded, but in the aftermath he feels exposed
and tender. Hoseok’s gaze on him is too heavy to handle.
“Sorry,” Jungkook swallows. Looks around. The room is empty save for the two of them and the
cats. Sweet Potato is staring at him with big, yellow eyes. “Sorry, I got a chill.”
He smiles at Hoseok, but it feels empty and weak. Hoseok doesn’t look appeased. Hoseok knows
he’s lying, but he doesn’t call Jungkook out. Instead he steps forward, hesitating just long enough to
give Jungkook time to say no, and when Jungkook doesn’t, he cups Jungkook’s cheek and kisses
him, tender and sweet.
The fear doesn’t flare this time, just a familiar fuzzed over warmth. Hoseok pulls away and Jungkook
takes a beat to catch his breath. When he opens his eyes, Hoseok’s already shifted and posted up by
the door, curled in on himself, chin on his paws, gaze trailed on Jungkook.
Jungkook turns away from him. Rubs at his sternum. Counts down from seven. He still feels rough at
the corners, but he turns on some music, nothing too sophisticated, just an automated top playlist;
and as he sings along to the lyrics he knows, laughing when Hoseok chimes in with drawn out howls,
the dull ache of panic all but fades into an unpleasant memory.
~~~
“Mr. Kim seems livelier these days.”
Jungkook glances to his left. Minah’s hovering at his side, matching his pace, hands tucked neatly
behind her back. She’s smirking, but there’s a trace note of vulnerability Jungkook can pick out from
her pallid face.
This is the third time she’s approached him. The first was a warning, the second was a check-up and
a brief introduction (“I’m Choi Minah. Twenty-seven plus a few hundred years. Died during
childbirth. You?” ), and now whatever this is.
Jungkook doesn’t stop walking, but he doesn’t try to out-hurry her again, either. “Does he?”
His expression is neutral but Minah grins, looking right through him, like he’s the transparent one
here. “He’s a good man,” she says, not even trying to sidestep a woman heading their way. Minah
isn’t phased when the woman walks right through her, but the woman shivers and glances around.
Catches Jungkook looking and frowns before speeding up and away.
Minah snickers. “Humans. So superstitious.” Jungkook wants to ask what that means, but Minah
says, “Thanks for treating him well.”
It takes a beat for him to remember what they were talking about. Sweetness aches behind his ribs.
Jungkook grips the straps of his backpack, head tucked to hide his flush.
It’s been a month since the manor. Taehyung no longer sleeps with his tails wrapped around
Jungkook’s waist. Jungkook doesn’t catch Namjoon out in the yard late at night, standing guard by
the front gate, pacing beside the garden wall. Jimin hasn’t checked his heart and lungs in nearly a
week.
A few nights ago they all went out to one of Yoongi’s gigs and Jungkook spent hours following the
smooth rhythm of Jimin and Hoseok’s bodies, blooming under their hands, feeling like sunlight
might just shoot out from the tips of his fingers as they pressed open-mouthed kisses to his throat. At
the bar he sat in Namjoon’s lap, Seokjin’s hand on his knee and Namjoon’s hand carding through his
hair, listening to them talk business. Seokjin’s business. Jungkook didn’t understand any of it and
just let their voices lull him into a space he hasn’t felt in a long time. Hasn’t felt possibly ever.
Comfortable. Content. Safe.
(Taehyung then pretended he was a stranger, came up with his most enticing grin to woo Jungkook to
a back corner, whispering things that made Jungkook shiver with want. They got in trouble for public
indecency and Seokjin had to charm the bouncer out of getting banned from the club.)
“You’re so smitten it’s almost cute,” Minah sighs, and Jungkook can’t help the grin that sneaks
across his face. Minah smiles back at him and Jungkook’s shoulders loosen as he melts into a more
relaxed version of himself.
The animals at the clinic are doing well. Jungkook’s finalizing plans for his senior showcase.
Yugyeom’s talking about moving in with Jaebom at the end of the fall term, and Jungkook’s trying to
think of the best way to bring up the discussion of him living at the hanok. His life, for once, is in a
good place. He’s in a good place.
“So,” Minah starts again. There’s a glint in her gaze, something sly and secretive. Jungkook matches
it. “You any good at Go?”
There’s a sherbet sky above them when a shiver passes down Jungkook’s spine. He tenses, tilts his
head back. Seokjin’s looking down at him, the lines around his eyes tight. Mouth pinched, like he
wants to say something but is holding back.
Jungkook crumples. “Shit,” he breathes and falls backwards until he’s resting against Seokjin’s
stomach. Seokjin’s hands find his shoulders, squeezing gently. “I’m sorry, hyung, I lost track of
time.”
Seokjin doesn’t say anything. That’s how Jungkook knows he’s truly upset.
“Have you met Minah?” Jungkook asks, gesturing across the park table. “And Chunhwa and
Soonhee. They’re ghosts!” The three women bow their heads neatly towards Seokjin, but Minah is
looking between Seokjin and Jungkook warily. “They taught me how to play Go. And how to knit!”
Jungkook holds up a partially started ball of blue yarn. “I’m making Yoongi-hyung a hat, since his
ears are always cold.”
Seokjin gives him an intentional look, but he finds something in Jungkook’s face that makes his lip
curl up, and Jungkook relaxes when Seokjin leans down to kiss his forehead. “That’s lovely,
Jungkook-ah.” There’s nothing but warmth in his voice, his face, when he says to the others, “Thank
you, for taking care of him.”
Minah ducks her head politely. “Of course, sir.”
Seokjin drags his hand through Jungkook’s hair, down the side of his neck. He squeezes. Jungkook
takes the hint. “Same time next week?” He asks as he packs up his bag and swings it onto his back.
Minah’s head lags back to him. She rests her chin in her palm and winks. “We’ll be here.”
Jungkook waves farewell as they wander out of the park and back to the main road. Seokjin’s hands
are in his pants pockets, and Jungkook tugs on his arm until Seokjin gives in with a weary sigh so
Jungkook can braid their fingers together.
Jungkook peeks at him. Seokjin’s ears are pink. The side of his mouth is quirked, like he’s trying not
to smile.
Jungkook bites his lip and swings their arms, back and forth and back, bouncing from foot to foot as
they walk. “Mind telling me how you befriended one of the leading council members of the spirit
society?” Seokjin asks as they turn the corner.
“Minah?” Seokjin nods and Jungkook gives one shoulder a shrug. “She’s the one who warned me the
shades were trying to eat me.”
“Ah, yes,” Seokjin nods. “The one who supplied us with useful information that you so conveniently
forgot to mention.”
Seokjin didn’t make it sound mean, but shame roils through Jungkook, tripping him up. “I was
having a moment, okay?” Jungkook stops swinging their arms. Squeezes Seokjin’s palm instead. “A
very long, distressed moment.”
“Let’s do our best to avoid those in the future.”
Everything about Seokjin in the moment is poised. Hair slicked back, three piece suit trimmed to fit,
voice cool and collected. He looks ready to walk for a movie premier, or maybe to lead a war
meeting.
He looks tired.
Jungkook frowns. He tugs on Seokjin, guides him away from the street vendors and the women
shopping and the couples taking pictures in front of a kitschy cafe. Seokjin starts to speak, but
Jungkook tucks him into the shadow of a stairwell. Pins him in place with his chest.
“Hyung,” Jungkook says. Nothing else. Seokjin looks at him. Jungkook looks back.
Seokjin’s body melts against the wall. The elegance drains from his face. Jungkook wants to kiss
him, fiercely; but instead he holds Seokjin close and hard, making himself small against Seokjin’s
chest, only relaxing when Seokjin’s arms come up around his shoulders to hold him back.
Seokjin’s sigh comes from a deep place. It rumbles through Jungkook’s chest. “There is…” He sighs
again. Jungkook cozies up under his chin. “There’s a lot of political unrest in the spirit world, at the
moment.”
“Because of what happened with me?”
“Among other things.” Seokjin strokes Jungkook’s hair. Cups the back of his head. “You scared me
tonight,” he says, low and soft, as if sharing a secret. “I don’t want to smother or police you, but you
didn’t come home, didn’t call…”
“‘M sorry,” Jungkook mumbles. “It won’t happen again.”
“It will, though.” Seokjin pulls on his hair, tipping Jungkook’s head back so they can look into each
other’s eyes. “I want you to have fun,” Seokjin tells him. “I want you to make friends. I want you
to—” Seokjin’s gaze searches Jungkook’s face. He wrinkles his nose. Jungkook is afraid that he
might start crying and Jungkook can’t handle that now, not ever. “I want you to enjoy your life,
Jungkook-ah.”
Jungkook’s face is hot and stricken. “Are you trying to break up with me?”
“Heavens, no,” Seokjin says, looking panicked. Jungkook gives a small nod, unable to move much
with Seokjin’s hold on his hair. “Jungkook-ah,” Seokjin says after a long moment. He hesitates. Just
looks at Jungkook a bit more. Says, so soft, as if speaking to himself, “I won’t let anything happen to
you.”
Jungkook’s brow furrows. He doesn’t like that tone of voice. The weight behind it. “I know that,” he
says, and Seokjin looks as if he wants to say more.
Instead he shakes his head. Ruffles Jungkook’s hair. “Let’s go home,” he says, giving Jungkook’s ass
a slap.
Jungkook giggles and knocks him hard in the shoulder. Seokjin acts as if his arm is broken and
refuses to take another step forward until Jungkook has kissed it better, which Jungkook does,
multiple times, until he’s pressing sloppy kisses to Seokjin’s cheeks, nose, the corners of his mouth,
the fullest part of his lips.
“I love you,” Jungkook says, voice catching, kissing Seokjin again and again and again. “Hyung, I
love you, I love you so— ”
Seokjin doesn’t let him finish, just pulls Jungkook in, hands on his chest, his back, his neck, holding
him so tenderly it aches. Holding him so close it’s as if Seokjin’s afraid he might be torn away at any
moment.
~~~
Jungkook has crawled on top of the kitchen counter and is half buried in the medicine cabinet when
he hears a lazy voice behind him say, “What on this dying earth are you doing?”
Jungkook startles and loses his footing, socked feet slipping on the marble of the counter. He shrieks.
Flails. Wishes, for a hard second, that he was Yoongi and gravity didn’t affect him. Instead he
manages to grip the cupboard door, almost tearing it off the hinges as he pulls himself upright.
When he peeks over his shoulder, Jimin is behind him, arms out, eyes crazed. Jungkook stands fully,
towering over him. “Were you going to catch me?”
Jimin narrows his eyes. “I could have done it.”
Jungkook laughs. Loud. “Hyung, I love you, but—”
Jimin walks up to him, looks up with a hardened stare, and karate chops the back of Jungkook’s
knees. Jungkook goes down like a felled tree.
Before he can bash his head in, Jimin’s already looped an arm around his waist and heaved him over
one shoulder. Jungkook is stunned speechless long enough for Jimin to toddle into the living room
and toss him on the sofa. The momentum drags him forward, though, and Jimin topples into his lap
in a rare show of gracelessness.
Jimin doesn’t move off him. There’s sweat above his browline and his chest is puffing.
“Hyung,” Jungkook says, aghast. “Please tell me you have super strength like the others.”
“Nope,” Jimin quips.
Jungkook shrieks. “I could have died! Because of your pride!”
“I wouldn’t let you die in the kitchen.” Jimin wriggles so that his elbows rest on Jungkook’s chest,
thick thighs spread around Jungkook’s waist. Jimin rests his chin on his crossed hands and looks up
at Jungkook from under his lashes. What a devastating stare. “Now, why were you rummaging like a
burglar? You ate three servings at dinner.”
Jungkook rubs at his sternum where a heated weight has settled against his windpipe. “Heartburn,”
he says, and Jimin frowns and reaches to spread a palm across the base of Jungkook’s throat. “I think
I’m getting old. Spicy food just goes right through me these days.”
Jimin blinks at him, unamused. “You got heartburn from cereal the other morning.” Jungkook
shrugs. Not like he can help what his body decides to do. “Let me help?”
Jungkook tries to shy away from Jimin’s grabby hands. “Hyung, I can’t have you using up energy for
every little thing that goes wrong with me.”
Jimin settles his weight more firmly over Jungkook’s chest, pinning him down. “If you think I can’t
handle some indigestion,” he grins, all teeth, eyes dangerous, “then you can sleep in someone else’s
bed tonight.”
“My apologies, oh great and powerful sorcerer.” Jimin’s answering smile is beatific, changing the
shape of his whole face, making it even lovelier than usual. Jungkook laughs and drops his head
against the back of the couch, leaving himself exposed. It’s easier to just let Jimin have his way.
“How’s that work?” Jimin hums low, a question, and Jungkook places his hands on Jimin’s waist,
needing something to hold. He’s starting to feel restless, like his bones are trying to escape. “Your
magic.”
Jimin traces a pattern over the fabric of Jungkook’s shirt. “When I was human,” Jimin says, gaze set
on his work, “I pulled energy from the natural world. Now I use Taehyungie.”
Jungkook’s eyes flutter closed as Jimin traces the dip of his collarbone. “Tae-hyung? Like a battery?”
“Somewhat. It’s the bond. I can draw from Tae but he can’t draw from me.”
“Huh.” Jimin’s hand moves up to his throat. Jungkook trembles, grip tightening on Jimin’s hips.
“What happens if you run out?”
“Out of energy?” Jimin asks, sounding perplexed, like Jungkook has said something absurd.
“Yeah.”
Jimin’s so close his hair tickles Jungkook’s cheek, breath warm against his chin. “I get tired if I
extend myself too far, and I’ve lost consciousness once healing Yoongi-hyung, but it’s not like I’ve
ever run out.”
Jungkook startles back to himself, breath catching. “What happened to Yoongi-hyung?”
“The first shift into a full dragon form is excruciating,” Taehyung says as he comes through the back
hall in nothing but a loose pair of sweats, tying up his hair into a floppy bun. He stumbles on the
edge of the rug, then falls over the arm of the sofa to snuggle his way against Jungkook’s side, still
sleep-idled and warm from his bath. “Like being torn limb from limb.”
Jungkook makes a broken sound.
“Stop scaring him.”
“Hyung,” Jungkook gasps, looking over his shoulder at where Yoongi is hovering in the doorway to
the kitchen, looking rumpled and cozy in one of Namjoon’s sweatshirts, a mug of what smells like
tea in hand.
Yoongi’s eyes go melty. “It only hurts the first time,” he reassures Jungkook, but Jungkook doesn’t
feel better knowing. His expression must show it because Yoongi drifts over to them and leans down
to press a kiss to Jungkook’s temple. He tenses and draws away, brows tense.
“What’s the matter?” Jimin asks him.
“You have a fever,” Yoongi tells Jungkook, dark eyes searching Jungkook’s face. Jungkook feels
himself slipping and Yoongi looks away before Jungkook can drop too far. Snake charm. It’s almost
as dangerous as Seokjin’s allure. “Do you feel okay?”
“I was wondering why you’ve been so sweaty the past few days,” Taehyung hums as Jimin presses
his palms against the sides of Jungkook’s throat. He frowns. Rubs small circles against Jungkook’s
skin. Frowns harder. His head drops to the crook of Jungkook’s neck and rests there.
Jimin makes a small noise of aggravation.
“What’s wrong?” Jungkook asks.
Jimin pulls back and drags his hands down Jungkook’s chest, his stomach, all the way so he can dip
his hands under Jungkook’s shirt. Taehyung shifts so that he has easier access. “I can’t get your
temperature to lower.”
Jungkook shudders as Jimin’s nails drag across his bare skin. Jimin isn’t trying anything, but his
weight and warmth is tipping Jungkook into a gooey headspace.
Taehyung squeezes his upper thigh and delight rushes through Jungkook, sharp and startling.
“Ow!”
Jimin’s pulled himself up, hands clutched to his chest, face pinched and wrong. Taehyung’s on his
feet and hovering over them. His claws are out, and when he speaks, Jungkook sees the gleam of
fangs. “What happened?” Taehyung asks, his own hands twitching at his sides. “Are you hurt?”
Jimin doesn’t look away from Jungkook’s face as he rubs his palms together. “Kookie shocked me.”
“Shocked like a little zing or shocked like that time Yoongi-hyung accidentally electrocuted you?”
Taehyung questions, shoulders relaxing.
“A mix?” Jimin pouts and holds out his hands for Taehyung to kiss. Taehyung starts pecking each
finger. “Jungkook, what the hell?”
Jungkook winces. The shot of adrenaline is wearing off. He feels icky and gross and, now that
Yoongi has mentioned it, borderline overheated with two boys in his lap and three sets of eyes
looking at him like they’re trying to solve a crossword. “I don’t know anything.”
They turn to each other instead, gazes wary and weighted as they hold an entire conversation without
him. Jungkook’s nose wrinkles up, but before he can complain, Taehyung flops over his stomach to
lean over the backing of the sofa. “We’ll just do it the old-fashioned way,” Taehyung says. “Yoongihyung. I need your hand.” Yoongi holds up his arm without question and Taehyung drags him closer
to the sofa. Places his palm against Jungkook’s forehead. “There. An ice pack that never melts.”
Jungkook moans at the sweet relief and sinks into the cushion. “Cold-blooded but warm hearted,”
Jimin coos. “Our little reptilian.”
Yoongi’s eyes slit but he doesn’t move away. “I will bite you.”
Jimin licks his bottom lip. “I look forward to it.”
“Are you ever not horny?”
“You know the answer to that quite well, darling.”
“I am seven hundred years older than you,” Yoongi says, his s’s taking on a slithering sound, like his
tongue is too big for his mouth.
Jimin’s eyes light up. “O-h-h, I love it when you throw a hissy fit.”
A gossamer touch, on the back of his hand. Jungkook’s head falls to the side and finds Taehyung
watching him with his big, hazel eyes.
Taehyung doesn’t say anything. Instead, like he did with Jimin, he just takes Jungkook’s hand and
kisses the pad of each of his fingers, not once looking away. Jungkook hums to himself and sinks
into the cushions, feeling warm but sated. Head quiet, chest still.
~~~
Jungkook wakes to the brush of fur against his bare shoulder.
He flings an arm out and finds empty blankets. He’s sweating under the duvet, the collar of his shirt
uncomfortably damp, and Jungkook groans and rolls on to his side in time to watch a dark shadow
drift towards the bedroom door.
Fear spears his heart and the shadow halts. “Back to bed, Jungkookie,” it says in Taehyung’s voice,
and Jungkook blinks away the daze of sleep and sees that the black clouds are Taehyung’s tails.
“Where are you going?” Jungkook sits up. Jimin is still asleep a few feet away, hand holding on to
the edge of Taehyung’s pillow.
Taehyung hesitates. Says, in a careful voice, “To hunt.”
“Can I come with you?”
They walk in silence for a long time, leaving the neighborhood and entering another, leaving that one
and moving on to the next. They’re heading towards the mountain.
Taehyung’s left his tails out. They float behind him, weaving together like water. Occasionally one
drifts close so it can curl around Jungkook’s side and Jungkook giggles and pets it. Holds it in his
hands. He gnaws on the inside of his cheek. He’s not sure why he asked to come along, but the
thought of Taehyung being alone in the night terrified him.
He’s even more uncertain as to why Taehyung agreed so easily.
Jungkook strokes Taehyung’s fur, darker than the sky above them. “Hyung?” Taehyung hums low,
the first sound he’s made since they left the house. “You have to eat hearts, right?” Taehyung stiffens
at his side, but his tails go twitchy. Jungkook lets the one in his hands go. “Why is that? The stories
never say.”
The moonlight drains out the colors around them, but Taehyung’s green eyes are piercing in the
black of the night when he looks at Jungkook.
When he finds nothing but curiosity, Taehyung clears his throat, and in his rich, dark voice, begins to
speak. “Generations upon generations ago,” he says, looking ahead at the road, tails still restless
between them, “there was a woman, a princess, set to take part in an arranged marriage. She already
had a secret lover, though, but when they tried to run away together, the prince, her husband to-be,
caught them and cut out her lover’s heart.”
The wind picks up. A chill runs through Jungkook and he reaches for Taehyung’s hand, who holds
him easily.
“The woman made a deal with Death,” Taehyung tells him, the empty sidewalk, the starless sky
above. “She would give up her own heart to save him. Impressed by her sacrifice, she was blessed
with immortality, but on one condition—” Taehyung squeezes his fingers, exhales harshly through
his nose. “She had to consume a heart every full moon to maintain her earthly form.”
Silence stretches between them, but Jungkook doesn’t feel like dissolving under it. “Have you ever
had a human’s heart before?”
Taehyung sucks in air. They walk for half a block before Taehyung speaks again, voice so weak
Jungkook can barely hear it over the sound of their footsteps “Yes.” Jungkook doesn’t say anything.
Taehyung licks his lips, like his mouth has gone dry. “I went… feral, not long after my shrine was
demolished.” Jungkook frowns. He didn’t know this. “I don’t remember much of what happened in
those months, but I remember this fury, eating away at my chest. I took several lives, all of them
terrible, vile people—” Taehyung’s breath shudders out of him. He closes his eyes but keeps
walking, trusting his feet, trusting Jungkook, to keep him moving forward. “But still, people. People
who deserved more than what I gave them.”
“This…” Jungkook has questions he’s not sure he deserves answers to. “Where was Jimin during
this?”
“By my side,” Taehyung says. The adoration in his voice is clear. Unwavering. “Always there when I
came back to myself. He kept me sane.” Taehyung opens his eyes. Looks up at the moon, bright over
their heads. “I gave him my bead, not longer after.”
“How did you meet the hyungs?”
Taehyung glances at him. His eyes sparkle under his lashes and Jungkook flushes all the way to his
fingers. Sometimes he forgets how beautiful Taehyung is. Sometimes he forgets that his beauty is
meant to tempt people to their graves. “An art museum, in the late twentieth century,” Taehyung
says, drawing Jungkook back in. “There was an exhibit of original illustrations from the era when I
was a child.” Taehyung chuckles, shaking his head. “Joonie-hyung was the chief curator. His dimples
were just as charming then as they are now.”
“And Jimin?”
Taehyung grins. “He was flirting with Jin-hyung at the bar.”
Jungkook snorts. “Of course he was.”
Taehyung gives their twined hands a tug and Jungkook steps in closer so their sides brush. One of
Taehyung’s tails wraps around his thigh. “It was fun. They were handsome. I wasn’t going to push
forward with anything, it’d just been Jimin and I for so many years…” Taehyung ducks his head, as
if suddenly shy. “But Jimin had a vision.”
“Of what?”
“Us,” Taehyung whispers, clenching Jungkook’s hand. “With them. Nothing concrete. He said it felt
like warmth, though.” Taehyung smiles to himself. “Like home.”
Jungkook’s chest aches. He forces a smile and tries to clear the clump of sadness from his throat.
“And now here you are.”
“Here I am,” Taehyung nods. He bites his bottom lip hard. “Jungkook-ah,” Taehyung says. He looks
up. Studies Jungkook’s face. Says, gently, with reverence, “You feel like warmth to me.”
Jungkook’s chest goes hollow. “Yeah. I’ve heard.” He kicks at the sidewalk with his sneaker.
Something inside churns in the space left behind by his organs. “I’ve got a warm soul.”
“You do, but I mean…” Taehyung stops walking, dragging Jungkook to a halt. Jungkook looks back
at him reluctantly and is startled by what he finds. Taehyung, wide-eyed, clutching Jungkook’s hand
close. Like he’s afraid Jungkook might be taken away from him again. All three of Taehyung’s tails
are now wrapped around his body, keeping him near. “Jungkookie,” he says, his voice cracking a
little. “Jungkook, you feel like home to me, too.”
Jungkook sniffs. Wipes his nose with the back of his hand. Taehyung makes a soft sound and draws
him in, folds him in close. Jungkook feels fingers in his hair, breath on his neck. “I love you,”
Taehyung tells him, their cheeks pressed together, Taehyung’s palm smoothing over his spine.
Jungkook sucks down a growing sob. “I love you,” Taehyung whispers. “I love you, I love you.”
“I think—” Jungkook feels heaviness build behind his eyes. He does his best to blink away the tears.
“I think that story about the princess is terrible.”
Taehyung snorts. “It is, isn’t it?” He shifts so he can see Jungkook’s face, which feels splotchy and
awful. Taehyung looks at him like he’s the most beautiful thing in the world, nothing but affection in
his eyes. “Shall I tell you another? A happier one?”
“Tell me about the hyungs,” Jungkook says, his breathing shaky. Taehyung wipes away the still
dribbling tears from his cheeks. “About the night you met.”
“Alright, Jungkookie.” Taehyung takes him by the hand and leads him down the sidewalk. Every
step eases the unbearable heaviness on his heart. “Anything you want.”
~~~
Seokjin only speaks of his past late at night after the others have returned to their rooms and
Jungkook’s eyes are blurry with sleep. Jungkook thinks it’s because Seokjin feels hidden like this,
wrapped in the darkness, comforted by the stillness, face pressed against the top of Jungkook’s head,
unable to be read.
Seokjin tells him of the battles he fought, the people he lost and those he stole away from others. He
speaks methodically, delicately, careful with the memories he chooses to share, as if they’re still
fresh wounds he’s afraid to spread open too far, as if one stray word might push Jungkook away.
“Hyung,” Jungkook says in a lull between Seokjin’s story, when Seokjin’s breathing sounds watered
down. “Jin-hyung,” Jungkook says again, quieter, and wriggles forward until his nose knocks against
Seokjin’s collar bone. He breathes deep, says, again, even gentler, “Seokjin-hyung.”
“You’re like a baby,” Seokjin snorts. His voice comes out strained and his hand finds the back of
Jungkook’s head to cradle.
Jungkook sighs as Seokjin tangles his fingers through his hair, tugging lightly. “I’m your baby,” he
mumbles and wriggles around. “Now hold me.”
“So needy.” Seokjin bites, but he strokes the tender skin of Jungkook’s neck, fingers trailing across
the breadth of his shoulders and down until they curl around his waist to pull him in flush. Jungkook
makes a small sound when Seokjin rolls to straddle him, hands slipping under the untucked hem of
Jungkook’s shirt to drag his nails across the bare skin there.
Jungkook shudders. “Hyung.” Seokjin only hums and tilts his head to trail his nose down the column
of Jungkook’s throat. “Jin-hyung.”
Seokjin lifts his gaze. Their eyes meet, and Jungkook catches his bottom lip, unsure if he should
share what’s on his mind. Seokjin looks down at him, gaze tender and filled with nothing but
warmth, so Jungkook presses his palms to the side of Seokjin’s cheeks. “Hyung,” he says softly and
uses his thumbs to stroke featherlight under Seokjin’s dark circles. “You can tell me every terrible
thing you have ever done and I am going to love you anyway.”
Seokjin’s skin is warm. He looks startled. His body is stiff, and when he tries to look away from the
earnest hold of Jungkook’s eyes, Jungkook doesn’t let him go. Breaths pass between them. In the
distance, an owl calls out. Feet patter past the cracked door but don’t slow down or stop.
Jungkook’s eyes flutter, limbs and lids heavy, but still he doesn’t let go.
“Jeon Jungkook,” Seokjin finally says, so quiet Jungkook almost misses it, so quiet his soul leans
forward to hear it. “I care for you more than you can possibly imagine.”
Jungkook drags Seokjin down hard enough that, when their mouths meet, there’s the sharp sting of
teeth against lips. Seokjin hisses and Jungkook swallows down the sound, whining low in his throat
until Seokjin slides his fingers into Jungkook’s hair and tugs. Jungkook stills, stomach tight, burning
from the inside out as Seokjin drags his hands down Jungkook’s throat, his chest, handling Jungkook
the way he does his sword—with practiced ease and careful reverence. Like he’s holding something
precious.
“My baby,” Seokjin says lowly and uses his grip on Jungkook’s hair to tilt his head to the side so he
can nip under Jungkook’s jaw. “My beautiful boy.”
“H-hyung,” Jungkook whimpers. His eyes are cloudy, head a haze of heat. It feels like sunshine is
about to burst from his throat when Seokjin comes back up to kiss him, open-mouthed and
wholehearted, whispering soft praises against skin, pressing all his weight down until Jungkook feels
like he just might be consumed.
“So pretty,” Seokjin groans, grip tightening in Jungkook’s hair, and Jungkook feels ice break into his
bones. He gasps and rocks to the side, but he’s still caged by Seokjin’s arms, pinned in place,
stomach roiling as fear washes over him.
“Jungkook.”
Jungkook flinches. Seokjin’s face, peering down at him, is broken. Before Jungkook can force down
another shaky breath, Seokjin’s already rocked back on his knees and crawled to the foot of the
futon. He kneels there watching Jungkook, devastated.
Jungkook just breathes. When he closes his eyes the darkness eats away at his lungs, so he keeps his
gaze trained on the ceiling, watching the circle of light the lamp casts across the beams as his chest
heaves and nausea threatens to rise.
“Jungkook-ah,” Seokjin says again, voice careful. “Talk to me.”
Jungkook rolls to his side. Hefts himself up with one arm. Manages to sit cross-legged. His head lolls
forward, too heavy to hold up, as if it might just roll off his shoulders into his lap.
“Jungkoo—”
“I’m fine,” Jungkook says, but his voice comes out tinny and strained. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
Jungkook drags his hands over his eyes. Everything aches. His arms are tingling, like they’re about
to go numb. “I don’t know what happened.”
“Did I—” Seokjin clears his throat. “Did I do something to make you uncomfortable?”
“No!” Jungkook shakes his head, face still hidden in his palms. “No, I—” He hesitates. There’s the
trace echo of nails scraping his scalp and Jungkook shudders at the lingering touch.
“Jungkook,” Seokjin says again, but his voice has taken on that lilting tone. Alluring and sweet.
Absolutely irresistible. “Tell me the truth, darling. What made you uncomfortable?”
Jungkook stills. His mouth answers before his brain does. “You called me pretty. You pulled my
hair. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t—I couldn’t do anything and I just—I got scared and—” Jungkook
bites his tongue. He looks up, eyes wide, alarmed by what he just shared. “Hyung, no, that’s not—”
Seokjin sits across from him, hands in his lap, resigned. It’s almost worse than the terror he wore
before. He sighs, says, “I’ll be right back.”
No noise, no flash. Just like on the bus, one blink he’s there, and the next Jungkook is looking
around, curled up on the futon, alone.
The sound that leaves Jungkook’s mouth is inhuman. His stomach lurches. Even the light doesn’t
keep the trickled scent of half-dead flowers from circling him.
Before Jungkook can full on sob, Seokjin is back, standing this time. Seokjin takes one look at him
and steps as if to pull him in to hold; he stops himself, though, hand fisting and dropping back to his
side. Jungkook’s lip trembles at the obvious rejection, and as he tries to find the right words to speak,
to make this okay, to make them okay again, the door to the bedroom is pushed open fully. Namjoon
and Yoongi step in looking sleep-rumpled and wary.
“I’m sorry for leaving you, Jungkook-ah,” Seokjin starts, and there’s no emotion in his always
expressive voice. “But it’s been a while since I’ve had this conversation, so I thought it’d be best to
have some of the others here to help navigate.”
Jungkook sniffs and wipes at his cheeks. “What? I don’t understand.”
“Boundaries,” Seokjin says. His hands are clenching, unclenching at his sides. “Limits.”
“You…” Uncomfortable understanding washes over Jungkook. His face warms. “You want to have
the sex talk? Now?”
Seokjin frowns. He’s rocking from foot to foot. “Seeing as I just caused you to have a panic attack,”
he says, voice going high, “ yes . Yes, we are having the sex talk. Now.”
“Hyung, that’s not—” Jungkook grips a fistful of hair and groans low. He’s so mortified he can
hardly speak. “I mean, yeah, we should have that talk sometime, but that’s not—” Jungkook digs the
heel of his palms into his eyes. “I didn’t have a panic attack.”
“What just happened, then?”
“I just…” Jungkook holds his breath, refusing to unfurl. What happened? What happened is that
Jungkook is apparently more of a fuck-up than he realized. What happened is that Jungkook, for once
in his, albeit short, life, is trying to open himself up to others; is trying to crack the lid of that box
that’s been housing his heart for so long that apparently, without him realizing, the bits of himself
inside have already gone rotten.
“Jungkook-ah,” Seokjin murmurs. Pauses. Says, softly, with all the weight of the world, “You told
me that I scared you.”
Jungkook looks up so quickly he might have scraped his cheek dragging his hands away from his
face. Seokjin’s eyes are wide and watery and a horrible ache blooms inside of Jungkook at the sight.
It feels like he just splintered a rib again, but before the sadness can overwhelm him and have him
crawling to his feet, anger at Seokjin’s words registers like a stab through the chest. Heat flares up
his neck. “ No ,” Jungkook snaps, incredulous. “You coerced me into saying something that I didn’t
understand and hadn’t processed through yet.” His words come out sharp and jagged, meant to cut.
“What happened to not using your voice on me?”
Seokjin, momentarily stunned, clenches his jaw. Doesn’t avert his gaze when he bites back, “Don’t
turn this around on me. You were unresponsive.”
“Maybe because normal people need more than ten seconds to think!”
“O-o-k-a-a-y,” Namjoon drawls, stepping into the space between them, as if he can become a living
divider. “Let’s take a moment to breathe, okay?”
“I don’t need to breathe,” Seokjin responds flatly.
“Whoopdy doo for you,” Jungkook mutters. Namjoon gives him a look that makes him feel small
and terrible and, also feeling potentially teary and completely mortified, Jungkook takes in a big
breath, releases it long and slow. He does this several times, just until his heartbeat is no longer
pulsing in his ears, and this time, when Namjoon asks what happened, Jungkook doesn’t feel like his
entire body is a band stretched too tight, ready to snap.
“Hyung and I were making out,” Jungkook sighs, wringing his hands together. “It was normal at
first, really good, but I got… Something scared me,” Jungkook tells them, confused. “It wasn’t—
Seokjin-hyung,” Jungkook starts, lifting his head to look Seokjin straight on. “You don’t scare me.”
Seokjin’s resolve visibly dissolves. His shoulders fall, and he takes two big strides forward and drops
to his knees to wrap Jungkook up in a hug.
“What was Jin doing when the panic started?” Yoongi asks, and Jungkook maneuvers so that his chin
is resting on Seokjin’s shoulder, arms around his waist, so he can look over at the others.
“He was on top of me, which was nice,” Jungkook says, voice almost a sigh. Seokjin’s rubbing his
back, just as he likes. “I liked the weight. But then he pulled on my hair and everything was really
hot and I just—” Something small inside of Jungkook crumples. He shudders. “I couldn’t breathe.
Got really cold.”
Yoongi and Namjoon look to each other at the same time, Namjoon’s brows raised, Yoongi’s
furrowed. “Sounds like we do need to have the sex talk,” Yoongi says without looking away.
Jungkook scowls. “I’m not twelve—”
“Jungkook,” Namjoon interjects, and it’s so rare that Namjoon speaks over someone that Jungkook
snaps his mouth shut. “You are now in a relationship with six people who all have various levels of
experience and comfort with sexual acts. Regardless of when it happens, we will be having a sex
talk, even if it’s to discuss how you don’t want to have sex.”
“But I do want to have sex,” Jungkook mumbles, cheeks warm. Seokjin snickers against his neck
and Jungkook whacks the top of his ass for it.
“Great to know,” Namjoon says, a smile in his voice. The air is no longer weighted, easier to breathe.
“But you just panicked while kissing, which means you’re not ready to move forward with more
intimate acts until we discuss what it is that made you uncomfortable and how to avoid it in the
future.”
Jungkook groans, drawn out and strangled. He burrows his nose in Seokjin’s neck and takes a long
breath. Seokjin doesn’t smell like anything special. Pear shampoo, a little bit of spice from some
deodorant. Jungkook wonders what Namjoon and Hoseok can smell on Seokjin, what scents his soul
carries.
“This has never happened before,” Jungkook mumbles, squeezing Seokjin tighter. Now that the
hysteria has faded, he feels boneless and exhausted. Seokjin’s rhythmic petting is about to put him to
sleep.
“You’ve never been in a situation like this before,” Seokjin hums beside his ear. “It’s
understandable.”
Jungkook grips the back of Seokjin’s shirt. “I’m sorry for scaring you, hyung.”
“I’m sorry for hurting you.”
“You didn’t— GAH!” Jungkook yells, making himself even smaller so he can tuck himself further
into Seokjin’s chest. “This is so frustrating. I literally want to feel you up, like, all the time. Why is
this happening?”
Seokjin is cackling again, shoulders jostling enough that Jungkook’s whole body shakes with him.
“Let’s talk about this later,” Yoongi says, voice near, and Jungkook hums low when he feels a hand
scratch over the crown of his head. “Maybe this weekend? And as a group? It’s late and you have
class in the morning.”
Jungkook makes a throaty noise of agreement, too tired to do much of anything else. Yoongi tugs on
his ear as he draws away, and Jungkook tilts his head into Namjoon’s palm when he comes close to
scent Jungkook’s jaw with the back of his hand.
“Sleep well, baby.”
Jungkook hears the door slide shut, and an unknown amount of time later Seokjin cradles the back of
his head and shifts so that he can rock them onto their sides. He maneuvers a bit more to get
Jungkook on top of his chest, hands loosely threaded over Jungkook’s waist, legs tangled and
indiscernible from each other.
“So,” Seokjin starts. “You want to feel me up all the time?”
Jungkook grins, nose scrunching. He pinches Seokjin’s side and snickers when Seokjin yelps. “You
know how gorgeous you are, hyung, stop fishing for compliments.”
Seokjin chuckles, hand tangling through Jungkook’s hair. They lay together for a long time, and
Jungkook is just about to drift when Seokjin, in a far-off voice, says lowly, as if he’s afraid of the
answer, “Promise you’ll tell me if I ever scare you?”
It’s not a command, but with the intensity of one, Jungkook presses his palm against Seokjin’s heart
and says, “I’ve never felt more safe than when I’m with you, hyung.”
~~~
They have the sex talk. Jungkook thinks it’s going to be an intense affair, but when he settles into his
seat at the dining table that following Saturday evening, Jimin comes through the living room a
minute later with a classroom sized whiteboard on wheels with a flow chart drawn on it.
Jungkook stares at the drawing of colored, overlapping circles, different terms and names written
with thought and intention in a small, tidy hand. Before Jungkook can ask what’s happening, Hoseok
steps through the doorway and hands Jungkook a black, three ring folder.
“A list of kinks,” he says as Jungkook flips open the cover, reading the confusion on Jungkook’s
brow. “Color-coded and organized by preference, most to least, with the hard-nos bolded in the
bottom right square.”
Jungkook blinks. He flips to the next page. The packet is placed in order by age, each page varying in
degrees of length and detail. “This is…” Jungkook doesn’t know if he should laugh or be impressed,
“very professional.”
“We have a lot of time on our hands,” Hoseok grins as he leans in to press a wet kiss to Jungkook’s
cheek. “Plus, I work in an archive. It’s kind of my job to organize information.”
“Go ahead and read through everything,” Jimin tells him, also leaning in to kiss his cheek. There’s a
little less spit this time, and Jimin nuzzles into him before pulling away. “Write down any questions
and concerns you have. There’s a template in the back for you to fill out, as well.”
“We supplied a list of preferences for you to checkmark,” Hoseok continues. “As well as some lines
for fill in the blanks, in case we missed anything.”
Jungkook looks down at the papers in his hands. “Is this… homework? Are you giving
me sex homework?”
“There are a lot of moving parts to take into consideration here,” Hoseok says.
“Many variables,” Jimin nods.
“So we’re starting from the foundation and will work our way up,” Hoseok grins. “Now start
reading. The others will join us in forty-five minutes.”
“I’ll bring you some tea,” Jimin chirps.
So Jungkook reads and sips on Jimin’s tea. It’s fruity today, iced for the weather and sweet on the
back of his tongue. Hoseok has supplied him with highlighters in case he wants to color-code his
notes, not that Jungkook has many. The information is well-arranged and straightforward, although
he does have to pull out his phone to naver a few of the terms on Taehyung’s sheet, and then quickly
clears his browser history with a flush.
The sheet and diagram are helpful. Not just because it’s easy to understand, but because it’s so
absurdly well put together that Jungkook, half-way through writing his list, just busts into laughter.
“You’re having too much fun in here,” Hoseok says, head poking through the kitchen doorway. “Did
you get to Taehyung’s list?”
“Just because I like to experiment doesn’t mean I deserve to be laughed at,” Taehyung’s voice comes
from the living room. Jungkook can hear the pout in it, and when Taehyung turns the corner, his
whole face is a frown.
Jungkook giggles and holds his arms out and Taehyung, visibly appeased, shuffles over to crawl into
his lap. He nails Jungkook in the groin and there’s a lot of maneuvering of limbs. Even when
Taehyung finally settles, the position still isn’t that comfortable because of their size similarities, but
Jungkook has felt so unrooted lately that Taehyung’s weight pinning him to the floor cushion is
welcomed.
Jungkook strokes a heavy palm down Taehyung’s back, sighing when Taehyung’s weight melts into
him further. “I wasn’t making fun,” Jungkook says as a film of warmth begins to settle over his
brain. “I was just really nervous about this, but you guys made it less scary and weird. It’s cool.”
“Told you the venn diagram wasn’t overkill,” Jimin jabs towards Hoseok, who only rolls his eyes as
he sets the table for dinner. Jungkook sniffs and smells garlic on the air. Rustling comes from the
kitchen, the sizzling of the stovetop. Jungkook hadn’t realized the others were home.
Taehyung’s humming low in his chest, cheek pressed to Jungkook’s throat. “Are you purring?”
Jungkook grins.
“Canines don’t purr,” Taehyung grumbles and inhales deeply. “You’re really warm,” he adds without
thought, nose dragging down Jungkook’s throat. He nips at Jungkook’s jaw and Jungkook’s chest
sparks.
Taehyung stills and repeats the action, the bite lingering this time, and Jungkook gasps at the heat
that spreads down his spine.
“Stop that.” Jungkook’s eyes flutter open. Seokjin is standing over them, hands on hips, looking
unimpressed. “We’re literally in the midst of a negotiation talk and you’re trying to devour
Jungkook.”
“He likes it,” Taehyung mumbles and licks across the mark he made. “I can smell it.”
“Yeah, hyung,” Jungkook grins, peering up at Seokjin from under his lashes. “I like it.”
Seokjin stares down at them, one brow quirked. “Jungkook-ah.”
“Yes, hyung?”
“Can you look at me, please?”
Jungkook pries his eyes open. He’s not sure why they keep shutting, why he feels like he’s drifting.
He squeezes Taehyung’s waist, holds him tighter. Taehyung holds him back.
“You marked ‘hair pulling’ as a yes,” Seokjin says, and Jungkook opens his eyes again. Seokjin is
holding his packet, pages flipped back to what must be Jungkook’s list.
“Because I like my hair being pulled,” Jungkook answers, humming low when Taehyung’s hands
slip under his shirt. “Why do you think I’ve grown it out so much?”
“But the other day—”
“I t old you, hyung,” Jungkook interjects, head falling forward so he can rest his chin on Taehyung’s
shoulder. Taehyung drags his nails down Jungkook’s spine, traces idle shapes over the space just
above his hips. “I don’t know why I reacted the way I did. Everything that you were doing I usually
am really into. I was really into it. And then I just…” Jungkook sighs with his whole body, “wasn’t.”
Seokjin doesn’t look appeased, but Jungkook will take slight skepticism over outright fear. “Hyung,”
he says gently, blinking slow. “Jin-hyung. C’mere.”
Seokjin’s brow furrows. He steps closer. Stoops down so they’re eye to eye, leaning in close, as if
Jungkook is about to share a secret with him.
“Every terrible thing,” Jungkook says, eyes roving Seokjin’s soft face. “Okay?”
Seokjin sucks in a breath. His eyes flicker, like sunlight catching on metal, and he closes the distance
between them to press his mouth to Jungkook’s. Jungkook opens up to him with ease, kissing him
deep, with intention, all the nerves in Jungkook’s body lighting up at the way they fit so wonderfully
together.
“Maybe we just moved too fast,” Seokjin says, barely pulling away.
“Maybe,” Jungkook murmurs, chasing after him.
“Maybe we can try again.”
Jungkook, mouth pressed to Seokjin’s cupid bow, sighs, “I would like that.”
“Are you guys gonna make out here?” Taehyung asks, voice pitched high and curious. “Right now?
With me in your lap?”
“Does someone feel lonely?” Seokjin teases, tilting his head so that he can press a delicate kiss to the
back of Taehyung’s neck.
Taehyung growls. The sound goes straight through Jungkook’s chest. “Don’t start something you
can’t finish, hyung.”
“Have I ever left you unfinished, sweetheart?”
Jungkook and Taehyung both make a soft sound of surprise, and Jungkook is struggling to get
Seokjin’s mouth back on him when, from the kitchen—“Seokjin, what are you doing?”
Yoongi’s hovering in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, expression knit with disapproval and
maybe a hint of amusement. Yoongi’s never truly upset with them. Jungkook could destroy his
eighty year-old record collection and Yoongi would still only give a little sigh and tell him it’s
alright. He’s soft, that way. Maybe too soft. Jungkook doesn’t know what he’d do with himself if he
ever disappointed Yoongi.
“Giving my boys some attention,” Seokjin answers sweetly, his knuckles finding the curve of
Jungkook’s cheek.
“Why don’t you return to the kitchen and give the bibimbap you were working on some attention.”
Taehyung snickers and Jungkook smiles squintily as Seokjin drags himself away with a sigh.
“Yoongi-yah just wants me all to himself,” Seokjin tells them, not even close to a whisper. “Don’t
you, Yoongichi?”
Yoongi blinks at him, turns heel, and walks through the door without a word. The back of his neck is
pink and Jungkook giggles and tips his face into the crook of Taehyung’s shoulder as Seokjin pads
back to the kitchen, shouting about how the vegetables should be ‘julienned to perfection, Kim
Namjoon, you’ve had five decades of practice ’.
There’s clatter and laughter and the air is filled with spice. Jungkook’s smile spreads as he nuzzles
further into Taehyung’s warmth, curling up against him, nearly toppling them both over.
Taehyung chuckles and sinks into the hold, fingers coming up to brush away the hair from
Jungkook’s neck so he can press his mouth to the juncture under Jungkook’s jaw. “You’re so sweet,
Kookie,” Taehyung says, canines grazing Jungkook’s throat, and the fuzzy feeling drains from
Jungkook’s limbs so fast his whole body seizes up.
Cold breath brushes Jungkook’s cheek. “You’re just a plaything for them,” he hears, low and lilting.
A finger drags under his chin, prickling like ice. “Food at best. Last I remember, that fox spirit needs
a heart?”
Jungkook gasps, coming back to himself. Taehyung’s still seated across his thighs, but he’s leaning
away, back pressed to the dining table to look at Jungkook, his brows drawn heavily together as he
takes in Jungkook’s face.
Jungkook’s hands, once holding him so gently, are now gripped around Taehyung’s throat.
“Jungkook,” Taehyung says, voice pitched low. Careful. The glow of the moment has drained away
and Taehyung’s pupils are slitted. Jungkook can feel the press of claws against his spine. Taehyung’s
ears, usually kept out of sight, are pressed down flat against his head. “Jungkookie, can you hear
me?”
Jungkook can’t move. Can’t speak. Can’t calm his racing heart. He only stares as blood begins to
pool under his nails. Crescent shaped moons.
“So sweet,” he hears against his ear. “So warm. Just a bite. I promise.”
Jungkook’s grip tightens and Taehyung’s breath hitches.
“Tae?” Jimin calls from the kitchen, sounding high and warbled. “Tae, are you okay?”
“I’m okay,” Taehyung responds, but his voice comes out strained as he drags his palms across
Jungkook’s sides only to place them over Jungkook’s trembling fingers. “Jungkookie,” Taehyung
says, his dark eyes shining and terrified and desperate to understand. “Jungkook-ah, can you hear
me?”
A hollow sound leaves Jungkook’s throat and Taehyung’s expression shatters.
Clicking claws, thudding feet. Namjoon bursts through the doorway. “Jungkook-ah,” he’s saying,
voice laced with panic. “Jungkook, are you okay?”
Jungkook can’t look away from Taehyung’s neck. Can’t bring himself to let go. The space around
him is swelling. There’s a dull ache in the back of his mind, a small heartbeat he can feel between
every ragged breath he draws in.
“Don’t worry, darling,” the voice croons, and Jungkook shudders when lips press to his cheek, the
corner of his mouth. His eyes flutter close. Someone, somewhere, is screaming. “It’ll be over
soon. Sleep now.”
Jungkook wakes with a gasp. His breathing is shaky, arms cold. Salty tears build behind his eyes and
he tosses himself onto his side and sobs.
He doesn’t know why he cries, but there’s this taste in the back of his throat, like burnt wood and
rotting flowers. Death, his mind whispers to him as he presses his chin to his chest, bones crackling,
stomach heaving. This is the taste of death.
Nausea creeps over him and Jungkook rolls to the side, expecting to find hardwood; instead his body
drops and he crashes to the floor, knees hitting hard, and Jungkook just curls in on himself and cries
harder.
A long time passes. Jungkook stays there, half tucked under the bed as he trembles and coughs. Even
after he’s done sucking down the sound of his sobs, the tears continue to dribble down his cheeks.
“Jungkook?”
Jungkook doesn’t say anything. He remains where he is, arms wrapped around his knees. Footsteps
move further into the room. “Jungkook-ah?”
A lamp flickers on. Jungkook flinches in on himself.
“Jungkook-ah,” Seokjin says, voice soft. “Jungkookie, can you hear me?”
Jungkook’s shoulders shake. He bites down hard on his bottom lip. Nods.
“Jungkook,” Seokjin says again. “Do you know who I am?”
Jungkook rolls over. Seokjin is crouched beside him, eyes misty and bloodshot, like he hasn’t slept in
days. He’s wearing one of Namjoon’s sweatshirts. The baby blue one, from the night of the party.
Jungkook closes his eyes. His head falls back against the floor. “Jin-hyung,” he says quietly, voice
hoarse. It hurts to speak. He’s so tired. Jungkook just wants to burrow under the bed and sleep for the
next year.
Jungkook can hear Seokjin breathe a heavy sigh through his nose. “Do you know where you are?”
Seokjin presses, and Jungkook opens his eyes to the raftered ceiling of the hanok. Just like every
other room, the walls are a creamy white. But this room is bare of ornamentals save for a glass case
hung by the door.
Inside rests a sword, gently curved, encased in a black and cream marbled sheath so sheer that
Jungkook can see the silhouette of the blade resting inside. There are two long, braided cords tied to
the hilt. They gleam golden in the lamplight.
It's the sword from the manor. The one used to cut off the shade’s hand.
It’s Seokjin’s sword.
It’s Seokjin.
“Beautiful,” Jungkook murmurs. “You’re so beautiful, hyung.”
When he shifts back to Seokjin, Seokjin is already taking Jungkook’s head in his hands, bending so
he can kiss Jungkook’s forehead. “Thank the heavens,” he whispers against Jungkook’s temple,
cradling him in close against his chest, fingers digging against his scalp. “My little one, my
Jungkook-ah.”
Jungkook feels as if he’s dissolving and then, just as quick, red hot horror creeps up his spine.
Jungkook doesn’t remember much, but he does remember Seokjin coaxing him to release Taehyung.
The blood under his nails when he finally pulled away, a puppet under Seokjin’s crooning control.
Jimin, hands pressed to Taehyung’s throat to heal the already blossoming bruises. He remembers red
crescent moons and a chill pooling so deep in the pit of his stomach it hurt to breathe.
He remembers the voice. The voice of a man. The familiarity of it and the press of a mouth against
his own.
What’s worse, though— worse than Taehyung’s blood on his hands and Seokjin’s voice in his head
and a stranger’s touch on his skin— is the memory of the others, their faces crippled with fear,
looking at him as if he was a stranger in their home.
Jungkook twists in on himself, not realizing he’s sobbing again, babbling out choked apologies, until
Seokjin’s hand on the back of his head grips tight to pull him in.
“It’s okay, Jungkook-ah,” Seokjin says. “It’s okay.”
“B-but Taehyung,” Jungkook chokes. “I-I hur-hurt Taehyung.”
“Taehyung is fine,” Seokjin reassures. “Everything is fine.”
Jungkook shakes his head because no, no, no . “It’s not,” Jungkook bites, and he tries to shuffle
away but Seokjin’s has one arm around his waist and the other folded up his back to cradle the back
of his head, keeping him close.
Jungkook knocks his forehead against Seokjin’s shoulder, too tired to hold himself together. “What’s
wrong with me?” Jungkook whispers, voice catching.
Seokjin’s chest rises with his sigh. “We’ll figure it out,” he says, but his voice is far-off. Uncertain.
Jungkook’s throat knots up, and even with Seokjin humming low beside his ear, Jungkook can feel a
familiar, creeping chill settle over his heart.
~~~
The others stop touching him.
Jungkook didn’t notice at first. Between classes and shifts and homework and meager social time
with Yugyeom and their group, his time at the hanok has been spread thin. But when he is there, or
when he’s out at a movie or grabbing a quick bite or grocery shopping for the week with one of the
hyungs, they keep a polite and intentional distance with him. No drawn-out hugs from Hoseok or
guiding hands against his lower back from Namjoon or playful fingers tracing lazy shapes against his
thigh from Jimin. Yoongi doesn’t hold his hand anymore. Seokjin doesn’t braid his hair. Taehyung
doesn’t tug on his ears or squeeze his cheeks or rub his belly.
They tiptoe around him. They never drift close. Conversation fades quickly. Jungkook wonders if
this is how Minah and the others feel. Present but not tangible. Of the world but not quite in it.
It’s as if they’re afraid of pushing him too far. Of frightening him.
It’s almost as if they’re frightened of him.
Chapter 8
In his second year of high school, Jungkook fell in love with a boy.
Minwoo wasn’t conventionally handsome, but he had this topsy turvy smile that was alarmingly
charming. Jungkook liked the way Minwoo carried himself around others, almost too large for some
of the spaces around him, filling every room he walked into. He was confident. Sure of himself. But
when Jungkook spoke, Minwoo always looked at him, listened, held his hand, leaned in close as if to
ask for more. And Jungkook had never experienced that before, someone who wanted him around,
wanted to hear what he had to say; someone who wanted him, just him — so Jungkook gave him
more.
And more.
And more.
And then, when Jungkook’s parents told him to leave and not come back, Jungkook went to
Minwoo’s apartment with a half-empty backpack and fifteen thousand won to his name and Minwoo
decided that, this time, Jungkook had given him too much to carry.
Jungkook slept in a park that night, and as he stretched himself out on a still sun-warmed bench,
Jungkook made a promise that he would never make the mistake of giving any part of himself away
like that to another person again.
He lived with that promise for three years. He got a part-time job and saved money by bumming on
friends’ couches and cots in community centers and occasionally an underpass in a park. He got a
scholarship and a damn good one at that. Got into school. Met people like Minwoo who looked at
him like he was something to use, something that could help them pass the time. Met people like
Yugyeom who would sit with him on the front steps of the library rubbing his back while Jungkook
cried into his backpack because his professor docked him five points on his sketchbook.
For three years Jungkook kept his head down. Now, he plays card games with ghosts every Tuesday
evening. Calls them out when they try to cheat. Now, he has an interview with one of the top design
studios in the city for a fall internship.
Now, Jungkook is planning a senior showcase. Candid snapshots into his life. Authentic, raw,
wandering, observational. Nothing but Jungkook and the world surrounding him except, as Jungkook
discovers late into the afternoon at a café a few blocks from school, the world surrounding him has
grown larger than he realized over the past several months. Larger than he ever anticipated.
Larger than he thinks he’s comfortable with.
Namjoon’s face stares back at him from his laptop screen. The photo was taken sometime in the
spring, film developed only a couple weeks ago. Black and white 35mm. Grainy with a high contrast.
Namjoon is shirtless, cheek pressed into the duvet of Hoseok’s futon, his light eyes shining with the
weight of the stars and crinkled at the corner from his smile, a deep shadow of a dimple resting in his
cheek.
Jungkook skips to the next photo. Taehyung in the studio, hair pinned back with a clip, hunched over
a restoration table as he completes the delicate process of separating a painting from the wooden
backing it was glued to over sixty years ago. His ears are out, black and and fuzzy atop his head,
light pouring in from the back window to cast him in perfect chiaroscuro.
Jungkook swallows thickly. Skips to the next photo: Jimin slow dancing with Hoseok in his dog form
in the kitchen, Hoseok’s paws on Jimin’s shoulders, Jimin’s head tossed back in laughter. Next:
Yoongi, hovering over a creekbed, hands shoved deep in his pockets and feet not touching the water,
looking up into the canopy of leaves overhead. Next: Seokjin with his sword in the yard. It was just a
couple weeks after they returned from the underworld. Jungkook sat on the stairs to the den entrance
with a cup of coffee in hand and watched as Seokjin worked on his forms. It was nearly a dance of
sorts, a mixture of quick steps and spins, blade spinning and thrusting in time with Seokjin’s
movements.
Jungkook only took one photo that morning, and what came out of it was something of terrifying
beauty.
“Hello. Do you mind if I join you?”
Jungkook startles and knocks an elbow against his drink glass. He catches it before it can wobble
over and spill across his history notes, and he looks up with flushed cheeks into the face of a boy so
handsome Jungkook’s breath catches in his throat, nearly choking him.
Jungkook, still gripping his coffee in two hands, glances around the café. It isn’t particularly packed.
In fact, he can spot a double seater in the far corner beside the register; but the boy standing at his
side has a gentle smile and upturned eyes, so Jungkook gives him a soft grin in return and gestures
for him to sit.
The boy’s smile widens. The right side of his mouth, only the right, dimples with it, and it’s even
deeper than Namjoon’s. “Thank you.”
Jungkook tries to go back to his slides, but the uncomfortable blanket of realization that fell over him
earlier isn’t sitting well. Instead, Jungkook searches for something else to draw his attention and
finds himself distracted by the boy in front of him.
He’s neat in his movements. Everything has a place: the iced coffee at his elbow, a gridded notepad
and black felt pen, a tablet that Jungkook might be able to afford in this lifetime if he sold a couple
organs. If Jungkook asked, Seokjin would grab Jungkook one on his way home tonight. Seokjin
would probably like that, Jungkook asking for something that isn’t groceries or new socks. At least,
he still thinks Seokjin would.
It’s been five days since he’s seen the others.
Dinner tonight? Jungkook had texted the group chat before he went into class. I can pick something
up?
Over his ninety minute modern art lecture, Jungkook received a string of responses, each more
disheartening than the last.
I have a night shift.
The new wing opens in three days and we’re still behind.
I’ve got a meeting, as well.
Deadline tomorrow, staying at the studio.
I’m setting up for a gig.
Namjoon hadn’t even bothered responding, so Jungkook turned his phone on silent and came to his
favorite coffee shop to eat half a tiramisu cake, on Seokjin.
Jungkook takes a sip of his latte. Catches sight of a drawing program pulled up on the stranger’s
tablet screen. “Are you an artist?” Jungkook blurts, cheeks warming when he realizes he just exposed
himself spying.
The boy looks up, raises an eyebrow expectantly. Jungkook’s neck is searing. “Animation student,”
the stranger corrects. His gaze drifts over Jungkook’s face as if he’s trying to remember something
and Jungkook notices that his eyes are dark and watery, the pupil indiscernible from the iris. “I attend
SNU.”
“Oh! I go to Chung-Ang,” Jungkook tells him. “Graphic design.”
The boy nods appreciatively, that dimple peeking out again. “A comrade in arms,” he says and holds
a hand over the table for Jungkook to take. “Pleasure to meet you…?”
“Jeon Jungkook,” Jungkook says, taking the boy’s hand. Gives it a firm shake. His skin is cool to the
touch, but Jungkook is always running warm these days. In the days leading up to the incident,
Jungkook started spending most of his nights at the hanok in Yoongi’s bed because he was the only
one who wouldn’t wake up in the early hours of the morning sweating around the collar.
“Yi Yunshin,” Yunshin grins, and there’s something unexpectedly sweet about it. Jungkook’s breath
flees him for a moment. “When were you born?”
Jungkook swallows and realizes he’s still holding this strange boy’s hand. “Ninety-seven,” Jungkook
says, pulling his hand back into his lap, clenching his fingers open and closed, rubbing his palm
along his thigh, trying to appear cool and collected and not like some kind of touch-starved, feral
street cat.
Yunshin’s eyes catch the light, making them spark. “Myself, as well.”
Jungkook doesn’t expect much more in lieu of conversation, but they start talking art. They talk
movies and music and anime and comics and games. Yunshin tells him where to find the best hotteok
this side of the river and Jungkook shares his favorite running trails. They don’t discuss family, or
work, or school, or what the future holds for them after graduation. Nothing of import. Jungkook
hasn’t spoken to a stranger so openly, with such familiarity, since the night of Halloween when he
was drunk off his ass and Namjoon was a warm weight in his lap.
Yunshin gets him another coffee. They stay late enough to order a light dinner. They’re in the midst
of sharing their favorite youtube streamers when one of the café workers politely tells them that the
shop is closing in ten minutes. Jungkook jolts and looks outside and sees the street washed in the
golden light of the now lit lamps.
When they get out on the road, Jungkook jiggles his leg, rocks from foot to foot. Yunshin’s taller
than him, but not by an obscene amount. Just enough that Jungkook has to tilt his chin to meet
Yunshin’s steady gaze. Fleetingly, Jungkook thinks this boy would be the perfect height to kiss.
“It was a pleasure to spend the afternoon with you, Jungkook,” Yunshin says, and Jungkook jolts,
heart in a frenzy. Why was he thinking about that? Where did that come from? Yunshin looks up at
the streetlamp buzzing overhead. He laughs quietly. “And the evening as well, it seems.”
“Yeah. Yes.” Jungkook’s whole body is buzzing. He needs to run. He needs to get this terrible,
nervous energy out of his body. Why did he just think that? “Sorry, if I, uhm, took up your time.”
Yunshin’s answering smile is brighter than the moon overhead. “I had fun,” he says, like Jungkook is
being silly. His dark eyes are soft and serious. Maybe a bit curious. Interested. He thinks Jungkook is
interesting. “Would you like to hang out again?”
No , is what Jungkook should say. Instead he’s already pulling out his phone, handing it over for
them to exchange numbers. They split ways there and then outside the coffee shop, headed in
opposite directions; but when Jungkook makes it to the end of the street and looks over his shoulder
before he turns the corner, he sees Yunshin doing the same a couple blocks down, smiling wide, teeth
so white they can be seen through the darkness.
~~~
After a four hour Overwatch campaign, Yugyeom twists on the sofa, places a hand on Jungkook’s
laptop, and shuts the lid without a word.
Jungkook yelps and pulls his fingers out of the way before they can get crushed. He’s got a biting
complaint ready on his tongue; but then he sees Yugyeom’s expression and sinks in on himself,
stifled.
“Have things been okay with you and the others?”
Jungkook’s nose wrinkles. “Why do you ask?”
Yugyeom frowns. He makes a motion, like he wants to roll his eyes, but he keeps his gaze set on
Jungkook instead. “Do I really need to say it?” He asks, and something about the way he does says it
makes Jungkook’s spine shrink and shrivel.
Jungkook grimaces. He squirms so he’s facing towards the TV again, but he can still feel Yugyeom
watching him. “Hasn’t stopped you before.”
“Well,” Yugyeom starts, “besides your positively charming attitude the past few weeks...”
Jungkook’s cheeks warm. He looks down at his hands. The tips of his fingers are bitten raw. “You’re
not eating, Jungkook.” Jungkook clenches his hands until his nails dig into his palms. “You’re not
working out. You’re putting off your school work.” Yugyeom hesitates. Says, with care, “Did they
do something to you, Kook-ah?”
“No,” Jungkook says, shaking his head quick. “No, of course not. They—” Jungkook uncurls his
hands. He’s left marks in his skin and he thinks of Taehyung, neck thick between his fingers and
bleeding red. “They didn’t do anything,” Jungkook whispers.
Yugyeom waits in that thoughtful way of his, and when Jungkook doesn’t say anything more,
doesn’t even try to keep the momentum going, Yugyeom asks, “Did someone else do something?”
Jungkook’s shoulders jerk. The back of his neck is so tight he can feel nausea curling up his throat.
“I’m not going to make you talk about it,” Yugyeom presses, and Jungkook takes a deep breath and
still refuses to look at him. “I can’t make you, actually. But you’ve never held back with me before,
so please don’t start now, ‘kay?”
Silence drops around them. Jungkook’s shorts are fraying where he’s continually tugged at the hem.
A door outside hits heavy against its frame, echoing down the hallway. Jungkook listens to the
muffled voices of their neighbors as they hold a conversation until they reach the stairwell.
Jungkook blinks. His eyes are blurring over with hot, angry tears.
“I was attacked,” Jungkook says quietly to his clasped hands. “By a man. Hyungs saved me before
anything could happen.”
The sofa shifts, like Yugyeom wants to move closer, pull Jungkook into a hug. Usually he wouldn’t
hesitate, but he must see something on Jungkook’s face that keeps him in place at the other end of the
sofa. Jungkook appreciates that. That Yugyeom wants to be near but knows it might not be what
Jungkook needs; except, Jungkook doesn’t really know what he needs. Not anymore. These days
he’s weightless, bones hollowed out, like one morning he might step outside and float right into the
sky, never to be seen again.
“You keep reliving it, don’t you?” Yugyeom asks.
Jungkook nods. His muscles are melting. There’s something kind of nice about the way Yugyeom
takes things so seriously. “Most of the time I’m great, but there are these moments, when the hyungs
are holding me, or they say something, I just—” Jungkook’s breath shudders out of him. He fists the
corner of a blanket in his hands. “I get so scared. I just—I just lose it.” Jungkook swallows down the
sob trying to crawl out of his throat. “I hurt Taehyung. I got so scared and I just—”
Yugyeom takes his hand, where it trembles on his thigh. Jungkook holds on to him hard enough it
must hurt. “I think you need to talk to someone, Kook.”
“I want to talk to the hyungs,” Jungkook says, his voice warbling out of him. “But I’m afraid if I
do…” Jungkook wipes his nose on his shoulder. “They’ll decide to just, I don’t know... Just let me
go.”
Yugyeom squeezes his fingers. “Is that fear or fact talking?”
“Well, it’s certainly a fact that no one in my life ever wants me,” Jungkook snaps, surprised by how
short he sounds.
Yugyeom looks nonplussed. He’s seen Jungkook through two-day all-nighters with nothing
supporting him but a grotesque amount of caffeine and sheer willpower. He has seen Jungkook in all
his most terrible forms. Nothing could probably scare him away, now. “Jungkook.” Yugyeom says
his name in a tone, like it’s enough to make Jungkook realize how ridiculous he’s being. Jungkook
wishes it were. “I’m sorry this happened to you,” Yugyeom continues. He rubs his thumb along
Jungkook’s wrist before twining their fingers together. “I’m sorry that you’re so scared. That you’ve
been handling it alone.”
Jungkook sniffles. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not,” Yugyeom says, simple and sure. “But you—” He pats Jungkook’s thigh. Gives him a
tender smile. “You’re going to be. Talk to your hyungs, and I’ll ask my professors for a good
counselor reference, okay?”
Jungkook’s breathing normally again. He gives a small nod. Says, in too small a voice, “What would
I do without you?”
“You’d make it on your own,” Yugyeom grins and knocks his shoulder hard enough for Jungkook to
tip onto his side.
Jungkook doesn’t budge where he’s fallen, cheek squished into the cushion. “But I don’t have to?”
He asks, eyes shifting to catch Yugyeom’s reaction.
Yugyeom taps his chin, pretending to think. Jungkook kicks his calf and Yugyeom snorts and leans
over so he’s lounging across Jungkook’s thighs. “Nah,” he breathes, wiggling to get comfortable. He
reaches for the remote on the back of the couch. “You don’t have to.”
~~~
Two days later, after a closing shift at the clinic, Jungkook makes the twenty minute trek to the
hanok. The evenings are growing cooler, and even though Jungkook doesn’t keep a brisk pace, he’s
still shed his flannel by the time he reaches the front gates.
The keypad is just for show. Jimin’s barrier allows him entry when it senses his soul and, although
Jungkook’s not sure how the magic works and realizes at a surface level that the gate isn’t some kind
of sentient being, he thanks the door and makes sure when he closes it behind him, he does so gently
and with a careful pat and soft thank you.
There’s a flurry of activity in the house, and Jungkook barely has both sneakers off before Namjoon
comes busting into the living room, halfway through pulling on a sweater, Hoseok on his heels with a
pair of sandals in hand. They both pause when they see him, conversation killed in action, and
Jungkook watches as Yoongi barrels into them from behind with a slew of curses on his tongue.
“Jungkook-ah?” Jungkook lifts a hand in greeting and Namjoon pulls his sweater down. Turns to
look at the others. Swivels back to Jungkook, befuddled. “We weren’t expecting you.” He sounds
almost guilty, like he would have put on tea or something.
“Oh. Yes.” Jungkook drops his arm. Curls and uncurls his socked toes. “I didn’t text the group.”
None of them move. They’re watching him in earnest. Waiting for something. “Sorry, I can—”
Jungkook jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “I can leave?”
“No, no.” Hoseok interjects. He shuffles forward, hovering several feet from Jungkook, like he’s not
sure how to navigate the conversation. “No, you’re welcome anytime, Kookie. It’s just we were on
our way out. Jin needs some help with…” His brow wrinkles. “Work.”
“Oh, that’s fine,” Jungkook says as the others draw closer. “Yeah, that’s okay. I’ll just get some
homework done.”
“We’ll be back late,” Namjoon tells him as he slips on his shoes. Jungkook steps into the living room
so they can move more freely in the entry. “You’re welcome to spend the night.”
“There are leftovers in the fridge,” Hoseok says.
“You can sleep in my room,” Yoongi adds.
Jungkook opens his mouth to speak but the words fall away. He gives a curt nod and Namjoon
straightens through the spine, nostrils flaring. He steps forward as if on instinct, hand raised like he’s
about to run his fingers through the loose curls at Jungkook’s cheek; instead he draws back without
touching. Gives Jungkook a forced, crafted smile. Not one dimple peeks through it.
Jungkook has to bite his lip to keep it from quivering.
He follows them out onto the front porch. Watches them go. Stays there, long after they’ve slipped
between the gates, out of sight. It’s only when the sun has settled and shadows creep into the
courtyard that Jungkook finally slips back into the empty house.
~~~
The others come home late enough to consider it early. They’re quiet, but Jungkook’s practiced
picking about their movements and listens in the lamp-lit darkness of Yoongi’s room as they patter
up and down the hall, getting ready for bed.
Jungkook waits for Yoongi to slip in. To hear his little grumbly sighs as he shuffles to the bed and
wriggles under the covers, never latching on to Jungkook, but drawing close enough to share his
heat.
Jungkook waits for two hours, and when morning light begins to peek between the cracks in the
window shade, Jungkook crawls out of bed, grabs his backpack, returns to the foyer to slip on his
shoes, and begins the journey back to his apartment. Alone.
~~~
“Everything alright in paradise?”
Jungkook shrugs, scratches his hand, uncomfortable. They’re playing Go tonight. Jungkook isn’t
especially good at it. He’s never been great when it comes to strategy, and the game is too abstract
for him to fully comprehend the rules. Minah scolded him when he just started placing stones at
random, but Jungkook doesn’t understand how the pieces connect, how living shapes are made, how
to defend his territory, what his territory even is .
Jungkook likes knitting more. It’s a thoughtless task. Just two needles and a ball of yarn and the
evening sun and nothing in his head except white noise and he still gets a scarf out of it.
“You here, kid?”
Jungkook hunches further over the board. “Why does everyone keep asking that?”
“Because Mr. Kim has been a little… on edge lately at meetings,” Minah says, as if she’s weighing
the words in her mouth before she shares them. Jungkook watches her place a black piece down.
Their numbers look even, but he can’t tell who’s winning. Minah says he needs to establish a
foothold in the corners. That he needs to invade her area. Gain some territory.
“Is he okay?” Jungkook asks.
“You would know that best, wouldn’t you?”
Jungkook frowns. Places a white stone at the tail end of one of his shapes. “We haven’t spent a lot of
time together lately.”
He hasn’t seen Seokjin in nearly two weeks. Not for real, at least. They ate dinner together a few
days ago. Or rather, Seokjin stopped in between meetings to make a plate and then took it back to his
room to eat while he prepped for another trip to wherever it is he goes with whoever it is he meets.
Minah doesn’t say anything. They place stones, back and forth and back, for several minutes.
Jungkook keeps getting curious looks from people passing by on the walking path on the other side
of the seating area, but it doesn’t unnerve him anymore. Hasn’t in a long time. When you live on the
streets, you get used to the way strangers look at you from the corner of their eye.
“The people who are meant to be in your life will find their way back to you in the end.”
Jungkook glances up. Minah isn’t looking at him. She’s picking at her nail beds, indifferent as can
be. “Wow,” Jungkook deadpans. “That was terrible.”
“I keep up with the dramas,” Minah shrugs, and Jungkook shakes his head but it doesn’t stop the
bubble of laughter that bursts out of him.
“Thanks, noona.”
“Don’t mention it, kid.” She glances up. Her eyes slit when she catches Jungkook’s shit-eating grin.
“For real. Don’t mention it. I have an image to uphold.”
“Alright, noona,” Jungkook sings as he places a white stone in the center of a group of black. He’s
not sure why he placed it there, but it kind of creates an inverted eye. Kinda creepy looking. His
fingers itch to reach for his camera and snap a picture.
Minah stares at the piece. “You just sacrificed your stone.”
“Oh.” Jungkook blinks at the board. “Is that bad?”
Minah looks like she’s calculating a very difficult math problem in her head. Which she might be.
She said Go is a tactical game, not one of chance. You have to learn how to read ahead, plan for
things before they happen.
Minah makes a disgruntled noise. “Most people don’t sacrifice, at least not like what you just did.
You can’t invade, but I can’t expand my territory on the board further.”
“Does that mean I win?”
Minah snorts at his enthusiasm. “Hell no. I’m still going to win. You’ve got a ton of dead shapes in
the works.” Minah tilts her head when she looks at him, her dark eyes shining, like she’s spotted
something confusing. A puzzle to place together. An equation to solve. “Just thought it was strange.
Makes sense, though.”
“That I made a weird move?”
“Yeah.” She sets down a black tile and then starts picking up Jungkook’s white stones, placing them
gently beside her elbow on the table. Jungkook’s nose wrinkles. “You seem like the sacrificial type.
I’ll train you on how to do it correctly next time.”
Jungkook watches the white pile up, then looks to his one blip of brightness in the dark void that is
now the board. Something warm flares up behind his ribcage and he smacks the table, rattling the
pieces and making Minah flinch. “Let’s start over. Will you teach me now?”
Minah recovers and gives him a wicked grin. “Settle in, kid,” she gleans as she wipes the board
clean. “I’m about to change your whole view of the world.”
~~~
The weight of a body hits him before the voice does, and Jungkook shrieks as his footing is knocked
out from under him. He stumbles, flails his arms out, gasps when two hands take him by the elbow
and tug him away from the road before he can fall completely.
A taxi speeds past where his body was leaning just a heartbeat ago. “Jungkook-ah!” Yunshin says,
drawing Jungkook’s gaze away from the street and his near death place. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean
to scare you.”
Yunshin’s face is a hodge-podge mixture of delighted worry. “It’s alright,” Jungkook tells him even
as his heart slides back down his throat. “But hi! Hey.” Jungkook scoops his backstrap strap up his
shoulder where it slipped from. “It’s been a while.”
“Lessons have been keeping me preoccupied,” Yunshin sighs, blowing the long bangs from his
forehead. His hair is just as dark as his eyes and falls like water back into his face. He huffs and
Jungkook reaches to brush the stray strands away from Yunshin’s temple, tuck them behind his ears.
Yunshin smiles at him, a small thing this time that makes Jungkook’s intestines twist, and he grasps
Jungkook’s wrist and tugs him forward to get moving, already going on about something that
happened in one of his classes. They talk for hours, just like they do every time they meet up, and
Jungkook is shoving his last spoonful of shaved ice into his mouth when Yunshin clears his throat
and says, “Jungkookie, would you like to join me and some friends tonight?” Jungkook looks over,
fighting to keep the ice cream from spilling out his mouth. “We’re going to a bar for dinner. ”
“Oh.” Yunshin’s eyes are wide and hopeful. He’s alarmingly charming. Powerfully, really. Like
Seokjin, but just with a bit less polish. “I’ll have to check with my hyungs,” Jungkook says, “but that
sounds like fun.”
“Wonderful!” Yunshin claps. He’s already backpedaling away. “I need to head out, but I’ll text you
the time and address?”
“Yeah.” Jungkook watches him go, an inky blot under the afternoon sun. “Yeah, that’s great.”
Yunshin winks at him. Salutes. Spins on his heel and disappears into the market crowds. The tips of
Jungkook’s fingers are cold. Something small inside his chest is buzzing.
Jungkook looks up and a pair of golden eyes are watching him through the mirror.
“HOLY—” Jungkook smacks his wrist against the wardrobe and hisses, clutching his hand to his
chest as the bone throbs. “Hyung,” he shrills over the sound of Hoseok’s cackling. “ Geez , way to
scare a guy.”
“Sorry, Jungkookie.” Hoseok’s smiling, but he doesn’t make any move to draw away from where
he’s leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest, hugging himself close. Jungkook
watches him for a long moment, waiting for Hoseok to say more; when he doesn’t, Jungkook purses
his lips and pulls out a thick silver ring from Jimin’s jewelry box, then reaches for one of Taehyung’s
necklaces.
Hoseok clears his throat. “I didn’t realize you had other plans tonight.”
Jungkook looks up briefly at Hoseok’s reflection, then drops his gaze back down to his own
fumbling hands. The metal clasp is small and delicate in his clumsy fingers. “I’m going out.”
“Clubbing?”
Hoseok sounds confused, not that Jungkook would put it past him. Yoongi isn’t playing until
Saturday and Jungkook hasn’t exactly been eager to insert himself into large dark rooms filled with
strangers as of late. Not that Jungkook’s been eager to do much of anything. He’s got an endless
stream of projects and papers and interview prep to complete. One of his professors keeps
mentioning grad school. Another has recommended him to an entertainment company. One says his
recent work has lacked heart. Confidence. Desire. Vision.
Jungkook shakes his head. “No. Just getting drinks with some new friends.” When Jungkook looks
up, Hoseok’s face is all pinched. “What?” Jungkook asks, turning completely so they’re not having a
conversation through a mirror. “What’s that face for?”
“Nothing,” Hoseok shrugs, still holding himself. “You just…” He shrugs again, shoulders small
under Namjoon’s hoodie. “You look nice.”
Jungkook’s forehead knits. “Am I not allowed to look nice?”
Hoseok’s face continues to fold in on itself. “No. You can do whatever you want with your body.”
Annoyance creeps up Jungkook’s spine. This is the first time they’ve spoken in days, not including
Hoseok’s sad attempt at small talk during dinner. “Then why do you look like you just ate a raw
egg?”
Hoseok’s mouth is a straight line. His foot is jumping up and down, shaking his whole leg. He shrugs
yet again. “Seeing my boyfriend dress up for other people makes me a bit jealous, I guess.”
Jungkook’s eyes go wide, his heart flushes. He ducks his head, fingers still messing with the lock.
He’s pleased by Hoseok’s words. Or at least, he should be. Jungkook doesn’t feel like much of a
boyfriend right now. To Hoseok, to any of them, and not for lack of trying on his part.
A feather light touch on his neck has Jungkook flinching. “Sorry,” Hoseok mumbles before
Jungkook’s chest can seize up, and Jungkook breathes hard through his nose as Hoseok reaches to
take the necklace from his hands. His fingers are thin and delicate, and Jungkook keeps still as
Hoseok slips the metal around his throat.
“There we go,” Hoseok says in a low voice, but even after he secures the clasp, he stays near.
Jungkook watches him through the mirror. Can see it coming, when Hoseok presses his palm against
the juncture of Jungkook’s shoulder and throat where a swatch of bare skin rests.
Jungkook shivers violently and Hoseok meets his gaze through the mirror. When Jungkook doesn’t
draw away, Hoseok leans in to place a kiss just under Jungkook’s jaw. “You should wear a choker,”
he murmurs, then drags a finger up to the sensitive spot behind Jungkook’s ear and scrapes a nail
there. “And a third set of hoops. They frame your face well.”
Jungkook hums. Holds his hand over Hoseok’s. Squeezes. “Thanks, hyung.”
Hoseok hesitates again, but he curls over Jungkook’s shoulder and gives him a sweet kiss on the
cheek. “I’m sure Yoongi would love to fix your hair. Want me to get him?”
Jungkook feels overcome. It’s such a simple notion, but the question, the attention, leaves a pressure
behind his eyes. “Yeah,” Jungkook nods. His nose scrunches with his grin. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
Yoongi is happy to curl his hair. He shuffles into the room, arms laden with spray bottles and a flat
iron. Jungkook sits on the floor, arms wrapped around his legs as Yoongi squeezes in behind him on
the bed. Hoseok stays to lounge on the rug at Jungkook’s feet, making idle conversation with Yoongi
about things he saw on the news, what his coworkers have been doing, how Yoongi’s newest album
is coming along.
(Jungkook doesn’t much like to recount his reaction when he discovered at dinner last month that
Yoongi is not only one of the most sought after DJs in the club scene, but that he’s also the stunning,
award-winning underground rapper Agust D. It was a rough and embarrassing ordeal.)
Hoseok plays with Jungkook’s toes. Traces the veins of Jungkook’s ankle, thumb stroking slow and
thoughtless as he and Yoongi chat. Jungkook’s eyes drift closed, and he nearly nods off to the sound
of their voices before Yoongi tugs on his ear and warns him that he’ll get burned if he falls asleep
like that.
It’s remarkably normal, and Jungkook feels like he’s stepped back in time when he walks into the
main room and sees Seokjin's head pop up over the back of the sofa. He looks sleep-ruffled and
warm. Dazed and squinty— like he’s looking into the sun, like Jungkook is a mirage of sorts and
can’t be trusted to be real. There’s a cooking competition playing on the television, and suddenly
Seokjin blinks hard, face now awake and alarmed as he sits up more fully to take Jungkook in from
head to toe.
"Jeon Jungkookie," Seokjin whistles, eyes dragging down Jungkook’s body in a way that makes him
squirm. A heartbeat passes and Jimin’s head pops into view to check what’s happening. His hair is
wild and his cheeks are flushed, and Jungkook comes to the mortifying realization that they weren’t
just dozing off while learning about caramel glazes for croqembouches.
Jimin catches his eye and smirks, then purposefully lifts a bare arm to drag a hand through Seokjin’s
wild hair, all while staring at Jungkook like he wants to eat him whole.
"You look ravishing, little one." Jungkook goes to fist the hem of his shirt and then remembers it's
tucked in for once. He was going to leave it loose, but Hoseok flicked the back of his neck and then
proceeded to shove the fabric down Jungkook's pants, so he fiddles with the edge of his pocket
instead, dragging his thumb in and out, unable to remain still under their hungry stares.
“Thank you,” Jungkook tells his feet, and Jungkook squeaks when a hand sneaks across his ass.
Seokjin straightens through the back at the sound, face shifting into protective concern, but Hoseok
just cackles and then guides Jungkook further into the room so he can give a slow spin. When he
comes to a stop, Hoseok’s hands on his hips, chin resting on Jungkook’s shoulder, Jungkook, for the
first time in many moons, feels blushy and jingly and warm. This is how it’s supposed to be. This is
how they are supposed to be.
Seokjin’s looking at him with something softer in his eyes. “Special occasion?” He asks. “Or did you
just want to impress us?”
Jungkook snorts. "Just dinner with some friends," he says, smiling when Hoseok’s arms wrap around
his stomach to hold. Jungkook sinks into the touch with ease and giggles when Hoseok starts rocking
them side to side, fingers curious as they smooth along the planes of Jungkook’s stomach and over
the thin fabric of his tee.
"What restaurant?" Jimin asks, fingers now twirling a lock of Seokjin’s hair.
"The Ballroom?" Jungkook says, and he feels it when Hoseok stiffens behind him. The softness in
Seokjin’s face is stripped away. “What?” Jungkook asks, going cold. “What’s wrong?
"Nothing's wrong," Seokjin says, but there’s no emotion in his voice. His eyes flash a steely gray.
"Hyung,” Jungkook says, and he pushes Hoseok’s arms off him so he has room to breathe. “You're
making a face."
"That's just the way my face is," Seokjin says. He cups his cheeks. Pouts prettily. "Isn't it beautiful."
Jungkook shakes his head. “Hyung. Please.”
Seokjin hesitates, like he's trying to find a way out of this conversation. Jungkook closes his eyes,
prepared to walk away, but then Seokjin clears his throat and says, "It's just coincidental, is all. That
is…” He pauses again. Holds a quick, silent conversation with Hoseok over Jungkook’s head. “Quite
a magical part of the city."
Jungkook’s breath flees. “Is it dangerous?”
“Not any more than the human neighborhoods of Seoul,” Hoseok tells him from behind, and when
Jungkook feels pressure against his shoulder, he skirts away on instinct. Jimin’s face is droopy and
sad. Jungkook doesn’t want to think about what Hoseok must look like. He reaches back blindly and
his shoulders relax when Hoseok takes his hand to hold.
Jungkook looks to Seokjin again. “Should I go?”
Seokjin’s face scrunches. “You don’t have to ask for permission, Kook-ah.”
“I know, I know,” Jungkook says, rocking on his heels. “It’s just…” Jungkook fumbles the words on
his tongue. It’s strange to be talking about this with them. It’s strange to think it’s strange that he
couldn’t talk about this with them. “Things have just been weird and all.”
Hoseok tugs on his fingers and Jungkook looks over his shoulder. “Do you not feel safe going out,
Kookie?”
“I don’t feel safe ever, hyung.” Hoseok is stricken. Jimin makes a wounded noise behind him.
“Sorry, that’s not—” Regret rolls through Jungkook in waves. He shouldn’t have said anything. He
should have pretended everything was okay. It was going so well, they were doing so well. “It’s just
weird, now,” he says, not looking at anyone, gaze finding his feet. “Like, I didn’t used to worry about
walking alone at night and now I’m always looking over my shoulder.”
“Why didn’t you tell us you were feeling this way?” Jimin asks.
Jungkook stands there, heart pounding in his ears. Why didn’t he tell them? Because they never gave
him the chance to? Because each time he meets one of their eyes they look away like they’re
ashamed? Because every time he opens up to them they promise it’ll be the last time they pull away
and then they just abandon him all over again?
Because if he shares one more thing, just the smallest of details, they’ll decide he’s given them too
much to carry this time. It’ll be the end. For real.
Hoseok’s finger brushes the skin of his inner wrist and Jungkook flinches, the touch starling him.
Hoseok takes a step away. Lets him go. Jungkook’s heart twists, lost.
“I can drop you off?” Seokjin offers, drawing Jungkook’s attention away from Hoseok. “Pick you
up?”
“I—” Jungkook looks to Hoseok, who is watching the TV, terrifyingly still. “I don’t—I don’t want to
be a bother,” he tells Seokjin, looking back and forth between each of them. His panic has turned to
buzzing, filling his whole chest.
“You will never be a bother, darling.” Seokjin’s already on his feet. He’s not wearing a shirt, and
Jungkook stares at the muscles in his shoulders, his back. Jungkook has such a strong urge to reach
out and run his fingers over the bare skin that it scares him. What if Seokjin never lets Jungkook
touch him again? How is Jungkook ever going to catch up to the way they handle each other—their
bodies, their emotions, their hurts—with such ease?
Jungkook goes outside and waits by the car. He can’t be in the house anymore. Can’t have Jimin and
Hoseok and Yoongi all side-eying him like he’s about to dissolve into the floorboards. Seokjin joins
him not long after, dressed in loose jeans and a purple tee. He looks cozy and big, and Jungkook
turns and slides into his seat before he tries to pull Seokjin into a hug.
It’s a half-hour drive into town. Jungkook watches Seokjin in the mirror for most of it and, as though
sensing it, Seokjin glances up and winks at him through the glass.
Jungkook warms and looks down to his hands where they’re twisted in his lap. Seokjin doesn’t say
anything, but something about his quiet watchfulness always makes Jungkook talk.
“I, uhm, I talked to Yugyeom.”
Seokjin glances over at him, then looks forward back to the road. “About?”
“What happened with me,” Jungkook answers before the words can retreat back into his body. “No
details or anything that could expose you guys,” he continues, fiddling with the seam of the seat
cushion, “but he suggested I talk to someone.” Jungkook fiddles his foot. “A professional.”
Seokjin nods appreciatively. “I think that would be good, Jungkook-ah.” He weighs his next words
with care. Jungkook can see him turning them over. “I think it would help you process some of the
stuff that’s been going on.”
That’s what Jungkook thought, too. The lady he saw was nice and well-educated and spoke to him
warmly, but there’s only so much you can share about getting assaulted and kidnapped to the
underworld by an evil shadow spirit that then tried to eat his soul without getting thrown in a padded
room.
“I, uhm. I already went to see them,” Jungkook tells the passing pedestrians through the window. He
can feel Seokjin watching him and refuses to turn around. “It didn’t go very well,” Jungkook says
with a wry smile. “Hard to talk about almost getting eaten by an evil spirit without getting admitted
or, like, medicated, y’know?”
Seokjin hums low in his throat. When Jungkook looks over, his hands are loose on the wheel but his
jaw is clenched. Jungkook wants to reach out, brush his fingers across the tense muscle.
“Why don’t we ask around?” Seokjin says suddenly, and Jungkook’s heart flushes and he looks back
out the window. “I’m sure there’s someone in the spirit community who could help.”
Jungkook draws a knee up to his chest. “Okay,” he says quietly. “Thanks, hyung.”
The rest of the drive is quiet. Not uncomfortably, so, just unusual. Seokjin is always talking or
humming or singing or drumming his fingers. It’s strange to be around him when he’s so still.
“Hyung?” Seokjin puts the car into park. Down the block, visible from the road, is the name of the
bar in bright white marquee lights. It looks like a swanky place. There’s a queue down the sidewalk,
out of sight around the corner. “Hyung,” Jungkook says again. “Are we okay?”
Seokjin swallows thickly, loud enough to be heard over the sounds of downtown moving around
them. “Of course we are.”
Jungkook looks up from under his lashes and watches as Seokjin’s face splits down the middle,
devastated. Jungkook can’t handle that expression, pressure already building behind his eyes, and
he’s made it ten steps into the road before a hand loops around his waist and pulls him back.
Jungkook isn’t given enough time to be scared. Seokjin back pedals so they’re standing next to the
car again, holding Jungkook’s face in his hands, thumbs stroking the top of Jungkook’s cheekbones.
“My little one,” Seokjin murmurs. Jungkook’s lashes flutter as Seokjin leans in to press their
foreheads together. “My little love.”
Jungkook sniffles and Seokjin presses Jungkook’s face into his shoulder and holds him there, rocking
them. Jungkook clutches at the loose fabric of Seokjin’s tee.
“We’re going to be okay,” Seokjin whispers, giving Jungkook a squeeze. Jungkook sucks up snot
before it can drip on Seokjin’s shirt. “We’re always going to be okay.”
Jungkook nods and coughs. Wipes his nose on Seokjin’s shoulder anyway. Seokjin doesn’t even give
him shit for it. Instead he pushes Jungkook away with a hand on each shoulder, just enough to give
them space to see each other’s faces.
Seokjin clicks his tongue and begins fixing loose strands of hair, sweeping under Jungkook’s eye
with his thumb, wiping some of the snot from Jungkook’s upper lip with his bare hand. Jungkook
grimaces and then giggles. The sound is watery but happy and it makes Seokjin’s eyes spark.
“Now.” Seokjin claps his hands together, backing away from Jungkook. “Let me look at you some
more.”
Jungkook strikes an obnoxious pose, arm up and hip out. “Like what you see?”
Seokjin hums. Signals for Jungkook to turn. Jungkook spins on his heels, slowly, to give Seokjin a
full view. “Why don’t you dress up when we go out?”
“I can’t start,” Jungkook says, coming to a stop. “If you’d like.”
Seokjin seems to think it over, chin in hand, arm crossed under one elbow. “No,” he finally settles
on. “I like my fluffy, shapeless, cryptid Jungkookie the most.” Seokjin chuckles when Jungkook
smacks his chest, giving him a small shove. “Although…” Seokjin shifts forward, one hand finding
Jungkook’s waist, the other landing on the front of his leg. Seokjin doesn’t look away, doesn’t press
until Jungkook gives the barest of nods. Seokjin smiles at him, a soft thing, and rubs small,
meandering shapes into the meat of Jungkook’s side. Lets his fingers drag up the outside of
Jungkook’s thigh. “This is a nice reminder that you do in fact have legs.”
Jungkook pulls him in and kisses him, with teeth against lips, because he’s still a little upset. Seokjin
takes it with ease and circles his arms around Jungkook’s waist and clutches him close, kisses him
back, deep and languid and with everything he has to give.
“Call me,” Seokjin says when they part, his voice shivering in the air between them. “Call me and
I’ll come to you. Okay?”
“Kay,” Jungkook nods and Seokjin knocks their foreheads together. Slaps Jungkook’s ass. Kisses
him one more time before he draws back and returns to the car.
Jungkook presses the pad of a pointer finger to his tingling lips. Grins like an idiot. A moon-eyed
fool. Seokjin adores him. Still. They all do. They must. Maybe, after tonight, in the morning at
breakfast, they can all sit down and talk this, them out, once and for all.
~~~
Jungkook spends most of the night at the bar with Yushin, tossing back shots and quick quips,
listening intently to Yushin’s harrowing stories from growing up with an obscene amount of wealth.
Yushin makes it seem both fantastical and completely mundane at the same time, almost like he was
simply an observer in his own life events; but Jungkook can pick up on the sorrow, the longing, in
his words. It’s strange and unnerving, how much they have in common yet are so completely set
apart.
Jungkook also meets Yushin’s friends, a group of eclectic college students with various backgrounds
and degrees. The aura that surrounds the group is unlike anything Jungkook has been immersed in
before, but he finds himself falling easily into their pace, cracking jokes and dishing out drinking
punishments, bonding over similar experiences with professors.
The Ballroom isn’t a club, but there is a dance floor, and Jungkook discovers late into the evening
that Yushin dances like Jimin, all smooth lines and rolling muscle, like he’s had years to learn his
body. There’s a grace to him that’s familiar, other-worldly, and when he tugs Jungkook in by the
strap of his belt, Jungkook falls into his rhythm with ease. The ebb and flow of hips against his own,
large hands spread across his stomach, cool breath against his neck.
When they stumble out into the road a handful of hours later, Jungkook feels smeary inside. Yushin
is leaning into him, laughing against his ear, and Jungkook looks up and takes a second too long to
realize there’s no moon in the sky watching over him tonight.
Jungkook shakes his head. His brain feels tossed around. He doesn’t remember drinking that much,
not enough to leave him tripping over his thoughts, his feet. “I have to get home,” Jungkook tells the
sky, and Yushin offers to walk him back to his dorm. “No,” Jungkook says, already moving. “No, I
need to go home, home.”
So Yushin calls him a cab. Tells Jungkook to text him when he gets settled in bed, so that he knows
Jungkook is safe. Jungkook smiles at him and thanks him for the night out and accepts Yushin’s hug
goodbye with open arms.
Yushin wraps him up tightly and Jungkook melts into the hold. His stomach feels too warm and
Jungkook thinks, not for the first time that night, how uncomplicated things are with Yushin. How
easy it would be to go home with him.
Jungkook flushes and draws away, a sputtered goodbye on his tongue as he slides into the car.
He has the cab drop him off fifteen minutes later. The air is stale and his lungs are stifled. He needs
to walk, needs to move. He needs to do something else. Something important, but he can’t remember
what it is so he just walks. At some point his legs fold beneath him, and Jungkook sinks to his knees
and just rests in the middle of a side road for a bit. Looks up. No stars tonight, either.
When Jungkook comes back to himself, he’s standing barefoot on the hardwood of the foyer. He
sniffs. It smells like pine and oranges and beer, although the beer is most definitely him. Maybe he
should bathe. Namjoon’s nose is so sensitive and Hoseok is always complaining when the laundry
doesn’t get done on time because he can smell it through the whole house.
The light is on under Yoongi’s door. So is Seokjin’s. Seokjin. Seokjin told him to do something, but
Jungkook can’t remember what it is, so he passes both them by and nudges open the screen to the
room at the end. The first room he spent the night in, in this place, with the first person who made
him feel like maybe, just maybe, there were good things waiting out there for Jungkook. Good
people.
Namjoon makes a low, gravelly sound in the back of his throat when Jungkook drops onto him
unceremoniously. Jungkook wiggles, thighs spread wide over Namjoon’s hips, and he doesn’t still
until hands grip his waist and squeeze.
Namjoon hums. “Welcome home, baby,” he mumbles, sleep-addled and cuddly as he splays a palm
across Jungkook’s shoulder blades and pushes down. Jungkook sinks against him with a sigh, makes
a small sound when Namjoon noses underneath his jaw. Scent-marking, is what they told him. We
like when you smell like us.
It’s possessive. Jungkook can’t smell anything other than the lingering trace of spearmint toothpaste
and Namjoon’s cologne and the remnants of the bar, but he likes the action of scenting. The warmth
it brings to his chest. Makes him feel bright and shining. Relaxed. Safe.
Namjoon tenses under him and Jungkook groans, fisting a hand at the back of Namjoon’s neck to
draw his face in close again, urging him to continue; but Namjoon’s hand comes up behind his head
and holds him still. Jungkook can hear him take a huge breath.
“You smell cold,” Namjoon says, confused, sounding much more awake. He’s pushing against
Jungkook’s shoulder, pushing him away, and Jungkook can’t have that. Not now. Not again.
Jungkook shifts so he can place an elbow on either side of Namjoon’s head. Namjoon blinks up at
him, dazed but coming back to himself. “You should warm me up then, hyung.” Namjoon opens his
mouth to speak and Jungkook sinks down fast to kiss him hard on the mouth.
Namjoon makes a startled sound but still kisses him back. He’s sweet, though, just little presses and
pecks, using his chin to guide Jungkook with a practiced ease that has Jungkook growing restless.
Jungkook growls. Opens his mouth. Catches Namjoon’s fat bottom lip between his teeth and sucks.
Namjoon jerks and Jungkook pins him down with his legs, swallowing down the groan Namjoon
makes when their hips grind together.
“Jun-Jungkook,” Namjoon gasps. He tilts his head to break away and Jungkook nips at his jaw, his
throat— begins to suck at the spot behind his ear that Hoseok will press and rub when the two of
them are cuddling on the couch. The spot that makes Namjoon melt.
Namjoon’s breath hitches, and then he stops breathing altogether when Jungkook rolls his hips down,
again and again, getting into a rhythm just as two palms settle on the dip of his stomach and shove.
Jungkook wheezes, all the air pushing out in a gust. Namjoon looks up at him, eyes so blue they
almost glow in the moonlight. “Jungkook.” Jungkook blinks. He watches as Namjoon’s mouth
moves, slick with split and bitten red. “Jungkook, what are you doing?”
Jungkook slides his hand up Namjoon’s bare chest. His skin is cool under Jungkook’s palm and that
should be weird because Namjoon always runs warmer than him but all Jungkook can focus on is
touching, tasting. “I’m seducing you.” Jungkook tells him, already ducking back in. “ Duh .”
Jungkook tries to kiss Namjoon again, but Namjoon holds him back without any effort. Keeps a hand
pressed over Jungkook’s, right over Namjoon’s heart. It beats slower than a human’s, enough that it
would alarm someone who didn’t know who he was, what he is, but it grounds Jungkook. The fuzz
behind his eyes is falling away.
“Jungkook,” Namjoon says. “Kookie, you’re drunk.”
“You love when I’m drunk,” Jungkook hears himself say, eyes still set on their clasped hands, then
jumps up to Namjoon’s face. “You say I’m cuter.”
Namjoon’s expression is dark and terrible. Jungkook’s spine feels like it’s splitting down the middle.
Namjoon’s never looked at him like this before. “Jungkook, I am not going to sleep with you right
now.”
Jungkook stills. The sweat is cooling on his body, leaving him sticky and shivering. Namjoon doesn’t
look away from him and Jungkook, not for the first time, remembers just how young he is to them.
“Yeah, well—” Jungkook tugs his hand away and pushes himself into a sitting position so he has
more height, thighs still spread across Namjoon’s thick waist. “None of you are going to sleep with
me ever at this rate,” Jungkook snaps.
Namjoon’s eyes narrow. “That’s because we still haven’t talked about it yet.”
“Yeah,” Jungkook bites back. “And no one’s tried to bring it up again. No one’s brought up anythin.”
Namjoon opens his mouth to say something and Jungkook snarls. “I tried to kill Taehyung.”
Whatever Namjoon was going to say falls away. “Jungkook.” Namjoon sits up on one elbow. “Baby,
you didn’t try to kill hi—”
“You don’t know that.”
Namjoon’s chest rises, falls. They’re quiet for a while, the only sounds filling the room the whir of
the fan overhead and the distant sound of conversation in the room next door. Namjoon’s breathing,
steady and even. Jungkook’s, labored and growing shorter and shorter with each passing second.
“Why has no one brought it up?” Jungkook forces out of his clogged windpipe. “You all just tiptoe
around me, keeping me at arm’s length, afraid to set me off or something.” Jungkook falls forward,
forcing Namjoon onto his back. He rests his palms on either side of Namjoon’s head. “Are you afraid
of me, hyung?”
Namjoon blinks up at him, expression barely visible in the washed-out blue of the light from the
window, but Jungkook knows he isn’t frightened. “No.”
“Then why won’t you touch me?”
Namjoon’s hand comes up. He trails his fingertips gently down the side of Jungkook’s face, thumb
tracing the curve of his bottom lip. Jungkook swallows. His lashes are wet.
“I thought you trusted me,” Jungkook whispers. “I thought we agreed on no more secrets.”
Namjoon’s knuckles stroke along the line of his jaw, but he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t do
anything except hold Jungkook like he’s something delicate and unhinged.
Jungkook pushes himself up. “I’m going home.”
“Jungkook.” Namjoon’s hand finds his wrist and Jungkook throws him off. “Jungkook, please,
you’re drunk. Stay the night.”
“I’d rather sleep in my own bed, thanks.”
Jungkook pushes the door open hard enough it rattles into the wall, but he doesn’t stop moving,
doesn’t care about how much noise he’s making. Let them hear. Let them know he’s here, right here.
Let them know how much he hurts. How his anger could blow the glass out of the windows, how his
sadness could fill the room until every living thing in it drowns.
“Jungkookie?” Jungkook breezes through the living room without slowing down. “When did you
get—Jungkook-ah?”
Jungkook makes it to the entry. Grabs his boots. He doesn’t even bother slipping them on before he’s
walking out the front door. The pebbles of the front walk are smooth under his socked feet, and he
barely makes it to the yard before a shadow slinks into the path in front of him.
Jungkook stumbles. His arms go cold, cramped. He opens his mouth to shout and—
“Jeon Jungkook.”
Jungkook reels around. Seokjin is standing in the light of the doorway, hair a mess and pajama top
ruffled and drooping off one shoulder. Yoongi stands behind him at his side like a second in
command, eyes so dark they don’t reflect any porchlight..
“Hyung,” Jungkook says, not sure what else to do.
“I told you to call,” Seokjin says and Jungkook thinks, ah yes, how could I have forgotten? “Are you
leaving?”
Voices come from the living room beyond, but Jungkook can’t make the words out. “I’m obviously
not wanted here.”
Seokjin frowns. “Jungkook, what are you talking about?” Jungkook shrugs. Adjusts his grip on his
shoes. The night wind shifts his hair and shirt, both damp with sweat. A shiver goes all the way down
his spine and Seokjin’s brows turn down.
Jungkook can hear it, when his voice takes on that sweet tone.
“Why don’t you come back—?”
“Stop it!” Jungkook yells, throwing his boots down. He wants to sob, but instead he shouts, the fury
roiling up from somewhere deep inside. “I swear to god if you try to use your fucking voice on me—
”
“Whoah,” Yoongi interjects, pushing an arm in front of Seokjin to separate them, like he thinks a
physical fight might actually break out. “Hold on, Jungkook, what the hell has gotten into you?”
Yoongi sniffs the air and grimaces. “How much did you drink?”
“Enough,” Jungkook bites. “And I was in a good mood before Namjoon kicked me out of his bed and
Seokjin tried to coerce me into stayin—”
“Watch it, Jungkook,” Seokjin interrupts. His face is torn, like he doesn’t know if he wants to be
angry or worried. “Before you say something you regret.”
Jungkook laughs and it’s an awful sound that makes them both recoil. “I wouldn’t be the only one
regretting something, would I?”
Seokjin’s frown deepens. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, please.” Jungkook rolls his eyes. The words just keep falling out of him without his permission.
He knows he’s being horrible but he just. Can’t. Stop. “Don’t treat me like a child. I know you guys
are just trying to think of a way to dump me.”
Jungkook flinches when a crash of lightning splits the sky above.
“Yoongi,” Seokjin says, and Yoongi mumbles something under his breath. His shoulders lift with a
deep breath, and when he lets it go, the wind around them fades to stillness. “Let’s wake everyone,”
Seokjin tells the night, already turning to slip back inside. “We’re having a family meeting.”
Chapter 9
Hoseok tries to guide Jungkook to the sofa where Jimin and Taehyung are curled up and waiting, but
Jungkook shrugs him off and goes to stand near the kitchen doorway instead, arms wrapped tightly
around his knotting stomach, holding himself close, together.
“Talk,” Seokjin says when everyone has settled. He’s leaning against the wall opposite, arms crossed
against his chest. His expression is unreadable. “Now, please.”
Jungkook’s face aches. Pressure is building at the back of his neck. “Oh, so now you guys wanna
talk,” Jungkook snaps. His voice is jagged, words meant to cut, and Jimin flinches at the short tone.
“Maybe we should do this in the morn—”
“He’s not that drunk,” Seokjin interrupts, still staring Jungkook down. Jungkook ducks his head. He
can’t see Seokjin like this. Not when Seokjin is looking at him like he’s a stranger who has broken
into their home. “Jungkook,” Seokjin presses, and Jungkook fists his hands into his shirt sleeves and
holds tight. “You’re an adult, so please act like one.”
Jungkook stands there, hugging himself hard. Seokjin’s right. He’s not that drunk, not anymore.
Their expressions have made his insides dry up and curl in on themselves. Even the smeary mess that
was his mind earlier is better than being lucid for how they’re looking at him now.
Namjoon’s sitting on the arm of the recliner, shoulders hunched and sunken in. His eyes are sad. Like
this is all his fault. Jungkook feels his ribs splinter and Namjoon flinches. Does that thing where he
looks as if he’s going to drag Jungkook into his chest and then just… doesn’t.
Jungkook sniffs. Presses down on his lips. If he opens his mouth now the only thing that will come
out is a sob.
Namjoon shifts, straightening through the spine, and Jungkook realizes that he and Hoseok can
probably sense him. Can, and have, felt every terrible thing that’s passed through his chest these past
weeks and never did anything about it. “Baby,” Namjoon says softly, not a hint of grievance in his
voice, and the fire in Jungkook flares up for one fleeting second because how dare Namjoon be soft
with him when he’s had dozens of chances to talk to him, to hold him?
Jungkook bites his bottom lip between his teeth. Digs his fingers into his sides until he can feel each
individual press of a nail. He wants to hold on to this fire, this anger, but it’s so late and he’s so tired.
The fuzzed-over feeling in his brain has faded into an aching pulse.
It’s so lonely, being mad at people.
“Do you want to break up with me?” Jungkook blurts, the words tumbling together in such a way
he’s afraid he might have to repeat himself to be understood.
He won’t have to. Taehyung makes a wounded sound. Jimin’s face crumples with despair.
“Because if you do,” Jungkook says, looking down at the ground, unable to take in their devastated
expressions, “just-just—” Jungkook sucks down a sob and covers his eyes with his palms. “Just do
it already.”
Without hesitation, “Why do you think we want to break up?” Yoongi asks. His voice is full of an
emotion that Jungkook can’t decipher without seeing his eyes, but Jungkook refuses to lift his head.
He can feel them watching him, waiting, and Jungkook digs his hands in deep until he sees bright
spots of light.
“I haven’t slept over in weeks,” Jungkook says, trying to control the tremor in his voice, his hands.
“No one visits me at work. I ask to hang out and everyone already has plans, sometimes I don’t even
get a response.” Jungkook drags his fingers down his face. His throat makes an involuntary noise,
strangled and broken. “You don’t touch me,” he says like it’s been punched out of him. When he
looks around the room at each of their faces, it’s as if they’ve been slapped. “No one. Touches me.”
Jimin’s on him in an instant, folding him in close, fingers dragging up Jungkook’s spine to clutch the
back of his head and pull Jungkook’s face into the curve of his neck. Jimin smells like soap and
citrus and sweat. He smells like home, and Jungkook makes a ragged noise, muscles shutting down,
legs snapping underneath him. Jimin stumbles but still catches his weight.
“It’s like-like I’m a nuisance,” Jungkook wails. He tries to quiet down, but it just makes him choke.
“Like, like you guys are just waiting for me to explode. Like-like I’m a thing that’s broken but y-you
don’t know how to throw it away.”
There’s pressure against his back. Taehyung’s behind him, arms wrapped around Jungkook’s waist
so he can squeeze his hands between Jimin and Jungkook’s stomachs. Taehyung doesn’t shush him.
Doesn’t say anything, really. Just holds him close and lets Jungkook cry.
Jungkook realizes, while being held in his arms, that this is the first time Taehyung has touched him
since that night.
“I’ve been reading up on Shades.” Jungkook sniffs and lifts his head to rest his chin on Jimin’s
shoulder. Namjoon is standing across the room, bright eyes locked on Jungkook’s face. Jungkook
notices that the shirt he’s wearing, spread tight across his shoulders where it would hang loose on
Jungkook, is one of Jungkook’s own. Jungkook’s been looking for it for weeks. “Looking into aftereffects of their touch on humans. Trying to figure out what might be triggering your episodes.”
“Taehyungie and I have been practicing healing techniques,” Jimin says against his cheek, voice
muffled and watery, like he’s trying to hold in his own tears. “To draw you back to yourself when
you have one.”
“Hoseok and I have been looking into a way to make you immortal,” Yoongi says into the silence of
the room.
Jungkook’s breath quiets. His heart stills. He straightens through the back and Jimin and Taehyung
let him go, fingers slipping down his forearms so they can take his hands and braid their fingers
together.
“You’re trying to make me immortal?” Jungkook half says to himself, processing the words.
“I’ve been meeting with the Night Council,” Seokjin says, drawing Jungkook’s attention away from
Yoongi’s unwavering stare. His arms are still crossed, but he doesn’t look angry anymore. Jungkook
realizes now that it was never anger at all, just hurt. “They lead the underworld, oversee punishments
and transgressions. We’ve been in the midst of a spat, as of late.” Seokjin looks around the room and
then sighs with his whole chest. “Lee Chinhae has been let off with a warning.”
“What?” Namjoon growls.
“He abducted Jungkook!” Hoseok yells.
“He bludgeoned Taehyung!” Jimin shrills.
Seokjin presses his thumbs to his temples and rubs hard. “We were trespassing and are fortunate they
didn’t try to arrest Taehyung for assault on private property. As for Jungkook…” Seokjin shakes his
head. “He’s human. You know how it goes.”
“That’s such archaic bullshit,” Taehyung says, pupils narrowed to a slit.
“What?” Jungkook says, twisting to look at each of them. He’s still reeling from what Yoongi said,
what they all just shared, lost to the conversation. “What does that mean?”
“It means you don’t have rights in our court,” Hoseok tells him with a flash of fangs. His eyes are
molten gold. Jungkook’s never seen him so furious before. “You’re basically an object.”
“Or in this case, food,” Taehyung growls.
“But we have a claim on him!” Jimin shouts. The raised voices are making Jungkook jittery and he
sinks to a crouch, neither Jimin or Taehyung letting go of his hands. “He’s a member of the clan!”
“A claim is only surface level,” Seokjin says. “Officially, on record, Jungkook is just a human we
have around to entertain us.” His mouth twists with the words, like they taste terrible on his tongue.
“He has no legal rights. Not in our world.”
Jungkook falls onto his butt and Jimin and Taehyung sink down with him, curled against his side,
keeping him upright. “How do we get him rights?” Namjoon asks, voice steady. Seokjin gives him a
pointed look and Namjoon’s lips part with a soft, “Oh.”
“Oh?” Jungkook echoes, the sound squeaking out of him. “Oh what?” No one looks at him. “Please
don’t start keeping things about me from me again.”
Taehyung squeezes his fingers, but it’s Yoongi who clears his throat and says, “We’d have to bond
with you.”
“Bond?”
“Yes.” Yoongi looks at him, his eyes soft and tentative. He opens his mouth, hesitates, says in a
careful voice, “The near equivalent to what humans do would be marriage.”
Something inside of Jungkook snaps.
“We have to get married?” He screeches, tearing his hands away so he can hold his head. A horrible
ache is blooming inside of him, all the nerves in his body standing on end.
“Legally you would take my name and join the clan,” Seokjin explains, like he’s going over car facts
and not totally upheaving Jungkook’s entire world yet again. “And therefore you would receive all
rights and protection of the clan.”
Jungkook hunches over with a groan. “I’m only twenty-one…”
“If this happens again—”
“You think I’m going to get kidnapped again?!” Jungkook cries, gripping his hair. Jimin’s hand falls
to his thigh and heat spreads under his touch, threatening to blanket the hysteria bubbling in
Jungkook’s stomach. Jungkook pushes his palm away. He doesn’t want to keep burying his feelings.
He doesn’t want to keep pretending that everything is fine and dandy because it so obviously is not.
He’s spent years crafting this facade of okayness. That despite all the shit that’s happened, Jungkook
is capable and calm and unwavering. Dump him in front of a police station and he’ll just find a new
home. Kick him out onto the streets and he’ll test top of his class. Throw a punch and he won’t even
stumble. Kidnap him to the underworld and he’ll just take a nap afterwards.
Jungkook can’t keep doing this. Physically, emotionally, it’s all too much for him to carry anymore.
“Jungkook. Please, understand.” Seokjin falls before Jungkook, crouched small and unalarming.
Jungkook is suddenly aware of how heavy he’s breathing. “A very powerful, albeit hated, member of
the aristocratic underworld has a bloody target painted on your back, and he’s now aware that we
have no legal means of keeping him away.”
“You cut off his arms!” Jungkook wails. Taehyung whimpers beside him. “Why would he come back
for more?!”
“We’re hoping he got the message and won’t try,” Yoongi says. He’s now sitting in the armchair
with Hoseok, the two of them small enough to fill one cushion. Namjoon rests beside them, one arm
thrown around both their shoulders. Jungkook wants to crawl onto their laps. He wants this
conversation to die and never come back. He just wants someone to hug him.
Jimin’s arm slips around his waist, squeezing tight and Jungkook, despite his height on him, feels so
small in Jimin’s hold. “But these are beings who feast off others' souls,” Yoongi presses, drawing
Jungkook’s attention again. His eyes are void of any spark. Dark, but not like the shades. Sad,
maybe, but not dangerous. Not to Jungkook. “Their desires, their dreams, their joy. They are hunters,
Jungkook. Once they get a taste, a craving, they won’t stop until it’s satiated.”
Jungkook sinks his face into his hands. Every muscle in his body is twisted tight. “I think I’m gonna
throw up.”
A hand settles on his back and rubs. “Do you understand now,” Seokjin tells him quietly, “why we
kept things hidden from you?”
“I don’t want to live in the dark, though,” Jungkook cries, and a second hand strokes the back of his
head, running fingers through the tangled curls at his neck.
Jungkook sucks in big breaths, trying to calm his heart and mind. The petting persists, even after he’s
calmed down, and only when Jungkook lifts his head does Seokjin begin to speak again.
“Jungkook-ah.” He drags his knuckles across Jungkook’s wet cheek. How long has he been crying?
“Would it really be so bad? Bonding with us?”
“I—I mean, no, that’s not—” Jungkook shudders and closes his eyes as Seokjin’s fingertips
memorize his face. “It’s all so much? We haven’t even—” Jungkook cuts himself off, eyes shooting
open. “Are you proposing? Right now?”
Weight settles over his shoulder. “I’d marry you this very moment if it meant keeping you safe,”
Taehyung murmurs, lips dragging on Jungkook’s cheek. “I also, like, love you with all my being.”
An ugly sob rips its way out of Jungkook’s throat. He twists and flings himself to the side; Taehyung
is there to meet him, folding him up in a tight hug.
“I’m sorry,” Jungkook cries, face pressed against Taehyung’s neck, pressing wet kisses to where the
wounds there have long since healed. “Hyung, I’m sorry I love you, I’m sorry—”
Taehyung shushes him. Presses his lips to Jungkook’s damp cheeks. Doesn’t say anything, just holds
Jungkook close until Jungkook’s shudders soften into small trembles. Jungkook’s breathing is still
shaky, and the impulse to burst into tears lies heavy in his throat just waiting to be set off again— but
Taehyung’s hand is still in his hair and Jimin is pressed against his side, singing softly in Korean that
Jungkook is too young to understand.
“I don’t understand how we got here,” Jungkook sniffs, rubbing his face against Taehyung’s throat.
His hair is down and tickles Jungkook’s skin. “I thought—You guys were supposed to break up with
me, but now you’re saying you want to get married? That you’re trying to make me immortal?”
“We want to spend forever with you,” Jimin tells him in that matter-of-fact way of his.
“Did you want us to break up with you?” Taehyung asks, cradling the back of Jungkook’s neck.
“I think it would make things easier,” Jungkook mumbles, shifting in Taehyung’s lap, positions
reversed from the last time they were here. “And I know it’s not healthy to say things like ‘I can’t
live without you’...” Jungkook swallows. Traces meandering shapes into the fabric over Taehyung’s
lower back. “But all these years it felt like a part of me was missing, like I wasn’t quite whole, and
you guys—” Jungkook’s throat is tight. He blinks back another wave of tears. “Being with you guys
feels like coming home.”
A tremor runs through Jungkook’s body, and he realizes belatedly that it’s because Taehyung is
crying.
“Oh, hyung,” Jungkook says softly, taking Taehyung’s face in his hands. “Hyung, it’s okay.”
“We’ve been so terrible,” Taehyung says, words catching in his throat. At their sides, Jimin is
sniffling.
“We all haven’t been at our finest,” Seokjin says from behind them. “We thought it’d be best to give
you space, Jungkook-ah. You always—” Seokjin cuts himself off, and it’s Hoseok who says, in a
quiet voice, “You always look so scared when we touch you.”
“That’s not you,” Jungkook says, turning to look at them, each of them. They need to understand
this, understand him. “That’s not your fault I’m just—” He’s just what? Broken goods, now? “I’m
just trying to figure some stuff out, but I’m not afraid of you. Of any of you. And you have to believe
me when I say that.”
“Okay, Kookie, okay.” Taehyung’s deep voice vibrates through his back and settles him alarmingly
fast. “Does this mean we can go back to hugging?”
Jungkook laughs. It comes out ragged at the edges, but the room lightens instantly at the sound.
“Yeah. Just… Just let me know before you do, kay? And don’t grab me from behind.”
Taehyung makes as if to draw away and Jungkook tugs him in fast. “No. Stay.”
“You got it, boss.”
Seokjin can’t separate them, but Jungkook is too exhausted to move anyway, the late hour and
alcohol and emotional distress hitting him hard enough it leaves his spine aching and the back of his
eyes tender. Yoongi and Hoseok pull the futons from the rooms and spread them out on the
hardwood, and Taehyung waddles and tips over onto the cushions, softening Jungkook’s fall, legs
twining together to keep him close. Jimin settles in at his front, palm pressed to Jungkook’s forehead,
whispering gentle things in his sweet voice as he tugs at the ends of Jungkook’s hair.
Jungkook covers Jimin’s fingers with his own, and Jimin gives him this slow, intoxicating smile that
has Jungkook warming, bones thawing into a gentler version of themselves. He closes his eyes, feels
the press of lips against his cheek, and sleeps.
~~~
There is a hand pressing against Jungkook’s sternum. In the distance he can hear the crash of waves
hitting the shoreline.
“Darling,” someone croons, knuckles brushing across Jungkook’s cheek. “Are you with me?”
Everything is dark and rattled. Jungkook’s arm flops uselessly at his side. Sweat is cooling on his
skin, palms and forehead damp. The body over him is freezing.
“Jungkook,” the voice murmurs, and Jungkook makes a noise in the back of his throat. A thumb
presses on his bottom lip, pushing into his mouth. Jungkook’s lips part easily. “This will be over
soon.” Jungkook’s lashes flutter. “I’m sorry it had to be this way.
Jungkook blinks. Looks up into the face of a figure. A man.
There’s darkness where his eyes should be.
“Sleep now,” the man tells him, voice melting into the shadows. He strokes a finger under
Jungkook’s jaw. Pushes damp hair away from his temple. Brushes the tear tracks from Jungkook’s
skin. “Rest, my pretty.”
The heaviness becomes unbearable. Jungkook’s body trembles and then sags, exhaustion settling in,
and the last bit of warmth inside of him dims.
~~~
Jungkook wakes to heat. His body is shaking, tongue filmy and too heavy in his mouth to get words
out. When he tries to roll onto his stomach, a stinging sensation echoes through his chest, making
him gasp.
“Jungkook.” Hands on his cheeks, slapping gently. “Jungkook, wake up.”
Jungkook groans. His heart is sitting uncomfortably against his ribs, big enough he can feel each beat
against bone. Fire licks up his throat, making him gag.
“Jeon Jungkook,” someone snaps, and Jungkook shakes his head. He tries to breathe in but the air is
thick and clogs his lungs. Cloying, like the smoke from burning wood. Like dying flowers left to rot
in the shadows.
The noise that leaves Jungkook’s throat is inhuman.
“Jungkook-ah,” someone shushes, and there are hands on Jungkook’s shoulders holding him in place,
pulling his arms down. Hands over his own. Fingers laced. “Darling, wake up. Wake up, now.”
Jungkook gasps, coming back to himself. He sees darkness first, then big eyes, alarmed and
frightened hovering over him. Brown. Human. Unremarkable save for the fact that they’re Jimin’s
and everything about Jimin is astounding and beautiful.
“Wha’s happnin’...?” Jungkook mutters. His gaze drifts around the room. Jimin and Taehyung’s
room. There’s a lamp flicked on by the window.
“Hey there, sweetheart.” Jungkook tears his eyes away from night outside. Jimin is above him,
holding Jungkook’s trembling arms down with all his weight. “You were talking in your sleep,”
Jimin says. “It sounded like a nightmare.”
“I was...” Jungkook hesitates. His face aches. His chest hurts worse, like his ribcage is collapsing in
on itself. “I was drowning. There was—” Jungkook thinks of dark eyes and a velvet voice and cold
fingers on his cheek. A full-body shudder goes through him. “I don’t feel very good.”
Jimin makes a concerned noise and is off him, scrambling to the side so Jungkook can move if he
needs to. Jungkook doesn’t. He just lays there, trembling as Jimin presses a palm against Jungkook’s
neck. “You have a fever again. Do you need to throw up?”
“No.” Jungkook tries to swallow but his mouth is so dry it hurts. “Just achy. Ew,” he grumbles,
picking at his shirt. “I’m damp.”
“I’ll get you a change of clothes.” Jimin says, already standing. “Take those off. I’ll work a little
magic when I get back.”
Jungkook feels flushed. A sudden bout of nausea roils in his gut. His head throbs. His teeth are
chattering.
The last time Jungkook felt this way, a shade broke into the house and stole him away.
“Jungkook?”
Jungkook’s breaths are coming out thick and wheezy. He can’t get enough air in. “I-I don’t—I don’t
feel good.”
Jimin is torn. He lingers, caught halfway between the closet and the foot of the futon, before
resolving himself to turn towards the doorway. “I’m going to get Jin—”
“No!” Jungkook’s sitting up, hands desperate as they reach for Jimin. “Don’t leave me alone, hyung,
please, please don’t leave me—”
Jimin has Jungkook’s face in his hands. “Hey, hey now,” he coos, stroking Jungkook’s wet cheeks
with his tiny thumbs. “You’re okay. I won’t go anywhere.”
Jimin’s wearing one of Taehyung’s sweaters. Brown and fuzzy. It nearly swallows him whole.
Jungkook wants to be swallowed whole. He wants to burrow, sleep until next year, sleep until all this
just goes away.
“Jungkook?”
So exhausted. Jungkook’s head is so heavy his shoulders shudder under the weight.
Sleep. He just wants to sleep forever.
Light from the hall cuts through the room. “Jimin-ah?” Taehyung calls, voice thoughtful and low but
laced with fear. “Everything okay?”
If Taehyung is afraid it means Jimin is afraid. Jungkook clutches onto Jimin’s arms tighter.
“Jungkookie’s sick,” Jimin answers, rubbing a palm along Jungkook’s spine. “Is Jin-hyung back
yet?”
“Not yet. I can find Yoongi?”
“Thanks, babe.”
The light doesn’t cut out, which means Taehyung left the door open. Jungkook sniffles and Jimin
maneuvers them back against the cushions and covers. “I’m going to work some magic, alright,
Jungkook-ah?”
Jungkook hums. He doesn’t care what Jimin does, so long as he stays close.
Jimin’s hands are small but strong, fingers pressing against aches and pains with practiced ease. He’s
muttering, chanting really, his words melodic as they flow into each other in a language Jungkook
knows is Korean but can’t quite keep up with, doesn’t have the experience to understand, so instead
he just lies there as Jimin pushes more warmth under his skin until it feels like he may be consumed.
Jungkook takes Jimin’s hands and places them over his ribs. “Hurts to breathe,” he says, sucking in a
harsh breath. What he doesn’t say is, I feel like all the empty space in my body is burning, trying to
escape. Like I could set the room on fire. Like I might be dying.
Jimin doesn’t say anything at all, but his touch grows heavier. The fire doesn’t leave. If anything the
sparks grow into a flame, licking against his bones. Jungkook makes a sob sound and Jimin murmurs
something. He sounds apologetic, but doesn’t raise his hands.
Jungkook isn’t aware of much after that. He knows Yoongi comes by at some point, his touch cool
when he places a hand against Jungkook’s forehead, the base of his neck. Jungkook thinks Taehyung
stays for a while, but all he remembers is the feel of soft fur brushing his bare arm.
He wakes, sometime in the early morning. The light outside is dusky and grey and promises rain. The
lamp is still on. Taehyung is sleeping at his feet, shifted and small in the space between Jungkook’s
spread legs.
Jimin is propped on one elbow, phone in hand, watching a video. He looks up when he feels
Jungkook shift. “Hey, baby,” he grins, a tired thing. “How ya feelin’?”
Jungkook doesn’t say anything. He had a dream again. Drowning, again. Nothing and no one around
except for an impenetrable weight pulling and pressing him deep into the depths of a dark ocean.
“Jungkook-ah?”
“You can see the future, right?”
Jimin frowns, not expecting the question. He sets his phone face down between them. “Bits and
bobs,” Jimin answers, his voice carefully neutral, but his blocky brows drooped together betray his
confusion. “More so if I’m close to those involved, but usually the visions are erratic. Random.”
Jimin searches his face. “What’s on your mind, honey?”
Jungkook’s not sure, of himself, of anything. After the heat from the night before, he feels alarmingly
cold. Empty, inside. The fever has left him hollow.
“Taehyung said you had a vision when you first met the others,” Jungkook says, looking at Jimin but
not meeting his eyes. His dark circles are deep, eye bags puffier than usual. His lips, bitten and raw at
the center. “That you knew you were going to end up together.”
Jimin’s forehead knits further. He’s trying to understand. Jungkook’s not sure how to make him. “It
was more a feeling than a vision, but yes.”
“Do you… Did you, I mean, see me?”
Jimin’s lips part with understanding and Jungkook watches as his eyes melt into something
tremulously vulnerable.
“Wanna know a secret?” Jimin whispers, still looking soft and serious and shaken. “Something Tae
doesn’t even know?” Jungkook shifts so that he’s matching Jimin’s pose, so they can be face to face.
He gives a small nod. “I love our family dearly, from the moment I first met them, but…”
“But?” Jungkook presses.
“But it always felt like something was missing,” Jimin shares. There’s an earnestness to his voice
that draws Jungkook in, holds him there, as Jimin speaks with soft deliberateness. “Or I guess,
someone. But it seemed selfish, and maybe a bit cruel, to tell everyone this. I didn’t want them to
think they weren’t enough for me. That I wanted more.”
Jungkook is aware of Jimin’s palm on his cheek. Of the gentle patter of rain against the panes and
tiles of the roof. Of Taehyung, who’s deep breaths have quieted, signalling that he’s awake.
“So, when you ask if I saw you in my future, in our future,” Jimin continues to whisper as he leans
forward to press their foreheads together, “then yes. I did.” Jimin kisses him, just a brush of lips,
mouth moving over Jungkook’s as he speaks. “I’ve been waiting lifetimes to meet you, Jeon
Jungkook. Lifetimes to hold you. To cherish you. To tell you how loved you are.”
Something inside of Jungkook breaks.
His hand wraps around the back of Jimin’s neck and he pulls, closing the small distance between
them, kissing Jimin hard and fast and messy. Jimin doesn’t mind. Jimin kisses him back, letting
Jungkook have control, swallowing down every tiny, needful gasp Jungkook makes when Jimin falls
further into him.
Heat sparks, hot but bearable, right in the center of Jungkook’s chest. Jungkook gasps. “You can’t
ever let me go, hyung.”
“I won’t,” Jimin promises, fingers digging into the curve of Jungkook’s neck, pushing until
Jungkook is rolling on top of him and Taehyung is yipping at being dislodged from his bed between
Jungkook’s knees. “Not a chance.”
Jungkook laughs into Jimin’s mouth. Laughs harder when Taehyung’s sleepy complaints fall over
them. Jungkook reaches blindly behind him and, when Taehyung latches onto his wrist, tugs until
Taehyung is pressed between them, giggly and warm, smile bright when he lifts Jungkook’s fingers
to his mouth so he can kiss each individual tip of his fingers.
~~~
The days pass, not in a haze, but with a soft, muted filter over them. Jungkook’s gone back to
spending nights at the hanok, much to Yugyeom’s delight. He cooks dinner with Seokjin, learning
how to marinate side-dishes and grill pork and fillet salmon. He visits Hoseok at the library, spends
his free hours some afternoons curled on the corner of a sofa in Hoseok’s office working on midterm
papers and asking for advice on grammar or rhetoric. Hoseok is so well-read it’s a shame that
Jungkook can’t cite him as a source.
Yoongi spends a lot of time at home. Jungkook’s not sure if it’s because his album is nearly complete
or because Jungkook is there and needs a babysitter. They think he hasn’t noticed, but Jungkook
knows that these days there’s always at least one other body in the room with him, and it isn’t by
happenstance.
They haven’t spoken about bonding again. Or marriage. Or the immortality thing. Jungkook trusts
that they’ll bring it up with time, when they have more information, when they’re ready to share, but
he hates the fragile pieces of his heart that still doubt.
“Kook-ah,” Yoongi says, waving a hand to get his attention. “You with me?”
“Always,” Jungkook answers, even though he doesn’t know what Yoongi’s been talking about for
the past five minutes.
Yoongi, just as he always does, knows this but doesn’t lord it over Jungkook’s head. Instead he
grumbles something under his breath, hands shoved deep in his hoodie pockets, and nudges
Jungkook to keep moving down the hall. They’ve been napping in Namjoon’s room most of the
evening. Jungkook wanted to watch a movie and barely made it through the opening scenes before he
was passed out on Yoongi’s lap. When Seokjin called for them to set the table for dinner, Yoongi
woke him with kisses to his cheeks.
“Jungkook.”
Jungkook blinks, coming back to himself. He’s been drifting more often lately. “Hey, hyung?”
Yoongi’s head lags over towards him. “Why didn’t you mention your gigs to me?”
If Yoongi’s thrown by the subject change, he doesn’t act it. “I assumed you knew. You came to
every one of my shows.”
“That’s because—” Jungkook bites his tongue. Yoongi glances sidelong at him, a sly smile sneaking
across his face. Jungkook folds. “Fine. I might have had a crush on Suga.”
Yoongi cackles. “I’m flattered that you were cheating on me with myself.”
“Stop it,” Jungkook warns, cheeks burning. “We weren’t dating yet.”
Yoongi keeps making his little hacking cough sounds and Jungkook makes an exasperated noise and
speeds off towards the living room. Yoongi catches him around the waist. His smile is lazy, when he
twists Jungkook around.
“What did you like about me?” Yoongi asks, fingers dragging across the sensitive skin of Jungkook’s
inner wrist. “Or I guess, him?”
If Seokjin beguiles people, then Yoongi enthralls. His dark eyes draw you in and never let you go.
“The way he wove sounds together,” Jungkook hears himself say, breath hitching when Yoongi’s
nail scrapes against his palm. “Made me feel like I was floating under the ocean. Like I could just
escape my head, be free, even if it was just a few hours.”
Yoongi’s hand is still, his eyes wide. Jungkook doesn’t think he was expecting such a tender, torn
open answer.
“He was also confident and mysterious and I got lost in the fantasy of getting shoved against a wall
and made out with,” Jungkook shrugs, feeling flushed all the way down to his chest. Teasing comes
natural. Teasing is easy. Teasing doesn’t leave him feeling raw and exposed. What Jungkook just
shared before, what he said to make Yoongi look at him like he was something brilliant? That’s
uncharted territory he doesn’t know how to tread.
Yoongi doesn’t press; knows not to press. Instead, he looks up at Jungkook from shadowed lashes,
his lazy smile even lazier as he steps into Jungkook’s space. “Oh, is that so?”
Yoongi’s fingers find his sides and Jungkook squeals and throws his hands out as Yoongi lifts him
without any effort, walking forward until Jungkook’s back hits a door hard enough to make it rattle.
Jungkook makes a small noise, surprised and delighted, and Yoongi’s thumbs dig into the dip of
Jungkook’s hips at the sound.
“You good?” Yoongi asks, looking up at him, dark eyes hooded, gaze intentional as he presses
forward, forcing Jungkook to wrap his legs around Yoongi’s waist to keep from slipping to the floor.
Jungkook takes a mental check and feels only mushy goodness spreading through his chest, like his
organs are blending together into melted, waxy warmth. “ So good,” Jungkook gushes, and Yoongi’s
answering smile is acres wide as he relaxes his weight against Jungkook’s body so he can lean in and
leave a trail of kisses under Jungkook’s jaw.
Jungkook shudders and squirms, giggling when Yoongi blows a raspberry under his ear and dances
his hands across Jungkook’s ribs. Yoongi makes that breathless, chortling sound in response and
he’s still laughing when Jungkook takes his face between his hands to kiss him full on the mouth.
Yoongi falls into him with familiarity, nipping at Jungkook’s bottom lip, easing Jungkook’s mouth
open so he can drag their tongues together. Jungkook moans and opens up to him readily. Yoongi
always kisses him like it’s their first and last. Like he’s trying to leave an impression. Like he wants
Jungkook to remember something, remember him.
Jungkook’s mind is smeary at the corners when Yoongi’s hands slip under his tee, his touch like ice
where he presses his palms to the small of Jungkook’s lower back.
A charming chuckle, the flash of teeth.
Jungkook’s chest seizes, lungs dissolving. His vision goes black and he sucks in a ragged breath,
slams a palm against the shoulder pinning him in place and shoves hard.
The body holding him startles but doesn’t drop him. There’re muffled sounds and Jungkook thinks
someone is asking him something, but he can’t make the words out.
Brick scraping his arms and nails dragging against his skin, sharp enough to bleed.
Jungkook’s world tilts. His feet hit the floor and his legs fold beneath him, useless.
“Just one bite,” he hears nearby, a dripping hiss from the darkness, and fear floods Jungkook’s throat
as cold fingers find the back of his neck.
“Jin-hyung!” He screams, curling in tight, forehead pressed to the floorboards as a sob racks his
body. He calls out again and again, eyes aching with how tight he squeezes them shut, and over the
sound of his cries he hears shouts, thudding feet, crashing doors.
Jungkook’s crying so hard he heaves. A hand lands on the back of his head and Jungkook makes a
strangled sound and tries to push it away. Someone shushes him, gentle. Strokes the curve of his ear.
Pressure, under his chin, tilting his face up.
Jungkook’s eyelids flutter, catching on tears. Seokjin’s stooping in front of him. He takes Jungkook’s
face fully in his hands. “Jungkook,” he says, voice steady and sure. His eyes are wild with fear.
“What do you need?”
It’s as if someone ripped his spine from his body. It hurts to breathe. Jungkook can’t hear anything
except the deafening ring in his ears. He heaves and lurches onto his side, but something keeps him
upright.
A shadow blankets him and hysteria rises in Jungkook’s stomach, nearly making him hurl. “—ust
me,” Namjoon croons, sensing his distress, breaking through the white noise of panic in Jungkook’s
head. He leans in close but doesn’t touch. “Just me, baby. What do you need?”
Jungkook wipes his nose against Seokjin’s sweater sleeve. He tries to speak and ends up coughing
instead, still choking on his tears.
“Breathe, little one. Breathe.” Seokjin smooths a palm down Jungkook’s arm, uses the other to cup
the back of Jungkook’s neck. His skin is warm. He smells of red pepper. Somewhere deep in his
mind, buried by the panic, Jungkook remembers that they’re supposed to have dinner soon. “Hyungs
are here. Hyungs have you.”
Jungkook nods, a jerky little movement, and squeezes his eyes shut. The wind’s still been knocked
out of him, but the fixed rhythm of the palm stroking his spine lulls him into a gentler headspace.
Slowly Jungkook’s limbs unfurl, sore and buzzing from where they were seized up. He sinks into the
floor, still a sniffly mess.
“Can you—” Jungkook’s chest burns. He blinks the last of the tears away. “Namjoon-hyung, can you
shift? Please?”
A whisper of a sound, like wind in the trees, and a beat later Jungkook feels soft fur brush against his
arm. Jungkook rolls to the side and Namjoon sinks under his weight, curling his tail around
Jungkook’s thigh, tongue lapping at the water tracks on his cheeks.
Jungkook’s breath stutters out of him. He runs his hand down the coat of Namjoon’s stomach, a
soothing motion, timing it with Seokjin’s own movement on his back. The air around him lightens,
no longer trying to swallow him whole. The icy grip on his heart eases, and an unknown amount of
time later, Jungkook pries his eyes open and finds everyone sitting in the hall, giving him these sad,
delicate looks. Like they’re witnessing that last few moments of someone’s life.
Jungkook shifts to Yoongi. He’s crouched the furthest away, nearly in the doorway to Jimin and
Taehyung’s room, as if he tried to put as much distance between them as he could in the hall while
still being near. He looks hesitant. Scared. Jungkook doesn’t blame him.
“Y-You asked me,” Jungkook starts, throat hoarse enough he has to clear it, “that time, in the-in the
bedroom. Why I got s-scared. And I didn’t know.” Seokjin hums, still rubbing his back, his
shoulders, his thigh. “In the alley,” Jungkook sniffles, “When you and Yoongi hyung rescued me anand at the shade’s house...” Jungkook inhales deep. Namjoon’s scent, like a forest in winter, keeps
him rooted. “Sometimes, when you guys touch me, I-I hear them, I—” Jungkook digs his hand into
the fold of skin on Namjoon’s neck. Squeezes. “I feel like I’m back there. With them. With him.”
No one says anything. Jungkook doesn’t seek out their reactions. He drags his fingers through
Namjoon’s fur as Seokjin drags his own hands down Jungkook’s back. Jungkook’s eyes blur over
again, this time with angry tears. “I’m so tired of being afraid all the time,” he says in a desperate
whisper. He hiccups. “I’m so tired , hyung.”
Namjoon whines, a pitiful sound. Seokjin’s hand smooths across his cheek. His palms are cool, or
maybe Jungkook is just hot. “Hey,” he says. Taps Jungkook’s chin to get him to look up. “Kook-ah.
Remember what I promised you in the boat?”
Jungkook sniffs. “You’re always gonna be there when I wake up.”
“That’s right,” Seokjin tells him. “But you know what else? You know how Tae and Jiminie are
bound?” Jungkook gives a small nod. “Well I have something similar with you.”
“The spell you put on me,” Jungkook mumbles as warmth clobbers around in his stomach, making
his throat knot up.
“That’s right, baby.” Seokjin slowly traces a tendril of hair near Jungkook’s temple with a finger. “I
am with you,” Seokjin says in a low, intense voice that makes Jungkook tremor. “Always. Even when
you don’t want me anymore, you’ll be stuck with me.” He’s joking, but Jungkook can hear the strain
in Seokjin’s words, the tremble of vulnerability Jungkook isn’t often, if ever, privy to with him.
“Tough luck,” Jungkook tells him and tilts his head to press a kiss to the inside of Seokjin’s wrist. “I
want to be with you forever, hyung.”
Seokjin inhales sharply, a wounded noise, and Jungkook sighs and unfurls from Namjoon’s side until
his back is pressed against the wall. Namjoon paws at his ankle. Whines again. Jungkook closes his
eyes and whispers to them, “What happens, to us, when I start getting older?”
“Well, I’m not calling you hyung,” Seokjin laughs. Jungkook tries for a smile. It splits his face
wrong and he drops it. “Jungkook-ah, look at me.” It’s not a command, but Jungkook’s eyes flutter
open regardless. Seokjin is looking straight through him. “I will love you then,” Seokjin says, eyes
sparking, face alight, “ just as I love you now.”
Jungkook twists his hands together in his lap. “What if I get saggy?”
“I think you’ll still be able to bench press me when you’re eighty, Jungkook.”
Jungkook snorts. His face aches. He wipes the snot from his nose. “I don’t want to leave you guys,”
he says, then, so quiet they surely won’t be able to hear him, “I don’t want to die.”
Fingers curl around his wrist, loosely clasping, and Jungkook spreads his hand wide and looks over
to where Jimin is curling towards him like a wilted flower.
“Oh, sweetheart” Jimin sighs as he holds Jungkook’s hand and lifts it to his mouth to kiss each
individual knuckle. Jungkook’s breathing starts to go shaky again and he takes a few gulps to steady
himself. Taehyung drapes himself across Jimin’s back so he can lean into Jungkook’s space and kiss
the tip of his nose. Jungkook does his best to blink away a fresh wave of tears.
“I want to move in,” Jungkook says decisively, turning from Taehyung to look at each of them.
“Anytime,” Seokjin tells him.
“Whenever you want,” Hoseok nods.
So Jungkook says, “Tomorrow.” Nothing but affection greets him. “I want to move in tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow it is,” Jimin agrees and pinches Jungkook’s jaw between two fingers to draw him back in
for a kiss. It’s sweet and lovely, just like him, and then Jimin tilts his face up so that Taehyung, still
leaning over them, can press their mouths together.
“Love you, hyung,” Jungkook murmurs when Taehyung draws away, and Taehyung’s lips press
together to stifle a smile.
He brushes the back of his hand across Jungkook’s cheek. “Love you, Jungkookie.”
They stream out of the hall, after that, one by one, each returning to their prior tasks. Namjoon
lingers, nuzzling Jungkook’s side, but Jungkook kisses the top of his head and shoos him away back
to the living room because there’s still something, someone, he needs to take care of, and he needs to
do it on his own.
“Hyung,” Jungkook starts. “Yoongi-hyung.”
Yoongi looks up at him from where he’s still resting against the wall, jaw clenched and eyes somber.
Jungkook sinks to his knees and spreads them wide so he can straddle Yoongi’s thighs. “Hyung,” he
says again and touches Yoongi’s hand lightly where it rests against the floor. Yoongi doesn’t flinch
away from him, but he doesn’t hold him either. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”
Yoongi doesn’t say anything for a while, but he doesn’t pull away. Jungkook shifts and rests his
weight more fully on Yoongi’s lap.
Whatever Yoongi’s been debating in his mind must come to a resolution because he circles his arms
around Jungkook’s back and tugs him close so that they can rest chest to chest. Jungkook feels
fingers in his hair, breath on his neck. Yoongi doesn’t say another word, just holds him for a long
time.
Jungkook falls asleep like that, and in the morning he wakes to half-hearted sunlight zebraing
through the shades and Seokjin’s drool pooling on his left nipple.
Jungkook makes a disgusted noise at the damp patch and hears snickering off to the side. He raises
his head and blinks the gunk from his eyes. Hoseok is beaming at him from across the room, toweldrying his hair.
“Morning, sunshine.”
Jungkook’s throat makes a grumbly sound. His head is too heavy to hold up and he lets it plop back
down on the futon. Seokjin sniffles and Jungkook drops a hand over the crown of his head and
tangles his fingers into the hair there.
Jungkook watches Hoseok get ready for the day as he untangles Seokjin’s hair. Hoseok brushes his
teeth while standing in front of the wardrobe, shifting through clothing that Jungkook can’t make out
in the dim light of the room, rocking from foot to foot, like his body is buzzing to get going. Dancing
fingers against cups and thighs and walls, jittering knees at the dinner table, swaying feet during a
movie —Hoseok’s always looks like he’s ready to take flight.
“Like what you see?”
Jungkook blinks, less groggy but still disoriented. His chest is warm where Seokjin’s now half lying
on top of him. “You’re really pretty, hyung.”
Hoseok laughs at that. Jungkook frowns at the sound. It wasn’t the sing-song tone he’s used to. “You
don’t have to charm me,” Hoseok tells him softly, still mindful of Seokjin resting. “But I appreciate
the flattery.”
Jungkook’s brow creases further. Hoseok returns back to perusing his wardrobe. He’s leaner than the
others, like the branch of a willow tree, always moving with the wind. His skin is sun-burnished,
warmer than usual from days spent in the garden with Namjoon.
Jungkook knows that Hoseok was meant to capture the sun. That he failed. But there are moments
like right now, when Hoseok’s eyes flash molten gold, when his cheeks warm and the deep red of his
hair catches all the light in the room, that Jungkook believes Hoseok might have stolen a little of the
star after all.
Seokjin doesn’t stir when Jungkook shimmies out from under him. Hoseok has to hear Jungkook
coming, but he still shivers when Jungkook comes up behind him and presses his palms to the blades
of Hoseok’s shoulders.
“Hyung,” Jungkook murmurs. He moves in and presses his lips against the back of Hoseok’s neck
where his hair is shortest. “Hyung, you have to know how beautiful you are.”
Hoseok’s breath whooshes out of him. Jungkook can hear it. “Don’t tease me, Jungkookie.”
“Hyung,” Jungkook says. Smooths his fingers down Hoseok’s spine. Kisses him, right behind the
ear, and grins when Hoseok giggles and curls in on himself. “You never got your reward for being
the best boy.”
“Oh?” Hoseok spins and Jungkook presses forward until Hoseok’s backed against the wall. “You
going to give me a gift, Jungkookie?”
“Do you want me to?”
Hoseok’s grin softens at the corners. His thumb grazes Jungkook’s jaw and Jungkook leans into the
touch, eyes fluttering. “I want everything you’re willing to give me, Jungkook.”
“Be careful what you ask for, hyung.” Jungkook bites down hard on his bottom lip. “I’m stubborn,”
he shares. “And petty. And indecisive. I mope a lot.” Jungkook looks forward, right at Hoseok. “I
have a lot of baggage. Do you want all that, hyung?”
Hoseok looks back unflinchingly at him. “I want all of you, Jungkook,” he says with ease, like it’s
something he decided a long time ago. “All the good, all the terrible, so long as it’s you.”
“Tell me every terrible thing,” Jungkook hears from behind, “and I will love you, anyway.”
Seokjin’s leaning on one elbow, cheek supported on a palm. He’s watching the two of them,
unbothered and without the slightest hint of sleep lingering behind.
Jungkook frowns. “Were you awake the whole time?”
“I was seeing how long I had to drool on you for you to notice,” Seokjin shrugs. “It was an alarming
amount. I think I’m dehydrated. You sleep like the dead.”
Hoseok snorts and Jungkook flicks his forehead, then rocks on his toes to kiss the mark before
Hoseok can complain. “Well, now you get to live with me,” Jungkook says as he turns around to
shuffle back to the futon, “so get used to it.”
Jungkook drops to his knees and crawls forward, forcing Seokjin to make space for him in his arms.
Seokjin grumbles and smacks his butt, but a second later he tugs Jungkook against his chest and
squeezes him hard.
“Nothing makes me happier than hearing you say that,” Seokjin tells him. Jungkook hums against his
throat and buries his nose in the juncture of Seokjin’s neck where his sweatshirt has fallen to the side
to reveal more skin. Seokjin lets Jungkook wriggle all he wants, and a few minutes into cuddling
when Jungkook starts to feel the haze of sleep lap at the corners of his mind, Seokjin says softly into
his hair, “We thought you were going to leave.”
Jungkook closes his eyes. Breathes deep. “Would you have let me go?”
Seokjin’s hand tightens in his hair. Tells Jungkook, anguished, “Yes. Anything to keep you safe.”
Pressure builds in Jungkook’s throat. “Don’t let me go, hyung.”
Seokjin doesn’t say anything more. He just strokes Jungkook’s hair, twisting it between his knobby
fingers as they listen to Hoseok hum his way through a girl group song as he finishes his morning
routine. Jungkook stirs briefly when Hoseok returns to them to kiss them goodbye, is partially aware
of Taehyung and Jimin stopping in to say they’re running errands, but through it all Seokjin
continues to hold him.
It’s the first time in months that Jungkook’s dreams haven’t been plagued by shadows.
~~~
Life moves on. Days meld into weeks. Jungkook didn’t move into the hanok the morning following
his breakdown, but he did begin packing up his stuff, transporting the contents of his life box by box
to what used to be a small study towards the back of the hanok, tucked between Seokjin’s room and
the kitchen. It’s a tidy space with high ceilings that make it feel more spacious than it is, with a large
window that looks out over one of the gardens. Jungkook makes it his own. Fills it with art. Paints a
washed out mural of layered blues and grays on the big blank wall beside his bed. When he steps
away to look at it from the doorway, the scene looks like fog shrouded mountains. Or thunderclouds
crashing into each other. Or the rolling waves of the ocean.
Jungkook finds a new rhythm. He isn’t a morning person, rarely wakes early enough to eat breakfast
with the others before he has to run to the bus stop to make it to class. His commute to the clinic is
shorter, though, so he’s always home for dinner. Yoongi cooks a lot. Jimin tries to help, but mostly
he just looks cute and steals bites of half-plated food. When Jungkook has to stay late in the studios
at school to work on his showcase, Seokjin picks him up before he has to head out to his underworld
meetings for the night. Jungkook wonders when he sleeps. He’s always there when Jungkook needs
him.
“Hey, Yug,” Jungkook greets, phone tucked between his shoulder and ear as he finishes locking up
the clinic for the night. Beomsoo has the graveyard shift, but Jungkook made sure the front desk was
tidy and the files for the morning appointments were set out and ready for Dr. Lee. “What’s up?”
Yugyeom dives in. “Wanna hang tonight? Mingyu let me borrow Ghost of Tsushima and it has mad
good reviews.”
“Damn, I have dinner plans,” Jungkook whines, sidestepping out of the way of a couple too invested
in searching for something on one of their phones. Sounds like they’re trying to find a café to wait at.
They have matching socks on.
“Ditching me for your daddies again?”
Jungkook makes a retching noise, loud enough it nearly covers Yugyeom’s full belly laugh. Loud
enough that the couple jolt and side-eye him. Jungkook ducks his head and books it down the
sidewalk. “First,” he says, taking his phone in hand, “I told you to stop calling them that—”
“You’re a sugar baby, accept it with pride, dude.”
“—and secondly,” Jungkook hisses, “no, I’m meeting up some friends from another school.”
“You mean that chaebol kid who’s trying to woo you.”
Jungkook opens his mouth to speak but the words fall away. He rubs at the back of his hand,
uncomfortable. “He isn’t—It’s not like that,” Jungkook says in a low voice, unsure if he should be
insulted.
“Uh-huh.” Yugyeom’s tone says he should be insulted. “He’s sus, Jungkook.”
Jungkook’s nose wrinkles. “You haven’t even met him.”
“Don’t need to. Don’t want to.”
Yugyeom’s short tone surprises Jungkook. Yugyeom is feisty, Jungkook won’t deny that. He’ll be
the first to throw a punch for a friend, has a wicked tongue when he needs to defend himself; but he’s
never been outright and baselessly mean.
“Yug,” Jungkook says, “what’s going on?”
“You’re just—” Silence, stretching on forever. Jungkook hears laughter in the background. Yugyeom
must be at Jaebeom’s. They’re set to move in together next month. “It’s just been a while since
we’ve caught up,” Yugyeom finally says, then takes a deep, rattling breath. When he speaks again,
it’s soft, like he’s afraid talking too loud might shatter something between them. “Kind of feeling like
I’m losing you.”
Jungkook’s heart beats against the back of his throat. “I’m not going anywhere, Yug.”
More silence and then, soft and upset, “That’s what you said last time.”
Jungkook comes to a stop. There’s this quiet little yank below his stomach. Weight, pressing against
a corner in his mind. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s nothing,” Yugyeom sighs, voice somber. “Just, call me when you’re free, okay?”
“Yeah. Of course. Hey, Yugyeom?” Yugyeom hums, but Jungkook takes a moment to gather his
thoughts, looking around at the other pedestrians on the street, those moving about behind the wide
windows of storefronts. “I’m sorry that I haven’t been intentional,” Jungkook finally says, watching
a couple swing a toddler between them at the bus stop. “You know you’re my best friend, right?”
“Of course,” Yugyeom sniffs, affronted “There’s no debate.”
Jungkook smiles despite himself. “Brat.”
“Says the Prince of Brats,” Yugyeom claps back. There’s a smile in his voice now. “How do your
boyfriends put up with you?”
“The same way you put up with me,” Jungkook answers, tapping his feet against the pavement in
time with a boy group song streaming from the open door of a cosmetics store behind him. “Patience,
affection, and the occasional lecture about how I’m deserving of love and good things.”
“O-o-o-h,” Yugyeom sings. “I knew I liked them.”
Jungkook laughs at that. He doesn’t feel so shriveled inside anymore. Doesn’t feel like the air around
him is trying to eat him whole. “We’ll meet soon, okay?” he says. “Let me know a night you’re off
next week.”
“Holding you to it. Hey, can Yoongi-ssi get us into clubs free, now?”
“Yoongi-hyung would do anything for me,” Jungkook replies with utmost certainty, but it only
makes Yugyeom cackle.
“You’ve gotten manipulative.”
“So I’ve been told.” His bus comes to a stop, its brakes groaning with the effort. “Gotta go,” he says,
already bounding towards the opening door. “Love you.”
“Love you three thousand.”
Jungkook’s brain doesn’t shut down when he takes a seat near the front. Zoning out comes easy to
him, is actually one of his favorite hobbies; but he feels like a live wire as he makes the trip
downtown. On edge, toes curling and uncurling in his boots, fingers doing the same against his
thighs.
The conversation with Yugyeom is resting cramped and bulky on his shoulders. He’s frustrated and
bewildered. He wants a hug. He wants a very alcoholic milkshake. He wants answers to questions he
doesn’t even know how to formulate into words.
It only takes fifteen minutes to make it to the restaurant where he’s meeting Yushin and the others,
and maybe Jungkook should make a habit in the future of telling Seokjin where he’s dining because
the lobby he just walked into definitely calls for a swankier dress code than Jungkook’s finest black
jeans.
“Mr. Jeon,” a waiter in trim burgundy greets him. “This way, please.”
Jungkook clutches his book bag to his chest and follows wordlessly, glancing about the nearly empty
room. There are only a few people here: a couple tucked away in a candlelit corner, a party of four
clinking glasses of dark red wine near the bar. Jungkook feels dusty and warm and out of place as
he’s led through the main room under a row of low-hanging chandeliers to a secluded group of
booths near the back. The walls are tufted velvet, the tables small and glinting gold.
Yushin is waiting for him, chin sunk deep in his palm, looking perfectly put-together in an inky dark
suit in this private leather booth in this swanky, black-tie establishment. Almost like he owns the
place, which, Jungkook comes to find as a different waiter pours him a glass of white wine, he kind
of does. Or his family does, at least.
“Perks of being a chaebol,” Yushin shrugs. “The fine dining almost makes up for my parents lack of
presence in my life.”
Jungkook can’t help but snort. “I understand that well,” he says, turning to thank their waiter and
hesitating when he finds the man has already slipped away. Jungkook frowns and takes a small sip
from his glass, humming at the taste. Toasty but sweet on his tongue. Jungkook takes a bigger drink.
“At least,” he continues after setting his glass down, “the parents not being around part.”
“Absent parents?” Yushin asks.
“You could say that,” Jungkook answers, nose scrunching. “I don’t know who my birth parents are,
and my adoptive parents kicked me out before I started college.”
Yushin’s mouth tugs up a little. “Humans can be so cruel.”
“Uh, yeah,” Jungkook says, and something heavy settles against his diaphragm, making it difficult to
breathe. “They can.” And then, when Yushin doesn’t say anything more, Jungkook looks around
again and asks, “Where is everyone else?”
“Running behind,” Yushin says, not in the slightest bothered. He hasn’t glanced away from
Jungkook since he sat down. “You look delectable, by the way.”
Jungkook’s fingers find the hem of his shirt. One of Taehyung’s. Silk, maybe. Jungkook picked it out
because it was an understated kind of expensive and didn’t really call attention to itself, but
Jungkook feels quite naked under Yushin’s stare, like the other is swallowing him whole with his
eyes.
Yushin’s lashes have slowed. They’re dark, hovering over equally black eyes, and a small cascade of
shivers rush up Jungkook’s spine. The world feels as if it’s moving a few paces behind. Yushin’s
smile just keeps growing larger.
“Jungkook-ah?”
“I’m…” Jungkook places his palms on the glass of the table. They’re sticky with sweat. “I’m not
feeling great.”
“Nauseous?”
“Sleepy. Lil’... lil’ fuzzy,” Jungkook slurs, breathing through his mouth. His thoughts feel like
they’re trudging through water, thick and heavy in his skull, nearly impossible to get out. Jungkook
looks up. Yushin is still smiling, all teeth, gaze hooded, and the blanket of understanding that settles
over Jungkook nearly smothers him.
“Wha… Wha’you do?” Jungkook gasps, stomach twisting as he pushes away from the table. His legs
fold beneath him when he tries to stand, and Jungkook collapses back against the cushions of the
booth.
“A little nightlock in your drink,” Yushin answers. The candles cast sharp shadows across his face.
His eyes don’t reflect any of the light. “It makes you soft,” Yushin tells him, cupping one cheek as he
watches Jungkook struggle to find his balance. “Malleable. Now, Jungkook-ah, I’d like you to do
something for me.”
Jungkook’s tongue is ten times too big in his mouth. “Don’wanna.”
Yushin’s answering grin is enormous. “Still just as stubborn, I see. Good thing I’ve had practice.”
Jungkook closes his eyes, when Yushin stands to move around the table. Tries to will his limbs to
listen to him. They do, in stuttered, sluggish, useless movements.
Yushin doesn’t say anything, when he rests his hand against Jungkook’s hair. His fingers are long,
tugging in gentle movements on the strands by Jungkook’s neck, nails scratching against the back of
his scalp. Jungkook shivers violently. Yushin traces a wavy tendril near his temple with one finger.
“So pretty,” Yushin murmurs near his ear, then pushes Jungkook’s hair back with his palm and kisses
the middle of his forehead. “Always so pretty.”
Jungkook keeps his eyes closed, but he feels it, when Yushin nudges his chin with his own, forcing
Jungkook to face him. “Come on, Jungkookie,” Yushin says in a low voice against his lips, almost
kissing him, but not quite. “Doesn’t it feel good?”
“Go to hell,” Jungkook gasps, and Yushin’s laughter vibrates through his chest.
“Oh, believe me, I have. I live there, actually.”
Jungkook slits his eyes open at that. “Who’re you?”
“Yi Yushin,” Yushin says, grinning down at him with nothing but darkness in his eyes. “King of the
Shadow Realm.”
Jungkook’s eyes drift closed, stomach twisting, and the past two months make terrible sense now.
Yushin charmed him. Yushin knew who he was, has always known who he is. Yushin has been
working to get him alone, drop his guard, and Jungkook fell straight into his palm without a struggle.
“You have something I desire, Jungkook-ah.”
Something he desires. Something important enough a king would crave it. Something invaluable.
Powerful. Something Jungkook has that only he can hand over.
“Jin-hyung,” Jungkook whispers, voice cracking at the corners, and delight rushes across Yushin’s
handsome face, twisting it into something dreadful and inhuman.
“Correct. Now—” Yushin’s hands trail down Jungkook’s chest, fingers cold as they circle around
Jungkook’s wrists, holding them down beside his face. Jungkook feels the spark of pure fire tear up
his arms, acidic and spreading, spreading, before he even hears the crunch of bones. “Call for him,”
Yushin hisses as he crushes Jungkook’s wrists, as a curdling scream is torn from Jungkook’s throat,
body thrashing under the weight of Yushin on top of him.
Jungkook makes a wretched noise, the air forced from his stomach and out his mouth in a rush. His
sobs sound like a chant, half pleases and half names. Yoongi, Namjoon—anyone but Seokjin.
“This will end if you just c—”
Yushin makes a startled sound and Jungkook sinks against the cushions, Yushin’s grip on him
disappearing and leaving him reeling as he tries to find his feet without using his arms.
“Jungkook!” Someone screams. A woman, from nearby. “Jungkook, run!”
Jungkook rolls to his side. Minah is on the floor several yards away, hands wrapped around Yushin’s
throat. There are others, other ghosts he’s met in passing, some he’s played Go with, one who taught
him how to fix his purl stitch. They’re piled on Yushin, who is writhing under their transparent
bodies. The waiters in the room slink out from the shadows, moving towards their fallen king.
“Jungkook!” Minah shouts again, desperate and wild. “Run!”
Nausea roils like acid up Jungkook’s throat, but he swallows it down, buries the panic, and stumbles
to his feet. He runs. Doesn’t feel himself moving, but the tables of the restaurant fall behind him. The
night air hits his face, so cold against his clammy skin he nearly convulses, but it knocks the breath
back into him. Makes the haze from his mind fall away so he’s no longer looking through a tinted
glass.
Jungkook runs without feeling his legs, blasting down the street as dusk splatters bits of red and
orange across the sky. He makes it a block, then two, then three. He should take a bus, Yushin
wouldn’t try something around a group of people. But if he really is the king of the Shadow Realm,
would any of that matter?
Humans don’t see us unless we want to be seen.
Jungkook’s cheeks sting, his stomach is spasming, but nothing compares to every heavy step against
the pavement that sends a shooting pain reverberating up his arms to the back of his neck. It feels like
his hands aren’t connected to his body, just painfully swinging at his sides, but Jungkook doesn’t
dare look down to see the damage, doesn’t dare look away from the road before him.
If he calls for Seokjin, what will happen? If he doesn’t call for Seokjin, what will happen?
I don’t want to die, Jungkoook thinks as he rounds a street corner and nearly slams into a group
loitering outside a convenience store. Please, I don’t want to die.
There’s chiming from nearby, a familiar melody. Buzzing, he realizes belatedly, from his back
pocket.
Jungkook doesn’t stop moving, nearly tripping into the road as he works to get his phone out. It
hurts, it hurts, everything hurts—
“Hey, Jun—”
“Hyung!” Jungkook gasps. His breathing sounds like sobbing. “Help, I need help, hyung, I—”
“Where are you?” Hoseok says, and Jungkook crashes against a divider wall after turning a corner
too fast. He keeps running though as fear, waves of it, rush through him in quick hot flashes that
make him want to hurl. “Jungkook, what’s happening?”
The noise that leaves Jungkook’s throat is horrible. “Yi Yushin!” He cries, barely able to get the
words out. “He’s here! He’s after Jin hyung!”
Jungkook doesn’t know what that name will mean to him, to them, but Hoseok curses something
foul. Yells. Even over the sounds of his labored breaths, Jungkook can hear doors slamming on the
other line. “Jungkook,” Hoseok says. Jungkook can hear the grisel in it. Hoseok’s losing control over
his shift. “Where are you?”
How long has he been running? Where has he been running to?
Jungkook takes another sharp turn. There, up the street, he can see the bright golden leaves of the
ginkgo in the yard. A beacon in the night. Somehow, someway, his legs knew to take him here. “I
can see the house!”
“Okay, Jungkook. Okay, you’re doing so good,” Hoseok tells him. Something on Hoseok’s side
shatters, whatever that broke large enough for Jungkook to hear the reverberation from down the
block. “You’re almost home, baby, we’re here, we’re coming—.”
Jungkook’s foot catches on something and he crashes to the ground with an anguished cry. His phone
goes skidding, and only when Jungkook tries to crawl back to his feet on his elbows does he realize
that it wasn’t something he tripped over. There’s a hand, fingers as long as Jungkook’s forearm and
dripping in black sludge, wrapped around his ankle, tugging him away from the light of the road to
the shadows of an alley.
Jungkook screams. He flails his legs out and feels something pop out of place in his knee. Searing
pain spreads up his thigh and he wails, biting down so hard on his cheek he tastes blood. Jungkook
sobs but doesn’t quit writhing. “Yoongi-hyung!” He cries out, nails scraping the pavement as he’s
dragged away. “Joon-hyung!”
Jungkook’s cheek makes contact with concrete. He blinks, dazed, copper filling his mouth, and falls
limp. Distantly, he feels the burn of the pavement on his skin as he’s tugged foot by foot away from
the street. He throws an arm out, trying to grasp onto something—the pole of a lamp, the branch of a
bush— but it doesn’t help, doesn’t stop the creature from hauling him away.
Doesn’t make his hyungs appear.
For so many years Jungkook’s beaten back the sadness. Swallowed down the panic. The fear. The
sense of wrongness that’s been curdling in his chest for as long as he can remember. Orphaned.
Found in a park, abandoned. Adopted, then cast out.
Jungkook is exhausted. His insides are empty, save for the lone beating of his heart—but even that is
going quiet, like it too is growing too heavy to move for much longer.
The light above is dying.
A gossamer touch on his cheeks. Small pinkies, warm palms.
“I’ve been waiting lifetimes to meet you, Jeon Jungkook.” Jungkook’s lashes flutter. Brown eyes,
completely unremarkable except for who they belong to. “Lifetimes to hold you,” Jimin murmurs as
he leans down to press his lips to Jungkook’s forehead. “To cherish you. To tell you how loved you
are.”
There’s a sickening crash of thunder overhead that rattles its way down the street and into
Jungkook’s bones. The breath he sucks in his frigid and tears him open, makes his lungs seize up.
I don’t want to die.
Jungkook lifts his head just as lightning splits the sky. The creature at his feet looks towards the
roiling clouds and Jungkook doesn’t think, just moves. He rips around, using his momentum to fling
his body forward, twisting his free leg so it nails the monster against where its temple should be. The
grip on him slackens and Jungkook swings around again, screaming as his bones shudder and scrape
against each other in all the wrong ways; but he makes contact, drills his heel hard against a deep
socket that must be the creature’s eye. It screeches and drops him, and Jungkook shouts, pushing
himself to his knees, trying to fight off the fuzzed-over feeling threatening to take over his skull.
There’s a roar above, a rush of wind. This awful squelch. Jungkook tries to muster up the energy to
rise to his feet, to move just a little, but his whole body is burning, a raw nerve left exposed to the
world, and Jungkook can’t do anything but stay crumpled on the ground, head covered, breathing
heavy through is mouth so he doesn’t throw up.
Jungkook watches through blurry eyes as Hoseok tears into the dark, rippling form. Each time his
mouth drags away from the writhing mass, his teeth are dripping red. But it’s Yoongi who lands the
final blow. One bite with his massive jaw, clean across the top of the monster. Jungkook closes his
eyes before he can see the mess that follows.
Someone catches his arm, then the other, and Jungkook whimpers as he’s pulled off the ground.
“Sorry, Jungkook-ah,” Taehyung murmurs, hushing him gently as he cries. “Joon, help please.”
“‘m here,” Namjoon says from the side. A hand slides under Jungkook’s thighs, an arm folding
around his waist. Jungkook’s feet leave the ground. His head lolls forward until it rests against a
shoulder.
To think that nearly a year ago Jungkook was in this same position. Held in Namjoon’s arms, nearly
delirious, unsure of where the night would lead him.
“Got you, baby,” Namjoon shushes. There's a hot film over Jungkook’s eyes. He does his best to
blink away the tears. His lower lip is trembling, upper lip warm with snot, but his cries have quieted
into repressed little hiccups, the occasional hitch up breath. Taehyung keeps a hand in his hair,
stroking gently. Namjoon’s mouth keeps finding his forehead, kissing him lightly, whispering tender
things. “You’re almost home,” he says. “Jimin is waiting for us. Stay awake for me, baby.”
So tired, so tired, so tired. Jungkook just wants to hide away and sleep for years to come.
A gust of wind makes him shiver. Jungkook pries his eyes open as his head falls to the side. Yoongi
is trailing behind them. His eyes, normally a deep and entrancing black, are narrowed into sharp
vertical slits at the pupil. A pool of glimmering blue surrounds them.
“Hyung,” Jungkook mutters, and he watches Yoongi’s gaze zero in on him. His shoulders are so
tense they’re nearly to his ears, and he doesn’t relax until Jungkook gives him the smallest of smiles.
“Did you get him, hyung?”
Yoongi’s face crumples in on itself. “No,” he says, and Jungkook pinches his eyes shut. “It was only
one of his minions.”
“My favorite one, actually,” someone whines from behind, and Namjoon spins quick enough to jostle
a whimper out of Jungkook as his bones clack against each other terribly.
Yi Yushin stands in the center of the road, suit rumpled, close enough for Jungkook to see his
brightless eyes. He’s looking at Jungkook, amused. “Should have broken your legs first,” he drawls.
Shrugs. “Oh well.”
Namjoon growls something fierce, but it’s Taehyung who has to be held back, coming up from
behind fast enough that Hoseok almost doesn’t get a hand on him in time. They hold on to each
other, claws out and fangs bared, but neither of them take a step away from Jungkook’s side.
Yushin is beaming. Jungkook hates that, despite everything, Jungkook still thinks he’s beautiful.
“Hello, Joonie. Hoseokie,” Yushin greets, the familiarity in his words sweet and provocative. “You
both are looking well.”
Nobody speaks. Jungkook can’t even feel Namjoon’s chest rising with his breaths.
Yushin glances at them, smile darkening at the corners. “Well,” he says, clapping his hands together.
The tips of his fingers are charred black. The shadows at his feet ripple with each of his movements.
“I’m just here on business, so if you could please—”
“Yushin.” Jungkook’s heart trips. He takes a deep breath and finds, there, several steps behind
Yushin’s turned back, is Seokjin.
His fringe is pushed away from his eyes, hands in his suit pants, leaning on one leg. He looks
unbothered. Handsome. His smile is the same one he wore just before he cut someone’s hand off.
“You should have called my assistant,” Seokjin pouts. “We could have set up a time for tea this
week.”
Yushin laughs, a charming sound that doesn’t match up with his flat eyes. “Hello, Jinnie,” he greets.
“It’s been much too long.”
“I distinctly remember you saying in the summit meeting of sixty-four that you never wanted to see
my beautiful face again,” Seokjin gleans.
Yushin’s answering grin is chilling. “I think we shared more choice words than that, darling.”
Seokjin hums low. Jungkook watches, like a curtain falling over a stage, as Seokjin’s face shifts into
something wonderful and dangerous. “What do you want, Yushin?”
Yushin frowns. “Is that any way to speak to your king?”
“I don’t answer to you,” Seokjin says, voice sharp and meant to cut. He doesn’t back down, doesn’t
speak again, and Yushin’s shoulders lift and fall with a sigh.
“You’re no fun anymore, Jinnie.” He gestures towards their group, towards Jungkook, and Jungkook
feels it when Namjoon’s arms tighten around his body. “I’ve come to collect,” Yushin answers
simply. “A life for a life, I do recall?”
“I’ve killed many creatures in many lifetimes,” Seokjin responds in the same carefree tone. “You’ll
have to be more specific, darling.”
A piece of Yushin’s facade cracks. He’s irritated, Jungkook can tell. Seokjin is prickly that way. He
knows just how to push people past their ledge. “Lee Wooyoung,” Yushin states, sounding bored for
someone who’s on a supposed revenge mission. “He was a good friend of mine. Next to take over
one of the major households. I believe you slit his throat, correct?”
Seokjin doesn’t hesitate. “He took what was mine.”
Yushin perks up at that. Taehyung steps in front of Namjoon, shielding Jungkook from sight when
Yushin glances their way. Yushin hums. Smiles at Jungkook in a way that floods him with fear.
The others never spoke of Yushin. Not directly, anyway. But Jungkook knows this is the same being
that created Namjoon and Hoseok out of dark magic. The same being that cast them out into a
wasteland to die. He’s the same being that massacred a monarchy. The same being that rules with an
iron club over the underworld. The ghosts fear him, the goblins refuse to speak his name, as if it
might draw him out of the shadows.
How did Jungkook never notice in the past two months that he was sharing coffee with evil
incarnate? “The boy is quite lovely, is he not?”
Jungkook’s eyes go wide. Seokjin’s face falls instantly. “No,” he says, taking a step forward, hands
slipping from his pockets. It’s the first time tonight he’s looked out of control. “You can’t have him.”
Can’t have him. The debt to collect. A life for a life.
Jungkook is that life.
“Now, Seokjinnie,” Yushin coos, gaze falling over Taehyung’s shoulder to rest on Jungkook’s face.
Jungkook feels a glob of hysteria try to crawl up his throat, so thick he nearly chokes on it. “You
know an equal exchange has to happen. A debt must be paid. Don’t you care about the balance?” he
tosses over his shoulder.
Yoongi snarls and lightning strikes a nearby telephone pole, sending sparks raining down, casting
half the street into darkness. Jungkook whines and Namjoon’s hands squeeze his waist, his thigh,
consoling him. “You bastard,” Yoongi spits. Hatred has turned the softness in his face to jagged
lines, beautiful and terrifying. “The balance crumbled when you invaded the Light Kingdom. If
anyone owes a debt, it’s you.”
Yushin is unamused. Disgusted, it looks like, by the mere sight of Yoongi being here and addressing
him so directly. “This conversation is exhausting,” he sighs, and when he looks away, his expression
is stony. Resolute. Ageless. “Kim Seokjin, King of the Goblins, murderer of a member of the House
of Night—” Shadows slither across the pavement, taking the form of hunched figures looming
around them, awaiting a command. “Either you come with me to settle your debt, or I take the boy by
force. Which will it be?”
Every organ in Jungkook’s body dissolves. He’s moving, unable not to, squirming from Namjoon’s
hold. He hits the ground hard but rises quickly, and there are already arms around his waist before he
can make it a step forward.
“Hyung!” He shrieks, flailing, terror running through him in prickling waves. “Hyung, no, you
can’t—”
Seokjin’s staring at him, broken beyond belief. “I”ll go,” Seokjin says, and the wind carries his
words through the air like fluttering leaves. Jungkook sobs. Digs his nails into the hands holding him
back. They only tighten around him.
“Wonderful,” Yushin claps, delighted. “I’ll even give you a minute to say your goodbyes.”
No, no, no. Make time go back. Bring Jungkook back to that night so long ago. Make it so he never
met them. Make it so Seokjin won’t have to leave. Won’t have to die.
Seokjin moves towards them with purpose, arms out, and Jungkook cries when Taehyung stumbles
into Seokjin’s chest, chanting something low, voice warbled with tears as Seokjin pulls him in for a
desperate, grasping hug.
Seokjin is kissing him. Shushing him. Jungkook hears the thud of bare feet on the pavement just
before Jimin rushes past in a blur, slamming into Seokjin and Taehyung from the side, cries piercing
in the quiet of the evening.
“Hyung, I saw-I saw— ” He’s choking on his words, his sobs. “I don’t understand,” Jimin wails, a
mess of raging sorrow, beating a fist against Seokjin’s shoulder. “I don’t understand.”
Seokjin doesn’t falter. He says something low to Jimin, too soft to be heard, and Jimin only cries
harder. Kisses Seokjin full on the mouth once, twice, before Taehyung is gently untangling their
limbs. He guides Jimin away into his own earnest hold. They hold on to each other, breaking apart.
Hoseok’s hiccuping, tiny stuttered breaths escaping as he draws Seokjin in close. They exchange
quiet words and Hoseok’s head falls forward, his shoulders trembling as Seokjin presses his mouth to
Hoseok’s cheek, his ear. He says something soft and Hoseok nods, drawing away to join Taehyung
and Jimin so Yoongi can take his place.
This, watching Yoongi take Seokjin into his arms—Jungkook feels it, his ribcage collapsing, his
lungs bursting under the weight of crippling sorrow. Seokjin buries his face into Yoongi’s neck. He
doesn’t cry. Doesn’t say anything, just allows Yoongi to tangle his hands in his hair. Allows Yoongi
to rock them, back and forth. Just allows himself to be held.
When they split apart, Yoongi places his palms on the side of Seokjin’s cheeks. He rocks up on his
toes so he can press his mouth to Seokjin’s. Their kiss is soft and unassuming, but the sky overhead
bursts apart when Yoongi draws away. Rain falls around them, cold enough to steal Jungkook’s
breath.
Seokjin turns. The hands on Jungkook are gone and leave him faltering. He catches himself before he
stumbles and watches in slow-building horror as Namjoon falls into Seokjin’s open arms.
Seokjin rubs Namjoon’s back like he’s consoling a child, presses kisses to Namjoon’s cheeks. Smiles
up at him and says something that must make Namjoon laugh because his body is shaking, but his
body has been shaking for a while now. Jungkook has never seen Namjoon cry before. Jungkook has
never seen any of them cry before.
Seokjin is looking at him with the softest, most upturned mouth and Jungkook’s whole body heaves.
He gasps, lurching forward, and Seokjin is there, folding him in close. Jungkook feels fingers in his
hair, breath on his neck. “I’m going to die,” Jungkook sobs as he clings to the front of Seokjin’s suit,
ignoring the pain splintering inside of him, the rain spilling around them. “I’m going to die someday
but you won’t and they need you, hyung, everyone needs—”
Seokjin places his hands on the sides of Jungkook’s face, cradling Jungkook’s head in his hands. He
looks down at Jungkook. Hair clings slickly to his forehead, and rain slides down his cheeks. There
isn’t a trace of fear in his eyes. “I will do anything to keep you safe,” Seokjin says in a heavy voice.
“Do you understand?”
Jungkook tries to shake his head but Seokjin holds him in place. “Don’t go, hyung, please don’t—”
Seokjin pushes the wet hair away from Jungkook’s temples with his thumbs, bends down so he can
press a long kiss to Jungkook’s forehead. “Love you, my brave boy,” Seokjin whispers, breathing
shaky. Jungkook’s sobbing grows louder. “Go, now,” Seokjin croons, and Jungkook feels it, the
exact moment his free will melts away. “Go to Joonie.”
Jungkook sucks in the sound of his sobs, but the tears still dribble down his cheek in silence, mixing
with the water falling from overhead as he backpedals until arms wrap around his stomach, drawing
him in.
They all watch in silence as Yushin places a hand on Seokjin’s shoulder, and then, without
ceremony, they both disappear into the night.
Chapter 10
The hanok is quiet, when Jungkook finally leaves the light of the porch and steps into the living
room.
The others are strewn about. Namjoon, keeping Taehyung close to his chest on the loveseat. Yoongi
on the sofa, holding Hoseok’s wrist against his mouth, murmuring something too quiet to hear.
Jimin, standing alone, forehead pressed to the plaster of a wall. He’s silent but his shoulders are
trembling.
Jungkook looks at them, really looks at them, and sees nothing but the ache of loss.
“Is that it?” Jungkook hears himself say and watches as each of them take their time to turn to him.
His heart is so big and heavy, pressing against his windpipe, making it hard to breathe. “You’re
acting like he’s already dead.”
Taehyung recoils, but it’s Namjoon who, in his smooth, sweet voice, as if he’s speaking to a child,
says, “Jungkook-ah, I don’t think you understand what’s happened.”
Jungkook’s eyes narrow. He slides the door shut with a smack and pulsing shards of pain spread up
his arms, residue from what Jimin couldn’t heal in one go. “Jin-hyung was taken to the Shadow
Realm,” Jungkook says, looking at each of them. Sludge builds in his throat when no one meets his
eye. “We can get him back,” Jungkook presses, “just like you guys got me back.”
Namjoon shakes his head. “Jungkook, that’s not—” Namjoon’s breath stutters, choked up, and
something about seeing Namjoon close to tears makes Jungkook’s soul lurch and twist in on itself.
“It’s not possible.”
Jungkook feels like he’s drowning. He places a fist against his sternum and presses down hard.
“You’re not—” He heaves in a great breath. “You’re just giving up on him?”
“We’re not—”
“You are!” Jungkook snaps before Hoseok can finish, pinching his eyes shut, refusing to accept this.
“You just let him go!”
“What were we supposed to do, Jungkook?”
Jungkook shakes his head. “I thought—” His voice breaks. Pressure builds behind his eyes. “I
thought you let him go because you have a plan. A plan to get him back .” Jungkook hangs his head,
pressing his chin to his chest. Something inside of him bursts. His heart. “It should have been me,”
he whispers to the weight of the room.
“Jungkook—” Taehyung starts.
“Stop it. It should have been me,” Jungkook yells, but it comes out more as a strangled whisper.
“I’ve got, what, twenty years left in me before my age really starts to show? Another ten after that
before you lose interest?” Tears dribble down his cheek. Jungkook blots them away with his shirt
sleeve. “I am going to die, why does no one understand that?” Jungkook looks up at them through a
hot film of tears. “Why didn’t you let me go?”
Taehyung’s on his feet, already reaching for him. “Jungkook, you—”
“How dare you,” Yoongi says, and Jungkook watches as rage and hurt erupt simultaneously in his
face. “Do you think this is a fling for us?” His voice is breathless, face red. All movement in the
room has stopped. “Do you think losing you would hurt any less?” Jungkook cries. He wails. Yoongi
doesn’t care, doesn’t slow down, the words spilling out of him with jagged corners, his eyes glinting
fiercely with unshed tears. “This isn’t a game , Jungkook, why can’t you understand that? Have we
not shown you how much we cherish you?”
Hoseok has a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder, like the simple touch might reel him back in. Yoongi
doesn’t give. He sits there, waiting, breathing hard enough to rattle the panes of the windows.
Jungkook cries. He breathes. “You’ve known me a year and Jin-hyung a hundred, a thousand.” It’s
not accusatory. Nothing sharp about it. It’s simply a fact, one that no one can deny. Jungkook wipes
the snot from his lip with his wrist. “There’s no comparison.”
A hush settles over them. The anger, just seconds before ready to burst down the front door, has died
on Yoongi’s face. What’s left behind makes Yoongi look small and terrible and hurt.
Yoongi shuffles forward, brushing Hoseok’s touch aside. When he’s close enough he simply takes
Jungkook’s face into his hands. His touch is so tender is startles Jungkook into stillness.
“You’re right,” Yoongi says, eyes roving Jungkook’s face, looking deep into him. “We’ve known Jin
for much longer, but that doesn’t mean he’s worth more; that we love you less.” Yoongi brushes
Jungkook’s tears away with his thumbs.
Jungkook’s bones unhinge and he drops, sagging against Yoongi with his whole weight. Yoongi
doesn’t budge. He just smooths his big hands up and down Jungkook’s spine, like Jin would do when
Jungkook got overwhelmed and needed something to ground him.
Jungkook sniffs, hands hanging loosely at his sides. He can still feel each individual crack, the pulse
of pain deep in his bones, but Jungkook’s almost too tired to care. “You’re really not going to go
after him?”
“I don’t know how we would,” Yoongi murmurs against his neck. “Breaking into Shade’s Manor is
one thing, but the Night Palace?”
“Jin-hyung…” Jungkook draws away so he can look at the room. Hoseok tugged Jimin over to the
second sofa to hug tight. Taehyung’s not making any noise, but his cheeks are wet. Namjoon’s
rubbing aimless shapes against his thigh. “He told you things, before he left. Did he leave any clues?
A plan?”
Surprise crosses their faces. They turn to each other, questioning.
“He told me there’s strength in depending on people,” Taehyung starts, glancing around, unsure.
“That I’m… That I’m not weak for loving people so much.”
Namjoon rubs Taehyung’s arm. Jimin leaves Hoseok behind to shuffle behind the sofa. He drapes
himself over Taehyung’s shoulders, tucking his face into the curve of Taehyung’s neck.
“He said I need to stop living for others,” Jimin sighs, his arms flexing as he tightens his hold on
Taehyung. Taehyung places his hands over Jimin’s. Kisses his wrists. “And that I could be really
powerful if I believed in myself more.”
“He called me brave,” Jungkook whispers. “Said he’d do anything to protect me.”
“He told me I was his first love,” Yoongi scoffs. He sounds bitter. He looks heartbroken. Jungkook
reaches for his hand and squeezes as hard as he can without making it hurt. Yoongi holds him back.
“He… He mentioned the first time he saw us,” Hoseok says with soft trepidation as he meets
Namjoon’s gaze across the room. “Said our fire could—” Hoseok cuts himself short with a gasp. His
face is flushed, eyes wild.
“Hob-ah?” Yoongi presses.
Hoseok’s on his feet in a flurry. “He said our fire could pierce through any darkness. Joonie. Joonie,”
Hoseok squeals as he rushes forward, tumbling into Namjoon’s lap, half-laying over Taehyung who
makes a umph sound when Hoseok knees him in the gut. Hoseok cups Namjoon’s cheeks and
squishes them between his palms. “You know what that means, right? Right?”
Namjoon stares at him for a long moment before understanding sparks in his eyes. “The wall,” he
forces out between squashed lips. Hoseok laughs, delighted, and shakes Namjoon’s head back and
forth. “Oh my god.”
“What?” Taehyung says, crawling up so he’s sitting on the arm of the chair and out of the way of
wayward limbs. Hoseok rolls into the open cushion and looks up at him and Jimin, legs skewed, still
smiling like a maniac. “What’s going on?”
“There’s a wall of shadows that surrounds the palace,” Namjoon tells them, his face alight.
“Impenetrable. It will absorb the soul of any living thing that tries to breach it.”
Taehyung straightens through the back. “But Jin hyung said—”
“That our fire could break through it!” Hoseok all but shouts.
Stillness blankets the room, but only for a heartbeat. Yoongi clears his throat, and when Jungkook
looks over, Yoongi’s eyes are blazing blue. “That little shit,” he hisses, but he’s grinning wide
enough to show his gums. “He just has to make everything into a game.”
~~~
Jimin pulls Jungkook aside before dinner, guiding him carefully by the elbows, his face pinched as
he maneuvers Jungkook to the dim hall that leads to Yoongi and Seokjin’s rooms.
“Hyung?” Jungkook starts and then sucks in a breath when his back hits the wall. Jimin hesitates,
watches Jungkook with a look on his face that’s hard to decipher before slowly lifting Jungkook’s
hands to his mouth.
Jimin’s voice is strained from crying, but he’s as focused as ever as he chants a spell, working to heal
the last of the splinters and cracks in Jungkook’s wrists.
Jungkook shivers violently, but Jimin doesn’t stop. The heat isn’t unbearable. Earlier, when Jimin
first took him into his arms out in the yard, Jungkook thought he would drown in it. But this is a
pleasant warmth. Jimin strokes the tender skin on the inside of his hands, down his forearm to his
elbow and back up, whispering all the while, pressing dry kisses to the particularly tender spots.
Jimin’s words become dreamlike, almost hypnotic, and Jungkook begins to drift. His eyes flutter
closed and there, behind the darkness of his lids, Yunshin’s bright grin gleams back at him.
“Darling,” he says in a low voice, close enough for his cold breath to wash over Jungkook’s lips,
almost kissing him, but not quite.
Shame rolls through Jungkook. How, after everything that’s happened, is he still drawn to this
beautiful creature who broke him, who stole away a part of his life?
Jungkook’s bones unhinge and he slides down to the floor, chest heaving, quick hot flashes of nausea
rushing through his stomach, eyes darting up and down the hall. No Yunshin. No shadows. Just the
distant sound of clambering cabinets and sizzling pans. Taehyung, singing a languid, crooning song
in his deep baritone. It smells of garlic and herbs and the tangy sweetness of Jimin’s cologne.
“Hey, baby,” Jimin murmurs, thumb brushing across Jungkook’s cheek, startling him back. “You
with me?” The space around them seems to be swelling. From Jungkook’s waist down to his knees,
everything is twisted tight. “Jungkook?”
Jungkook nods, his tongue too twisted to speak. The pinched fear at the corner of Jimin’s mouth
doesn’t smooth away. He crouches down, one leg between Jungkook’s thighs, and wraps him up into
a hug.
“My brave, bright boy,” Jimin says in his soft voice, kissing Jungkook’s ear, his cheek, the juncture
of his neck. “You’ve got to stop scaring me.”
Sadness fills Jungkook. Tears roll down his face and drip, drip, drip onto his shirt. Some must land
on Jimin because he leans back to coo at Jungkook and wipe his face with his own sleeves. “Hyung.”
Jimin hums. Jungkook’s face aches. The tears won’t stop. “Hyung, you saved me.”
“I think Yoongi did most of the work,” Jimin notes and Jungkook shakes his head, stopping him
before he can say more.
“No. It was you.” Jungkook takes a moment to gather his thoughts. He’s starting to float again, so he
wraps his arms around Jimin and draws him in, digging his fingers into Jimin’s hair, kicking his legs
out in front so that Jimin can sit on his thighs and weigh him down.
Jimin is malleable under his touch, going where Jungkook guides him. Jungkook can feel Jimin’s
breath on his neck, fingers dragging up his sides. Somehow it’s this perfect sigh of a moment, and
Jungkook closes his eyes and breathes. “I was gonna give in.” Jimin tenses against him and Jungkook
holds him tighter, keeping him in place so Jimin can’t look at his face. “In the alley, the monster…”
Pins and needles. Red hot. All over his body. “He had me, and everything hurt, and I was alone and
then… Then I wasn’t. You were there. You talked to me. And I thought about how much I didn’t
want to die. About how much I wanted to see you and all the hyungs again.”
Jungkook swallows. His throat is tight. Jimin’s hair is tickling his cheek.
Jimin doesn’t say anything, but Jungkook can hear his breathing pick up. His hold on Jungkook’s
waist is strong enough to bruise.
“I love you.” Jimin makes a hollow, choked out sound, and Jungkook twists his fingers in Jimin’s
hair and trembles. “I love you, hyung. Jimin. I love you so much.”
There’s heavy padding from the other room, and Jungkook looks up just as Taehyung turns the
corner, head flicking back and forth as he searches for something. He stops when he spots them,
wound up in each other on the floor. Jungkook’s shoulder is wet.
“You both okay?” Taehyung asks in a low voice, taking slow steps towards them. Jungkook nods and
Taehyung nods back before stooping down to kiss the crown of Jimin’s head, then leaning in further
to press one to Jungkook’s forehead. “Dinner’s ready,” Taehyung tells them, tracing a wavy tendril
near Jungkook’s temple with a finger. “You both need to eat something.”
“Kay. We’re coming.”
Taehyung draws away and returns to the living room. Jimin gasps for a single shaky breath, and then
he has his palms pressed to Jungkook’s chest and pushes.
Jimin’s staring at him, eyes misty and bloodshot. He’s peering into Jungkook’s eyes in a way that
makes him tremble. “I’m proud of you,” Jimin says, and he’s looking at Jungkook with the brownest
eyes and the softest, most upturned mouth and Jungkook has to avert his gaze because it’s like
looking at the sun. “Jeon Jungkook, I am proud of you.”
Jungkook breaks eye contact. He shoves Jimin against the chest, but that only makes Jimin laugh and
fall against him and kiss his searing cheeks as he whispers again and again and again, “I love you, I
love you, I love you.”
~~~
Jungkook lies down after dinner, his head so heavy his shoulders shudder under its weight. He must
fall asleep without realizing, because when he rolls onto his side with a groan, eyes blurry and tongue
thick, Yoongi is watching him.
Someone flipped a lamp on. It throws light warmly around the room and reflects off Yoongi’s dark
eyes.
They watch each other for a long moment, and then Jungkook shuffles forward until his forehead is
pressed to Yoongi’s collarbone. Yoongi’s hand settles on his waist. He breathes in the scent of rain.
~~~
The next time Jungkook’s eyes flutter open, someone has him in a back hug. Yoongi’s still there,
though, staring down at him, unmoving. As if he’s keeping watch. As if he’s single-handedly
fighting off every dark thought from Jungkook’s mind.
Dreams dredge at the corner of Jungkook’s vision, tempting him back to sleep. White teeth. A wet
palm against his dry forehead. Saltwater against his lips. A brightless, lightless sky bearing down on
him.
Jungkook picks up Yoongi’s hand. “Hyung?” He waits until Yoongi hums to speak again. “Everyone
keeps talking about the other kingdom. The light one.”
Yoongi doesn’t draw away when Jungkook begins tracing meandering shapes against his wrist. “You
know what the absence of light is, Jungkook-ah?” Jungkook shakes his head. “Pure, unyielding
darkness.”
Yoongi switches their positions so that he’s the one holding Jungkook’s hand, rubbing firm circles
with his thumb into the meat of Jungkook’s palm.
“About five hundred years ago,” Yoongi starts, his voice low and rough in the darkness, “the Night
King mysteriously passed away. Yunshin, as the only heir, took over the throne. He was young, by
our standards, but charming and debonair.”
Yoongi pauses. His hand, big and cool, slips down to Jungkook’s stomach and dips under the loose
hem of his tee. Jungkook sighs at the solid touch and pulls Yoongi in closer. Yoongi relaxes and rests
his chin on Jungkook’s shoulder, nestling into the crook of his neck. “There was rumor,” Yoongi
murmurs, “that Yunshin seduced the crown prince of the Light Kingdom.”
“Sordid lovers,” Taehyung says quietly from behind Yoongi. His head pokes up and he tucks himself
against Yoongi’s neck so he can look at Jungkook.
“He stole the prince away one night,” Jimin says against Jungkook’s throat, breath warm on
Jungkook’s skin. Jungkook didn’t know he was awake. “Under the guise of marriage, to unify the
kingdoms.” Yoongi’s fingertips dig into Jungkook’s side, and Jimin’s tone takes on a jagged edge.
“But Yunshin killed him instead.”
Jungkook twists his hold on Yoongi’s sweater, heart beating against the back of his throat.
“In their grief,” Taehyung continues, “the light kingdom was left open to attack.”
“And attack Yunshin did.” Yoongi’s voice is serious and determined. He takes a deep breath and
Jungkook can feel the rise and fall of his chest. “He wiped out the entire family line. The kingdom’s
been left to rot ever since. Shades have taken over as the guard, the magical community’s
relationships with humans has deteriorated.”
“People barely pray to the gods anymore,” Taehyung says in a small voice. “And there's a lot more
who are just frightened of us.”
A hollow, lonesome silence settles around them. Jungkook can tell that they’re frustrated. Furious.
Filled with heartache. Jungkook tried to never linger on the thought, but once again he finds himself
wondering what it must feel like to love someone for lifetimes. To have someone there, always,
through every hopeful, horrible, fleeting, lingering thing.
He lies there, in the arms of a man who has seen a thousand years of love and loss, who has chosen
Jungkook as something bright and shining he wants to hold onto forever; but this time, Jungkook
isn’t sad and lost and devastated. He’s not sure what he feels.
“We can never get rid of darkness,” Yoongi says an unknown amount of time later. Light reflects
back in his serious, dark eyes, the furrow between his eyebrows deepening. “Namjoon and Hoseok
were born from it, Seokjin, much to his dislike, has to live within it; but the Light Kingdom kept the
checks and balances. Healing verses heartache. Joy verses despair.” Yoongi’s brow creases further.
“Once the good is stripped from the world, it’s hard to not let the shadows take over.”
“Jin-hyung works with the ghosts and goblins to keep the underworld in order,” Taehyung explains
from over Yoongi’s shoulder, his eyes closed, voice sleepy. “But it’s hard, since Yunshin is such a
dictator.”
Yoongi snorts. “He only inserts himself when he has something to gain. And taking Seokjin off the
playing field means there’s less risk of him losing power.” Yoongi’s chin falls on top of Jungkook’s
head with a sigh. “Yunshin always did think that Seokjin was staging a coup against him.”
This makes Jungkook’s chest feel funny. “Was he?” Jungkook asks, his voice muffled against the
thick fabric of Yoongi’s sweater.
Yoongi pauses, considering. “I don’t know.”
“Seokjin kept a lot of the underworld politics secret from us,” Taehyung agrees.
Jungkook chews his lip, debating his next move. The room is warm but Yoongi’s skin is cool where
he has his hands pressed to Jungkook’s bare skin.
Go is tactical game, not one of chance. You have to learn how to read ahead, plan for things before
they happen.
“What if we did stage a coup?” Jungkook hears himself say, half to himself, processing the words.
He leans back enough to look up into Yoongi’s bewildered face. “You said no living creature could
break through the wall.”
“Yeah?”
“So what about someone who’s already dead?” Jungkook knows his voice is too loud, but he can’t
help it. This buzzing energy is building behind his ribs. He shrugs Jimin off, then Yoongi, swivelling
so that he can face them. They all look as if he’s gone deranged, and Jungkook feels like he’s falling
down stairs, hurtling and tumbling with no ability to stop. “The ghosts, hyung. Minah and the others
can’t die again, can they?”
Silence, and then Taehyung is gasping and scrambling over Yoongi to take Jungkook’s face in his
hands so he can kiss Jungkook on the mouth. “Jungkookie, you marvelous creature you!”
Jimin is sitting up on one arm, looking at Yoongi. “Do you think they would—”
“If they did—” Yoongi says, wide-eyed.
“We’d have an army,” Taehyung finishes, still squishing Jungkook’s cheeks, his grin dopey and
enormous.
Jungkook feels the corners of his mouth pulling up. He starts to push off the mat. “I’ll go find her,
right now—”
Yoongi’s fist knocks against his chest, pushing him back down. “Not a chance, Jungkook-ah. Hyungs
will go.”
Jungkook hastens to sit up again, but Jimin’s already dragging him back into his arms. “But I—”
“Just suffered a traumatic injury and are still healing.” There’s a stern divot between Yoongi’s
brows. Yoongi brushes Jungkook’s hair back with his palm and kisses him in the middle of his
forehead, just as Seokjin would do. “Let hyungs take care of this.”
Neither of them say anything more for a while. Yoongi stares at him, unblinking, and Jungkook
knows he’s right. Part of him cowers at the idea of leaving the hanok in the middle of the night,
leaving it ever; but if he can do something to save Seokjin, get his hyung back, then he’ll take the
risk.
Yoongi doesn’t think the same way, though, and Jungkook knows that he won’t be leaving this room
until everyone gives the all clear.
Jungkook ducks his head and Yoongi sighs and gives him a firm hug. When Yoongi slips away,
Taehyung is there to take his place. Jungkook is upset, but still he relaxes against Taehyung’s chest,
breathing Taehyung in as deeply as he can, trying not to mope. The adrenaline is fading, and
Jungkook is struck once more by exhaustion.
Taehyung has a firm grip on his upper thigh, but it’s Jimin who nudges Jungkook’s chin up so that he
can kiss the sweet dip where Jungkook’s collar bones meet. Jungkook gusts out a sigh, eyes
fluttering, a small cascade of shivers spreading up his spine when Taehyung nips at his ear.
“Hyung?” They both hum in unison. Jungkook traces idle shapes into the soft skin of Taehyung’s
forearm. Taehyung shivers violently under the touch. “Did you know the crown prince?” Jungkook
refuses to look over, knowing that he’ll get caught in the earnest hold of Taehyung’s gaze. “From the
light kingdom?”
Taehyung makes a thoughtful noise. “No. Jimin and I weren’t alive back then.” It’s a strange thing to
think of, a world where Jimin and Taehyung aren’t in it, together. “I think maybe Hoseokie or Joonie
might have known him. They’ve been around the longest.”
“Known who?” Hoseok asks as he steps through the door, already kneeling to crawl and wriggle so
he’s cinched between their bodies. Even in the moonlit stillness of the room, Hoseok looks
sundrenched and warm. He smiles at Jungkook, tips forward to kiss the tip of his nose, the apples of
his cheeks.
“Did hyung put you on guard duty?” Taehyung asks when Hoseok twists to kiss him on the mouth.
“I volunteered,” Hoseok answers brightly. “More time to cuddle my babies.” Taehyung giggles when
Hoseok peppers his cheeks with kisses. “Now, what were you talking about?”
“The crown prince,” Taehyung says with a wide grin, wrapping his arm around Hoseok’s stomach,
hooking his chin over Hoseok’s shoulder so he can still look at Jungkook.
Hoseok’s face pinches thoughtfully. “We heard snippets of the Light Kingdom, but we were cast out
of the Night Kingdom long before Yunshin came into power.”
Jungkook is aware of each breath he takes. He grasps Hoseok’s hand in his, stretches his fingers
wide, curls them back in. Hoseok doesn’t seem to mind. He closes his eyes and lifts his head so that
Taehyung can slip an arm under him to use as a pillow.
Jungkook breathes. He can hear this rush of water in his ears. When he closes his eyes, it’s as if he’s
swimming through darkness.
“He was compassionate,” Jimin murmurs into Jungkook’s neck, his sweet voice reeling Jungkook
back in. “Friendly. Laughed a lot.”
Taehyung makes a surprised noise. “Jimin, you knew him?”
Jungkook feels Jimin shake his head. “No. I don’t… I don’t know why, but I just know.” No one
questions that. Jimin just knows a lot of things. “Being around him was like standing in sunlight,”
Jimin continues with sleepy earnestness, as if he’s speaking of an old friend. “You couldn’t help but
feel warm inside when he spoke.”
“Sounds nice,” Hoseok hums, and then, “Why the sudden interest, Kook?”
Jungkook’s hand stills. He opens his eyes and Hoseok is watching him. “It just seems odd,” he starts,
“that no one tried to take over the kingdom.”
“A few tried,” Hoseoks says, still looking at him with too much intent, like he’s searching for
something on Jungkook’s face. Jungkook drops his gaze so it rests on Hoseok’s collarbone. “But it’s
hard to rule over something so inherently good. Only the pure of heart can manage it.”
They lay in silence for a long while, Jimin snuffling sleepily against Jungkook’s neck, Taehyung
rubbing Hoseok’s belly, Hoseok dragging his socked toes against Jungkook’s bare calf. The friction
is nice, the heat of their bodies even better; but even in their heavy holds, Jungkook feels unmoored.
“Do you believe what Yoongi said about the elopement?” He hears himself ask.
It’s Hoseok who answers. “I don’t know,” he says softly. “It’s hard to believe that anyone could love
someone like Yunshin.”
Jungkook pulls himself up, lengthening through his spine, slowly, like he’s moving underwater.
Hoseok’s arm falls away from his waist, Jimin’s leg slides down his thigh. “He’s charming,”
Jungkook whispers to his hands, folded neatly in his lap. “Makes you feel seen and heard. Makes
you… think things. Feel things.” Jungkook clenches his fingers until he can feel each individual
press of a nail against skin. “It’s like how Seokjin charms people, but it’s deeper than that.”
Jungkook opens his palms. Dark red crescents stare up at him. “You don’t even know you’re losing
yourself until it’s too late.”
Hoseok breathes sharply through his nose. “He made you fall in love with him.”
“Not love,” Jungkook says, before Taehyung can work himself into a growl. “Infatuation,
definitely.”
“You think he did the same thing to the prince?” Taehyung asks, and Jungkook places a hand on
Jimin’s ankle and squeezes.
“Why does anyone fall in love?” Jungkook grins, peeking over at Taehyung from under his lashes.
Taehyung is looking at him, his dark eyes warm. Sad. They’re all so sad. “I think that anyone who’s
lonely enough will take love where they can get it.”
The air goes still. Jimin curls further against his side. “Have you done that before, Kookie?”
Jungkook nods. “When I was younger.” He doesn’t bring up Minwoo or the strangers without faces
who occasionally worked their way into his bed when the nights grew too quiet. “Not lately.”
“Of course not,” Hoseok says, rocking forward to knock his forehead against Jungkook’s shoulder.
“You have us,” he says, words teasing but voice laced with a vulnerability Jungkook isn’t often privy
to hearing from him. “We’ll give you all the love you want and more.”
The sound that Jungkook makes is forlorn and tears the smile right off Hoseok’s face. Hoseok
moves, pushes up on his knees and drapes his body across Jungkook’s back, one arm wrapped across
the front of his chest, the other finding the crown of his head. He rocks them, only just so, and
Jungkook looks up and sees Taehyung still watching him.
His face is stricken with grief. Jungkook looks over and Jimin is wearing an identical expression.
Jungkook closes his eyes. He breathes past the water in his lungs.
“Hey, hyungs?” They hum. Jungkook can feel Hoseok’s vibrate from deep in his chest. “Have Joon
and Yoongi hyung left yet?”
Hoseok’s words are slow when he speaks. Questioning. “They’re still out in the yard.”
“Could you get them for me?”
Taehyung leaves the room, face scrunched in concern, and not a minute later Namjoon and Yoongi
walk through the doorway looking confused and frightened, a little feral. Like they’re expecting the
worst.
“Joon-hyung,” Jungkook says, looking up at him, beckoning, and Namjoon steps forward without
hesitation. He drops to a crouch in front of Jungkook so they can look each other in the face.
Jungkook drinks in Namjoon’s round face, his broad chest, his strong arms. God, he’s so pretty.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” Namjoon echoes just as quiet, then waits until Jungkook dares to press his palms to Namjoon’s
cheeks, his thumbs dipping into the deep wells where his dimples should be.
Namjoon doesn’t draw away. If anything he leans into the touch, tilting his chin so that Jungkook is
cupping his face. “Hyung,” Jungkook says, leaning forward just enough for their noses to touch but
nothing more. “Hyung.”
Namjoon’s eyes kind of widen and spark. He searches Jungkook’s face, and only when Jungkook
gives the smallest of nods does he bend his head to kiss Jungkook softly. Jungkook pulls away just
enough to speak quietly against his mouth. “Only if you want it,” he says, kissing Namjoon again,
looking up over his head to find the others watching them. “Only if you all want it.”
Namjoon’s head dips and he knocks their brows together. “Jeon Jungkook,” he says in a voice that
makes Jungkook’s breath catch. He pushes a loose strand of hair behind Jungkook’s ear, his finger
trailing down to tilt Jungkook’s chin up. “I have and will always want you.”
Millions of tiny stars burst into being inside Jungkook’s chest and then they’re kissing again, smiling
into each other’s mouths, teeth and tongue and lips and Jungkook feels alive and luminous and
bright. The lid to the box in his chest, his heart, is blown wide open.
Behind it is nothing but light.
~~~
The next afternoon Jungkook has dish duty, but mid-bridge of the most recent Twice song Hoseok
has playing on the house speakers, movement catches Jungkook’s eye through the window above the
sink.
Hoseok screeches when Jungkook drops a pot, splashing soapy water across the counters and floor,
but Jungkook is already skidding through the living room and leaping off the porch, sprinting across
the yard to Minah’s open arms. He pulls her into a hug so tight it probably would have crushed her if
she wasn’t already dead. At least, that’s what she bemoans to Jungkook after he puts her down.
“You’re ruining my image, Jungkook-ah.” She runs her hands over her skirt, as if trying to get rid of
wrinkles, and looks at him from down her nose. She edges a brow up, and Jungkook knows he’s
staring, but he has to make sure she’s okay. The last time they saw each other, Mina had body
slammed a demon to the ground. The same demon that crushed his bones without any effort.
Mina brushes her hair behind her ear. Gives him a spin. The hem of her skirt doesn’t touch the
ground and Jungkook thinks of the first time they met, her bright eyes staring back at him out of a
storm drain. Strange, how the people you least expect become the most important to you.
“All in one piece,” she says knowingly as Jungkook continues to study her. “I’m okay, kid.”
Jungkook’s throat knots up. Guilt pulses out of him “Thank you for saving my life.”
“Of course,” Mina shrugs. “Can’t lose my favorite mentee.” Jungkook sniffles and her face sinks
with despair. Her expression only makes his eyes sting. “It’s alright, Jungkookie. Everyone’s okay.
We’ll get your hyung back.”
She pats his back with an awkward hand, but her smile is warm and genuine. Jungkook wipes his
nose and nods, then flinches when an arm wraps around his waist.
Taehyung’s curls brush his cheek when he rests his chin on Jungkook’s shoulder. His other arm
comes around Jungkook’s middle to hold him. “Hi, Mina-ssi.”
“Taehyung-ssi,” Mina greets, the nods over their heads towards the house. “Yoongi-ssi. Pleasure to
see you again.”
Jungkook tries to twist around, but Taehyung spreads his stance and keeps him in place. “Likewise,”
Yoongi greets, most likely with a bow. “We’re meeting in Seokjin’s office. I’ll walk you in.” A
pause and then, “Jungkook-ah, don’t you have class?”
Jungkook pushes Taehyung off him and swivels on his heel. “But the meeting—”
“Jin would want you in school,” Yoongi says. His hands are behind his back. He’s wearing a suit.
Jungkook’s never seen him in anything but other peoples’ hoodies and his work apron. “It’s your last
semester. Your showcase is in a month.”
Jungkook pushes away thoughts of how good Yoongi looks, how this is more serious than he
realized, how Yoongi has always been Seokjin’s second-in-command, how a war meeting is about to
take place down the hall from his bedroom, how this is the same man who holds his hand while he
sleeps and wakes him with kisses to his cheeks. “That’s not as important as—”
“Jungkook.”
Yoongi’s voice is deep and dark, not a trace of warmth hidden within, and Jungkook scowls and
looks down at the ground. His bare feet are sticking out from under his jeans. His hands are shaking.
Taehyung tries to hold him and Jungkook draws away. “Fine,” he snaps, his voice cracking as he
storms past Yoongi on the steps. “I’ll be late tonight.”
“I’ll come pick you—”
“Don’t bother,” Jungkook grumbles. The back of his neck is hot. “You obviously have more
important things to worry about.”
“Jungkook-ah—”
Early afternoon light drains through the windows, casting half the hanok with long, dark shadows.
Jungkook rushes to his room and gathers his school things, ignoring the unmistakable expressions of
bottomless woe that follow him out the door.
Jungkook knows he’s being ugly and mean, but if that’s the only thing he has control over right now,
he’s taking it. He’ll be as petty as he needs until they realize how unfair they’re being.
Except, Jungkook hates being mad at people, especially people he cares about. His painting studio is
a blur, and by the time he makes it out to the front steps of the arts center, Jungkook feels just as
bruised as the dusky sky pouring down overhead.
Jungkook lingers there long after his classmates have trickled out, chin resting on his chest, torn
between wanting to go home to apologize and get a hug or remaining here for a bit longer, small and
embarrassed, feeling as if his heart has been blown to smithereens.
“Jungkook-ah.”
Jungkook looks up from his feet. Yoongi is standing at the base of the stairs, tucked into one of
Seokjin’s sweatshirts, looking sad and vulnerable as he holds out a hand, as if he’s trying to gentle a
startled animal.
Jungkook has no idea what to do, what he wants, but still he plods down the steps, wavering a bit
when he comes to a stop above Yoongi.
A few years pass, and then Yoongi takes his hand and tugs on it softly.
They go home.
~~~
It rains the rest of the week. Two more meetings are held in the hanok without Jungkook present. No
one supplies details and Jungkook quits asking for them. Instead he spends his time in class or at the
clinic or sprawled on his back under the ginkgo as the wet earth seeps into his skin, stuck with this
startling, horrifying thought:
What if they decide to leave without him?
And then:
What if none of them come back?
~~~
Jungkook gets his answer the next morning.
“Fuck no,” he says, his fingers trembling so bad he has to ball them into fists, then shove them under
his arms so he doesn’t punch something. “Were you even going to fucking tell me?”
Taehyung’s head is ducked, Namjoon’s hand on his shoulder. They’re both dressed in hanboks,
which isn’t unusual. What is out of place are the coats of armor they’re dawning, the leather a deep
blue in color, thin metal plates catching the early morning light from the windows. They look
powerful and dangerous and out of place, standing beside the sofa at dawn on a Saturday with
Jungkook across from them in PJs with dried drool on his cheek.
Panic hurls around inside Jungkook’s body, threatening to make him hurl. Hoseok enters the living
room and stops short when he spots Jungkook in the doorway to the kitchen. He too is dressed for
battle.
“Jungkook-ah,” Hoseok starts, gaze fluttering between Namjoon and Jungkook, unsure of what to do,
how to handle him. “Please, let us explain.”
The need in Hoseok’s voice sends a shudder up Jungkook’s spine, but still Jungkook grabs at his
head, fingers covering his ears, trying to remain calm and cool and collected and not like the earth is
giving out beneath his feet. “You can’t—You can’t leave me behind,” he chokes, still shaking his
head, blood rushing to his cheeks.
“Jungkook.” Namjoon’s voice. The deep timber of it makes him sniffle. “I love you and you are not
coming with us.”
Jungkook’s life catches in his throat. Namjoon must see the way Jungkook’s drowning in dread, but
still he presses on. “What are you going to do there?” He asks, not expecting an answer because there
isn’t one. “You have no magic, no way to fight or heal. Tell me, Jungkook-ah, how are you going to
help Jin by putting yourself in peril?”
“But I—” Jungkook shakes his head. The floorboards are cold underneath his feet. Ever since
Seokjin was taken, the whole house has been frigid. “He’s there because of me. I can’t just—”
Small hands on his cheeks. Small pinkies. “Darling,” Jimin coos, and he too is draped in harsh lines
and hard metal. It makes Jungkook want to hurl, seeing his softest hyung this way. “You’re staying
behind.”
Jungkook’s body makes a sob sound against his will. “I’m not a fucking child.”
“Throw a fit if you want, but this is to protect you, Jungkook.” Yoongi is standing at the entry,
looking dark and deadly and absolutely devastated. His eyes are bloodshot, as if he hasn’t slept. As if
he’s trying not to cry. Jungkook’s ribs splinter. “You’ll put us all at risk if something goes wrong
down there and we have to save you, too.”
Jungkook swallows, looks away from them, Jimin’s touch stripped away as Jungkook backpedals out
of his hold. He can’t lift his eyes to meet them. “How do we know hyung is still alive?”
“His sword.” Yoongi pats his side where the scabbard hung in Seokjin’s room usually hangs. “Still in
one piece. Still here. That means hyung is, as well.”
Jungkook gives a stiff nod. They’ve made up their mind. So, instead of ripping the house apart with
his bare hands and making this harder on everyone, he spreads his arms wide and waits.
Jimin falls into him first, holding him tight, kissing him deep. Then Taehyung, then Hoseok, then
Yoongi.
Namjoon reaches him last. They stare at each other. Jungkook places his palm over Namjoon’s heart
and can’t feel it beating through the thick material of his armor.
“Love you, baby,” Namjoon murmurs before stooping to kiss him sweetly.
“Love you, too,” Jungkook whispers so he doesn’t cry. “Love you all.”
They leave, after that. A ghost from Jungkook’s knitting circle named Hana and a goblin Jungkook’s
met in passing who just goes by Bok are stationed in the courtyard to keep watch over him. In the
meantime Jungkook throws himself onto his bed, buries his head into his pillow and screams at the
top of his lungs, wondering how much stress a heart can be put through before it’s irreparable.
“They’re right, y’know.”
Jungkook flinches and rolls onto his side. Mina is sitting backwards in his desk chair, the skirts of her
hanbok swirling around the legs despite there being no breeze.
Jungkook pulls a pillow into his arms. “I know they’re right.”
“But you want to go anyway?” Jungkook gives a feeble nod and Mina stares at him, unblinking.
“You’ll be a liability.”
“Yunshin’s—” Jungkook makes a growling noise and pushes himself up on his knees. “This is
a game . Seokjin is a pawn .” Jungkook digs his nails into the soft mush of the pillow filling, then
watches as the indents slowly rise like a sleeping chest. “Yunshin’s playing at something else,
something bigger.”
Minah hums low. “You have a plan?”
“I just know that Jin can’t die,” Jungkook says. The heartache is there in his voice, but so is
something thicker, something sharp with gnashing teeth. “Not just for me, but for everyone. The
hyungs, you guys and the other ghosts and everybody else.” Jungkook feels a rush of something,
everything, hit him hard behind the ribs, making him inhale sharply. He looks up into Minah’s face,
who is watching him intently. He doesn’t look away. “Jin hyung has to take power. If I can stop
people from getting hurt, I have to try.”
Jungkook can hear the steady rustle of the trees outside. The ever-present patter of rain against the
roof tiles. There’s a knock on his door. A ghost pops their head in and doesn’t spare him a glance.
“It’s ready, Lady Minah.”
“What’s ready?” Jungkook asks as the ghost slips away, soundless, and he turns back to Minah and
finds that she’s grinning at him. It’s terrifying and beautiful.
“Our ride to the underworld,” she says, rising from the chair, holding a hand out for him to take.
“You coming?”
Jungkook was unconscious both times he was led to and from the underworld, so he’s a bit stunned
when Minah guides him from where he was making for the front door and to the coat closet, instead.
Jungkook stops a few paces from the door. Minah’s smirking at his side. “This is…?”
“A goblin portal.”
Jungkook’s head bobs. Not the strangest thing he’s been told in this house. “Huh.”
“Bok-ssi, mind helping us out?”
Bok doesn’t move from his station at the entry. He too is handsome and dangerous looking, cloaked
in night, watching Jungkook with hawkish intensity. “Yoongi-nim said—”
“Bit late to be worrying about that,” Minah grins. “Don’t want to be late to this event, now do we?”
Bok gives a full-bodied sigh and glides over to them. He doesn’t make a show of it, just opens the
closet door that, only yesterday morning, held a row of puffer and pea coats and is now a wall of
pitch black darkness.
Jungkook flinches, but Hana doesn’t hesitate and slips through the shadow and out of sight. Minah
prods Jungkook’s shoulder, and he toes forward. Sticks his hand in first. The inky blackness feels
like cool velvet washing over his skin. It doesn’t frighten him, so he takes a deep breath, like he’s
about to plunge into a pool, and takes a bounding step forward.
The cold steals the air from his lungs and he gasps, stumbling against the gravel bank of what looks
to be a river. Eyes dart towards him, some he recognizes but an alarming amount more he does not.
Hundreds of ghosts dot the shore of the Forgotten River. Jungkook doesn’t remember much from the
last time he was here, too in shock to absorb details, not that there’s much to take in. Jungkook
imagines this is what space is like. Deep, endless darkness that eats away at sound and light, gnaws
on your bones. No moon, no stars, no warmth. Just hollow, lonesomeness as far as he can see.
“Last chance to leave,” Minah says quietly beside him.
“No way.” Jungkook steels his shoulders. Shakes his arms out. Takes a deep, chilling breath. He
wonders what his face looks like. Minah is looking at him with an unreadable expression. “Let’s get
it.”
~~~
Jungkook rides in a boat with Minah, Hana and the rest of the knitting club, who apparently make up
the board for the Spirit Council.
“We’re figureheads,” Miae shrugs.
“No magic powers,” Jihye adds.
“Except being dead,” Seeyoon jokes. “Comes in handy sometimes.”
“Like when you’re about to wage war a psycopathic dictator who committed mass murder,” Yejoon
agrees.
They all laugh, their smiles easy and warm, and Jungkook can’t help but smile along with them,
these strange people he now calls his friends.
They ride in silence for a long while, just gentle mutterings here and there. Jungkook keeps to
himself and tries not to let himself imagine a world where Seokjin doesn’t come home with them.
Out across the water, a hundred more boats travel beside them, but all he sees is black.
He wonders how the boats move on their own. How they know where to go. He wonders how goblin
portals work and if there’s always been one in the coat closet. He wonders why the hanok let him in
during that party and why Namjoon let him stay. Why they kept letting him stay.
There’s a flutter in Jugnkook’s chest. He twists his fingers in his lap. “Why are you all still here, on
earth?” He asks, his voice soft, not sure if it’s polite to ask. It probably isn’t. “I mean, not everyone
who dies stays around, right?”
Minah purses her lips and nods. Her posture is relaxed, which makes Jungkook unfurl and loosen his
shoulders despite how his skin feels rubbed raw. “Did Seokjin-ssi tell you about how goblins are
made?”
“Yeah. An object that’s had blood shed on it.”
Minah brushes her hands over her skirt like she’s trying to tidy up. A nervous gesture on her part, but
still she speaks, her voice sweet and steady in the night. “Yes, blood. But it’s more than that. It’s fear
and grief and desire and regret. All of the heaviest of human emotions poured into a single object.”
Conversation has stilled around them. Jungkook looks forward. The ghosts are watching them as if
they’re holding their breath. “Spirits are much like goblins, except those heavy emotions?” Minah
taps her heart with one finger. “We are the ones who carry them. They are what keep us here.”
Jungkook winces, taking that in. “I’m sorry.”
Minah gives an exaggerated shrug and smile. “I’m sorry, too. But if being here means I get to rip Yi
Yunshin’s face off and help a friend along the way, then maybe living with this pain for the past four
hundred years is worth it.”
Jungkook tries to smile, but he pinches his eyes shut instead. His stomach sits heavy at the base of
his spine and crosses his arms, holding both elbows, cradling himself. Minah’s hand settles on his
thigh. She gives him a hefty pat. “We’ll be at the castle soon,” she says. “Yoongi-ssi is leading the
goblins from the east while we come in from the west. Remember what I told you?”
“Stay quiet, stay hidden,” Jungkook murmurs, slowly opening his eyes. His foot jumps restlessly
against the bottom of the boat. “The servant’s quarters are in the north tower. That’s where they keep
prisoners, ever since Yunshin took power. Jin hyung will most likely be there.”
“Right,” Minah nods and pats him again. “You’ve gotta be quick, Jungkook. Don’t hesitate, and be
ruthless. If it comes down to your life or someone else’s, put yourself first. Do what you need to stay
alive. Yoongi will kill me if you die.”
Jungkook wants to thank her, but the words fall away as a fortress rises from the deep, the pink and
white marble of its walls lit red by firelight. Jungkook refuses to feel frightened, instead focusing
first on the fury pushing through his veins, roiling and acidic, remembering what it feels like to be
left alone and forgotten.
He steps off the boat onto the black sand of the shore. There is no moon, no stars above his head, but
the darkness is cool against his lungs and he breathes it in deep.
This hurt, this anger, this dread—He’s tired of it trumping all the good in his life. No more will
Jungkook let fear guard his heart. No longer will he sit on the sidelines of his own life in silence and
convince himself that loving others will make him weak.
“Through every terrible thing,” Jungkook whispers, and when Minah asks what he said he just
shakes his head, straps on his gloves, and sets off into the darkness.
~~~
The castle is empty.
Jungkook watches from a crevice in an access hall as dozens of shades flew down the corridors,
shouting about how the wall had fallen, to send all able bodies to the grand parterre.
Jungkook watches, and he waits, and after several minutes of aching silence, he crawls out of his
hiding spot and races for the stairs of the tower.
He passes floor after floor, searches every room, locked and unlocked, and finds no signs of life. He
keeps moving, up and up, breathing steady, keeping his heart under control, slowing to a tepid crawl
when he comes to the last of the steps.
A shade waits at the top, back turned. He’s looking out over the rampant, watching what must be
mayhem below. Jungkook doesn’t wait. He slinks forward and wraps his arm around the shade’s
neck, holding him in place, pulling his wrist back to yank the man against him.
The shade tries to jerk around and Jungkook gets a hand on the back of his head, loops his arm, and
pushes hard. He breathes heavily through his nose, body sinking lower and lower to the floor as the
shade flails and thrashes and then, silently, falls limp in his arms.
It’s only a handful of seconds, but Jungkook’s heart is beating wild in his ears as he remains
crouched on the floor, waiting, listening.
The shade doesn’t move. No one comes up the stairs. Outside there’s a flash of light and then a boom
that rattles its way through the stones under his feet.
There are no keys on the shade, and Jungkook finds that, when he turns the knob off the only door on
this level, the wood swings open silently without effort.
The room on the other side is aglow with candles, the air thick with the scent of ash and winter, and
there, perched in the window sill, his skim gleaming in the flickery light, is Seokjin.
Jungkook’s heart lurches towards him, but before he can step out of the shadows, Seokjin looks over
and their eyes meet.
Seokjin is stiff with confusion, wild-eyed and disheveled. He springs to his feet and is across the
room in two great strides. He drags Jungkook away from the door, tucking him against the side of a
wardrobe where he can’t be seen from the hall.
“Jungkook,” Seokjin says, half frantic, half bewildered, totally unmoored. “My Jungkook-ah, what—
” His eyes go wide and he presses his thumb under Jungkook’s jaw and waits. A pulse. Seokjin is
checking for his pulse.
“I’m okay, you’re okay,” is all Jungkook says, and then rises up on his toes so he can kiss Seokjin.
It’s like stars, falling into his open palms, the way Seokjin kisses him back. Desperate and devastated
in equal measure and full of so much love Jungkook can feel the back of his eyes ache from holding
back tears.
They pull apart with a ragged gasp and Seokjin’s forehead falls to Jungkook’s shoulder. “The
others,” he says, breathing heavy. “How—The others, they understood?”
“Hoseok figured it out,” Jungkook answers, his words coming out sputtery. He just wants to hold
Seojin, touch his beautiful face; but they don’t have time. “But I don’t—Hyung, I didn’t come with
them.”
Seokjin straightens through the back. There’s not a trace of calm or gentleness hidden in his face.
“You what?”
Jungkook’s insides shrivel and shrink. “Minah and Yoongi-hyung can explain,” he says, taking
Seokjin’s hand. “But we need—”
“Choi Minah? Why is she here?”
“Hyung, please,” Jungkook says with earnest. “We don’t have time.”
Seokjin looks unconvinced, but still he nods and squeezes Jungkook’s hand once before dropping it
and making for the door. Jungkook sticks close behind him, head flitting back and forth at every
flicker in the shadows as they duck down hall after hall. Seokjin seems to know his way around well,
and for some reason, Jungkook does too. When Seokjin’s about to take a left that will lead to states
apartments,, Jungkook tugs on his arm and gestures to the other way, knowing that the hall or mirrors
will be a safer route.
Seokjin gives him a look, the same one Minah wore on the shores of the river, impossible to read.
Jungkook’s not sure he wants to.
Under the shelter of the promenade, Jungkook can see out along the castle grounds, all the way to the
lake. Thunder rumbles over the water and Seokjin stops, tugging Jungkook against his chest and
spinning to hide behind a pillar just as a gust of wind blows through with enough force to rattle the
roof above.
Lighting crackles, casting a dim and flickering light over them. Jungkook looks up and sees that
Seokjin is smiling, something soft and secretive, as he stares out over the grounds towards the water.
“This is more than just a rescue mission, isn’t it?”
Jungkook nods. The wind has died down and the air has grown unearthly still once more. “Hyungs
are leading the goblins from the east, and Minah has spirits from the west. But hyungs don’t know
I’m here, so we need to get to them quick, so they know you’re okay.”
“We’ll talk about this when we get home,” Seokjin says, trying to look stern and miserably failing.
Jungkook beams up at him and they start off once more, creeping through the shadowy light cast
over the marble floor from the firelit sconces. They reach the end of the walkway, and Jungkook
guides Seokjin to a staircase tucked behind thickets of brush.
“How do you know about this?” Seokjin asks as they descend the stone steps.
Lighting sparks above them once more and Jungkook flinches. “I don’t know,” he says, because truly
he doesn’t. “Just going with my gut.”
“Always full of surprises,” Seokjin mutters, and lighting crashes again and Jungkook freezes, breath
catching, because ten steps below is a shadow, leaning against railing, waiting for them.
“He truly is,” the figure tuts, and Jungkook knows that lilting tone.
“Hyung,” Jungkook gasps, throwing a hand behind him to shove Seokjin against the chest. “Hyung,
leave, now— ”
Seokjin doesn’t budge. He takes Jungkook’s hand, where it rests over his heart, and holds him.
“Yunshin,” Seokjin greets, his voice cold. “You’re a real pain in the ass.”
“So I’ve been told,” Yunshin shrugs, then gestures for them to follow him down the stairs. “Come
along. Let’s join the others.”
Seokjin closes his eyes, sighs deeply, and then looks at Jungkook, his eyes steeled. “Do exactly as I
say,” he whispers as he steps in front, keeping Jungkook behind him, and Jungkook stays quiet as
he’s led through the darkness.
They take a path around the back of the castle, through the statue garden and then around the
perimeter of the north grove. Staggered rows of linden trees rise around them. Jungkook’s limbs are
cramped and shaky. Seokjin keeps him standing, even as he stumbles and skids against the uneven
gravel path.
Jungkook hears voices, and then he doesn’t, and then he does again. The path ends. The bowers fall
away. Before them is a great parterre, flanked on either side by two large rectangular pools reflecting
the light of several columns of fire.
At the center, standing proud, is Yoongi and Namjoon and Hoseok. Behind them a sea of bodies
stand at command, waiting for orders.
Jungkook sobs. Seokjin squeezes his hand.
They walk the remaining yards to the crossroads where a fountain rests. At the center, two wolves
stand, mid hunt, bringing down a lion between them.
Jungkook drags his gaze away from the animals as they come to a stop on the other side of the
fountain. This close, he can see the heat in Hoseok’s golden eyes. Namjoon’s claws, long as talons,
digging into his thighs.
Jungkook’s heart clenches, skipping a beat, and he stands there in silence as Yoongi looks at Seokjin,
and then at him, something fierce and unhinged in his burning gaze.
“I’m sorry,” Jungkook gasps, his cries sloppy, devastated. He falls forward and Seokjin makes an
alarmed noise. “Hyung, I’m sorry—”
Fire licks up the side of Jungkook’s face. He cries out, head whipping back, and tumbles into
Seokjin’s chest, clutching at his cheek.
Yunshin stands over him, hand raised, face gleaming in the firelight.
“Did I say you could move?” He asks, and before he’s even dropped his arm he’s on the ground,
Seokjin standing over him, chest heaving, his own fist raised.
“Did I say you could touch him?” Seokjin hisses, and Jungkook feels it, when the air grows thick,
pushing down around them, as if trying to swallow them whole.
Seokjin is holding his sword. Seokjin is holding his sword, and he’s standing over Yunshin, and
lighting ripples across the sky, and suddenly everyone is everywhere.
Shades swarm from the shadows and the goblins are there, brandishing their own weapons, a mixture
of metal and arms from across the ages. Swords and axes and spears and sickles. They wield them
with ease and familiarity, as if the weapons were a part of them. Which, Jungkook realizes belatedly,
they kind of are.
“Jungkook!” Jungkook’s dragged to his feet in a grasping, desperate hug, two hands under his arms,
pulling him behind the fountain as bodies thud and fall around him. “Jungkook, come on!”
“Hyung?” He keeps tripping on Taehyung’s tails, which are wrapped around his legs, his waist.
“Hyung, where—”
There’s a roar from above and Jungkook looks up as Yoongi circles above them, his mouth split in a
yawning cry. He dives, legs extending to catch onto a watch tower where a group of dark forms with
bows were setting aim. Rock tumbles, crushing several shades in the courtyard who were flocking
from behind the balistars.
Yoongi jumps to another tower, sending the castle crumbling, then takes to the air once more.
“Jungkook!”
Jimin plows into them. Jungkook hadn’t realized they made it to the entrance of the parterre. A line
of goblins and spirits stand before them, walling them in, and Jimin’s clutching at his face and
looking for injuries and Jungkook doesn’t know how to tell him that the only thing broken is his
heart, which is heavy and bruised and burning in his chest.
A hush falls over the yard, and Jungkook pushes up to his feet and sees, over the heads of the now
still guard, that Yunshin is standing at the foot of the fountain, Seokjin at his feet, sword in hand.
Seokjin’s sword.
Jimin cries out, his grip on Jungkook tightening. Taehyung is there, holding them both, endless
foxfire dripping around them and through the frontlines, keeping the shades at bay.
“Let this be a lesson!” Yunshin shouts, raising Seokjin’s sword high, directing his gaze to the crowd
around him, lifting his voice so they will hear. “A lesson to all of you!” He screams as the sky cracks
and Yoongi plummets down, down, down. “I. Am. Your. King!”
Seokjin looks up then, right at Jungkook, and Jungkook sees it, the agony there. The fear. Yoongi
won’t make it. Hoseok, Namjoon. No one will. And Jungkook knows, he knows in his heart of
hearts, that if Seokjin dies here, then they all do.
Jungkook throws his hands out, catching Jimin across the face hard enough that the grip on his shirt
loosens, fabric tears, someone screams his name.
Jungkook thinks of nothing but the fire in his bones and the air beneath his feet and the flash of metal
gleaming in the firelight.
Seokjin is kneeling before him. Jungkook can see the red hot horror in his eyes. There’s blood
splattered across his beautiful face. “Jun-Jungkook?” Seokjin croaks from below.
“H-hyung,” Jungkook says, but his voice comes out garbled and wet. He looks down and holds out a
hand. Watches as blood dribbles into his open palm.
“So predictable,” Yunshin sighs. There’s a sickening squelching sound, and Jungkook feels heat flare
in his chest. “You haven’t changed at all, have you, darling?”
Seokjin’s face crumples as Jungkook stumbles forward, feeling overcome, arms and legs cold and
cramped. His knees hit the ground. Seokjin’s mouth is moving. Somewhere, in the distance, people
are screaming.
Jungkook wheezes. Dry lips press against his ear. “Do you remember, my love, the night we ran
away together?” Teeth against his neck, cold breath washing over his cheek. “When I held you on the
shores of the Black Lake?” A finger drags down his arm, prickling like ice. “When I drowned you in
the Forgotten River?”
Waves roil against Jungkook’s legs. Everything is dark and smothered and cold. His chest fills with
water, a roaring, despairing river.
“You see, darling.” The sword used to stab Jungkook, the one meant for Seokjin’s long dead heart,
rams forward and Jungkook feels it this time, when the blade pierces his back. “It was never about
Kim Seokjin. It’s always been you, Jungkookie. I’ve killed you so many times but you just— ”
Yunshin clicks his tongue and rams the hilt of the sword forward and Jungkook gasps.
“Won’t— ”
His ribs splinter and his lungs dissolve.
“Stay— ”
The heat is unbearable, consuming him from the inside out, filling up all his empty spaces, trying to
spill out.
“Dead.”
Seokjin is pulling him into a grasping hug, but Jungkook can only focus on his own hand, pressed
against his sternum. There’s a hole where his heart should be.
“Don’t worry, darling,” a smooth voice croons. Fingers tighten on his neck, guiding him down,
down into the darkness. His vision tunnels, the edges black. Water fills his mouth, his chest, his
bones. “It’ll be over soon. Sleep now.”
“Yunshin-ah,” Jungkook chokes, looking up. Yunshin’s watching him. Gives him a slow smile,
looking at him so admiringly that Jungkook can almost believe this is the man he once loved. Can
believe that this is the same creature who has stolen his life, his loved ones away, so many countless
times.
“Let’s see you come back from this, sweetheart.”
Jungkook falls.
In the distance, in the dead of the night, blue and white lights pulse. Jungkook can feel something
shaking against him and realizes that it’s Seokjin. Seokjin is crying. The tears streak Jungkook’s
blood down his cheeks.
Don’t cry, hyung , he tries to say, and even though he can’t hear the words, they must make it out
because Seokjin’s lips press together and he shakes his head. More tears stream down his face and
Jungkook feels this unbearable sadness take over him at the sight. This wasn’t how it was supposed
to be. This wasn’t how they were supposed to be.
Yunshin laughs, a trilling sound, and then hell reigns down around them.
~~~
“Jungkook,” Seokjin cries, taking Jungkook’s face in his hands. “Jungkook, no. No, open your eyes.
My heart, my little love, please. Please, open your eyes for me.”
Jungkook’s eyes flutter open at the command, but he’s staring at Seokjin as if he’s not there.
Seokjin’s breathing sounds like sobbing as he raises his head to the battlefield around them. His
sword rests forgotten a handful of feet away, still coated in a sheen of red. In its place, Yunshin has
pulled two sabres, using them to fight off Namjoon and Hoseok’s double-teamed attacks. It’s a flurry
of fangs and blood and fire, Namjoon and Hoseok long past controlling their flames as they aim to
kill.
Seokjin senses movement behind and looks up just as a shade lifts his sword. Before he can swing
down, though, he makes a choked groan and sinks to the ground in a mangled heap. In his place
stands Taehyung, mouth red and claws dripping. Jimin rushes out of hiding from behind and falls to
Jungkook’s other side.
“Jungkookie.” Jimin’s face is wet from crying. He presses a hand against Jungkook’s heart where the
wound lies, where the blood is still seeping, and makes a sob noise, like someone just punched him
in the gut.
“Jimin,” Seokjin hears his voice say. “Jimin, you have to save him.”
“My fault, I shouldn’t have let him go,” Jimin cries as he drags his other hand up to Jungkook’s
forehead. “He was too strong and I couldn’t—I should have seen this coming, why didn’t I see this
coming?”
There’s a scream in the distance and Seokjin looks over just as Hoseok loosens his mouth from
around the Yunshin’s arm. What remains is nothing but a stub, and Namjoon takes the open
opportunity to sink his teeth around Yunshin’s throat.
Seokjin looks away before he can see what happens next, but he hears it, the sound of tearing flesh,
the shocked outcries of the guards in the yard when a body thuds against the cobblestone. A roar of
cheers builds around them, nearly overpowering Jimin’s chanting.
Jimin speaks low and fast, voice shivering in the air between them. There’s a pulsing light spreading
from both his palms, and Seokjin watches as Jimin, first his arms and then his whole body, begins to
tremble under the weight of the spell he’s performing.
“Jimin,” Taehyung says from above, his voice rasping out. “Jimin, you’re using too much magic.”
Jimin shakes his head, brow furrowed, tears dripping from his lashes. His chanting grows more
desperate, the light brighter, and Seokjin winces against the heat building around them.
“Jimin!” Taehyung snaps and crashes to his knees, wincing, chest heaving. The bead against Jimin’s
throat is burning white.
“I almost have him!” Jimin cries as Taehyung crawls to him. “I can’t let him go! I promised!”
“Jin!” Yoongi’s standing over him, eyes burning blue. His words sound like they’re being torn from
his throat. His mouth is charred black. “Jin, you have to get us out of here.”
Seokjin shakes his head. “I’ve never—I’ve never moved this many people, I—”
Yoongi grabs his chin and gently pulls on it so Seokjin is forced to look at him. “Seokjin,” he says,
and Seokjin thinks of that day, that first day, when Yoongi looked at him from across that barren
riverbed and asked him to take him home.
Seokjin’s shoulders shake. His body trembles. Taehyung is wailing. Jimin’s voice is starting to crack
and peice apart.
Over Yoongi’s shoulder, the Night Palace burns.
Seokjin closes his eyes. Hangs his head, pressing his chin to his chest, and breathes.
Yoongi calls for Namjoon and Hoseok. Heavy hands fall on his arms, against the back of his neck,
and Seokjin clenches his teeth. He beats back the sadness. Pushes away the bright, colored spots
flashing in the dark. He’s exhausted, but Yoongi keeps him held up. They all do. They always have.
The silence screams and Seokjin thinks Seoul, thinks Gwanak-Gu, thinks home, home, home, dear
god, please take us home.
The knees of Seokjin’s pants are damp. He’s aware of each breath he takes, tasting thick, sugary pine
on his tongue as he gulps in air and cries.
“Jimin,” Taehyung is whispering, again and again, half pleading, half his own chant. “Jimin,
please, please .”
Seokjin opens his eyes. Above him, the moon hangs high in the sky.
Jimin’s voice has grown quiet, his soft words dissipating into the evening fog rolling in over the front
gate. Still he holds Jungkook’s forehead to his own and chants, even though his body is shivering and
the bead on his neck is flickering, sputtering, fighting not to go out.
“Jimin,” Taehyung whispers, and Jimin shakes his head.
“I can’t let him go,” he rasps. “I won’t.”
“Jimin,” Taehyung sobs, his hands clutched over his chest, right where his heart would be if he still
had one. “You are going to die.”
Someone is crying. Someone is crying, loud and broken and torn open, and Seokjin realizes, only
when Namjoon and Hoseok fall against him, hushing him, holding him, that it’s him. Seokjin is the
one wailing, his fingers clenched into the loamy soil, desperate to hold on to something solid.
“I can’t let him go,” Jimin says, again and again and again as they gather around Jungkook’s body. “I
promised him, I promised, I promised-- ”
None of them say a word, and Taehyung, with tears dripping from his chin, places his palms over
Jimin’s trembling hands. Seokjin covers his mouth with his own hands to keep from screaming.
“No, no, no, please, god, no,” Jimin chants, even as Taehyung folds him up in his arms, even as the
heat around them fades and Seokjin lurches to the side and heaves, his heart ripping and retching out
of him with such violence he thinks his soul itself is being ripped in half.
Jungkook, resting at their knees, takes one last wet, shuddering breath.
And then his chest goes still,
and his eyes go dark,
and night fills the yard.