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His devotion to you isn't because of your pretty curves or how the neon lights shine beautiful casts off your skin, it's an obsession that keeps him breathing. An obsession that makes his hallucinations freeze. An obsession where his mind is so spiritually connected to your soul that he starts to feel everything in you. His body moves to yours in a way that helps your benefit. You're petrified of him, just like anyone else. But when will that terror turn into curiosity? When will that curiosity turn into love?
warnings: small panic, heavy language, smoking, parental problems, graphic tendencies, self harm, lack of self
⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ ─ "What the actual fuck is wrong with you?"
Hoseoks voice rung at the back of Jeongguk's deteriorating mind.
Jeongguk didn't argue when Hoseok pulled both you and Renee out of the restaurant, and he certainty didn't reach for you although his hands trembled.
He just watched, almost devastatingly so, as Hoseok rambled apologizes as he ushered the both of you into Renee's car where you sat in silence afterwards.
He wanted to abandon the very last logistical string holding his mind together and put his legs at work. He wanted to sprint towards you until he's scattered to pieces or had the grounded scent of your (red) wrapped around his fingertips.
Hoseok was screaming at him but he wasn't listening.
Just watched, his jaw clenched as the headlights of Renee's car rolled until it was a faint of nothingness. Until the red came back. Until his breathing was gone and he was trapped again, in that suffocating deathly grip that completely tugged at his nerve strings whole.
Oh how he wanted to apologize and scream and beg and hold your hand until he was calm again.
"What the actual fuck is wrong with you?"
Again, the memory of Hoseok's voice didn't dare to push away again.
"Please," he breathed, reaching out to brush the pad of his thumb over the delicate cherry blossoms stitching into leather. "Stop. I'm sorry."
Apologizing to your brain but you fail to act as such when you're with real people. Is there a problem with you? Do you even know how to interact correctly without being a total psycho?
Your wallet, although an object that barely passed any heavy weight, felt like it was physically pushing his hands downwards. Your phone wasn't even that far from him, either. His eyes flickered to his bedside table where your phone sat - almost dead- and completely untouched.
He gently walked over, passing the couch that sat perfectly clean and plain, and grabbed ahold of his charger. He unplugged his own phone and put the wire into your port.
He took a step back with the same movement he reached for a breath.
His index finger fidgeting restlessly, a hard moment of nail against loose skin until blood beaded. A painful sting he didn't even dare to flinch to.
His eyes flickered outside, past his barely drawn open curtains and watched as moonlight stained the following surfaces outside the sill. The city outside was bright and open, like always, no matter the time of the day.
He usually just sat there, still as his everyday statue of dread, eyes tracing the stretch of architectural buildings until the sun peeked over the horizon. Until his eyes flickered with frustration on why? When his conscious his screaming at him by screaming : why don't you sleep, Jeongguk? You need sleep. Sleep until your eyes are calm and not itchy and gone the blurs-
He took a sigh in, his lungs burning as he forced himself, stiffly, to crawl under his bedsheets. His heavy duvet wrapped around him almost like a hug but it felt still so foreign to one. It didn't bring the human amount of warmth, it didn't taste like cherries, and hell it didn't stare at him with fear.
It simply... wasn't you.
Your wallet stayed clenched in his hands.
He was tired.
His eyelids could barely stay open and his limbs gave a persistent, throbbing ache.
The wallet was as if it were a brick of cold reality. He held it against his chest, leather tingling his skin as he curled around it.
Pathetic.
He was simply being pathetic.
He closed his eyes, but the darkness behind his lids were worse. It was filled with the image of you - your silhouette when you wore that (red) robe, or that pretty dress tonight at the dinner. How you called him rude with eyes that stormed in a mix of fear and anger.
He hadn't meant to yell or scare you as much as he had. Or, maybe he had.
Maybe he just wanted to make sure you felt him.
That you understood that he was here to stay. He didn't want to ever leave your orbit. That no matter how much you might hate him, he could never hate you.
After-all, you made him feel real, like he actually could breathe.
He gripped the wallet tighter, his knuckles white, his nails digging into the soft material.
It was way too quiet in his room.
He missed hearing you hum over your speakers. He missed the way the scent of rain-soaked cherries sounded like mystical garden chimes colliding together. He missed the way the humidity in your yard made his skin feel real.
He just missed feeling alive.
And feeling alive meant dreaming. But what if he didn't want to dream? His dreams were looped nightmares where he was always driving, always searching, always just one turn away to breathing normally.
Only to have the road end in a cliff side of gray nothingness.
He hoped for the memory of your face—the way your eyes had locked onto his and how your voice had almost trembled when you called him a psycho.
He tucked the wallet under his chin, that being the closest things to you at that moment.
And fell asleep.
The burn felt good. The smoke crawling down his throat and grasping onto his lungs brought a satisfaction to Jeongguk. It always brought him to ease at days like this.
Sitting on a rock edge, thousands of cars whirring past and citizens shouting and talking as if this was a normal everyday basis for them. As if the loud of the crowd didn't make Jeongguk feel itchy.
It was a parade. A children's one at most, a simple event where families came to pick up the candy the floats had tossed out onto the streets.
He watched as a red bunny danced at the other end of the street, the fake costume smile wide, as the man behind the mask offered a group of children cotton candy.
"Not only had I ordered you to stop smoking, you're also doing it in a place infested with children," the same voice that haunted him every day called out from his side. "I thought I raised you better than this."
Jeongguk looked over to meet his mother's gaze. He dropped the stick to the ground, the back of his heel stomping out the remnants roughly until the red embers faded into the sidewalk.
"You said you wanted to see me," he muttered.
He would be lying if he said he didn't have a problem with meeting her at such a short notice. He didn't enjoy the time they spent together, and why the hell would she pick a place like this? She knew how much crowds had affected him.
And seriously, for the first time in a while, he actually had a decent sleep.
...With your belongings in his arms but that's a memory that's best to push away as if nothing happened.
"I don't want to be here." He concluded.
"It's not just a parade, darling. We're here to walk around as a mother and son tends to do on days like this. We can visit the stands and buy some treats. It was your choice to wait right here where the little ones played, not mine."
"You only want to be with me when there's crowds nearby," Jeongguk whispered while standing up from the ledge. With a sigh, he joined his mother's side. "Never alone. Never one on one."
"Oh, you," she scowled, giving the back of his head a playful smack before continuing down the streets. "You're thinking too hard. Have you finally started to watch some television? If you are, these movies are playing with your brain."
"No." He replied, swaying his body to make it through the colony of pedestrians without feeling the brush of their skin against his. His mother didn't wait, just bumped into a few people until they made it into a clearing where the noise dulled into a manageable roar.
Only then did she turn, her posture stiff, her eyes scanning him with that blank face with the same discipline she's held for him since the crash.
To her, he wasn't a world class driver.
A disappointment. A ticking time bomb of erratic behavior and anti-social tendencies.
"You look like a corpse," she noted, reaching out to straighten the collar of his jacket with a rough yank. "Dark circles, shaky hands. Are you on drugs? Is this what racing nonsense has led you to?"
Jeongguk pulled away, his jaw now tight. "I'm not on anything."
"Maybe you should watch movies, then you'll be a normal person."
"I can't focus on movies," he spoke the truth, his hands tightening into fists as he flickered his eyes away from hers. He looked at the venus nearby, looking at the merchandise as if they were interesting.
"Then you're loosing your mind," she countered, and in the corner of his eye he saw her lip curling in a way that made his stomach turn. "Ever since that crash you had... what? Two years back? You isolate yourself, you stop speaking, you stare at people like you're waiting for them to rot. It's all repulsive. You know how I feel when people whisper about me behind my back? Saying I have a psycho for a son?"
He felt a familiar prickle of rage beneath his skin. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, his fingers finding the edge of his lighter. "I'm not loosing it. I'm just... tired of the red."
"Yeah," she let out a bitter laugh. "What red, Jeongguk? Tell me."
"The flashes," he stared back at her, his vision blurring. "But... not all red. I like her red."
"Okay, I'm done," she huffed, turning around on her heels and not even waiting for him to follow. "This conversation is over. We're gonna go look around and shop like everything's normal. You're normal. Okay?"
"Sorry," he mumbled, walking after her.
His mother marched toward the row of vendor tents with her head held up high. To Jeongguk, she seemed to be performing the role of the well-adjusted mother for anyone who happened to be watching. Everytime a passerby glanced her way, her expression smoothed into a polite smile, while Jeongguk just kept his gaze fixed on the back of her designer coat.
The air changed from the scent of sweaty kid to fried dough and sugar. "Look at these," his mother called out.
She gestured toward a stall overflowing with fresh produce and sweets, something entirely different from the junk food stalls further down the line.
Jeongguk stood behind her, his posture hunched in an attempt to make himself as small as possible. He didn't care about the fruit. He wanted to go home. He wanted to sleep and cry and-
Cherries.
A crystal bowl held dark and glistening cherries, their stems long and delicate. They looked delicious as the scent hit him - a sugary, intoxicating wave of you.
His breath hitched.
His mother looked back at him. "What? You want those? Since when did you like cherries?"
He was already reaching for his wallet, but she stopped him before he could even continue. "Lemme pay, dear."
She turned back to the worker, her smile wide as she pulled out her purse instead. "These look marvelous, I'll take a bag of these. Jeongguk likes fruit, don't you?"
She paid the vendor, a thin paper bag crinkled in her hand as she turned back to him.
The sight was jarring that Jeongguk felt a flash of irrational panic. It was as if she had stolen a piece of you, as if she had reached into his private world and plucked the only thing that kept him tethered to the ground.
"Here," she said, thrusting the bag toward him. "Take them. Stop looking like you're waiting to fall."
Jeongguk hesitated, his hand trembling as he reached out to take the beg. The paper felt warm under his hands although he was trembling. He pulled one out- a single dark cherry.
He didn't eat it, just held it. Staring hard at the deep, blood-red hue, the same color of the (red) robe of yours that had never left his mind. The color of the secrets he kept in the dark, or otherwise known the color of the only thing in his life that wasn't dissolving.
"Well?" She pursed her lips, completely impatient. "Are you going to eat it? Make sure you spit the pit out, I know you've never eaten much cherries before."
"I'm not hungry," he said quietly, dropping the fruit back into the bag.
"You're unbelievable," she hissed, leaning in close enough that the sharp scent of her perfume collided with the sweet of the cherries. "Make sure to eat those later, okay? You've become skinnier. I don't like it."
"Okay," he breathed, dropping his hand down to his side.
Jeongguk followed after that for hours after that. He surely was bored, his ears burning with every word his mom had thrown his way. But soon enough, the sun had dipped below the horizon as he was back outside your window again.
The brown paper bag was ruined under the grip of his hands, his fingers leaving lined crumbles and marks into the holder for your cherries. He told himself he shouldn't be standing here. He wished to be home all day, after all. But here he was, standing here like it was sanctuary.
He was simply numb. He didn't feel anything except for the heavy thumping of his own heart- a measure he had long ago synced to the quiet flickers of your household.
Your house was dark, except for the faint warm glow bleeding from your flower candle warmer. He watched that light like he was alive solely for that. It was the only thing that held any meaning, the only gravity in his universe.
He pulled out a cherry, the skin cool, and held it up to the moonlight. He planned to stare at it until he saw a flicker of real movements come from your bedroom.
You were there. With a book tucked under your arm, you yelled back at Renee who shouted something to you from halfway across the house. You closed the door with a small sigh and padded toward your bed.
His limbs, which had ached with a throb all day, finally began to settle. He felt like he was exhaling a breath he'd been holding for twenty-four hours.
He wanted to rest his hand against the pane to see if the glass would vibrate, if it would sing back to him.
But, his eyes flickered down to his feet.
He had brought your belongings with him.
He didn't want to let them go. They kept him feel relaxed, the touch alone even brought him a slumber he'd craved for years until his body collapsed as if the idea of it being yours was enough to feel. To go against the laws his anatomy kept held in him.
With a sigh that pained his whole psyche, he bent down to gather your things into his hands. He stepped toward your front porch, steps painfully slow with a hopeless attempt to savor how it felt to have you in his grasp.
Your porch light flickered on from his motion, the sudden brightness causing him to flinch. He grabbed hard onto your railing, focusing on the (red) of your outdoor couch cushions to keep him calm.
To not get angry. To scream. To punish himself for letting go of his sanity this quickly although he promised you he'd give your things back.
Your front door unlocked with an echoing click, the noise trembling his bones as he quickly glanced up to look at the receiver.
Renee stood under the threshold, hands on her hips and brow slightly raised.
"Here for an apology, Ghost?" She tilted her head, her long hair brushing over the dip of her shoulder. Jeongguk didn't look. Just past her as if you were to magically appear like the two of you were bound.
You are bound.
You stop everything for him.
There's no other way.
"I need to speak to Y/n," he muttered, straightening out his spine in a smooth, gentle movement. "I got her stuff back."
Her lips fell slightly agape. "Like, her... wallet? And phone?"
He nodded.
Her posture shifted, her bravado faltering as she caught the intensity in his eyes. She took a half-step back, her hand lingering on the doorframe, her smile replaced by a genuine, creeping unease.
"She's in her room, Jeongguk," Renee said, her voice dropping.
She seemed to realize, in that second, that the man standing before her wasn't really there— at least, not in the way reality was understood.
"Look, I don't know why you're doing this. Seeing you at the restaurant was already enough and now you're at our house. Why couldn't you just leave it in the mailbox or something?"
He stepped closer, just an inch. "Because... I want to see her."
His words seemed to brush Renee aside without any thought, clearing a path through the doorway that he felt he was entitled to walk through.
"Just give them to me. I'll give them to her."
"No."
"Ghost-"
"Either you bring her out here to me or i'll go in there myself." He snapped. "You're lucky i'm giving you an option."
"Are you serious?" She scoffed.
He didn't answer.
She looked back inside, then at him. "If I go get her," she replied, her voice barely audible. "You stay right there. You don't take one more step into here. You promise me, okay?"
"I don't do promises," he said, his voice flat.
"Well, that's good. Because the cops will surely love you," she snapped before storming back inside and Jeongguk watched as her frame retreated into the dark, his heart now back into that erratic rhythm.
And when you finally reached the door, the air in the foyer seemed to drop in temperature. He didn't move as you stepped closer. He only watched.
His gaze was weighted. He traced the line of your throat, the rise and fall of your chest, the fake smile tugging at your lips. He looked at you with a hunger that was agonizingly raw, the kind of stare that made you feel like you were the only real thing in his entire fragmented world.
"Y/n," he rasped.
"You love to show up randomly, don't you?" You said, watching the way his shoulders dropped with somewhat relief. "Is that your favorite thing to do? What is it, I was just about to sleep."
He didn't move toward you although every instinct in his body was telling otherwise. He reached out his hands, grasping your things like he was a searching for them for years on end and they were holy relics.
"I told you I'd give them back to you," he said quietly, his voice vibrating through all of your skin. "I... I kept them safe."
You took a shaky step forward, stopping just short of the doorframe. You looked at his hands— at the raw, ghostly white knuckles, the way his fingers were slightly trembling— and then up at his face.
It would've been easy to claim that he looked like he was out of reality. But hard if you noted there was any substances at play. He looked clean, absolutely sober, and yet, he looked dead.
"Ghost," you knew that nickname fit him all too well, the word barely escaping your throat. "Why? You actually looked for them?"
He was close enough now that you could feel the feverish heat radiating off him. He took a deep breath in, his gaze dropping to your lips, then back up to your eyes.
His expression shifted into something so desperately lonely it made your breath hitch.
"Well... I... don't know."
He dropped your things into your hands.
He does know. Oh, he really fucking knew. The static was just too much and too loud when you weren't in his vision. He would feel like a monster if he didn't give his religion her own things.
"It would be disobeying," he concluded. "I comply to your rules."
"I don't have any rules?" You crooked your head confusingly, dropping your hands to your sides. "But, thanks for my things. It... I didn't expect i'd get these back anytime soon."
"Everyone has rules," he murmured, his gaze drifting over your features as if he were memorizing a map. "And I follow your rules. I have to. It's the only way the world doesn't... shatter."
He sounded so dangerously sure of yourself that a hot, rough shiver crawled up your back.
"You're really weird, you know that?" You mused.
"Weird?" He repeated as a dry laugh came through him, his gaze dropping to disgust. "Of course you think i'm weird. Is that what you call it when someone actually pays attention? When someone does what you're too blind to do yourself?"
"Oh, okay. Fuck you too-"
"Don't talk to me about weird," he muttered, his voice dropping to a harsh, final growl. "You're the one who lost your life in a parking lot, and yet here you are, acting like you're the one in control."
"I think you have a problem," you rolled your eyes as you turned away from him, walking back into the cold of your house where Renee was watching with raised brows. "Thanks for my things, I guess. I'll be at the arena tomorrow night. I better see you win, cause then it'll be a reasonable excuse for your attitude."
Right as you slammed the door in his face, a slow smile cracked onto his lips.
"See you," he muttered to nothing before walking away.
Your phone was charged.
The screen was lit so dim that it barely reached to cast onto your face, and the battery logo filled to the brim as if it weren't close to being dead the night you had lost it. It felt smooth, clean, almost like it was gently sanitized with shaky fingers.
You didn't want to sound like you were loosing it or creating a reality where he hadn't terrified you, but holding your phone felt like you were holding him.
Reaching. Definitely reaching.
With a deep sigh, you plopped your phone down face first onto your mattress. Hands now free, you reached over to grab ahold of your wallet.
Running the pad of your thumb over the blossom stitchings, feeling every rugged bump and crevasse, you let your eyes examine the thing as if you were expecting to find something.
And of course, you had.
It was something so tiny that if you didn't have such a nervous habit to observing everything to the rotten bone, it would've gone unnoticed.
It was a stitching for the bud of the blossom that had failed from the shakiness of the craftsperson, no doubt. It was less than a millimeter in length yet it was something you noticed a week into having the wallet. No one else noticed the fail. It was left brush aside for them but a mystery to you.
You'd question yourself if you should fix it.
It wasn't necessary, not at all. For ethereal designs like these, it craved for the eyes and or validation of others, if it was something noticeable it would be a burden to those same eyes but yet it wasn't. Only you discovered it and the imperfect play in it had only pained you.
Fixing it would have been the waste of your time. Useless.
But now, staring down at the patchwork, that simple mistake had been covered.
A thread, just a bit thinner than the rest, had placed itself in that tiny open space that made the wallet perfect.
You of course didn't do it.
"Ghost," you scowled, your voice devoid of any tenderness you thought was reasonable to hold, and skidded your thumb over to rub gently onto the fix.
You imagined how he worked on it.
Hands still as a statue, a picture he implanted for the public eye and yet you knew it was a cover for how his bones trembled. The moonlight taut on the deep ink on his hand as he wove a needle through the leather.
Just to make it right for you.
Did he do it after a race? Would he still be in his red jacket with sweat lining his skin, adrenaline roughly escaping his bones as he worked on his items? What if he was in his house in the middle of the day, dressed in sweats with half open eyes like he had just woken from a nap?
Either way, why are you thinking about this?
You dropped the wallet to your bed as if the leather had physically burned you. You stood up, your legs feelings at unease as you reached for your closet. You brought out two choices, the fabric soft against your touch as you draped them over the edge of your bed.
A shoulderless red knitted sweater over a black skirt or a simple white flowery dress.
Red is Jeongguk's color- it was your dirty conscious. A reminder that made your chest squeeze and your throat to turn dry. You remembered falling asleep and waking up to his barely put together voice comment how you weren't wearing red in a low rasp. He looked pained but commented how it felt right to him.
It's just a color. You might be reaching.
Would it also be reaching if you claimed you felt physically pulled to wear the red?
That a weight settled onto your bones but disappeared whenever your eyes scratched toward the white dress? A wash of dread that was felt in the same churn of disappointment?
It was always a fact to follow a womans tuition, afterall.
With a broken sound that failed to stay locked in your throat, you reached for the red top and quickly changed into your outfit. Your footing was light as you entered Renee's car and drove to the arena.
The place was tightly packed just how you imagined it to be, a sea of watchers ramming through you and Renee as she peered heavily over the ledge to look for the familiar racer dressed in orange.
Just as she screamed for Hoseok, you slid past the walls to find the restricted heavy-mesh barrier leading to the tents. Your fingers brushed against the edge of your wallet, on the fixed stitch. The proof that his own hands held where you were holding, working on it as if it could mean something.
It infuriated you. It terrified you even more.
Pushing past a cluster of mechanics arguing over data, you slipped to the lines of tents you remember all too well stumbling there the night he had drove you home.
The tent you recollected being the closest to your dismay but too exhausted to note how dead it looked compared to the other racers. No sponsors or the cheering entourage the other racers had. His was just... there.
Taking a deep breath in, you raised the flap to walk inside.
And there he was.
Jeongguk sat backward on a metal folding chair. His thighs straddled it, his foreamrs resting heavily against the backseat that you could see his muscle and pop of veins. His chin rest over the ledge in a bow of his head, dark wavy hair falling over to shadow his face.
He wore his red racing suit unzipped to the waist, the black undershirt beneath was damp with sweat, clinging to the sharp panes of his chest. In his hand, he was dangling a dark red cherry, twisting the stem lazily as it twirled underneath his fingers.
The sight almost knocked you off your feet but you swallowed, taking yet another slow step forward.
You realized then that there was another man there.
A personal cloud of silver hair rested like a curtain over his eyebrows. His eyes were set in a worry, almost glistening as he stared at Jeongguk who didn't even seem to be paying attention to the words he was saying. He held a stethoscope in the small of his hands, thumb absentmindedly brushing over the chestpiece.
"You're claiming Hoseok as false?"
Not only was the doctors voice so angelic, a deliver of monotone that had your heart melting, the name that came from his lips made your brow raise.
Hoseok?
"Jeongguk, he came to me. He said he's worried about you. I will take that man to heart, especially after I literally saw you breathing unnormally after your last race-"
Hoseok was worried for Jeongguk.
"I'm fine."
"I'm never going to believe you ever again after the shit you pulled last time you claimed you were fine. Now, stop slumping on that stupid chair, twisting that wierdass cherry and just let me care for you."
"No." Jeongguk muttered as he slowly lifted his head.
His dark eyes, rimmed with exhaustion from his focused intensity, locked onto yours.
For a split of a second, something vulnerable, raw, flashed in the depths of his pupils, like a drowning man suddenly catching sight of land.
His gaze fell down to your red sweater.
He seemed to physically, and roughly, hitch away that vulnerability with something darker.
"Leave."
His delivery was just as rough as the race your heart had under your chest. You came to smack his attitude and yet you found yourself with parting lips, feet taking a few steps back immedietly.
"Oh, sorry-" you started but it was his voice that had cut you off.
"No." He dropped the cherry, the waxy surface slightly bouncing on the straw that covered the floor before rolling to the tip of his boots. His hands tightened. "Jimin."
You watched as the plush lips of the doctor fell subtly, his eyes glancing to you, to Jeongguk, then back to you. With a sigh, he gathered his black bag and stepped away from the couch you had slept on nights prior.
"I'm just trying to see you." He sneered angrily, running his fingers through the silver of his hair. "Pushing away the only one who cares for you isn't gonna help anything on your part. Come to me when you realize you need more than fucking help, Jeongguk."
He stepped past you, not even glancing your way as his shoulder gently brushed your own. The tent flap swayed under him, the only noise that was brave enough to brake the silence coursing between the two of you.
Jeongguks jaw locked, a hard, ugly muscle ticking in his cheek. He stood up so fast the metal chair screeched against the dirt floor, tipping backward and clattering loudly into the straw.
"What are you doing?" He breathed. "Did you loose something else? Need me to drive you home?"
"No," you copied the same look he gave you - a furrow of your brows and the clench of his jaw- and threw your wallet down to the space sitting between the two of you. "Explain this, Ghost."
His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his split knuckles curling into tight fists at his sides. He looked away, his jaw working as if he were fighting back a violent wave of nausea or frustration.
"Your wallet."
"What- no?" You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you took a step closer to him. "Of course it's my fucking wallet."
"Then I don't see a problem." He deadpanned, already moving to turn around to God knows where.
"Wait-"
He stopped immediately.
"You know what I mean." You said, your voice shaking slightly, though you forced the words out past the dry knot in your throat. "That thread wasn't there before you returned it. It was... it was imperfect."
"I don't know what you're talking about," he sneered, his tone dripping with cold denial, though the tremor in his fingers betrayed every single lie. "It was damaged when you dropped it. I gave it back. End of story."
"Don't lie to me," you stepped closer, ignoring the voice in your head screaming at you to run. "Okay, yeah, you gave my things back which was nice- but this? You fixed it, touched my things. Hell, you even charged and cleaned my phone! Why are you doing this?"
"What am I doing?"
"If you were trying to be nice- I get it. But please... it's an invasion of my privacy. It made me... uncomfortable."
He stopped inches away, his breathing ragged, his dark eyes burning into yours with a terrifying, desperate heat.
"I didn't do it for you," he hissed, his voice dropping to a snarl, though the lie was entirely transparent in the way his gaze devoured every inch of your face, drinking in the red of your sweater like a starving man. "I did it because looking at a broken line makes the world spin too fast. I fixed it for me. So stop looking at me like I'm some kind of monster."
"A monster?" You repeated in a humorless, dry laugh. "I don't think you're a monster, but..." You started but stop.
"But?" He tilted his head, taking a step closer.
"But you're..." You faltered, the air in the cramped tent suddenly tasting thin. Your gaze dropped to the raw, split skin of his knuckles, then flicked up to his unblinking eyes and entirely too intense. "You're intense."
And when he didn't answer, you continued.
"You show up where I am, you take my things, and you fix them like... like you have some kind of right to my life. I don't even know you, Jeongguk."
You don't know me.
The thought tasted like ash.
Because, hell, you might not know him but he surely knows you.
He knew the precise slope of your collarbone, the exact sound of your footsteps on your bedroom floors, and how your cherry perfume lingered in the fabric of his car seat hours after you left.
He felt like he knew you better than anyone else in this world. But he couldn't say that.
"You don't need to know me," he broke eye contact first, glancing back down at your red then looking over his shoulder at the glaring lights in the distance. "You shouldn't even be looking at me. Everyone out there..." He gestured vaguely toward the bustling paddock with a jerk of his chin. "They look at the car, they look at the track record. They don't look here."
"Because you push everyone away," you pointed out. "That doctor seemed really honest for his cares, and i'm almost positive Hoseok sees you more than a colleague."
"I like being alone. End of story."
"Do you?" You raised a brow. "You don't look like it."
"I thought you said you didn't know me, yet you're acting like you can read my mind." He said quietly as he zipped his red uniform over his torso, the sound sharp in the air between you. "I don't get why you can't understand that I fucking like to be alone, okay? Use that mind. Hear my words."
You opened your lips to respond but the harsh flatter of the tent flap had stopped you. A man walked in covered in grease and black cap framing his short ashy hair and a cigarette pressed between his rounded lips.
"Your car's ready. You're racing today, Ghost. No excuses."
"Y/n, leave your things here." Jeongguk said quietly, reaching out to place his red cap onto his head. "Theres a man running around that I don't trust. You're a target in his eyes, but he won't grab your things if they're here."
Jeongguk didn't even glance to both you and the man as he walked away, the broad of his back disappearing down your sight until it was just you and the supposed mechanic alone.
"You a bitch?" He asked, removing his cigarette to take a better look at you.
"What?"
"Sorry," he let out a small huff, adjusting his footing to lean slightly more to the side. "Lemme rephrase- is he fucking you?"
"Oh," you scrunched your nose, skin suddenly crawling at his words. "That's... no."
"You're not tangling with him?"
"I'm not tangled up with him," you insisted. "He just... returned something of mine. That's all."
He tossed his cigarette into a metal bucket of water, the hiss loud in the cramped tent. "I feel like I've seen you before. Are you sure?"
"Well, i'm sure I've never seen you," you replied, threading your hair through your fingers as you walked towards the tent exit. "Please excuse me."
You didn't even know why you had obeyed in keeping your wallet in Jeongguk's place. If anything, you should've just ignored his order but something in you, something painful, had nagged you to listen.
Screams swallowed the stadium whole, the anger turning into engagement as a chorus of 'Ghost' had bled through the walls so thick it rattled the teeth in your skull.
"I'm sure he's thrilled to hear that," you mumbled sarcastically as you walked back toward the stands. You noticed Hoseok was back, still thrill in adrenaline as he shook Renee with a sweaty hug.
You waved at the two of them and sat down onto the cold of the bleachers and just then, the starter flag dropped.
In the fraction of a second, the track exploded into motion. Tires shriked, burning rubber filled the night air with a choking tang, and the cars surged forward like a pack of metal beasts.
From the very first turn, it was obvious why they called him the Ghost.
While the other drivers fought for position and steadiness, weaving defensively and taking cautious lines through the tight turns. Jeongguk was without a douby different. He drove with a terrifying dismissal for his own survival.
His car drifted sideways at the northern curve, the rear bumper missing the concrete barrier by mere inches. He carved through the pack, squeezing his car into impossible gaps between rival racers who scrambled out of his way.
It wasn't like he was racing to win. The sight tasted bitter in your mouth, like he was racing in a need to tear the track apart from the inside out.
You were almost... curious.
Curious on how this was the man who looked like he was falling apart and only one thing - an out of reach thing you can't figure out what- was the only thing holding him together.
Curious on how someone like him came to be.
He took the lead on the second lap, cutting off the rival vehicle aggressively that it had the audience next to you gasping.
No hesitation was apparent at all in his movements.
No second guessing.
Just something raw, dark and so suffocating that you could feel all the way up in the stands.
"Ghost!" You heard someone scream from behind you, delivery harsh and yet the engines bolting past your section of bleachers had dominated over his voice.
And as the neon lights swayed, vibrant purples turning into a flashing maroon— his tracks had visibly gotten more intense. If you thought he was frantic before, you surely don't know how to label his actions now.
The red strobes seemed to blend into the edge of his car, giving you an illusion where he seemed nothing but a cryptid figment of your imagination. You would've thought that he weren't a person if he didn't sit on the edge of tongues daily. He was real... strangely so.
And as the race went on, so did the constant flashing of cameras and rugged cheerings. Renee walked back in forth on getting snacks for you and Hoseok to chew on, the bitter yet salty taste of the fries lingered in your mouth, meanwhile your ear closest to Hoseok had rung from his loud antics.
But soon enough, the checkered flag had dropped in a blur of black and white, the roar of the stadium impossibly louder. Down on the infield, the red car- Jeongguk's- cut a violent arc into the pit lane, tires smoking as it slammed to a halt.
Renee and Hoseok were still shouting along with the mindless euphoria of the crowd. But Renee was gathering her things and you took that as a chance to go back to his tent to grab yours.
"I'll be right back," you muttered to Renee, slipping past her knees before she could turn around.
You walked in the same steps you did just more than an hour before, a deep part in your mind hoping that a certain someone wouldn't be there so fast and you could quickly grab your things and go .
Who was this dude he didn't trust anyways? Sure, you had your eyes on Jeongguk's car the whole time but still, you kept an eye out. You didn't see anything suspicious or out of the ordinary, nothing that set off alarm bells in you.
But the idea on why you set your stuff there anyways was something best to push off aside for now. Maybe you'll keep the memory for when you can't sleep at night and your conscious begs to gnaw on something until exhaustion gets the best of you. Or you could save it during work when you're waiting tables and you get too lost in your orbit to realize customers are waiting for you.
Whatever it is, now is not the time. Jeongguk is not the time.
Concrete turned into dirt and straw and you passed the barrier without anyone stopping you much to your joy. The lights in Jeongguk's tents were off and considering how much later in the night it was, the thing looked like an out of distance horror sight. The air here was still thick with a metallic reek of hot breaks and spent fuel.
You slowed your pace as you approached, relenting, telling yourself that you're only here to pick up the things - not to satisfy the sudden aching need to see him again, to know what he looked like when the adrenaline crashed... not at all.
The front flap was pulled halfway down.
Once you entered it, you realized it was a narrow window into the quiet chaos inside.
He wasn't screaming nor hyperventilating.
He was bleeding.
Alone in the interior, still wearing his racing suit with the top half stripped down and hanging loosely at his waist, Jeongguk had his back to the opening as you watched him stare down at his hands.
One hand was a total mess, an outcome by a man who spent the whole race scratching at his skin. Blood stained down the path of edges, trailing at the indent of his wrist where the crimson dripped slowly onto the ground with a rhythmatic plopping noise.
His other hand was calm like it hadn't just torn away at it's own partner. The tatted one, the murderous one, lifted up to grab a single cigarette sitting on his metal table. Steady. Controlled.
He was so curious, a human who you couldn't wrap your mind around and in a way that you absolutely despised, you wanted to capture him. To know what he is. To know why. To know if he is a somebody that you could never find another of to hold onto.
"Jeongguk," you called out, your voice barely hanging by a thread.
You expected a full head turn. A look of anger. Those empty eyes to stare back at you as he yelled to leave.
But what came was no response.
"Jeongguk, I came to get my things-" you had started but the words choked when his hand, now free from the cigarette, moved back down to give yet another slow, desperate scratch to his bloodied hand. "Are you okay?"
Why are you asking? You should just leave him alone. Let him bleed. Keep it a secret that you had seen him like this, a complete spiral and you couldn't figure out as to why.
What's wrong with him?
"Can you hear me?" You spoke again.
And he moved. A jagged, harsh movement that wasn't aimed toward you. He didn't turn around or lunge backwards to you - he only just let out a breath, whole frame working together, that exhaled the smoke from his lips.
"Okay.." you let out a low whistle, not knowing what to do or say as you slowly stepped toward the place where you left the wallet.
You were close to him now, so close you could smell the musky scent to him mixed with the crimson and sweat, and feel the hot and sheer velocity of his mind. He should definitely sense you by now, maybe even see you in his vision, yet he hadn't.
He was locked. Entirely trapped behind his own ribs, blind and deaf to the world outside his narrow tunnel of panic.
You kept your footsteps impossibly light, your shoes giving a tiny click as you edged past the metal worktable.
Just watching him made your chest tighten, a strange ache mirroring the raw red marks marring his forearm.
Your wallet rested on the edge of a plastic crate near his tool chest, right where you kept it earlier. And you reached out, fingers brushing against the worn leather. He was close, so close you were millimeters away from touching him.
You snatched it up, sliding it quickly into the pocket of your black skirt, fully intending to slip back into the noise of the arena before he could snap back into reality.
You should leave immediately. Every rational thought in your brain screamed at you to walk away and pretend you had never seen the undergrounds most volatile racer like this.
But instead, your gaze dropped back to him.
He had stopped his slow scratch and now his bloodied hands were pressed hard against his forehead. His fingers tangled roughly into his damp raven hair as he tried to physically anchor his skull.
A low sound came from his throat - half a groan, half a suppressed curse- as his shoulders gave a slight tremble.
"Damn it," he whispered to the floor. "Stay fucking still."
You took an involuntary halfstep toward him, your hand hovering in the air before you caught yourself and letting it drop to your side.
You didn't belong here, you easily concluded.
You barely knew him, he was a stranger who crossed lines.
A curious one at most.
One that had you wanting to solve every cracked puzzle in him.
Your phone vibrated in your hand, forcing you to rip your gaze away from the back of his head. It was a text from Renee, saying she was ready to leave and maybe that was your excuse to leave his tent.
You let him lose himself alone.
"You're strange," you whispered to him but you knew the message disintegrated into the air, fading before it could reach his pierced ears and then you turned, heart racing as you knew for certain this interaction wasn't going to leave your head.
Nowhere near that.
But now, you knew that you'll come back here more than you'd like to admit. And maybe next time, pushing aside your fear - you'll let him know that you saw him.
tags : ̗̀➛ @champagneeeemamiiii @jksbluved @seokvrn @bjoriis @cliosunshine please ask in comments or dm to be tagged 🤍
Summary: Your brother has always been flighty. The type of person who would pick up your call from the depths of a cave in Kentucky on a random Tuesday, only to be halfway across the country by Wednesday on the lookout for the next big Bigfoot sighting. So no one really bat an eye when he disappeared into the woods of New Mexico with a flashlight and a dream of hunting down the ‘Deadwood Wardens’, yet another mythological legend you didn’t believe in that he felt was his 'destiny' to prove.
But then he stopped calling. And it turns out the woods were a lot scarier in person than in the photos.
With the help of a local who knows the woods like the back of his hand, you should be out of here with your stupid brother in no time! Not that you were worried or anything — after all, it wasn’t like those campfire stories of men in wide-brimmed hats coming to steal the souls of unsuspecting trespassers were true. It was only a coincidence that Jimin, your friendly woodsman, wore a hat just like the ones taped on your brother's wall....right?
Genre: 18+ Folk horror, paranormal themes, mystery/thriller, romance, slow burn, eventual smut (? we will see where the wind takes me)
Chapter Warnings: Language. discussions of death. Paranormal themes. Animal (?) Death. Jungkook is a little shit. Jimin hates authority and we love him for that.
A/N: I hope you're ready for your first unofficial day on the job - do NOT ask me about bathroom breaks istg. You have to pee? HA. Noob behavior. Sweat it out through your mustache like a real cowboy. (jkjk please go use the bathroom LMAO) Okay, enough silly talk. I can't wait for the next couple chapters; I'm literally holding a hand over my mouth with big chipmunk cheeks so I don't just start yapping about their characters or the lore 24/7. The hats I'm about to make the Jin in this story wear....
Anyways. See you on the otherside~ Delyn
Hiding your internal existential crisis behind one last breakfast taco, you barely tuned in for any of their discussion, keeping your ears trained for any mention of your brother or this mystery ‘man’ Jimin had mentioned the previous night. You weren’t ready to call him a spirit yet. (You may be more open-minded than you were three days ago, but you weren’t that open-minded yet).
Tethering yourself to the very normal task of eavesdropping would be crucial to making it through this mess without cracking, but they made that task difficult when their conversation consisted of 'pass the plate' or quiet grunts.
Correction: Hoseok made that difficult when his presence on its own had the two yappers across from you holed up and docile.
With him around, they didn’t stick around long enough to give you that much to go off of, for Yoongi cut their discussion short with a quick glance at his watch. He was twitching to get out of his seat since Hoseok sat down. “Looks like I’m headed out. We meeting for lunch again today or what?”
“Rather not.” Hoseok’s words were muffled by his hands which he propped his forehead on. Looks like Big Shot had a headache or something.
You shrugged. Deserved.
Yoongi didn’t seem disappointed in that answer, his pace never slowing a beat as he sauntered through the door frame back where you had come from.
Choking on your last bite, your brows disappeared into your hairline with unabashed shock. Within the half-second it took Yoongi to make it from one side of the threshold to the other, his hair shriveled back into that spiked crop, his clothes pulled into a more recognizable gray MCR tee and dark jeans, and his pointed shoes blunted into dusty Converse.
His journey left a trail of electronic casualties in its wake. From across the table the radio speakers crackled with interference, and the single light bulb stuck to the overhead beam flickered. The sconces in the hallway even dimmed as he passed, shying away from his reach.
Jungkook jerked his chin to the retreating figure. “He always likes to show off. Don’t give him the satisfaction of looking impressed.”
“I w-wasn’t.” You replied smoothly, hiding the remnants of your surprise behind a sip of the cooled mug of coffee Jimin had provided you with. It was insanely bitter, borderline burnt, reminding you more of sun-scorched soil than coffee. You hoped your face didn’t give away how awful it was.
Maybe there was a reason he had a preference for gas station coffee…
“Take her out on the field today.” Hoseok was looking down his nose at Jimin, not bothering to address him by name. It wasn’t a question, nor was it a request — but it wasn’t an order either. It sat somewhere in between, like he was leaving room for them to challenge him, just so he could put them back into place. A test perhaps. Like the power play would be fun for him.
Jimin made a noise of assent in the back of his throat, tapping his fingers around the rim of his mug. Guess he didn’t feel like fighting today.
Hoseok then jutted his chin towards the younger, completely oblivious man across the table. “You too.”
“Me?!” Jungkook made a surprised gargling sound, shooting up in his seat. “Thought I had the day off?”
“You do. From hunting.” Hoseok grunted. “Today you’re on babysitting duty. And dishes.” Throwing down his unfinished meal, he scooped up his plate and tossed it in the sink with a clang. He didn’t need to use the neat doorframe trick to change — just one second he was in simple blue cotton and suspenders, and the next he was in light colored jeans, a modern yellow button-up. The package tied off with his signature blindingly light hat and little ascot combo. Your little nickname must’ve gotten to him, though, because it wasn’t orange anymore.
Goodbye Orange Creamsicle; hello Pina Colada.
Hoseok paced lazily behind you and Jimin on his way to the hall, lingering near to place a hand on the latter’s shoulders and squeeze. Goosebumps wound up your arms, and your chest tightened with the oppressive chill his proximity brought with it.
“You got three days. I ain’t waiting longer than that.” He took his hand off with more force than necessary, shoving Jimin’s shoulder just to prove his point. The smile he tossed you was anything but kind. “Have fun breakin’ those boots in, hm?”
He left with less flair than Yoongi, but he took with him the heavy chill and suffocating atmosphere that hogged at least half the oxygen in every room he made himself comfortable in.
Taking one for the team, you broke the silence the moment you heard the front door click shut. “Is he always that way?”
“As long as I’ve known him.” Jungkook shrugged, scowling at the massive array of dishes he had been left to clean on short notice.
“And how long has that been?”
Casting his eyes skyward and pursing his lips, he paused his task of stacking plates. “Fifty...sixty...Seve-Seventy-two? Seventy-three years? Give or take.”
You tracked him with your eyes all the way to the sink, watching the way his youthful complexion shone in the sunlight from the window, and the skin was taut and smooth over muscles. He didn’t look a day over twenty-five. But apparently you were terrible at guessing ages these days.
But Jungkook seemed nice enough to not bite your face off if you asked. He may be an annoying shit, but he wasn’t outright nasty like Hoseok or that Namjoon guy. Actually, the more you thought about it, the more you realized he kind of reminded you of your brother.
You didn’t dwell on how that made you feel.
“How old are you?”
“Ninety-three.” Jungkook’s chest puffed out a bit with pride.
But you saw right through that. Like you said — too much like your brother. Squinting, you asked again. “Sure. But how old are you? Physically?”
Shoulders slumped and gaze averted, he became really focused on making sure all the coffee grounds were wiped from the edge of Yoongi’s mug. Too focused to apparently comment on your inquiry.
Jimin coughed in his fist to your left. “Twenty.”
You gave him a ‘really?’ look, mouthing out to him so Jungkook wouldn’t hear. ‘He’s twenty?’
He answered with a small smile he hid behind another sip of his coffee.
“Shut it, barf bag. No one likes a snitch.” Jungkook muttered bitterly from the sink, cheeks flushed red.
You shared a laugh with Jimin, stifling it with the side of your hand. Even though Jimin tried to keep his quiet, it still sounded like music to your ears, a breathy soft sound that made your stomach seize.
Lord have mercy on your self-restraint.
This was the temptation they spoke of in the bible — sitting across from you in a simple gray tee and luring you down the path of unrighteousness with a pretty smile and mysterious charm. You needed to change the subject quick before you found yourself sprinting down that path with little care for redemption.
“So, what’s in three days?” They thought you wouldn’t catch Hoseok’s comment? Wrong. Catching truths hidden in quick-muttered sentences was your specialty.
Your question had the room stilling, a silent exchange of urgent conversation between Jungkook’s glance over his shoulder and Jimin’s relaxed stare. An agreement was made, it seemed, for Jungkook spun back to face the sink with a huff and Jimin busied himself with Yoongi’s forgotten newspaper.
“What’s on the docket today, Tanker?” Jungkook inquired as though you hadn’t said anything, eyeing a spot of soapy water that had splashed onto his sleeves in an effort to look casual.
Jimin’s smile slipped away with a sigh, stretching back in his seat so his t-shirt snuck up his navel. You barely had it in you to look away.
“Parole. Inventory.” He looked at you briefly from the corner of his eye, catching your stare. Heat rushed your cheeks and your neck snapped so suddenly towards the window you felt the tendons ache. Very demure. Very subtle. He bit his lip to keep in another heart-attack inducing laugh. “Mentoring.”
“Cowboy school~” Jungkook echoed playfully, oblivious to the exchange, slapping a wet plate with an old dish rag like a whip. He then added on a rather comically loud, “Yeehaw!”
_________________________________________
Thankfully your first lesson didn’t involve riding a horse. Yet.
Jimin offered to show you the ropes after breakfast, but one look at the tall animal had memories of being thrown around on horseback from the night before resurfacing, and the large breakfast you had sloshed in warning. This ‘mark’ on your shoulder may have increased your appetite overnight, but your digestive system hadn’t gotten the same memo. It felt like someone was using your intestines as a cement cast for some wild art experiment.
It didn’t help that your earlier question had still gone unanswered, the two of them avoiding it like the plague. They were trying to be nonchalant, but all it did was increase your suspicions tenfold.
That’s fine. You’d find a way to squeeze it out of them sooner or later. You were no stranger to the long game.
Right now you could play the role of apprentice if it meant getting more answers from them about how to get your brother back from that guy. Or spirit. Or whatever he was.
The windows were down to ease your rolling stomach as Jimin coasted down the mountainside at a relaxed pace, letting the breeze ease your nausea while you were on the lookout. You had no idea what you were looking for, but he certainly did, eyes peeled and constantly scanning the white lines along the edge of the road or sifting through brush.
Jungkook was sprawled across the back seat, cheek smushed to the window while he mourned the loss of his ‘day off’,
“So what is it we are even looking for?” You sighed, situating your chin on your forearm so the wind wasn’t blowing in your mouth.
Jimin drummed his thumb on the wheel in time with the song on the radio. “You’ll know.”
You snorted. “Yeah, right….” Trailing off, you let your eyes get lost in the blur of the thin roads, tracking the mile markers that inched you closer to town. He must’ve thought quite highly of your skills, which flattered you, but he severely underestimated your ability to rationalize even the wildest of experiences. You wouldn’t know a spirit if they grabbed you by the hand and possessed you to do some sort of local polka — you’d just brush it off and start rambling about the power of hysteria.
Deep in your thoughts of whether or not a ghost really could possess someone to dance, you hadn’t noticed the familiar switch in scenery. And before you knew it, the truck was bouncing into Earl’s gas station lot and coming to a smooth stop.
“Be back in a minute. Keep an eye on Kook. He’s not allowed back in yet.” Wagging a warning finger at Jungkook, he added, “No funny business. I’ll have my gloves around your neck before you can even jump the seat.”
With that, Jimin hopped out the truck and shut the door before you could follow, pushing open the glass door with a friendly wave to the man behind the counter.
You gave Jungkook a dubious look. “Not allowed in, huh? What’d you do to my man Earl?”
Jungkook beamed with mischief, and wiggled his fingers. “Let’s just say I’m a big fan of the five finger discount.”
“Of course you are…” Turning your attention back to the shop front, you furrowed your brows, confused. Through the glass, you tracked his figure make its way to the self-service corner, mixing up something for himself in a styrofoam cup while he conversed with Earl. Jimin had already had a cup of coffee less than two hours ago, and against all things natural and holy, he had managed to finish it even if it was the worst thing you had tasted. Now he was tossing dollars over the counter for another, albeit better, cup of coffee.
If you were to have another with your current digestive disaster, there would be a terrible catastrophe at hand for both your pride and Jimin’s leather seats.
“How can you guys drink so much coffee without shitting your brains out?”
“Like I said, you get used to it.” Jungkook piped up from the back instantly. “He always comes here anyhow, even if he doesn’t drink it. Think it makes him feel better or something.”
“About what?”
There was a beat of silence. “Well...you know...it’s complicated. Nothing you should worry about.”
Scrunching your face at the blatant move to evade yet another question, you twisted back to look at him. “Not buying that one bit. Spill.”
His dark eyes widened exponentially, darting to the front glass and back while narrowing to slits. “I’ve got nothin’ to spill.”
Expression falling flat, you glared. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“Am not!” Red splotches bloomed on his cheeks and neck.
Shaking your head to yourself with a huff, you cursed under your breath. “How it took me three days to figure you all out is beyond me.”
“You only figured it out ‘cause you’re a nosy church bell that doesn’t know what’s good for her.”
“ ‘Church bell’? What is this, a spaghetti western? Come up with a better insult if your goal is to offend someone in this century.”
A deep crease formed between Jungkook’s brows to match the hard set of his jaw. “You want a better insult I got plenty-”
Before he could plow through his vocabulary, Jimin was already approaching the driver’s side, coffee in hand and polite smile shining towards a passerby. His seatbelt was barely buckled when your mouth opened.
“This job better get interesting before I pull his hair out and let the birds use it as nesting material.”
Jimin paused, caught off guard by the immediate heat in your tone, then slowly turned to address Jungkook. “What’d you do?”
“Didn’t do jack.” The younger one huffed, turning his scowl out towards the window.
Sighing sharply, Jimin dropped his cup into the holder and started the engine. He was good at keeping the peace, it seemed.
...Except his peace lasted about five seconds before the backseat commentator ruined it.
“Really though, she’s got a point. Why aren’t we doing anything interesting? Surely there’s gotta be somethin’ slimy crawling around your neck of the woods we can shoot.” Jungkook whined, throwing an arm over the back of Jimin’s seat.
Dodging his prodding eyes, Jimin kept his gaze straight ahead. “I do evening shifts now. You know that.”
“Right. The moonlight mile.” Jungkook taunted. “Borinngggg. Why don’t we do it my way since I’m stuck here?”
“We’ve got company.”
Jungkook rolled his eyes. “So?”
It was your turn to butt in. “Don’t hold yourselves back just ‘cause I’m here. I have to get used it one way or another.”
“See?” Jungkook clapped a hand on your shoulder, his strength breathtakingly unexpected. One miscalculated pat on the back could knock your back teeth loose if you weren’t paying attention. There would for sure be a new tender spot where his hand landed to add to your collection from last night. “Newbie’s got the right idea.”
The muscles in Jimin’s jaw twitched, his grip tightening on the wheel. “Out of the question.”
“Damn shame. Wouldn’t it be better if it happened on accident anyhow?”
Jimin’s eyes flashed, narrowed into golden slits in the rear view mirror. “Watch it.”
“What does that mean-” Jimin silenced your hundredth (but not your last) question with a flash of glowing violet eyes, his pupils gone. A chill ran down your spine, your tongue stuck like a wriggling fish clenched in its captor's fist.
Jungkook didn’t feel like backing down, though. A habit of his you were becoming well aware of. “Don’t be such a wet rag, I’m sure a little field trip wouldn’t hurt. Joon’s still out there for a few more hours anyway, so we won’t be alone if push comes to shove. What, you think three against one wouldn’t be a fair fight?”
Blue faded back to golden browns as Jimin weighed his options, staring over the hood and into the winding roads like they owed him money. Jungkook noticed his cracking resolve and dove in for the kill.
“Why not let the lady decide? She’s tough enough to make her own decisions.”
Jimin looked to you again, normal this time, if only a bit pleading. “It’s a risk, you bein’ out there.”
“Nothing I can’t handle.” You stuck your chin up. In reality you had no idea what you could handle, but he didn’t have to know that. Jungkook had pissed you off, and if he was going to be an eternal coworker, you would not let him get away with thinking you were a coward.
Jungkook cheered in the back seat as Jimin reluctantly turned the vehicle off the main road to wind back into the trees. Hands from the backseat shook your shoulders vigorously, pressing sharply into the tender scar beneath them.
“Let’s see if you’re all show and no go, huh Newbie?”
_________________________________________
You were not all show and no go.
This you kept repeating to yourself with each laborious step up the muddy mountain. Joints creaked and muscles ached, your body still battered from the previous day's work. But neither of them let up their pace in the slightest, coasting up the rocky hills and navigating shallow roots like second nature.
You kind of liked that. Liked that they weren’t slowing down or giving you baby treatment. They just expected you to figure out how to keep up and didn't hold your hand through the hard parts.
Sometimes they were a little too into the 'learn as you go' mindset, as proven by the nearly four times you almost twisted an ankle before Jimin showed you how to correctly identify which tree roots could actually be used as stairs, and which ones just like to pretend they could.
Their pattern of movement was easy enough to follow as the morning ticked on.
Every dozen or so feet the two of them would pause, heads tilted in any which direction while they just listened. Sensed. Then they’d shift directions to close in on whatever it was you were following, slinking deeper into the trees and higher in elevation.
Just when your eyes were starting to cross from boredom, a slope emerged from the brush, and your group came to a halt at its crest.
A long, tapering stripe of tan rock jutting from the center like a tongue from an open mouth and pooling at the bottom. Its teeth slate boulders; its eyes lopsided craters where tree roots used to live. From its base onward was stone and clay, the border of soft green to warm rough hues slithering out from both sides like a snake.
This was probably one of the Cracks Jimin had talked about.
“Now this is what I’m talkin’ about.” Jungkook nodded in approval, appraising the clash of colors with delight.
Curious as to what made this spot so special, you looked over the ridges and traced the blades of grass, not finding anything out of the ordinary except for the abrupt biome shift.
Jungkook hopped down from the rock he was using to scope out the area, breaching your personal space to throw an arm over your shoulders and point at the border. “See that?”
You blinked a few times, unimpressed. “Can’t say I do.”
With a twitch of his brow he angled your head downwards, lining it up with the point of his finger to a particularly patchy area of grass. “How ‘bout now?”
Hesitating just long enough to let him get excited, you crushed that hope with a satisfyingly plain, “Nope.”
Jimin came up on your other side, close enough to feel his chest brush your shoulder with each inhale, peering down to where the younger one was gesturing. “Look for the movement. It’ll look like she’s breathing.”
Giving it an earnest go for the sake of it (and totally not just to distract yourself from how close he was), you tried for a third time to see what was so mystifying about this spot. At first you didn’t see much of anything. Just a sway of grass or a shimmer of heat bouncing off the rock. Then you looked closer.
She was breathing. Deadwood, that is.
Labored, deep, and feverish. The earth acted as her diaphragm, expanding and deflating ever so slightly with each passing second. That first glance was a domino effect — a trail of breadcrumbs guiding your eyes along the Crack to other spots that undulated and heaved with pained sighs.
“Something’s trying to hop the fence,” Jungkook explained. “I’d bet a dime if you’d step closer, they’d burst sun side before you could say 'help!'.”
Jimin tensed, subtly moving to stand between you and Jungkook. “We leave it be if they aren’t breaching. Mark it as a hot spot for later and keep moving.”
“Don’t got any markers,” Jungkook shot back with a shit-eating grin.
Shoving a hand in one of his pockets, Jimin shucked out a small leather pouch and sent it sailing for Jungkook to catch. “Now you do.”
Grumbling to himself, Jungkook yanked open the pouch and scrunched his nose in distaste, pinching a thick wad of dried plant matter and ground stones and rubbing it between his fingers. He then used the toe of his boot to make a shallow hole in the ground to drop it in, before stepping through the brush for a new spot to repeat the ministration.
“Keep your distance. I’ll be right back.” Jimin slid down the ravine so he could mimic Jungkook’s actions on the rocky side, leaving you to stand idly at the top, just watching them duck down and dig in a rough rectangular shape. Almost like they were making a border of sorts.
“What’s that for?” You called down to Jimin.
With his knuckles, he dug a two inch hole and dropped some of the mixture in. “Strong scent of it helps us find it later. But it also traps ‘em in its perimeter.”
“Yeah, so when we come back later they have nowhere to run.” Jungkook mimicked pulling out a gun and firing at Jimin, who remained unphased by his antics. “I hope it’s a Squatch or a Bolter. That’d be a bitchin’ way to kick off your first rodeo.”
“A squatch?” Now it was really hard not to laugh. “What — like a Sasquatch?”
“The ones that like the snow aren’t too much work, but the ones that like the woods can get mean. ‘Specially if they got wings. Think they own the place just ‘cause they can piss all over it.” Jungkook looked like he was revisiting a run-in with a childhood enemy while he turned back to his job at hand, kicking up another pile of dirt to shove some leaves into. “You don’t have to take my word for it, you’ll see one soon enough.”
Your mouth was caught somewhere between an open-mouthed grin and a grimace, your brain working to dust off the ten thousand lectures your brother had given you over the years. Somewhere deep in those dark crevices you had put it all to forget about, you pulled what little you knew about a Sasquatch — or as you knew him best — Bigfoot. Nowhere in that head of yours could you place him in New Mexico.
Pointing out the flaw in their logic made you feel good, if only for a second. “I thought Bigfoot was from the Northwest somewhere?”
It was Jimin who finally offered some his input this time. “Technically, that's what they prefer. But most of 'em are born here before migrating North.”
Crossing your arms above your chest, you pushed further. “Migration, huh? If there’s enough to have ecological patterns of behavior, shouldn’t there be actual proof they exist? Doesn't make sense that there isn't scientific evidence or reputable photos.”
Jimin paused to glance up at you from beneath his hat, almost like he thought the answer was obvious. Looking you in the face, even. When it fully didn’t click, he humored you with a short laugh.
“If more people start seein’ Bigfoot, it means we aren’t doing our job. Only the ones that escape make it anywhere.”
Oh.
When he was telling you all about the things that come from Deadwood and it being the doorway between realms, he meant it was the doorway. The birthplace for all things cryptids. They weren’t just protecting Deadwood and the neighboring cities; they were protecting everyone.
No wonder your brother was so drawn to this place. All his life’s passions, interests, and dreams wrapped up in a neat bow. How poetic that his mission to uncover the truths might be what kills him in the end.
All the humor in your expression soured at the thought of your brother kicking the bucket first, and the conversation died there, flushed away by your mental spiral of how bananas this all sounded. Though the proof was in the pudding — if the pudding ingredient list called for large scars and a life-altering run-in with Scalers in the woods, that is.
It was hard to deny that everything they said held weight once reality didn’t feel so real anymore. Denial was ingrained into your system, your heels digging into the forest floor with excuse after excuse. It had you glaring holes into the sides of their faces while trying to figure out a subtle way to ask them to shapeshift right in front of you or let something burst from the cracks just so you wouldn’t have to fight the truth.
But they gave you nothing, the two of them lost in the finishing touches of marking the area.
That was boring to say the least.
You were hot, sweaty, and achy, and the last thing you wanted to be doing was standing in the middle of the woods just watching men work and thinking up the logistical migration patterns of North America's cryptids. Scoping out the surrounding area, you bounced on the balls of your feet to keep the muscles of your legs from screaming at you for being too still, debating to yourself whether the relief of sitting on the rock Jungkook had used as a personal perch would be worth the hassle of climbing it.
It was then that something small and white darted out from behind it, slotting its small body between the dry green brush and the trunk of a tree.
Curiosity got the better of you, pulling you closer to inspect what you suspected to be a small rabbit or a fluffy squirrel. Through the spindly branches, you could catch glimpses of its beady black eyes, quivering and small like the thought of your approach frightened it.
Its colors were stunning from what little you could see. Sparkling snow fur and onyx gems for eyes, holding a level of intelligence you wouldn’t typically see from an animal of its size. Hypnotized by the human-like emotion it was able to convey, you found yourself stepping even closer, bending at the waist to push aside the grasses blocking it from your view.
The animal didn’t run. It stood its ground, sizing you up with an owlish tilt of its unusually long neck and a pitiful whine. With a better look at the creature, it did seem to resemble more of an owl, but those were nocturnal last you had checked.
At this point, you didn’t care what it was, just that it was hurt, a trail of red streaking down its knobby chicken feet. A part of you yearned to catch it. To pick it up and cradle it close. You weren’t a motherly person by any means, but this woeful little creature was really tugging at your heartstrings.
Glancing over your shoulder to the down-turned slope, you beckoned for Jimin’s approaching shadow. “Hey, I think this thing needs-”
A shot rang out, and the creature collapsed in a heap. The strange moment between shattered with one last shriek from its slender throat.
“Aww man! I wanted to do it…” Jungkook complained, glaring at Jimin, who was shaking off his small handgun to let the muzzle cool.
Jimin hovered close, ignoring the younger’s disappointment and staring down at the stain that was beginning to spread out from its slowly melting body. “Congratulations, you’ve just spotted your first Damsel.”
Now with the creature gone, you could think straight. Trying to regain your bearings, you pressed for more. “A Damsel?”
With a grunt, Jimin scooped the carcass up by the leg and held it up to your eye level, keeping it at arm's length so it wouldn’t drip onto his clothes. “Owl head. Chicken feet. Rabbit body.” Using his index finger, he pointed to each as he named it. “Does the dirty work of luring people into the woods for somethin’ bigger and uglier to eat.”
“Like what?” You ventured to ask. A residual fog clouded your mind, like your system was still trying to rid itself of the spirit’s influence. Even your hands were freezing despite the heat of the summer air, fingertips now completely numb. You didn’t like how easily your body had been affected by the encounter. Unease flooded through your veins, the kind that had your stubbornness starting to dissolve more than it had. You hoped they wouldn’t notice how off-kilter you were as you rubbed your hands together to conjure up some warmth.
Jimin clearly did, but to save your pride, he didn’t comment. Instead, he just let his cat-like stare zero in on the sound of the friction between your palms with a slight raise of his brow. “Goatmen. Teratorns. Howlers. Visitors. Any of the other big monsters that find themselves here before moving elsewhere. Big guy eats the body; damsels eat the waste.”
Huh. Symbiotic relationships amongst demons. So there was some logic to be discovered here. (At this point, you were clinging onto anything even remotely explainable). You screamed at yourself to say something else — anything to pretend that what had just happened, didn't mean anything.
It was just some fucked up looking bunny. Owl.
...Thing.
You glared at it with unadulterated hatred for making you so confused. “Do any of them work for the guy who has my brother?”
Jimin grimaced with a shrug. “We’re trying to figure that out.”
The weight of the body was too much for the single leg to bear, its tendons beginning to unwind like spiderwebs dotted with drops of bloody dew. Before it could fall to the ground and burst like a demonic water balloon, he tossed it into the woods to melt back into the soil where it belonged — and the earth drank every last drop as though she were starved for it.
_________________________________________
Your journey through the woods was cut short after that. Jimin didn’t seem eager to let you stand out in the open too long, and you didn’t want to admit how shaken such a small interaction had left you. Win-win situation, if you were asked.
The decision ended up working out in your favor in more ways than one, because the second there wasn’t cement sloshing around your middle, you were ravenous again. Jungkook better be right about getting used to it.
Jimin picked out your next meal: a small truck stop diner right off the main highway just by the county border, where you ate two almost two full-sized burgers, decked out with all the toppings you could handle.
The waitress only really ever looked at you, never directly at either of your companions. Which was something you were beginning to notice about the inhabitants of this town — they kept their heads down and their mouths shut. The waitress only dared to utter a quiet ‘thank you’ to Jimin when he returned the check with a fat tip.
Even the clerk at the small department store kept their eyes glued to the checkout counter while scanning your new clothes, almost too shaken up to look at you when you tried to ask how their day was. Looking back at when you’d confronted them back at the roadhouse, it had been strange that not a single staff member had stepped in to stop your confrontation, or that the tables were mostly empty. This was simply another odd fact of this town you filed away to use while you tried to piece together the mystery that was Deadwood when you couldn't sleep.
And thankfully the boys gave you time to do just that.
By late afternoon you were back at Jimin’s place, sitting on the porch while him and Jungkook did ‘inventory’ — which was just a fancy way of saying they were making sure their guns were clean and their ammunition plentiful. Whenever one was empty, they would let you hold it. Get a feel for its weight and grip. Ask how you liked it. Pass you a box of specialty bullets made of salt, silver, and compressed herbs so you could learn how to slot them in, but never without the safety on.
After a half hour of their silence, you blew in with a slurry of more questions about the strange behavior you had noted earlier that day.
“Do they know?” You blurted out. Jimin glanced up at your question with a raised brow, so you rushed to clarify. “The people in town, I mean. The locals. Do they know you’re real?”
“Maybe.”
You frowned at his vague answer. “Maybe?”
Jungkook looked between you and Jimin, then back down at the shotgun he was working on, freeing Jimin from having to come up with an answer. “If they do, they do a good thing keepin’ it to themselves.”
“What, no one’s ever called you out before? I find that hard to believe.” A snort broke out of your mouth. “You guys aren’t exactly subtle.”
Jimin remained stoic, going through the motions of his chore like a well oiled machine. But you knew him just enough to know that meant he was thinking. Or avoiding speaking. Basically the same thing when it came to him, though.
Jungkook didn’t seem so hesitant to answer to his companions dismay. “I didn’t say that. Just said it’s better they don’t.”
“Kook.” Jimin said his name in a low warning.
“What? Just being honest.”
“About what?” You demanded. “This is the second time you’ve been cryptic, and it’s giving me the creeps.”
Jungkook placed his gun to the side haughtily. “That’s because Tanker here is the sensitive type and wants your transition to be ‘comfortable’. Thinks you’re too delicate for the real answers.”
You blanched. “Delicate!”
“I did not say she was delicate. Don’t put fuckin’ words in my mouth.” Jimin then tossed you a nervous side eye, his tone softer. “I didn’t say you were delicate.”
“You didn’t need to say it. It was heavily implied.” Jungkook sneered. The next thing you knew, Jungkook was packing up his stuff back in its rightful place and slinging the shoulder straps over his arm. “Whatever. I’m done hanging in Dullsville with you two.” He paused to jab Jimin’s shoulder with his index finger. “Get your head on straight before Hoseok gets back, ‘cause I’m not sticking my neck out tonight to keep a damned soul from hell. If you aren’t gonna do it, one of us will. There's old rules that I’m not gonna be the one to break.”
With that, he stormed off down the dirt path towards Hoseok’s house, back to his own, which was a much farther walk north. There was no way he was going to dampen his pride by asking Jimin to drive him back up the mountain when he looked that peeved.
There was a beat of silence as you watched him grow into nothing but a wobbling, doll-sized figure on the horizon. Steam was starting to billow out of your ears, but yelling wouldn’t do you any good; you were old enough to know that this wasn’t the time and place for that. It was time to use those dreaded conflict resolution skills you always stuffed on your resume to make it look pretty. Angling yourself towards Jimin, you bit your cheek to stay calm.
“What exactly are you not telling me? I'm tired of asking questions.”
A loud sigh seeped from his nose, and reluctantly chucked his freshly cleaned weapon to the side. His fingers tied themselves in knots, twiddling around one another while he leaned his elbows into his knees to ground himself. Running his tongue over his bottom lip, he finally spoke.
“The reason the folks in town keep their mouths shut is because if they say the wrong thing, we’d have to kill them. That’s part of the rules.”
Your eyes widened, and your breath caught in your throat. That was not what you were expecting.
“If too many people start talking, it’s a risk to our job and we have to...deal with it accordingly. However, we each get one living person we can tell. Once they die, we can tell another.” Jimin continued on, turning to squint at you through the blinding sun. “I was going to use mine on you, but it turned out not to matter anyhow.”
Opening and closing your mouth a few times, you tried to find the right words. “Have you ever…”
“No,” Jimin cut you off swiftly. “Haven’t needed to. The people around here do a pretty good job of mindin’ their own business and keeping the wrong kind of tourists busy. We know that some of them know, but as long as they don’t make it a problem, we don’t have to do anything about it.”
“And what does this have to do with me being delicate? I went into this whole thing thinking you were murderers, this isn’t exactly news you have to save me from.” Shaking your head in bewilderment, you met his lingering gaze.
“Because,” He swallowed thickly. “I can’t use my one rule break on you like I planned. You have a mark, which means right now you aren’t considered a normal living person. You are on the brink of being in between.”
Blinking a few times, you egged him on. “And that makes me delicate because?” You were really stuck on that word. You would have rather been called ugly and worthless than delicate.
“I never said you were delicate!” Jimin groaned, running a hand down his face in exasperation. “Just said I didn’t want them snapping your neck in the middle of the desert without warning!”
His outburst caught you off guard, and you found yourself inching away from him. “W-what?”
“Look, Hoseok has been here for a long time. His way of going about new recruits is old-fashioned. Cruel. In his eyes, asking for time and patience is the same as asking for princess treatment.” He looked warily at the growing space between you two, and lowered his voice again. “He doesn’t see the point in beatin’ around the bush and waiting for you to fuck off back where you came from to live out the rest of your life doing hell knows what. The second he gets the chance, he will kill you. And your brother. The only thing standing between a bullet through your brain or a run-in with the wrong mountain lion is me. Because I’m the one that technically found you, and it’s my ‘turn’ to do the job. But I’m not interested in doing it.”
Your head began to spin.
So you had been right. Those men were out to kill you — just not for the reason you had thought. You didn’t know what was better: Jimin not talking, or him not shutting up. Both options left you reeling into uncharted territory.
“So those three days…”
“All he’s gonna give me before he does it himself. And if I know him as well as I do, he’s not what I’d call a man of his word. Wouldn’t be surprised if he lunged the second I wasn’t looking.”
This didn’t make any sense. Why would Jimin be so hell-bent on keeping you alive? Wouldn’t that cause more trouble for him in the long run? Did he expect you to just stay here with him until you were drinking prune juice and sleeping in diapers? You had been facing the risk of violence and death since the moment you started digging into the mystery here, but now you could taste it. Taste the iron of the blood still pumping through your veins and the salt of fresh sweat.
You didn’t want to die yet.
Sure, life wasn’t perfect. You weren’t rich by any means, nor did you have any special plans or magical dreams ahead of you. But it was yours. It was run by free will and a drive to see another day just to say you made it. And the idea of someone taking away your choice stung deep.
Nodding to Jimin, you narrowed your eyes. “What’s in it for you, keeping me alive?”
He shrugged, breaking the eye contact to stare unfocused at the barn across the way, tracing the wood grain to distract himself. Jimin took an index finger and mindlessly ran it up the side of his forearm from wrist to elbow. Trailing out from his touch was a thin, faded scar — one you wouldn’t have even noticed if he hadn’t drawn it out in front of you.
“Hoseok fucked me over pretty bad. And I’ll be damned if I just sit and watch him do it again.” More sprawled out across his knuckles and his fingertips, jagged criss-crossing shapes, and shiny lines. You had to tear your eyes away from them to not lose yourself in the what or the who could have etched them in. Retracting his touch from his skin as though he had realized what he was doing, he cleared his throat, then dared to look at you again. “Plan was to help you find your brother, and then get the two of you across county lines before those three days were up. Can’t promise nothing won’t follow you out, but your chances are a hell of a lot better out there than in here.”
Taking a deep breath and heaving out one weary sigh, you mentally threw in the towel, the last of your hesitation towards Jimin tossed away in the wake of his honesty. And really, what the hell other choice did you have other than to trust him? This plan was the most realistic and grounded option you’d gotten from anyone yet.
And at the end of the day, this was for your brother. You needed Jimin in order to find him.
You held a hand out with your lips pressed into a thin line, waiting for him to shake on it. “Sounds like a plan. Where do we start?”
His lips twitched upwards, his hand sliding over yours to return the gesture. His grip felt nice and strong, the rough run of his skin over your palm sending sparks shooting down your spine. It was physically painful not to let yourself be disappointed when he pulled away.
This is for my brother this is for my brother this is-
“We start by staying close to each other. Don’t go out alone, and from here on out don’t let one of them lure you away from me — not a single one of those bastards. Even the ones you think you can trust. They’ve all known Hoseok longer than I have, and while they may give him shit, at the end of the day if he tells them to jump, they’ll ask how high.” Jimin began to busy himself again with his gun, ripping oven the flimsy tape someone had slapped onto a torn ammunition box with his teeth and pouring a few out into his hand. “Hoseok went out to follow the trail I picked up on your brother. Will probably’ve already come up with some sort of plan to find him by the time he gets back for the evening shift. If that demon has your brother, Hoseok’ll find out.”
Actually, take back what you said about not being sure which Jimin you liked more: you really liked the talkative one. Especially when he handed you a loaded shotgun and gestured out towards the field behind the barn.
“C’mon. Let’s make sure that if one of those sons of bitches tries to jump you when I’m not looking, you’ll be able to knock their teeth out.”
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SUMMARY ➩ Born and raised in the busy city, you are in for a major life shift when you’re sent to the country side. You imagine the farmers son won’t be much help. (nobody’s son, nobody’s daughter)
AUTHORS NOTE ➩ Marking this as my official leave from retirement. This is the first work since Skin on Skin I feel a genuine connection too and I can proudly say I love it a lot. I hope you like it as much as me! Please check out the playlist and listen as you read if you'd like (PART TWO OUT NOW)
Growing up in the city had influenced a few factors of your core development and the way you went about life. You took a second to open up to strangers, had faster reflexes than most people you’d met from other places and could ignore the sound of a horn two feet from your ear.
What it hadn’t done is making you a spoiled and sheltered brat, although you imagined your father would place some strong disagreement on that statement.
It absolutely had not made you the type of person that was so ‘out of control’ you needed to be sent to the middle of absolute nowhere to learn a thing or two about respect and taking care of things other than yourself.
This was not an issue you had and you could not fathom the fact you had been in the car for six hours now heading towards your new summer hell. You were in your early twenties and you should have slammed the door in your fathers face when you opened it to his scowl but sadly, his name was on the lease and he probably would have had the door removed.
Instead you had packed two bags, said bye to your precious cats and dragged your feet all the way to the car.
You imagined your fathers vehicle had never seen so much dirt in its life and even he seemed a bit bothered by the gravel roads that left a cloud of dust all over his doors and windows. Your father had been raised almost exactly the same as you so it felt a bit ironic and hypocritical.
It was not your fault he was a wealthy businessman, stationing his small family in the bustling streets of the city instead of a nice sized home somewhere. Your idea of dinner around the table was grabbing a bite to eat at the local pizza place, your fridge covered in project plans and work reminders instead of toddler art and positive report cards.
Your dad had raised you in a cold apartment suited for a bachelor, leaving you to get your fatherly advice from doormen and paying cleaning ladies extra to change your diapers. He was somehow still surprised to see you standing with a glare on your face as you exited the car and stared at the farm house.
“Atleast try to be pleasant.” He mumbled under his breath, the familiar expression he had whenever he felt embarrassed by you creeping up on his face. You had seen it your entire life, when you stood too slouched in front of a client or stuttered giving a speech at a company dinner.
You sent him a stronger dirty look that easily slid off your face when the door opened.
Despite what he may think, you actually were not a terrible person and you had no intentions of disrespecting the home owners even though you would rather eat the horses hay than have to stay here.
It was actually a beautiful home, grand in size with a large wraparound porch and land full of crops and various sized barns and pens.
There had been a faint memory of coming here a handful of times when you were younger, listening to your father take a gentle and relaxed tone you had only heard a few times and playing with the farmers boy that was around your age.
That had been a lifetime ago and while the landscape was relatively nostalgic and familiar, you had changed so drastically that you couldn’t feel more out of place if you tried.
You watched as the large bearded man approached your father, pulling him into a tight hug unlike his friends back home who would greet him with a firm handshake. This man clearly did not care about your fathers hesitance to embrace him, the rim of his cowboy hat knocking your fathers thin framed glasses slightly askew.
You had a hard time holding in a laugh at his dishevelled appearance after the bear hug and the man's sights set on you right as a smile crept up on your face.
“There she is.” He greeted you like he was an uncle you saw frequently and your eyes widened at the realization he was coming to give you a similarly tight hug, knocking the breath out of you as he nearly lifted you from the ground.
“Sorry honey, we are huggers around here.” You hadn’t even noticed the small woman behind his staggering frame and you caught her gentle eyes in your gaze right before she pulled you in for a much softer hug. “Except for my son sadly. He didn’t quite inherit that trait I suppose.”
The boy hadn’t left the porch, a few feet behind his parents as he stared at you and your father with an expression that was much colder than his warm parents held. You could tell he had already built some bias around your visit and you didn’t mind considering you had done the same, defenses building at his sour look.
“I’m sorry but I..” You trailed off awkwardly as you glanced between the bubbly couple, hoping they could understand so you didn’t have to tell them vocally that you had no idea who they were. The woman's face dropped just slightly but the farmer gave you a soft smile as he cupped your arm.
“That’s alright honey.” His gentle tone almost made you want to turn around and jump head first into the car, creeping its way under your skin and making you feel like that little girl that used to sneak branches in her room to use as a christmas tree. “It’s been lifetimes since we got to see you.”
His gaze fell over your shoulder towards your father with that statement and you almost thought it sounded hostile, or however hostile somebody so warm could manage. Your fathers throat clearing behind you confirmed your belief and you looked down at your feet as you were ushered inside.
You learned from listening in on the conversation silently that he was in fact a bit upset with your father. The man, Minchul apparently as you heard his wife softly calling him, had made a handful of comments about missing out on your life that he was attempting to disguise as jokes.
You had watched enough tense conversations with businessmen to be pretty good at picking up on what people actually wanted to say. Your father responded each time with a different excuse about being busy but you knew he wished he could tell the farmer that he simply outgrew him and whatever this dynamic was.
The woman had told you softly that her name was Nari and you watched as she barely sat down, bouncing between the table and the kitchen whenever she noticed somebody was running low on their drink or the finger foods she had prepared.
Her tending to you all didn’t feel like the panicked way your fathers cooks would try to keep him pleased and calm but rather like she enjoyed taking care of the people around her, eyes bright whenever you thanked her or took a bite of something she had made.
“Jungkook will be helping her with her chores and duties.” Minchul’s low voice was bringing you back to the conversation, interest spiked as you realized they were discussing your stay there.
You had very little information about how long you would be here or what exactly you were meant to accomplish but your eyes shifted over to the son at the mention of his name, sitting across from you and also not having spoken a word.
He was staring at his father as he spoke, gaze unwavering and still as cold as it had been outside. You had realized outside that he was the same boy you had played with when you were a kid but he had clearly changed as much as you had because he no longer had an ounce of welcoming energy to him.
“If she gives you any trouble son, feel free to call me.” Your father was speaking directly to him like you weren’t even there and Jungkook’s jaw shifted at the use of the word ‘son’.
A smile almost crept back up at the interesting reaction but it faded as soon as he looked at you, curious like he expected you to say something snobbish in return to your fathers jab. You didn’t have any plans to, used to him warning people about you like you were a walking disaster.
“I’m sure we can manage.” His voice was flat and lacking any real care but you hadn’t figured he would reply at all, let alone with something borderlining disrespectful.
The rest of the table seemed to agree because the room fell silent at his comment and your dad seemed taken back by the fact Jungkook hadn’t immediately agreed with his implication. You barely moved, not wanting to put yourself on the wrong side of things while he was still here.
“Apologize.” Minchul was speaking the word hushed and you looked at him with widened eyes, not even realizing it had been him speaking considering how cold it came out. It was completely different to the tone he used with the rest of you but Jungkook didn’t seem affected at all.
“I’m sorry sir.” He said it easily, practiced and lacking any real apology. It seemed the phrase alone was all his father wanted to hear because his shoulders lost tension and he awkwardly patted the table as he changed the subject to something about your dads car.
You removed yourself mentally from the conversation again but you caught the way Jungkook’s mom rubbed his shoulder soothingly as she passed him on her back to the kitchen.
----
“You are really just leaving me?” Your voice was icy as you watched your father toss your bags out of his car, squinting his eyes at the dirt it brought into the air and glaring at you like it was your fault. “I don’t even know these people.”
“I do.” He said simply as he closed the trunk and watched you with disappointment swirling in his gaze. You could tell there was a lot he wanted to say to you but as always, he left it plain and gave you a firm nod that you knew put an end to this conversation.
You did nothing but watch as he got into the driver seat and pulled off down the dirt road, headlights disappearing behind the trees and fields of corn. You sighed softly and sunk down on the rocky path way, not really caring if they were watching from the window and judging you.
You didn’t know these people and it was hard to even process that this was really happening to you right now. The sun had fully set when you stopped thinking yourself away and you realized you had been outside for a lot longer than you had meant to be.
Nobody had come out to get you or even check if you were alright but you figured they were just giving you the space to throw your internal tantrum before inevitably accepting your fate and figuring out what to do from there.
Your sigh turned into a dragged out and low groan as you buried your face in your dusty hands, cringing away when you felt the sting of the debris entering your eyes and realizing you felt like you were going to cry regardless of the pain.
“You sleeping out here?”
You jumped at the sudden voice coming from your right, looking sideways at a pair of dirty and ripped boots before trailing up the tall frame and landing on Jungkook and a raised eyebrow. He had been the last person from the family you expected to come outside to collect you and you groaned again.
“I just need a minute okay?” Your voice came out cold but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care about his feelings right now. He was unwillingly participating in your banishment but it was still participation in your eyes and for that alone, you disliked him.
“City girls and their minutes.” It was mumbled under his breath but loud enough for you to hear. You didn’t even warrant it with a reaction, staring numbly at the gravel and willing a loose horse to run him over with your mind.
He didn’t leave the entire time you sat there and you could feel him staring at your back as you practically curled into a ball. Eventually you stood up calmly, dusted yourself off and headed inside the house.
----
Jungkook had silently left your bags at the foot of your door and disappeared down the hall into what you assumed was his own, soft music coming from behind the peeling wood. You left your door open, feeling awkward in the unfamiliar room like you had somehow broken into this nice family's home and crawled into a random bed.
You barely slept at all the first night and the sound of the roosters screeching only two hours after your eyes actually closed was enough to make you consider hitch hiking back to the city.
The entire family was downstairs in the kitchen to your dismay and you couldn’t fix your face in time, seeing the concern radiating from Nari as she took in your exhausted eyes and closed off demeanor. You mumbled a morning greeting and shifted onto the seat furthest from them all.
“Did you sleep okay?” She asked softly as she placed a glass of orange juice in front of you and you nodded at her, both of you knowing you were being nice rather than honest. She pursed her lips and placed a gentle hand on your shoulder for a second as reassurance that she understood.
“Good because you have a long day today.” Minchul sounded as cheerful as yesterday but there was an underlying tone to his voice that made you not want to disobey him. He made pleasant conversation with his wife as you and Jungkook ate silently on the other side of the table.
Jungkook hadn’t even waited for you to finish eating, cleaning off his place and kissing his mom on the side of the head before pushing through the front door. You watched in disbelief as he left you behind, scarfing down the rest of your eggs and rushing after him, nearly tripping down the stairs as you followed him to the largest barn.
The smell was assaulting but you didn’t visually react, not wanting to give him the satisfaction considering he was leaning against a slate of wood and watching you for any signs that you were going to complain.
When you gave him a firm and determined stare he was tossing a silver bucket in your direction, both of you tracking it as it hit the barn floor and bounced a few times.
“Seriously?” You remarked, your first real word of the day being forced out due to disbelief. He didn’t answer and instead entered one of the stalls holding a large cow. “Couldn’t just hand it to me?”
There was no reply again and you sighed as you followed him, scowling when you saw the black and white animal staring at you with a bored expression. Jungkook slid a small stool over to you before leaning back again on the wall of the stall. The cow took a step towards him and you flinched back as its large belly almost pushed you over.
“Am I supposed to do something with him?” You gestured at the stool and cow in confusion and Jungkook raised an eyebrow.
“She’s a girl.” He said simply and you gave him an incredulous look, feeling like you were going insane from attempting to communicate with him. “You’re supposed to milk her.”
You stared at him silently for a few seconds, trying to figure out if he was joking or not before glancing at the bucket and realizing he was apparently very serious. You took a breath so deep that it moved your entire body as you tried to calm yourself, ignoring the slightly amused look he grew at the action.
You hadn’t even sat fully on the stool before he was speaking again.
“Wrong.”
You glared at him and adjusted your position, leaning forward hesitantly to reach out to the cow.
“Wrong again.”
Another attempt, a different section of the utters that looked as foreign as the rest of the large creature. She shifted like she felt as awkward as you did for touching her and you sighed at his lack of interjection.
“Touch her there and she’ll probably kick you in the face.”
You let out a loud and bitter laugh that made the cow grunt softly, standing from the stool and shoving it in his direction. He watched you quietly as the rage built up inside you, even more so at the indifference on his face.
“If you aren’t even going to attempt to help me, then you go ahead and do it.” You spat as you pointed between him, the bucket, and the cow. He didn’t say anything again and the silence was somehow more annoying than him making small comments towards you.
He wordlessly moved the stool and you sat down with a huff, at first just picking at your fingers and then deciding to actually watch as he milked the cow. It was slightly interesting, especially considering your current options for entertainment.
His hands were gentle with the animal and she seemed a lot more relaxed now that he was the one near her undercarriage and not some strange girl with tense shoulders and shoes that definitely weren’t made for a barn floor. It was intriguing to you to watch the cows body language change so outwardly.
Jungkook finished up after some time and you followed him to his next set of chores. This time and the next, he didn’t bother trying to get you to do anything. Instead he did them all easily and allowed you to simply watch as he herded the sheep into their pens, poured disgusting sludge into the trough for the pigs and dragged the stubborn horses back into the gated area.
By the end of the day, you were exhausted without having done much at all.
He didn’t even seem phased by the fact he had spent the entire day in the sun doing hard physical labor and you sighed as he walked ahead of you back to the house.
You felt like an invisible shadow following him around all day with little to no conversation between you and it pained you to watch the sun set knowing you had wasted your time and learned nothing but the fact Jungkook was a stubborn asshole.
His dad was waiting on the porch as you approached and you watched as Jungkook’s back hardened at the sight of the kind man. He was smiling largely but it was past his son and towards you, clapping his hands in delight as he took in the dirt on your pants and your sweat dried hair.
“How was your first day?” He asked warmly as you ascended the steps. Jungkook had slowed down to let you pass and he lingered at the patch of grass near the bottom. “Was he a good teacher?”
The shift in his tone made you glance backwards towards the teacher in question and his flat face showed no sense of what he wanted you to say. You felt like you were hesitating too long and you turned back to Minchul with a soft smile.
“The best. I learned a lot actually.” You said gently and he smiled proudly, a large hand between your shoulder blades as he led you inside for dinner.
Jungkook was as silent as always but he didn’t look as unimpressed with you when you caught his eyes across the table. There was a beat of nothing before he gave you a small nod, enough for you to understand he appreciated you lying to his dad for him.
Dinner was calm and quiet as you zoned out from exhaustion and you barely flinched when his parents asked you to work together to get the dishes washed and dried quickly. You moved on autopilot to the sink and responded with a light mumble as they wished you both a goodnight.
Jungkook stood wordlessly next to you, taking each wet dish you handed him as he dried them precisely with a towel. It was quiet through the first half of the sink and then he was clearing his throat with a hint of awkwardness.
“You didn’t have to do that.” He said in a near whisper. You didn’t even glance at him, handing over another dish casually.
“I didn’t do anything but spare myself the awkwardness of watching you get lectured.” Your tone was flat like it genuinely meant nothing to you but you figured you both knew the reason you had done it. He seemed tense at your answer so you sighed softly. “I know what it’s like to have a dickhead for a father.”
He paused his movements when you said that and you wondered if it was the wrong thing to speak into the quiet kitchen before you heard him laugh softly under his breath.
It didn’t take a psychologist to realize Jungkook had a different relationship with Minchul than most other people would. His cold and harsh tone towards his son seemed to come out of thin air the second he laid his eyes on the younger man and you felt yourself becoming more nosy than you should be.
Their dirty laundry was none of your business and you hurriedly finished dishes.
----
The next day's chore list actually seemed a bit more lax and you quickly understood that he must do all of the extremely difficult things at the end of the week.
Monday was more about maintenance and you felt a little guilty for doing nothing yesterday so you were glad that you could actually help with some smaller stuff, both going stir crazy from doing so little with yourself and also feeling useless the more he sweated and moved around.
You helped sweep loose hay from the stables, collected eggs from under the squawking hens and even assisted him in filling up the water barrels with fresh and clean gallons. You were actually feeling a little satisfied with yourself when the day started to come to a finish and you glanced at him to see what you had to do next.
He surprised you when he pulled two small items out of his jean pockets, fidgeting with them until the lighter was producing a flame that he used to light the rolled up paper. You eyed him curiously as he inhaled around the joint before stretching his hand out towards you without so much of a glance or a word.
“Wow.” You breathed out a mocking laugh as you took it from him, studying it before putting it between your lips and speaking around it. “I am genuinely shocked right now.”
He laughed flatly at your tone and looked at you from the corner of his eye. You were sitting on a small hay bale while he leaned against the large wheel of an old tractor, behind one of the barns a bit further away from the house.
“It’s rude to make assumptions about people.” He said flatly as he took the joint back but you knew he wasn’t serious, lightheartedly replying to you and only furthering your bewilderment.
“What would your dad say if he knew you were getting me stoned right now?” You were only teasing and you hoped he could tell by the tone in your voice, it seemed like he did because he shrugged his shoulders casually.
“Less what he would say and more what he would do.”
The statement was heavier than he intended it to be and you both fell silent at the darker implication to his words. He passed it back to you and you watched him for a long moment before hitting it, seeing the way he almost winced at himself for saying something so awkward.
You let it hang in the air for a few minutes as you listened to the sounds of his inhales paired with the animals in the distance as they got ready for bed. EVentually you were sighing and his eyes went to you, almost in anticipation.
“Good thing I don’t tend to make a habit of reporting back to fathers.” You lifted your shoulders like it was a simple thing to say and his face flashed with something heavier again.
You’d smoked weed before a few times but Jungkook either had some especially strong country grown shit or your tolerance had significantly diminished because you somehow ended up in one of the sheep fields, both flat on your backs as you looked up at the stars.
For once you appreciated the fact he didn’t talk much because you felt a bit ridiculously emotional at the sight of them all. A childhood of light polluted skies had robbed you of star gazing and pointing out made up planets so it was overwhelming to see so many of them above you.
Jungkook seemed to be thinking similarly despite growing up under this sky, his mouth parted a bit in awe every time you glanced over at his side profile a few feet away from you.
“I get why you guys like it out here now I think.” You said wistfully, voice a little breathier than you realized it was when it was escaping you. He laughed a little at the sudden declaration and it didn’t seem as mocking as it had a few hours ago.
“Thought it would take longer to whip you into shape.” He joked back, voice a little higher than normal and you figured it was the high having settled in that was making him more comfortable to engage in conversation with you. “Some sweeping and a view was all you needed to appreciate the simple life?”
He was clearly messing with you and almost mocking your fathers reasoning for sending you here but you felt a light sting deep in your chest.
Jungkook was not the reason for it but he was the accidental messenger of the rhetoric your father had been spewing at you since nearly middle school. He couldn’t fathom a world where you cared about things or paid attention to people other than yourself.
It felt impossibly suffocating to argue with somebody who had a different reality in their head, left wondering how would you begin to correct a version of yourself that didn’t exist?
There were no number of saved movie tickets and sentimental souvenirs, no hours spent making your friends a sloppy birthday cake instead of buying them something store prepared, and no amount of love and empathy in your heart that could convince him you were a thoughtful person.
“There's nothing simple about this.” You ignored your heavier feelings as you raised a limp hand to gesture to the endless sky.
“I’m sure the city has its own views.” He retorted and you turned your head to the side when you noticed a hint of longing in his voice. He stiffened like he could feel you staring but didn’t look at you, eyes a bit more shifty.
“Breathtaking ones. I never get used to it.” You said back softly, wondering if that was something he wanted to hear or if it would fuel the fire to his apparent inner conflict. You were left wondering because he didn’t reply to you.
The silence didn’t last as long as usual, the intoxication in your lungs making you both a little less awkward and a little more lax when it came to unraveling useless information. He told you about the town's small population and how everyone he passed had probably changed his diapers at some point and you ranted about your cats back home and how guilty you felt for leaving them alone.
“Why didn’t you bring them here?” He said like it was an obvious option, maybe too high to remember that you weren’t exactly on a purposeful vacation. Your silence seemed to remind him of this fact and he kissed his teeth in realization. “I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”
“Your parents?” You said in confusion, rolling over onto your side in the grass so you could face him and groaning softly at the tightness in your back. He glanced at you and nodded, still laying flat and staring at the sky in between looks. “I don’t have anyone who would bring them here for me.”
Your voice barely held any bitterness, it was just the truth. It was a pretty big favor to ask even to somebody you would consider a friend and you didn’t even really have any of those anyways.
“Assuming you don’t know how to drive a stick.” He said thoughtfully and you shook your head with a light eye roll at his subtle jab. “I can take you.”
“What?” You sat up and he did the same, although avoiding looking at you head on. “Why would you do that?”
He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal he just offered to drive you twelve hours round trip just to bring your two cats all the way back here. He glanced back towards the house, the warm glow of the porch lights small considering how far out you were, and then back up towards the never ending sky full of stars.
“Gives me a break from chores.” He said noncommittally like he was offering to do a load of laundry for you.
You woke up the next morning with a soft knock on the guest bedroom door, opening it to see Jungkook leaning against the side of it with truck keys dangling around his finger. He gave them a little spin when he saw your eyes widen in surprise that he parents had actually agreed to the request he had made this morning after your conversation in the field.
You nod your head in understanding and close the door so you can hurriedly get ready, feeling a bit amused at the fact you’d been arguing only a few hours ago. Jungkook is silent when you find him in the living room and as he shows you to the truck, excitedly climbing into the passenger seat and waving goodbye to Nari who stands on the porch with a concerned look as she clutches a dish towel to her chest.
It felt beyond ridiculous that you were making this trip with somebody you barely knew and even worse, barely got along with.
He was silent for almost the entire first half of the drive, playing music from a rotating stack of CD’s and cursing under his breath whenever the truck made a particularly loud noise. It was comforting to feel the rumble underneath you as he shifted gears and passed miles and miles of barren farmland.
You had only been there for a couple days and you were already craving new scenery, eyes widening with excitement when you could vaguely make out the city skyline in the distance. You were still probably an hour out but it was undeniable the way your blood felt warmer.
“Do you see it?” You asked him excitedly, breaking the bubble of silence. You looked at him as you sat up but you didn’t need to hear his answer out loud, seeing it on his face as soon as you saw his expression.
His eyes were bright with awe and interest as you approached the tall skyscrapers and dizzying highways, traffic seemingly coming from every direction as he went from leaning forward to try and see the tops of buildings past the windshield and focusing on not missing the exits you rushed out with poor directional skills.
“It’s bigger than I thought.” He eventually said and it came out in one singular breath that made you smile, understanding the feeling all too well.
You let him take it all in so he didn’t get too distracted trying to navigate the busy and tight streets with hsi truck that stood out clearly compared to most of the more compact and practical vehicles around you.
You eventually managed to make your way to your apartment and he looked slightly surprised as he exited the driver seat and looked up at the building. He had heard stories of your dads lavish lifestyle so he clearly hadn’t been expecting the exposed brick and dirty windows of your building.
It was hard not to laugh at his expression, shaking your head and walking past him. You felt giddy knowing you would get to be home even if it was temporary and you could hear your cats meowing behind the door before you even pushed it open.
You greeted them enthusiastically as Jungkook closed the door behind you, eyes scanning around your small and homey apartment.
“Not exactly the penthouse suite.” He muttered and you glared at him from where you were crouching by your cats on the floor.
“Must to his dismay.” You didn’t need to say you were talking about your father for him to understand what you meant. “He won’t even step foot in this place.”
It felt especially ridiculous considering how nice and welcoming your apartment was. The walls were full of pictures of your friends and cats, postcards from random beachy cities covering your fridge door and mismatched furniture.
You had decided as soon as you moved in that you would make your place the polar opposite of the studio apartment you were raised in, trading in cold tile and sterile feeling lights for warm toned lamps and fuzzy rugs to comfort your feet.
“Do you need anything?” Your voice was softer than he had heard it before and Jungkook shook his head as he kicked his shoes off. You watched him quizzically before he gestured towards your clock on the wall.
“Might as well stay here tonight.” He said simply and your heart lurched at the idea of getting to sleep in your own bed. “I’m fine now but reckon I’d be exhausted halfway through the drive back.”
You weren’t even slightly planning to argue with that or question what his parents reaction would be, quickly standing to your feet to prepare something for him to wear other than his jeans and flannel. He stood there silently as you made him a comfortable bed on the couch, eventually wandering over to stare out your large living room window.
“Breathtaking right?” You spoke from behind him and he jumped a bit before nodding and glancing back at you.
“Yeah it’s beautiful.” He watched you for a few seconds before turning back to study the city and its seemingly never ending skyline.
Jungkook must have been more tired than he let on because he was asleep almost as soon as he laid down on your couch and you took a few hours to enjoy your space for the last time in a while, preparing your cats and their things both for travel and for extended stay.
It warmed your heart to picture them with so much space to run around, basking in the sun and chasing field mice while you did your chores. Jungkook was clearly being generous with his offer to take you but he really had no idea just how much it meant to you to have them with you in such an unfamiliar place.
He was just as quiet the next morning and as you brought your cat carriers and extra bags down to the truck but the ride back was a lot warmer and you felt ages less sour as you approached the town this time around. The hushed conversations between you felt smoother as you lost some of the awkwardness.
His father was sitting on the porch when you pulled back up and he enthusiastically greeted your cats in their carriers, Nari rushing out at the sound of your voices to help bring them inside.
You watched from the doorway as he gave Jungkook a firm nod and placed a hand stiffly on his shoulder. Jungkook pursed his lips at the action of approval and returned the nod with one of his own.
“Was that good?” You whispered to him as he passed you in the doorway and he let out a large breath that you imagined he had been holding since he left the truck.
“Yeah, I think it was.” He said back and you smiled at him, glad he had not gotten in trouble for trying to help you out.
The following week felt a lot easier now that you had a large piece of home with you, bed a little warmer with your cats curling up next to you. The chores were brutal and you were miserable half the time the sun was out but you were getting used to the ache of your body and the burn covering your skin.
Jungkook was still silent most of the day but he was doing things slower and more exaggerated so you could actually learn the few times he noticed you showing interest and paying attention. There were tasks you could do fully on your own now and you found yourself looking forward to when the sun would set and he'd knock on your door softly, an expectant look on his face as he flashed another joint between his fingers.
It was a nice routine for the two of you to wander out to the field near the sheep barn, smoking until the tightness of your bones faded enough for you to giggle into the grass and tell eachother random tidbits about your life.
“I heard your dad tell mine that you ran away.” Jungkook said gently one night when your conversation started to borderline on serious and you said nothing for a while.
“At 22 I thought it would just be considered taking a vacation.” Your voice was half humorous and half bitter, the latter side much more apparent in your tone. You sighed so deeply you felt like you were going to melt down into the dirt. “I’ve been further away for much longer, he only noticed this time because one of his clients saw me while traveling.”
“You went alone?” His questions rarely held so much interest and you glanced at him, finding him staring at the stars with his eyebrows furrowed like he hadn't considered that possible.
“I’m always alone.” You shrugged to yourself. “Aren't you?”
You weren’t trying to make a harsh assumption but you’d been there two weeks and not once did Jungkook leave the farm land other than your trip to the city. His parents went off to town a few times a week or to a friend's house for supper but Jungkook stayed throughout it all, never once hearing mention of a friend of his or seeing a photo somewhere in the house.
He shrugged but it was one of those times where you both already knew what his answer would be. His eyes shifted over to you and you watched curiously.
“Not so much anymore.” He said plainly but you smiled a bit at the implication, knowing it was probably a change for him to have you following behind his trail all day long. Maybe even a welcomed change now that you were getting along finally. ly.
You and Jungkook spent the next week with the exact same routine and now that you were used to most of it, you felt yourself going stir crazy. Little things were always changing, animals needing more help than usual or storms making it so you had to help around the house instead but for the most part everything stayed exactly the same.
It was a welcomed assignment when Nari softly asked you to take horses into town and pick up a few things. You didn’t ask why you couldn’t just take the truck even though you were beginning to wish you had as you stared at the large creature.
“You know I can’t ride that, right?” You said simply as you shook your head firmly. Jungkook laughed a little at your fearful tone before gesturing at the single saddle he had pulled off of the wall.
You were confused for a few seconds before realizing he was insinuating you both get on the horse together, your gaze shifting over to him to see him standing by the horse and clearly waiting for you to reach the same conclusion.
“You’re joking aren’t you?” Your voice shook a little as you squeaked out the question.
Clearly he wasn’t because Jungkook had easily lifted you up onto the large horse before swinging his leg over and situating himself naturally. You were left sitting behind him, feeling like you were about to throw up and having no choice but to wrap your arms tightly around his middle.
He was laughing at you when you squeezed your grip anytime you took a turn or the horse sped up to cross a road. It felt a bit ridiculous as some cars passed you but you saw more and more horseback people as you got closer to town and almost all of them enthusiastically greeted Jungkook.
The stories he had told you about knowing everybody here were clearly true because he couldn’t be more liked if he tried.
It didn’t take long to arrive at the market and Jungkook reached a hand up to you so you could slide off the horse, his hands sturdy above your hip so you didn’t land the wrong way. You eyed him as he tied the large animal to a post outside, petting its nose softly and whispering something you didn’t hear.
A whistle behind you made his hands freeze and both of you turned to see an older man sitting outside the market, a bucket full of loose change infront of him and a brown paper bag around a glass bottle sat on his lap.
“Pretty little thing.” His accent was even heavier due to the slur in his speech and your eyes narrowed as he scanned down your frame. Jungkook’s mother had left some pretty farm dresses and cowgirl boots outside your door a few nights ago and you had been excited to wear them until his eyes were on your bare legs. “Ain’t from around here.”
It was a statement and not a question and you scoffed at him.
“What gave it away?” You said coldly. You knew you still didn’t carry yourself like somebody from the country even when you wore their clothes and did their labor, the lack of a drawl in your voice really not helping you towards fitting in.
You could feel the presence of Jungkook approaching behind you now that he had gotten the horse situated and you glanced over your shoulder. His face was cold again and he was a lot closer to you than he typically would be, nearly touching your back to his chest.
“Johnny.” He said simply, addressing the man and making himself known.
“Oh you’re Jeon’s boy aint you?” He said with an amused smile, looking like he was suddenly reminiscing. Jungkook must have nodded or given him a confirming look because the man was suddenly laughing so hard he was swaying to the side. “Them Jeon’s… are good men.” He pointed at Jungkook as he paused, then laughed loudly again.
You felt yourself reaching back and wrapping your hands around Jungkook’s elbow before you could think about it, going to pull him towards the entrance so you both could leave this conversation and not hear whatever it was he was laughing so hard about.
The man's eyes flashed with interest when he saw you touching his arm, hugging it to your side in a way that could come across as intimate rather than instinctual.
“Oh, is this your missus?” He called and you saw an older couple's head turn with annoyance at his loud tone and the outdated phrasing, shaking their heads in disapproval.
Jungkook’s cheek shifted as he addressed you like that and you sighed at the realization this was going to take you too far off track for you to bother with. You tugged him softly and ignored the obnoxious laughter coming from behind you as you entered the market.
“Just ignore it.” You said softly, not letting go of his arm even when you were deeper into the store. He glanced at you like he was upset you hadn’t let him handle it and that furthered your reasoning for keeping a hold on him.
“He was disrespectful.” He said plainly, eyes still heated even when you stopped walking and turned to face him. The tips of your boots touched his as you reached into his shirt pocket to pull out the list his mother had given him, catching him stuffing it in there before you mounted the horse. “How can he talk to a woman like that?”
“He was a drunk idiot.” You stated, catching his eye for a second as you stood there before realizing how close you were and taking a step away.
Jungkook still seemed irritated as you shopped, filling a basket full of the ingredients his mom had written in neat handwriting. He took the basket from you when it was more than half full and starting to get a little heavy and you gave him a thankful look.
It was hard for him to stay annoyed considering the countless older women that stopped to coo at him and ask him how his parents were, remarking on the last time they’d seen him and how tall and handsome he had grown up to be.
This was something you had also noticed, much to your dismay.
You figured you had been too distracted your first two weeks but your general dislike for your situation and Jungkook himself to realize the devastating fact that he was actually the most attractive person you had been around.
He was now constantly distracting you without even meaning to, tan skin and big eyes so effortlessly lifting things two times your size and controlling stubborn animals. It was a bit ridiculous that somebody with forearms that veiny and strong also looked that good in a stupid cowboy hat.
Even now, leaning against a fridge as he watched you scan over the list in his washed denim jeans and giant belt buckle. It was something straight out of a cowboy fantasy and you felt like a fool for falling victim to it.
It didn’t help your new found dilemma that he was also the sweetest person you had ever met now that he was done giving you the silent treatment and glaring everytime you messed something up.
Whether it was natural southern hospitality or his mothers teachings, Jungkook was a well mannered boy down to his core and did not consider opening the door for you or carrying bags for the older women in the store anything other than the bare minimum.
You weren’t surprised that he was so aggravated by the drunk man for eyeing you or calling you his missus, like you were a piece of property because that was just the type of guy Jungkook was.
“Reckon we are almost done?”
And then there was that.
Your eyes shifted over to him as his voice broke you from your thoughts and you almost outwardly sighed in annoyance with yourself. Never once in your entire life had you considered that a southern accent might bring your heart into your throat but apparently that was just something that happened to you now.
You imagined Jungkook didn’t even think he had an accent let alone realized how heavy it was but the low drawl and phrases he used made you feel like a preteen girl who had just discovered british boy bands for the first time.
“Yeah pretty much, just…” You trailed off as your eyes landed on a small booth tucked in the back corner of the vendor section.
Jungkook squinted at you before turning around and scoffing a little when he realized what had caught your attention so easily.
You felt like your feet were magnetically drawn to the rows of pretty farm dresses, lace bandanas and cowgirl hats. Your eyes were wide as you took them all in, already feeling your bank account emptying. The clothes Nari had been bringing you weren’t hideous but they certainly weren’t the most flattering things you had ever worn.
He stood there holding the baskets of groceries while you pointed out everything you wanted to the woman at the booth, smiling happily as you left the store with your arms full.
“You’re ridiculous.” He said flatly as he shook his head and situated the grocery bags in the saddle bags on each side of the horse. His words lacked any heat and you rolled your eyes as you watched him.
“What I am, is sick of sharing a closet with your mother.” He shot you a look. “No offense.”
A laugh escaped him as he finished, turning to you expectantly. It felt more natural now to step closer to the massive animal and he stared at you as you stood in front of him, making sure you were ready and nodding when you gave him an expectant look.
His hands were back on your hips, confirming to yourself that you were inching into delusional territory when your stomach lit up. He was easily lifting you almost above his head so you could swing your leg over the saddle, further forward than you had been.
You almost scooted back to your place but he was mounting before you could and you quickly realized he had placed you there purposefully, now sat behind you with his thighs on the outside of yours.
“Oh so I’m steering now?” You glanced back at him and he looked amused, taking off his hat and adjusting it before placing it on your head. You squinted at him and his mischievous expression before quickly facing forward when he was kicking his foot and whistling lowly to get the horse to start to move.
“Lucky is good to learn on.” He said simply and you suddenly considered steering you both into a lake when you heard his low voice now behind you and near your ear. “He’s gentle.”
“He’s huge.” You remarked plainly and this time when he breathed out a short laugh you could feel it on the back of your neck.
You rode in pleasant silence and the sun was far less brutal now that it was starting to set, the little bit of shine kept out of your eyes by his hat sitting comfortably on your head. You tried to ignore that flutter in your chest at the fact you were wearing his hat and riding his horse, back pressed to chest even if it was just for safety.
“Does it ever get annoying living in such a small town?” You mused in a calm voice after another group of people waved to Jungkook. “Running into ex girlfriends all the time I bet.”
He didn’t respond right away and you swore you thought you felt him tensing behind you. You glanced over your shoulder at him, hoping to find him wearing an amused expression and instead he was just staring at you blankly.
Your eyebrows furrowed for a long second before you were turning back forward with a mouth parted in understanding.
Suddenly it was awkward and you mentally punched yourself for being the one to bring the uncomfortable air to the conversation. Neither of you said anything and you somehow decided that was worse than whatever was about to come out of your mouth.
“Sorry. There’s nothing wrong with that, you know?”
“Just stop talking.” He grunted behind you, sounding more pained and embarrassed than angry with you. “It makes it way worse when you say stuff like that.”
You weren’t sure how anything could make it better but you genuinely didn’t think any less of Jungkook for not having a girlfriend before, if anything it felt a bit ridiculous considering what he looked like but you definitely could not say that to him.
Instead you just fell into a silence that you hoped wasn’t marking the return of your feud. You gave him another apologetic look in the barn after he helped you down and he sighed softly when he saw it, giving you his habitual nod and taking his hat off of your head gently so he could wear it again.
You found yourself unusually bored without the company of Jungkook who had disappeared into his room almost as soon as you got back.
You ended up sitting on one of the rocking chairs on the porch, your more affectionate cat napping in your lap while the other brushed against the wood arches. You were attempting to write in your journal but your mind was blanking or rather full of other things.
There was genuine guilt inside of you for accidentally making Jungkook feel embarrassed but you weren’t really sure what to do about it, finding him hard to read when it came to certain things.
It was easy to tell when he was tired of a particularly repetitive chore, when he felt irritated by his dad more than usual, and when he was getting moody because he was hungry but how did you make him feel better about something like this without making him more humiliated when you brought it up again.
The boy in question was interrupting your string of thoughts and half composed apologies when he was bursting through the front door.
You sat up quickly, eyes wide from the way it slammed against the side of the house and cracked on its old hinges. You were just opening your mouth to ask him what had happened when Minchul was storming out right behind him, his belt in his hand and an expression that made your blood run cold.
“Do it again until it's right.” He was screaming down the porch at Jungkook’s tense back that didn’t stop moving.
He didn’t seem afraid necessarily but rather furious as he made his way to one of the barns, shoulders squared and barely giving you a glimpse of the glare on his face before he slammed the large door shut and disappeared inside.
“That damn boy is useless.” Minchul spat to himself and you stared at him with a shocked and fearful glance. He faltered when he noticed you sitting there and sighed softly, body relaxing just enough for you to narrow your gaze. “Sorry you had to see that honey. You think he would know better by now.”
You didn’t dare respond to him, not trusting yourself to hold back from saying something that would get you or Jungkook in any trouble, or any more in his case. Your eyes drifted to the belt in his tight grip and he sighed again before heading back inside.
Supper was painfully silent and you felt terrible for Nari considering she had spent hours preparing it.
You made sure to hum softly after every few bites, exaggerating the noise so she would know you found it delicious. She gave you a knowing look across the table and smiled at you, breaking the quiet with a soft question about how you liked the town.
It was unlike you to speak at the dinner table but the men were clearly abandoning that role for the night so you and her exchanged gentle small talk while you all ate, trying to make the room feel less suffocating.
You’d understood after the first few nights that it was expected of you and Jungkook to do the dishes so you hugged Nari goodnight and drifted over to the sink.
You didn’t say anything, didn’t ask him if he was okay in fear of making it even worse. His shoulders were still tense like they had been earlier and the look on his face was bugging you, not used to seeing it compared to his usual expressions.
“I’m sorry.” He surprised you by being the first to speak, a low mutter as he took a wet plate from you and dried it off. “He shouldn’t have done that in front of you.”
You wanted to retort that he shouldn't have done it at all but that felt stupid and obvious, something you both already knew and didn’t need to voice. You just shook your head at his apology, not needing to accept one from him.
“You’re a good man Jungkook.” You finally decided to say plainly, not emotion in your voice so he could take the words as simple and true as they were.
He faltered with his hand in mid air, only a brief second before he was taking another dish.
When you were done washing you leaned against the counter next to you, watching him and waiting for him to finish up. He wasn’t looking at you but you knew he felt you staring. He sighed when he dried the last one and finally turned towards you.
“Why are you lookin’ at me like that princess?” He said with exhaustion lacing his words and although the name was mocking, it still sent a jolt through your body.
“You know you’re handsome right?” You weren’t trying to flirt with him, especially not with this awkward air from what you had seen. You were just genuinely wondering if he had even noticed, unable to tell by the way he carried himself.
Jungkook stared at you with an unchanging expression, like he was waiting for you to say something else or even laugh at him.
It wasn’t the first time you noticed the sheer size of him, not exactly the tallest man you’d met but certainly making up for it by the width of his shoulders and the broad muscle on his chest. His father was a naturally large man with a round belly and tall stature but you imagined Jungkook could take him quite easily in terms of strength.
“C’mere.” You baited softly, not moving from the counter and just watching him with an almost expressionless face. He took a few seconds but his feet were eventually moving and he was a few feet closer to you now.
Your hand was on his arm, gentle and tracing as you squeezed it lightly but kept your gaze locked on his face. His body was locked with tension as he looked at you, almost curiously.
“No girlfriends but..” You faded off when you saw the flash of annoyance pass over his face, not liking that you were bringing this back up again. “Have you ever hooked up with someone?”
The question lingered in the air adn you almost wondered if he was planning on rejecting you. He hadn’t done anything that made you think he was necessarily interested in you the way you were becoming interested in him but you knew you were relatively pretty and he clearly didn’t mind your company, showing it in his own stoic way.
“What’s it matter?” He mumbled back, shifting a step or two closer like he hadn’t realized he was.
His lack of an actual answer inside the response told you what you needed to know and he seemed to understand that considering the way he sighed.
“Do you think I’m judging you?”
Your head had cocked as you said it and he let out a humorless laugh at the earnest way you asked it.
“Aren’t you?” He retorted and it was a bit more heated than his voice had been before, defenses clearly up despite the way your hand was still smoothing over his arm as you had this conversation. “I’m not some loser.”
Your eyebrows furrowed at the outburst, wondering when he had drawn that conclusion. It wasn’t that surprising that a southern boy would associate sexual experience with masculinity or social class but you shook your head.
“I already told you what I think of you Jungkook.” You answered back, stopping your hand from rubbing his skin and letting it just rest instead. “I think you’re a good man.” Your tone was gentle and smooth so he didn’t have any reason to think you were making fun of him. “And that you’re handsome.”
Your hand moved to sit on his firm chest and you could feel the way his heart raced underneath your palm, fast and pounding as you stared up at him. Jungkook might genuinely be the most beautiful man you’d ever seen, sun kissed skin and scars littering his body from a lifetime of hard work.
His features were strong and manly but paired with gentle eyes that watched you quizzically and you were sighing softly without even meaning to. You hoped you weren’t overwhelming him with your sudden forwardness but there was only so much time you could spend watching him think lowly of himself before you longer to inform him of the way others viewed him.
You leaned up on your tippy toes while simultaneously bringing his face down so you could kiss him softly, thumb rubbing his jaw and cheek.
He only hesitated for a second before he was kissing you back, taking a few steps forward until your back was hitting the counter again but this time with his body pressing against yours. Your mouths moved together eagerly and you made a small noise when his hands were on your hips, yours moving to play with the hairs touching the back of his neck.
His height and size was making you feel crazy as he tugged you against him, his strong arms around you and the thought of how easily he had lifted your entire body earlier made you feel warm as you made out desperately.
The sound of someone clearing their throat was making you jump away from each other and your eyes were both wide with panic as you saw his mother standing at the bottom of the stairs in her nightgown. Your chest was rising and falling both from the intense make out session and embarrassment.
“I-“ You squeaked out in an attempt to explain but nothing followed and you almost thought his mom looked amused.
“Goodnight.” She said softly before turning back around like she hadn't seen anything. You’d expected to be sent up to your rooms for the night but clearly she was attempting to meddle by leaving you alone again.
The tension had popped and you awkwardly looked at Jungkook.
Jungkook let out a shaky breath as he watched his mom go back upstairs, his heart still beating like a drum in his chest. His cheeks were still flushed red with embarrassment, and he ran a hand sheepishly through his hair as he looked at you with an unreadable expression.
He took a deep breath and the sound made you feel way worse. You shifted on your feet, not really knowing what to do in this situation. It felt so ridiculous that you couldn’t help yourself from bursting out into soft laughter and he gave you a disbelieving look.
Your forehead fell against his chest as you laughed softly, eyes squeezed shut from embarrassment. You felt his body shaking slightly as he joined you in your giggle fit and you were glad he wasn’t taking this as seriously as you feared he might.
You could feel his hand in your hair as he brushed it out of your face and your laughter faded off into a warm smile as you looked up at him, rocking onto your tiptoe to press against him in another kiss. It was much sweeter this time, lacking any real heat.
Only until his hands were back on your hips and then you couldn’t stop yourself from parting your lips and pushing deeper, grateful he had understood what you wanted when he pushed you back against the counter and tilted his head with yours.
It was picking up in pace again and your tongue was moving against his bottom lip, whining softly when he licked against your own and bringing one of your hands back to rub his hard chest.
“You’re a good kisser.” You remarked against his mouth and you could quite literally feel him smirk, the realization making you feel like you were truly going crazy.
“You’re pretty.” He said back in that same monotone voice he always had and you smiled at the now familiar sound of it. His hands tensed against your hips and you quickly got what he wanted, kissing him again with more fever after his compliment towards you.
You weren’t sure how you went from arguing with him a few weeks ago to making out desperately in his kitchen but it was hard to dislike the change in things when it felt so good, barely able to pull yourself away from him when he was whispering into your mouth that you needed to get some sleep.
He was right and you knew that but he practically had to maneuver you both towards the bedroom hall, stopping to kiss you along the way and laughing when your hands were stubborn in their exploration of his strong arms.
You’d closed your door and immediately pressed your back against it as you sucked in a deep breath, waiting until you heard his own close down the hall before you were throwing yourself on the bed and screaming into the pillow.
----
The next morning left you feeling slightly anxious and embarrassed, nervous to face Jungkook with your new development and downright terrified to see his mother.
She was alone in the kitchen when you ventured down and you froze at the bottom of the staircase, considering turning around and booking it back up the stairs until her gentle gaze landed on you and it was too late.
“C'mon honey, I won’t bite.” She said with amusement lacing her words and your shoulders halfway relaxed. You blushed and walked fully into the room, avoiding the counter she had seen Jungkook pressing you against last night like it was infected.
“I’m so sorry ma’am. I didn’t mean to disrespect you and your house.” You said quickly with a sigh as you sat on one of the stools, not even planning to address it but unable to stop yourself from feeling foolish.
She watched you with patient eyes as you spoke it in one breath and then smiled gently. “I haven’t seen my baby smile like that since he was a boy. I know he’s a grown up now and he does what grown ups do.” Your face flushed at the implication and you suddenly wondered if she had already figured this was happening. “I think you’d do him some good.”
You weren’t sure how to respond to her kind words and you stayed quiet and stiff on the stool.
The floorboard creaking made you turn back to the doorway and you froze even more when you saw Jungkook standing there, his expression alerting you to the fact he had been there longer than you had realized and most likely eavesdropping.
“Hi.” You instinctively breathed out when you noticed him, ridiculously handsome in the early morning.
He cleared his throat and entered the kitchen, giving his mother a soft kiss on the cheek as a greeting before placing his hands on the island and looking at you awkwardly. “Hey.”
Nari suddenly decided she had something to do that involved her going out to the chicken coop but you didn’t miss the instigating look she shot him over her shoulder as she left. You almost thought his cheeks were tinged pink as he quickly looked away from her and your lips curled upwards just enough for him to sigh.
“Listen I-”
“Do you want to do something with me today?” He had cut you off and then froze like he hadn’t even realized you were speaking.
Your eyes were a little wide as you stared at him, forgetting what you were even trying to tell him, most likely something that would give him the option to pretend the kiss had never happened but you liked his idea a lot better.
“Something like.. other than chores?” You half teased as you reminded him that you did something with him almost every single day if farm work counted. He was nodding his head swiftly and going between avoiding looking at you directly and staring into your eyes intensely. “Yes Jungkook, I would. That sounds very nice.”
He looked overly relieved that you had agreed and you began to really question his sanity if he actually thought you would reject him after what had happened.
Jungkook had instructed you that you would need a bathing suit and something comfortable to walk in, not leaving much to the imagination about what he wanted to do but leaving you excited regardless.
You almost asked him how he had gotten the two of you out of duties but you saw Nari carrying a small bag of hay as you stepped out onto the porch and realized quickly she must have agreed to help out today.
She was giving you a soft look and you returned it with a small smile and a wave goodbye, hearing the hinges creak behind you as he made his way out of the house and paused next to you to look at his mom as she disappeared back to the nearest barn.
“Ready?” He said softly and you nodded your head at him, glancing to the side and feeling glad to see him smiling subtly.
The new development between you did not change the fact Jungkook didn’t talk much but it did mean he let you be the one to shuffle through his CD collection until you found something you liked. He actually had a few things you managed to recognize and you put in the back of your mind to request a mixtape of his favorite tracks.
You preferred the windows down and wind blowing to the cold and sterile AC of your car back in the city, hair in your face and the now familiar scents that the warm air danced through the old truck being things you had grown used to faster than your usual that you had simply tolerated for two decades.
He was tapping the steering wheel to the music and your eyes scanned over him briefly now that he was distracted.
He had abandoned his button up flannels for the day in place of a loose shirt that was tucked into his jeans and belt in random places, showcasing his large belt buckle that you had started to think was his signature.
Clearly you were obvious enough that he caught on to the feeling of you staring because he was sending you a sideways glance that made you laugh. Most guys would probably smirk cockily if they noticed you checking them out like that but Jungkook was certainly not most guys, quickly facing forward again and swallowing hard.
You watched from the side mirror as dust kicked up nearly to your window, feeling him shift gears as he pulled off onto the side of the dirt road.
There was nothing special about the area he stopped at, a simple stretch of road with trees canopy over the top and giving you a nice break from the sun. You looked at him, curious why he was stopping.
“Cmon.” He said and his eyes flashed with something bright before he was getting out of the driver's side and gesturing for you to slide across the bench seat of the truck so you could come out his door.
His hand was reaching out to grab yours, helping you out smoothly and the act made it so you were standing almost as close as you were the night before. He took a few seconds to let his eyes dart over your face before he was stepping back and keeping his hand over yours.
“It’s through here.” He breathed and you nodded, letting him gently guide you through the trees and brush.
You could see a faint desired path, dirt in place of grass where people had been stepping and venturing off from the road like you were now.
Luckily it wasn’t a long walk considering you were not exactly accustomed enough to the outdoor life to enjoy branches in your face but you were glad you had heeded his warning about comfortable shoes.
You felt his hand squeezing yours as he slowed his pace, leaving you almost stumbling into his back from your lack of paying attention.
He glanced back at you as you came to a stop beside him, hands wrapping around his arm similarly to the way you had held him at the market. He stepped to the side more so you could see what he was bringing you towards and your mouth parted.
The quarry was only a little bigger than a pond, surrounded on all sides by trees and tall rock walls that glistened from the water splashed on them by the numerous small waterfalls in various places alongside it.
The water was a beautiful blue-green shade that looked especially inviting given the heat today and there was a small slope that led to a patch of sand, sporadic bushes of flowers and long hanging vines decorating the empty spaces.
“Wow.” You breathed out as you stepped out of the tree line, walking along the top of the quarry until you could shuffle your way down the slope towards the beach.
Jungkook stayed right behind you, silent and squeezing your hand every so often whenever the path got a bit steep. You were grateful considering how little focus you had now that you were presented with such a beautiful sight.
“Do you like it?” He was asking softly when you made it to the waterline, the area even more breathtaking from down below. Your eyes scanned over the quarry walls around you now and you almost felt emotional.
You’d never seen anything even remotely similar to this and it was overwhelming you a little bit. It was like an oasis hidden just off the dirty road, untouched by civilization and nurtured by the elements around you.
“It’s amazing.” You turned to face him and he looked pleased that you were excited, biting the inside of his cheek and nodding as he took off his hat and placed it on a nearby log.
Your eyebrows raised in question before he was shifting backwards and kicking off his boots, a laugh of disbelief leaving you in a single breath.
The girlish giggle was leaving you before you could stop it and you didn’t care enough to feel embarrassed about the sound, hurriedly removing your easiest layers before pulling your dress over your head and leaving you in your bathing suit.
When you emerged from the lacy fabric you were greeted by a shirtless Jungkook and you fully froze, eyes locking on his chest and the full expanse of his tattooed sleeve that you’d been catching glimpses of whenever he wore a shirt.
You already knew he was strong, easily detectable by his stamina and how much he could move and carry without breaking a sweat. Plus the telling veins lining his forearms that pulses whenever he shifted or gripped something.
None of these small tidbits could’ve prepared you for the sight of Jeon Jungkook shirtless and you couldn’t even bother to disguise how intensely you were staring at his toned chest and the happy trail wedged between hard ab muscles.
Jungkook seemed to not even notice the way you were looking at him but that probably had something to do with the fact he was staring at you the same exact way, hair messy from removing your dress that now sat at your feet.
You imagined at another time it could’ve been heated but instead it was bashful, almost shy as you both came to reality and looked away in sync. Your cheeks felt warm again and you squinted up at the burning sun like it was the cause and not the pull in your stomach.
It was easier to run towards the water than face him again and he seemed to agree considering you could hear the sound of him entering right behind you.
The two of you splashed and played for nearly an hour, throwing handfuls of water and filling the echoing quarry with your shrieks and laughter as you did so. Your stomach was aching from how hard you were laughing and your cheeks felt even worse, in the best way possible.
You’d even begun to wonder if you had ever actually smiled before this exact moment, the happiness rushing through you feeling so foreign. You were completely detached from yourself.
The wealth of your family name, the cold expressions you both faced daily and learned to force onto yourself and even the heaviness of the city air and its routine were all fading from your mind. Right now you were simply a girl having fun in a beautiful place with a boy that liked you enough to free his day and show it to you.
Jungkook was either thinking similarly or simply recognizing your melancholy because the play splashing faded into the two of you slowly inching closer and closer in the water until your arms were looped around his neck and his settled warmly on your waist.
Your eyes were scanning over the parts of his chest that were not under the hazy water, cold fingers lightly tracing over the scars and marks littering his tan skin.
He was simply watching you, eyes on your face and only shifting away briefly whenever you made eye contact.
“Where'd you get this one?” Your voice was a whisper and it felt like the first time you’d talked in a while, smoothing over a particularly large mark spanning across his left collarbone all the way to his shoulder.
“Got bucked off Lucky when I was fourteen.” He said in a low voice, referencing the large horse you’d taken into town together. “Landed wrong on the wired fence.”
You nodded softly as he recounted the story, feeling a deeper warmth when you thought about teenage Jungkook and his mishaps as he grew into the practiced country man he was now. His hands squeezed your waist as your hand crept up to his cheek and you shifted closer.
“This one?” Your tone was more hesitant when you saw the look on his face at the touch, already knowing he’d be explaining that especially deep mark next.
“I was seventeen.” He started off slowly and you watched him, hand moving to cup his cheek and obscure the scar from your vision. His face instinctively pushed against your palm and he sighed. “Accidentally tipped a barrel of feed we were transporting to the neighbors. My dad sent me flying into the wall and I guess there was an old nail or something.”
It was the first time he had outwardly voiced what you already assumed and although you knew, it didn’t make it any easier to hear him say it.
“Has he always done that?” You whispered and he shook his head.
“Just when I became a teenager.” He said simply, like it wasn't a big deal to him. It probably wasn’t anymore and you couldn't help but frown softly, feeling worse when his eyes flashed with concern. “Happens less now.”
Another thing you didn’t need to hear out loud to understand. Jungkook was bigger now, stronger and harder to push around even if he allowed it up to a certain point. You had a feeling that he'd never lay a hand on his father to test the theory but you had full confidence he could lay him out if needed and you imagined Minchul had realized something similar.
You felt the words leave you, not exactly sure if that was what he needed anyways. There was nothing you could say that would make it stop and you figured he had thought of any reassuring phrases you would’ve come up with anyways.
There was only one thing that made sense to you and you hoped it was the right choice when you kissed him softly.
It was so gentle he barely felt it and then you were pulling back and pressing your forehead against his. His gaze was softer now and you could feel the wet droplets from his hair on your skin, his large hand leaving your hip underwater to hold your face and bring you into him again.
This time there was some heat behind the action, mouths moving together as you wrapped your legs around his middle to be as close as possible.
Jungkook kissed you deeply, a low noise sounding from his chest when you were tugging softly at his lower lip. It felt like a habit to tangle your tongue with his and you sighed against his mouth, one hand on his jaw with the other resting on his chest as he held you weightlessly in the water.
“Have I mentioned you’re a good kisser?” You breathed against his mouth and he made a low noise, used to your antics and teasing comments by now. His hands were under your thighs to keep you supported around his waist and you sighed as you fell back into a kiss.
It felt utterly ridiculous, disbelief still clouding your mind when you felt the butterflies in your stomach and the way your skin felt tingly wherever his hands traced. You had barely felt anything before you got here and suddenly your days were full of satisfying muscle aches and electric glances across the room with a boy who was holding you like he actually managed to care about you.
You felt like a fool for putting so much weight behind kissing him, behind being somewhere he considered special and laughing like little kids together.
“I am so happy you are here.”
All of your concerns faded away when he whispered the words against your lips, unable to keep kissing him but loving the way he pecked your mouth a few times before realizing you weren’t responding anymore and looking at you heavily.
Maybe he could tell it was something you needed to hear because one of his hands left your leg in favor of pushing your wet hair behind your ear, thumb tracing over your swollen lips.
“You mean that?” You accidentally whispered it and that felt much more vulnerable than you had meant it to come across, not able to stop yourself from seeking confirmation. You’d spent your entire life feeling like you were taking up space, a ghost in crowded conference halls and an investment only worthy of funding.
Jungkook had nothing to take from you, you had nothing to offer him here in this new version of you that you had barely begun to understand yourself and yet his eyes were soft and genuine as he nodded.
“I was just going through the motions before you.” He responded right when you needed to hear it most and the rare show of vocalized honesty from him hit harder. You could tell it was difficult for him to say these things out loud without feeling insecure and you appreciated it even more.
You kissed him eagerly and barely processed the way he was standing out of the water and easily carrying you to the shore, only recognizing your new location when your back touched the warm sand and you gasped softly.
It was swallowed by his mouth as he placed himself over you, holding his weight up with his left arm so he wasn’t exactly pressing against you. He felt even better in this position and your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him down and keeping his mouth moving with yours like it was the only way you could function.
You weren’t sure how long you stayed there like that, going between kissing heavily and whispering sweet words to each other that made your chest tighten so much it felt like it was going to explode.
The sun had started to set and you felt slightly chilled in your damp suit, flushing when he noticed your shiver and silently moved to help pull your dress back over your head. He stood from the sand, offering a hand to lift you up and steadying you before finding his discarded shirt.
It was silent on the way back to the farm but welcomed. You had abandoned the passenger seat in favor of sitting in the middle, laying your head on his shoulder and smiling every time his hand moved from the gear stick to rest on your bare knee.
He had his left arm out the window as he tapped the top of it occasionally along to the music but he quickly withdrew it when you pulled in the long driveway and saw the porch light still on. It was dark by now but not quite late enough to cause any suspicion, sky a dark blue as the sun fully set.
You were glad you had enough sense to scoot back into your seat because you passed the scattered trees and could now clearly see Minchul stood on the porch, not at all trying to pretend he wasn’t waiting for you.
Jungkook was tense and his face was dark in a way that pulled a pout onto your face, hoping you didn’t have a sour end to such a beautiful day.
He sighed as he parked the truck and you reached your hand over to grab his, his eyes darting to you quickly like he had forgotten you were sitting there with him. You watched as his shoulders dropped as they lost their tension and he gave you a soft smile and squeezed your hand in his.
You were both exiting the truck and you gave Minchul a small wave, only slightly surprised that he didn’t return it. He was still keeping up the charming and friendly persona with you but clearly it didn’t matter when his hard gaze was locked on his son.
“How were the Johnsons?” He said lowly and you knew better than to respond or showcase any confusion on your face even though you had no idea what he was talking about.
“The Johnsons?” Jungkook’s voice was casual as he walked, barely faltering at the question and not even glancing at his dad as he stepped onto the porch. You stayed on the yard and watched them, breath held as it almost seemed like they were sizing each other up. You weren’t used to seeing any defiance from Jungkook and it worried you. “We were at the Lee’s. Mary said hello.”
He went inside, sending you a glance as he did and you stood there silently.
Minchul scoffed and you saw his jaw clench in annoyance, clearly wanting to test Jungkook and catch him in a lie. Nari and him must have come up with a cover story beforehand about where you two were the entire day, something you stupidly hadn’t even considered.
His gaze fell on you and while it wasn’t as icy, it still didn’t look thrilled to see you. You were glad you had become so accustomed to having a flat expression because the last thing you wanted was to be the one who fucked it up and got the both of you in trouble.
“Thank you for letting us have some time off.” You said softly, tone as polite as you could manage and he stayed very still for a few more seconds before giving you a small smile and nodding. You stayed there as he turned to head inside, finally letting out the breath you were holding.
----
It was difficult to know Jungkook was so close yet also understanding spending unnecessary time with him could get you in trouble potentially. You knew you were both adults but it was his fathers house and clearly he didn’t have sound reasoning for his hatred towards Jungkook.
As much as you wanted to lounge in his room with him and listen to music, you settled for opening your door and letting it float down the hallway towards you as you journaled.
You were back to chores the next morning like normal and you couldn’t help the shy smile on your face when you saw him in the kitchen. He returned it and you felt his foot nudge against yours when you slid onto the stool beside him, side eyeing him playfully as Nari brought you both a plate of breakfast.
There was a welcomed silence as you ate rather quickly and then you were both slipping out of the house, soft giggles escaping you at the fast way he walked towards the barn. He glanced behind you towards the house and must've determined the coast was clear because he was scooping you off of your feet to get you there quicker.
“You’re insane.” You laughed and slapped against his shoulder as he bridal style carried you into the barn, rounding the corner and setting you down when you were out of sight.
“Is that a bad thing?” His eyebrow went up and you narrowed your eyes jokingly, a bright smile on your face as you stared up at him. “Maybe I just missed you.”
You still weren’t used to the quiet boy you had grown accustomed to being able to say the most devastating things like he didn’t even realize what they did to you. You sucked in a breath at the statement and it wasn’t long before he was kissing you again.
There seemed to be a mutual addiction to the action now that you’d done it a few times and you were glad you weren’t alone in that, not sure what you would do if he wasn’t so willing to kiss you all the time.
Kissing you didn’t seem to be the only thing on Jungkook’s mind because it wasn’t long before he had you laid back against a blanket over the hay, making you half wonder if he planned this or if it was just a spontaneous decision. Either way you appreciated the gesture, not sure you could enjoy the way he was kissing down your neck as much if you had scratchy grass poking you back.
“Jungkook.” You gasped his name out when his teeth brushed over your collarbone and his back hardened at the sound for a second before he was humming, low and sensual as he questioned the reason for your call. “More.”
He picked his head up long enough to look into your eyes, scanning over your face with a dark expression you hadn’t quite seen from him. It was similar to the way he looked when he was particularly focused on a hard task but there was something deeper there and you suddenly felt flustered.
“Tell me what you want.” It was a soft instruction that subtly reminded you he didn’t really know what he was doing.
“Anything, just…” Your hands were in his hair and you kissed him softly as you tried to collect yourself, distracted by the way he was looking at you and the weight of his body on top of yours. “Just you. I just want you.”
That seemed to be enough for him to forget his inexperienced based hesitance because his mouth was back on yours, sloppy and hot in a way that made a shiver go down your spine. His hands moved under your dress, pushing it up so it sat under your ribs and exposed your lower half.
He went back to kissing down your neck and this time he didn’t stop at your dress, skipping your covered section and shifting his body further down so he could have his mouth on your stomach. You sucked in a gasp at the sensation, keeping your hands in his hair to keep yourself grounded under the illusion of some control.
It was a world changing sight to see him down between your legs like that, eyes darting from your lace panties back up to your face to make sure you were feeling okay. You imagined he was being met with a very eager expression on your face, nearly pleading as you took in his messy hair and doe eyes.
The first press of his lips alongside your inner thigh was almost enough to ruin your life and you whined softly, shifting your knees further apart so he had no issue getting where he needed.
“Quiet down princess.” The already low drawl of his voice had taken an even deeper tone and you shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut like you were pained at the idea of silence. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful baby.”
He had no idea the way he was wrecking you with the pet names, made even more clear by the way his mouth was on your core through the thin wet fabric of your underwear. Your hips bucked as you made a strangled sound and his hand was shooting up to hold you down, pressing against your stomach and kissing his teeth at you like you were an animal he was trying to settle.
The instinctive way he attempted to tame you made your head spin, not even realizing how sexy you would find that until he did it.
“Jungkook.” You were breathing again and shifting your hips upwards, heat surging through you when you realized you weren’t even able to move under his strong hold. He was easily pressing you against the blanket with one hand and one of yours moved from his hair to pull at the waistband of your panties.
He didn’t need you to explain that to him, hurriedly sitting up enough that he could pull them down your thighs and grunting a little when you kicked them away, settling back between your legs and taking a deep breath at the sight of you bare.
“Please.” You pleaded and he looked back up at you.
“You want it baby?” He said lowly, a whole new persona to him you hadn’t even begun to fantasize about and you nodded eagerly, eyes a little glassy. “Want me to taste you?”
You made another high pitched impatient sound and he laughed a little, breath hitting your wet folds making your body tighten for a second.
He was finally done teasing you and you knew you wouldn’t be able to keep quiet like he requested as soon as his mouth was on you, hands moving to your knees to keep your legs from clamping around his head as he licked against you.
“Oh fuck.” You whined and he closed his eyes at the taste of you, tongue slow and testing as he explored what areas brought the biggest reaction out from your lips. He was clearly a good kisser in more than one way because you felt like you were going to pass out just from the way his mouth moved, getting more eager the more comfortable he got.
Your hips rocked forward against his face as much as his grip allowed, searching for friction and finding it when his nose brushed against your sensitive clit. His mouth quickly followed, tongue working your bud and bringing noises out of you that you didn’t even know you were capable of.
“Feels so good.” You mewled and he groaned against you, sending another wave of pleasure and longing through you.
“It’s good princess?” He was breathing heavier from the lack of oxygen considering he hadn’t taken his mouth off of you since he got down there and you almost laughed at the sound of it. You weren’t sure if he was dirty talking or genuinely looking for reassurance but you nodded eagerly regardless, hands tangling back in his hair and pressing his face back between your legs.
“Make me cum.” You said the order softly, more of a plea than anything and he took it easily, practically making out with your cunt in his desperation to give you what you wanted. Jungkook was clearly a pleaser and you found it even more stupid nobody had jumped his bones yet, although a possessive flare surging through you every time you remembered you were his first.
You did a terrible job keeping quiet as he ate you out and you figured the rough way he was squeezing your thighs was meant to be reminders but you ignored him in favor of rolling your hips along with his mouth, biting your lip to keep from outwardly screaming when you realized you were about to cum.
Your grip in his hair tightened almost painfully and your breathing picked up, chest rising and falling in heavy pants as you got closer. Luckily Jungkook knew enough to not stop, pressing his tongue against your hole with his nose nudging your clit and bringing you to release so suddenly you felt dizzy.
“What the fuck?” You felt almost startled by how fast and intensely he made you finish and he slowed down, eyeing you curiously and almost looking like he was smiling. He kissed your thighs a few more times softly before he was coming back up on top of you.
You moaned when he was kissing you out of nowhere, not even slightly disgusted at the idea of tasting yourself and instead eagerly licking into his mouth.
“Wait.” You gasped into it and he barely slowed, only pausing to kiss the corners of your lips and let you speak. “What about you?”
Your hand was inching between your bodies to feel his hard length but you faltered when you felt the wet patch on his pants instead. His body tensed on top of yours and your eyes went back to his face, taking in his embarrassed expression and feeling a million different types of warmth rushing through you suddenly.
“Fuck.” He said in one breath, eyes shutting tight for a second like he was willing himself to disappear.
“That might be the hottest thing that has ever happened to me.” You said far too loud for the quiet barn and he looked at you like you were crazy, eyebrows furrowed and cheeks turning pink when he processed the dazed out look returning to your face. “You came in your pants from eating me out? Are you even real?”
He was frozen for a long few seconds with that same expression before he was pushing out a singular disbelieving laugh and resting his head on your shoulder. You giggled as he groaned into your hot skin, hand coming back up to his hair to pet it gently this time.
You didn’t move for a bit, kissing softly until the heat was beginning to feel too intense now that you didn’t have a mind numbing distraction.
“We have to do our chores.” You whispered against his lips and he sighed softly, knowing you were right.
He was gentle as he helped you stand up, sitting you back on a wood slate so he could pull your underwear backup and adjust your dress. His hands were smoothing through your hair to help control it, picking loose pieces of grass and straw as you watched his face.
The barn was quiet as you reached up to cup his face, pulling him in for another kiss and sighing softly when you felt him smiling.
“What are you doing to me?” You almost groaned as he pulled away again, tugging you off of the wood so you were standing in front of him. You were close enough for your chest to press together and you craned your neck to look up at him.
“It’s mutual.” He responded easily and you felt like you were really going crazy.
Luckily he had more sense than you and was backing up a few feet to pop the tension filled bubble and help keep you focused. It was almost impossible to watch him do chores now that you knew what was hidden under his shirt, and became familiar with those grunts in a different context.
You worked through the day together and kept your shy smiles and loaded glances to as much of a minimum as you could manage.
Supper was much more pleasant today and you felt like things were starting to really flow nicely around here, your heart feeling content as you and Nari joked around over the meal and the men listened with fond smiles.
Your gaze went to Jungkook for the hundredth time today and you found him already watching you, eyes bright and a smile on his face that you usually didn’t see at dinner time. He must have felt similarly to you about how good the day was because he didn’t look away, holding your eyes affectionately.
When you finally blushed and looked away, your line of sight landed on Minchuk and you froze.
He was staring at you with an expression of understanding, like he had just figured something out. His jaw tensed as he looked towards Jungkook and you felt red hot fear in your chest.
Jungkook had started conversing calmly with his mother and didn’t seem to notice the expression on either of your faces.
It wasn’t until your time to do the dishes that you even dared to look at him again, breathing a sigh of relief when he sunk against you for a hug.
You wrapped your arms tightly around him, stretching on your tiptoes and burying your face in his neck as he circled his against your lower back. The fact it was overly sappy didn’t miss you but you couldn’t really care anymore, longing to be near him after any amount of time.
“I feel crazy.” His voice was slightly muffled by your hair and you smiled at the sound of it and the warm tone he only seemed to take when he spoke to you. “How did I miss you so bad when you are right here?”
You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak without saying something even more ridiculous but he hopes he knows what you mean, what you want to shout into the quiet kitchen.
No, you aren't crazy. No you're not the only one feeling like this. No you don't understand it either.
You only see a glimpse of his eyes before you are kissing and you can’t even remember who started it, if you went on your tiptoes or if he bent down to your level to catch you in something so feverish it felt like you had gone a year apart. There was no way of knowing who backed your bodies up against the counter, whose hands explored the other's frame first and who decided completely abandoning the dishes was somehow a good idea.
The only thing you could pinpoint was the exact moment it ended and he was suddenly ripped from you in a way that was so jarring you felt your knees go weak like you were going to collapse without him.
It took you a few seconds to track his body, stumbled across the kitchen like he had gotten thrown. The icy expression on his face made you realize he had been, your eyes darting to Minchul standing only a few feet away with his chest puffed and his eyebrows pulled together in a way that made your mouth part in shock.
“What the hell do you think you are doing boy?” His voice was venomous and he made another move in Jungkook’s direction that had you covering your mouth, lips still wet from kissing him.
Jungkook didn’t move a muscle, not even slightly flinching or faltering his hardened expression. You wanted to shout at him that now was not the time to challenge his father, not after such a good day and certainly not over you. The look on his face told you that there was no point in trying to diffuse the situation, his shoulders squaring as he shifted his body defensively.
“Oh.” Minchul looked genuinely surprised under all the rage until a bitter laugh slipped out as he stared at Jungkook mockingly. “You’re tough ain't you. A real man now?”
“Minchul.” You said slowly, taking a step away from the counter and trying to put yourself in their peripheral vision. You had a light amount of hope that seeing you in the room might be enough to humble the angry man and also calm Jungkook down enough to at least hold this off. You had wondered if you should call out for Nari but you decided against it. “We.. we were just-”
“I know what you were doing.” He spat as he turned to look at you and the way he stared at you stole all of the hope from underneath you. It was the exact same way he looked at Jungkook and you knew that any effort he was putting into faking a charming persona was no longer applied to you.
“Watch it.” Jungkook was speaking for the first time and both of you snapped your gazes over to him.
His voice had never sounded like that and you felt a wave of fear run over you, not towards him necessarily but towards the outcome that would be caused by this level of anger coming from both of them. He clearly had no intention of pushing away his feelings and fauxing respect to get his dad off of his back, combative and aggressive now that you were being spoken down to.
“Y/N.” Minchul was speaking calm and slow but the way his glare never left Jungkook’s taut frame sent a shiver down your spine and your eyes widened. “Go outside honey.”
“I-” You went to object but he sent you another look that left no room for argument and you turned desperately to Jungkook. He was clenching his jaw and looking pained as he finally looked at you just long enough to give you a confirming nod. His face barely softened but it was noticeable to you, a silent act of reassurance that he would be okay.
You felt beneath yourself as you stumbled outside, not really sure what else to do with your body once you got out there. You got the strange urge to call your father even though he would never help you, even to call your mother who had been dead for most of your life.
Your brain was just searching desperately for solutions and even more so when you heard crashing from inside the house, tears springing to your eyes as you took a few more shaky steps away to try and put some distance between you and the grunts of anger and pain.
The sensible part of your brain noticed a light switching on upstairs as the volume increased, realizing Nari must have woken up and would most likely be rushing down to the kitchen and putting a stop to whatever was happening.
It was a power you clearly did not have and you felt so overwhelmingly useless.
You felt like you were outside for hours alone like that even though it was only a few breathless minutes before Jungkook was coming outside. He was walking fast and storming right past you, similarly to the way he had been the other week when Minchul brought out the belt on the porch.
“Jungkook.” You called out to him and your hands reached for his arm, heart clenching when you made brief contact before they were slipping off as he refused to stop. You started to chase after him without really thinking about it, needing to speak to him before you exploded. “Wait please.”
He whipped around at the crack in your voice and you faltered when you saw the blood on his lip and redness surrounding his eye and cheek. You were sure there were more marks you’d be able to pinpoint tomorrow and you were suddenly grateful for the moon lighting him up.
Your hands were coming up to cup his face instinctively as a wounded noise left you and he winced at the feeling of your hands on his injuries. Your mouth was opening and closing as you searched for the words to say, head shaking as you felt like you were about to cry or throw up or both.
“Did you know?” His voice was hoarse and your eyebrows automatically furrowed in confusion. It was asked softly but he scoffed at your expression and repeated it in a much harsher tone.
“Know what?” You almost begged, wanting so badly to understand him and be able to help in some way. You took a step closer and he looked pained by the action, your stomach turning at the way he avoided looking directly at you. “Did I know what Jungkook? What happened?”
He was quiet for a long time and you felt like the dirt underneath you was slipping away and finally waking you up from this dream you’d been living in. You half wanted to sink with it and wake up in your warm bed worlds away from here with vague visions of a beautiful cowboy and the other half was clawing at the collapsing ground and pleading for the dirt under your nails to stay until morning.
“Your dad owns the farm.” He said it so simply like it didn’t take the air out of your lungs and you shook your head, both in denial and confusion on what he was saying. His eyes were cold as he stared at you like he wasn’t sure if you were the enemy or not anymore. “He owns everything. You own everything.”
He emphasized the pronoun like he was trying to make it really clear to you that you played some type of role in this situation and you shifted away from him.
It suddenly made so much more sense to you, the way Minchul and your father interacted like they were forced to and the memories of coming here as a child feeling so foreign and locked away. How kind the Jeon’s had been to you and the pure fury towards you and Jungkook for getting involved, it was all a result of your father placing his polished shoe on another aspect of your life.
This time it wasn’t an apartment back in the city or your daily schedule, not even your name on the important document that locked you into the family business for life if anything tragic happened to him. Your father had managed to put his greedy hands on something you had deemed untouchable.
Jungkook had created a world for you that didn’t allow the bad stuff to exist, that blocked out every memory you had that was grey and cold. He had brought the sun to you and now you were learning your father had already staked his flag on its surface.
“What are you talking about?” You didn’t know what else to say and you could feel hot tears on your flamed cheeks now. You had never felt adrenaline like that, pure emotion and panic as your chest started to rise and fall quickly.
Jungkook was quiet as he watched you like he was conflicted about what to do. Once a particularly rough breath ran through your body he was softening his shoulders and gaze simultaneously, pulling you against his frame as you wracked with a heavy sob.
You hadn’t had a panic attack in years, since you were a teenager who could barely stand the sight of a crowded crosswalk or a presentation. There was no doubt in your mind that you would not be able to get out of the strong grip of it easily on your own and you sunk against him.
“I’m sorry.” He breathed and you pushed your face into his chest, muffling the strangled noise that left you. “Of course you didn’t know. I know you didn’t know.”
“I want to go home.” Is what you eventually breathed out even though you realized as soon as you said it that you weren’t sure what you were referring to. The thought of your apartment was only comforting until you remembered he didn’t even exist there and you sunk lower against him.
“We can go there.” He said back hurriedly like he had already considered that as an option. You felt terrible for not being in the state to talk to him properly, to ask him if he was okay and if he could face his father again. “I’ll take you, we can go home.”
You weren’t sure he knew what that meant to you but he was gently lowering you on the stairs and going back inside before you could tell him. His back was tense and you had half a mind to yell out for him to come back, to not go in and to stay with you where you could pretend you could keep him safe.
Instead of sitting there and feeling useless, you stood to your feet and chased after him.
He was already on his way back out and you bumped into each other, a startled sound leaving him as his hands reached out to grab your arms and steady you. You were still breathing heavily and now confused by how quickly he had returned, eyes going over his wide shoulders.
Nari was standing in the middle of the kitchen with a dim look on her face, stealing her of her usual warmth and soft glow. Minchul was nowhere to be seen but you could tell by the damage to the room that it had been a full blown scuffle between the two of them.
You felt devastated for her, knowing how much love and pride she held for her kitchen and the things she created. There were shattered plates and disarrayed decorations, a large hole in the wall that you had a bad feeling was created by Jungkook’s back. She met your eyes over his frame and you felt relief when she softened slightly at the sight of your swollen eyes and remorseful stare.
“Go on, honey.” She said in a voice so gentle it broke your heart, Jungkook’s hands tightening on your arms at the sound of it. “I’ll be alright here.”
He was shifting and you could hear the sound of the keys in his fingers now, only just feeling the cold metal pressing against your skin. You nodded swiftly at her and gave her one more heavy look that you hoped she would understand despite your lack of words, her smile in return making you believe she had.
Jungkook and you were quick to leave the house and you felt another sob go through you when he spared one last look towards the barn where Lucky and the other horses were most likely asleep for the night, knowing there was no certain timeline he would be able to see them again any time soon.
He was opening the passenger door for you and making a soft noise with his teeth to get your attention through your devastation, closing it softly once you were sitting on the bench seat.
You waited until he was sat and finished taking a few deep breaths, until you were squealing out of the driveway and pretending the light wasn't still on upstairs. Only after you were on the dirt road and heading towards uncertainty did you scoot over into the middle seat.
This time around you weren’t damp from the quarry water and your cheeks were not sore from smiling so hard you felt euphoric. There were no shy glances and no toeing the line between unlikely friends and something more. But there was the feeling of his hand wrapped around your knee like he was scared to forget you were there and the soft kisses you were laying on his bruised face as he drove.
Going back the same way you came but with your heart full of adoration and something much more real that you were too afraid to name just yet. You felt like your fantasy world was finally mixing into reality and the colors mixing with your cold gray was a lot less jarring knowing he was the one braving it all with you.
Jungkook released a soft breath when your head landed on his shoulder and you felt the weight of it all go with it.
Chapter Warning: Graphic depictions of violence and death. Reader Discretion is advised.
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Time was just a blur of tiny green numbers illuminated from the car radio. There was nothing to go off of outside the windows on either side of her for the sun had set hours earlier. All Y/n knew was that her chest felt warm, her head was full of hazy pop lyrics from the 2010s, her fingers tingled, and her feet ached. That, and she was absolutely mesmerized by watching the headlights bounce onto the trees from the front windshield which she had a perfect view of from the middle seat, sandwiched between Jungkook and Jimin.
Her head kept subconsciously lulling to the side and smushing against Jungkook’s shoulder, and each time it did he would look down at her with a creased brow and eyes rounded with worry. In return she would pinch his cheeks and coo softly, attempting to place drunken kisses on his cheek with some kind of mumbled “You’re so handsome, s’painful.” To which he would blush and let out the smallest of chuckles with a squeeze of her hand.
Y/n knew she was intoxicated–not entirely drunk, but somewhere toeing the line between tipsy and something worse. Coherent enough to know where she was and what she was saying, yet softened enough by the handful of mixed drinks she had knocked back over the course of the evening to not care. Jimin was not much better off, his own head resting softly on her shoulder and his hand planted firmly on her thigh while he puffed even breaths, already sleeping. Namjoon and Yoongi were in the two front seats, the former having taken up being the DD for everyone that evening much to Hoseok’s gentle teasing from the back row.
Speaking of Hoseok, he had returned to the bar a few minutes after his little moment with an air of nonchalance that told her he wanted to forget whatever it was that had occurred. So she did. (Only after another heavy-handed drink but he didn’t need to know that). He too was almost passed out in the back seat behind them, forehead pressed to the cool glass and eyes half closed just in time for the car to stop in the driveway.
Jungkook helped Y/n guide Jimin to his room upstairs and get him situated under the covers since he was of little help himself; constantly pressing lingering kisses to her shoulder, hands, finger tips, cheek–anything he could reach with little difficulty was appreciated with the gentleness of his mouth. Y/n took it upon herself to step out of the room and skip over to the laundry room to find him a fresh pair of clothes to sleep in for the night while Jungkook helped acquire a glass of water from the kitchen to leave on his nightstand.
Y/n was elbow deep in summer breeze scented clothes when she felt a presence linger outside the laundry room door that was preceded by light-footed steps. She paused, and rose from the depths of the dryer to greet them–doing her best to ignore the sudden uptick of her heart and the hairs that stood on end. Doing her best to pretend the sound of someone approaching didn’t fill her with dread and have her brain mapping out ten different possible escape plans.
Yoongi had paused mid-step on the way to his room, hands on their way to undoing the top two buttons of his black and white palm leaf shirt, and his cheeks dusted with a mildly intoxicated flush. Y/n stood ramrod straight, clutching Jimin’s shirt in her fists like a vice.
“Oh! Yoongs! D-do you need to get in here?” She gestured to the machine behind her nervously. His presence doing the opposite of calming her down–instead it made her body thrum with a new kind of energy when he didn’t say anything back. He was just staring. Thinking.
She thought she was imagining it. Imagining the way his darkened eyes drank her in with a dragging once over. Imagining the way he stepped closer. It wasn’t until her back hit the dryer did her heart and mind catch up to his proximity. The heat of him almost pressed against her front, and the hands he let stop on either side of her caging her in just loose enough for her to walk right through if she wanted to. But she didn’t want to.
He said nothing. Neither did she. There was only the sound of her labored breathing and his carefully controlled exhales that filled the space, muffled by her own pulse drumming in her ears. Yoongi was so close that the loose tendrils of hair fell from behind his ears and tickled her cheeks and their chests bumped into each other with each breath.
His face had deepened in color, and his tongue made an appearance with an overly slow lave over his lower lip that she wanted to taste. Yoongi hovered, mouth parted slightly over the corner of hers, breath fanning over her skin that smelt like mint and whiskey. Her abdomen flooded with heat that wasn't from the alcohol, and she could feel her eyes slipping closed without any fight.
And then he was gone.
Pushing himself off the dryer with a smirk so smug it would have made a narcissist cry with jealousy. He was still close, and she reached out for him with the slightest of whines, but he tutted his tongue with a condescending click.
“Sorry sweetheart, but…I don’t remember you asking for it.”
He sauntered out, grin wide enough to blind oncoming traffic, and finished his walk to his room. Leaving her desperate, hot, and dazed in the laundry room. Y/n didn’t realize how long she had been standing their wide-eyed and mouth agape until Jungkook rounded the doorframe with empty hands.
Jungkook grunted from the doorway, brows furrowed and hand outstretched in a soundless request. “You okay?”
Y/n nodded slowly and walked mechanically around him to Jimin’s room to drop the clothes off, but Jimin was already fully asleep under his covers, shirt be damned. Thus after a quick kiss to his forehead, she let Jungkook lead her down to his room with a sturdy arm around her waist. His proximity making her giggle for reasons she couldn’t place.
“What’s so funny?” He asked, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
“Hmmm…I don’t know. Just you.” Y/n giggled again, drunkenly stumbling around the bed to the pile of clothes Jungkook had stacked on one of the end tables, neatly folded with perfect crisp lines.
“What does that-” Jungkook scrunched his face up in defense, but his disapproval died on his tongue when Y/n let her skirt drop to the floor at her feet, kicking it off and to the side. Her top followed shortly after, and the silence was deafening from behind her. She grabbed a rather large oversized shirt she had gotten for herself from the store and shucked it on, but didn’t bother to slip on anything else.
Y/n tried to walk around him back to her side of the bed, but he grabbed her elbow softly, using little force to turn her around to face him. He was close–hands grazing hesitantly up the outside of her arms like he wasn’t sure where to put them and his breath leaving his mouth in shaky exhales.
“Is there something wrong?” She inquired with a coy tip of her head to the side.
Jungkook swallowed. Then he shook his head ever so slightly and released his hold on her arms. Y/n couldn’t help but feel a little deflated–she was about to explode from all of the teasing she had endured as of late and just wanted someone to rip the band-aid off.
“You’re drunk,” Jungkook said it like a gentle declaration. An explanation and an apology all wrapped up in two whispered words.
“Barely.” Y/n rolled her eyes, flopping dramatically on the bed with a sigh. “Curse you for being such a caring and kind boyfriend. Always being so thoughtful and respectful. Sometimes a girl just wants to be disrespected a little bit–is that too hard to ask?”
Jungkook removed his own shirt in one swift tug, replacing it with the exact same kind of t-shirt she had on so they matched. “Why would I be mean to you?”
Y/n rolled onto her side to watch him swap his tight jeans for basketball shorts, admiring each inch of mouthwatering skin he showed her. “You’re acting like you’re not a little bit mean to me all the time anyway.”
Jungkook quietly snorted, flicking off the lamp and pulling back the covers for the both of them.
“I’m being serious.” Y/n crawled up to the top and settled on her side, waiting patiently for him to take his spot so she could snuggle right into his side.
Jungkook gave her a sideways glance and guided her into position against his flank, one of her legs instinctively coming up to drape over him. “You want me to be mean?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe we can fuck around and see if we like that.” Y/n shrugged, melting into his embrace with a subconscious sigh. There were a few seconds of comfortable silence, just her enjoying the feel of her muscles relaxing onto the mattress and his body heat–that was until he abruptly rolled onto his side away from her, removing all of her access to his side.
“W-what was that about? What is this?” Y/n made a lazy paw at his back with her hand. “Did I say something wrong? Hey…”
Jungkook’s shoulders shook, and for a second Y/n panicked thinking she had made him cry. Then she realized that this little motherfucker was laughing. A cheeky little grin taking up his features and a silent laugh tumbling from his lips.
“This is unbelievable.” Y/n shook her head with exaggerated disappointment. “I was being vulnerable and snuggling with you and here you are. Laughing. How shameful.”
“You said you wanted me to be mean.” Jungkook looked back at her with a humored quirk of his brow. “So I took away your cuddles.”
“Nooooo,” Y/n whined, trying her best to force him to roll back over onto his back. “That’s not the kind of mean I wanted! I take it back.”
“Too late.” he laughed again and nosed into his pillow. “I think I might be comfortable.”
“This is cold blooded. You know that?”
“I’m warm.” Jungkook hankered down into the comforter for further emphasis.
Y/n deadpanned down at him, flopping back onto her side. “Fine then. I shall waste away over here–alone. Without my strong handsome boyfriend to keep me company. Perhaps I shall wander upstairs back to Jimin. He would never turn down a good cuddle.”
Jungkook rolled back over in a flash, eyes narrowed into a glare. “No. It’s my night with you.”
“Is it? I don’t know…seems like you don’t want it to be…would be a shame if I just….” She started to push the covers down and lifted on leg partially towards the floor but Jungkook was too quick. Arms wrapping around her middle securely and pulling her back under the covers.
“No.” Jungkook maneuvered them back into their original position except this time he had both arms around her, and his chin pressed into the top of her head. “It’s my night. That’s the rules.”
“Rules? What is this–a custody hearing?”
Jungkook let out an amused huff. “Yes.”
“Oh I see. Who was the judge presiding over the case? I have some choice words to share with them.” Y/n ran one of her hands through his hair absentmindedly, no real interest in going anywhere else. Teasing him was just too entertaining.
“Me.”
“You? And who was my jury? Do I get a lawyer?” Y/n let her hand fall lower to caress the sides of his neck.
Jungkook’s mouth twitched into a smirk. “Also me.”
“Corruption!” Y/n feigned a scandalized gasp. “Corruption of the courts! I thought we lived in a democracy!”
Jungkook rolled his eyes and pressed her face into his shoulder with a hand at the back of her head. “Sleep.”
“After that kind of breaking news? The fall of our government?” Y/n’s words were smushed by his shoulder. “How am I ever to fall asleep?”
“By closing your eyes.”
Y/n grumbled as she resituated herself against him, one of his hands sliding down to rest on the side of her thigh over his hips and thumbing soft half circles there. They stared off into the darkness, the crickets keeping time to their breaths that started to even out. Y/n let her mind wander to whatever thoughts interested her, her eyelids never quite growing heavy enough to sleep. She thought of the upcoming morning and what they could possibly do all together–it was Monday, which would put them at almost four days of being at the rental. Alcohol hazed thoughts of Jin and the journal that had yet to arrive swooped into her brain, and she started to concoct plans of action she would probably have to take if it didn’t arrive soon. For one, she still had to tell everybody why they were here. Two, she needed him to keep up his end of the bargain–and if she didn’t, she would have to go find him at either the cabin or the hotel. She wondered, as thoughts of the golden glittering floors and heavy chandeliers floated in, if Jin had somehow reported all of their days off to the system or if they would all need to do that–perhaps her friends already had. Well, except for Jungkook. That wasn’t necessary for him anymore.
His lack of employment made a heavy cloud float over her head and stay there. Guilt. It sobered her mind up enough to feel the weight of it.
“What’s wrong?”
Y/n jerked her chin back up to look at him, his head tipped down to look at her expectantly. “I was just…” She debated lying to him, but knew doing so would be a futile effort. He would know. “I was just thinking about your job.” Y/n couldn’t look up at him anymore, pressing her cheek back into his chest and taking a deep breath. “And I just still feel so guilty about it.”
Jungkook shifted below her, his thumb keeping on with its steady patterns against her leg. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times while he struggled to find his words–seemingly stuck on something. This was unusual for him. Usually he was blunt if not straight forward. But it looked like something he wanted to say was hard for him to get out.
“You don’t have to–”
“Have I ever told you what my dream job is?”
Y/n was caught off guard by his question, her mouth open as she mulled it over, her mind coming up blank. No, she couldn’t recall him ever doing so. Not even when they were kids. He had said some unattainable childish wishes when they were really young, like an astronaut or a cowboy. But otherwise, he had kept those ambitions largely to himself, hidden behind half-hearted shrugs and unanswered questions.
“No. You haven’t.” Y/n played with the fabric of his shirt, letting it pinch between her fingers and slip back out.
Jungkook sniffed. “That’s because I don’t have one.”
Y/n let his shirt fall from her fingers again with finality, confused. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t want to work. I never did. I never felt drawn to anything in particular like everyone else was. And honestly, I struggle with holding most higher level jobs. I know I could do them if I really tried–but I don’t see the appeal and it just feels so much harder to manage than everyone else. I liked house keeping because it was easy, and I didn’t have to talk to anyone.” Jungkook spoke evenly, albeit a bit shy.
“Oh.” Y/n let her eyes wander around the room and listened to his steady heartbeat. “What else did you want to do?”
Jungkook’s heart skipped a beat, but his voice didn’t show it. “I thought about learning to paint. Or taking up a new hobby. But otherwise…” His heart started to pick up speed against her cheek, and he swallowed nervously.
“‘Otherwise’?” Y/n repeated.
Jungkook nibbled at his lip ring, running the tip of his tongue over it. “I always wanted to be something else. Something that I never told anyone about before.”
“Oh? Go on.”
Jungkook spared her an anxious glance then returned his gaze to the ceiling, his breathing and exterior as calm as ever but his heart was erratic.
“It’s okay Kook, I’m not gonna judge you.” Y/n soothed, letting her hand flatten against his chest to comfort him. "Unless you're going to say that you want to be a stripper–because why the fuck wouldn't you have told me that."
“I…” He took another deep breath, his cheeks burning under her suggestion that he otherwise ignored. “I always just wanted to be a stay-at-home dad.”
Y/n short-circuited. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but it wasn’t that. Not to say that the confession didn’t have her cheeks flushing, and her heart stammering inside of her ribs. “Oh…”
“Yeah.” Jungkook finally turned to face her. “Does that make you…upset?”
“No! Not at all! It was just unexpected.” Y/n chuckled breathlessly. “It’s actually kind of cute.”
Jungkook raised an eyebrow at her. “Cute?”
“Yeah. I think it takes a very kind, patient, and caring individual to want to do something like that.” Y/n answered honestly. “It’s very endearing. Cute.” She let her hand rest on top of the one on her thigh and threaded their fingers together. “What about it makes that your dream job?”
Jungkook hummed thoughtfully, soaking in her compliment. “I like taking care of people. I know I’m not always the softest. But I can be.” He flipped his hand over so he could hold hers. “I didn’t get a lot of time with my mom–not that it was her fault. But my dad was everything to me, and I want to be able to do that for my own kids. I want to spend as much time with my kids as possible.” He cleared his throat of an invisible ball and continued. “And as weird as this sounds–I find kids energizing to be around. Like I have a purpose that involves bringing life into the world and nurturing the living. Not just dealing with the dead. My hands can damn, guide, and disintegrate. Destroy. But they can also protect. They can fold blankets and build nurseries. They can do both." His voice fell to a whisper. “I want to be gentle. A giver, not a taker.”
“You are gentle,” Y/n brought his hand up to her cheek, “Just because it doesn’t look the same as everyone else doesn’t mean that you’re wrong in how you express it.” She twisted her face to kiss his palm. “I think you’d make a great dad.”
He smiled. Wide and genuine. The kind that made the bridge of his nose crinkle and his eyes gleam. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Y/n beamed back up to him, leaning forward to kiss him tenderly.
“What about…” Jungkook trailed off, eyes flickering from her eyes back down to her lips.
“What?” She pecked his lips again.
“Everyone else.”
Y/n paused, her mouth hovering over his. She leaned back to look into his eyes. “What about everyone else?”
“Kids. Doesn’t that make things…confusing?”
“Not to me.” Y/n shrugged, running a delicate finger down the side of his face and tucking a loose lock back behind his ear. “It just means we talk about it. I guarantee you Jimin could probably care less.”
“It’s not just Jimin.” Jungkook breathed, his tone indecipherable.
Y/n furrowed her brow up and tilted her head to the side. “What do you mean?”
“Y/n.” The look on his face was earnest, yet unmoving. Resolute. Knowing.
“Oh.” Y/n curled inwards, recoiling in on herself a bit from the way he seemed to look right through her. “I’m not…I don’t know what it all means with everyone else. And I’m not pushing it–but I’m not fighting it either. I don’t have the bandwidth to do that anymore. Is that okay? Are you uncomfortable with any of that?”
Jungkook appeared to taste the question with the way he set his mouth, his expression pinched into one of pure concentration. “I’m…”
Y/n waited on baited-breath, her hands subconsciously gripping his tighter.
“I’m okay. I just want you to talk to me.”
Y/n released a breath of relief. “Thank god. Are there any…questions you have? Any concerns?”
“Not right now.” He assured her with a shake of his head. “I talked to Jimin and Namjoon about it a lot after last weekend. They helped me understand it all better.”
“And if you have any more, you’ll ask me? That way we can work on it together.”
“Yeah.” He looked at her like his walls were melting, and it was just the tender and honest version of himself reflecting to her in the faint blue glow of the nightlight. “Together.”
_________________________________________
There was only red. Everywhere. It was on her hands, on her clothes, beneath her nails. It smelt old, like dust and chemicals–and upon further inspection it didn’t seem to be blood. It was much too powdery of a residue to be liquid.
She looked up from her hands to take in the room she was in–if it could even be called that anymore. It was destroyed. The beams were left naked and exposed, the vintage red colored wallpaper torn to shreds. There were more holes than there were walls. She could see straight through in some parts of it where the edges were blackened and singed from flame, the rest of the area beyond looking just as desolate. This place looked familiar even though it struck her to her core as wrong. Like the skeleton of a loved one, it felt simply abhorrent to look upon–the curves and shapes of their bones unmistakable, however hard your mind tries to deny its resemblance in favor of blissful ignorance.
Y/n blinked, and like a curtain had dropped from her eyes, her friends appeared strewn over all of the broken furniture and the splinter floorboards. And just as quick, they flickered out from view.
“No!” Y/n cried, rushing towards the splintered pile of wood where the closest body had been. Her voice felt hoarse in her own throat. Different. Like it wasn’t hers. She panicked, the images of their slumped forms burned into the back of her eyelids, and without thinking she ran–tearing through one of the widest holes and landing in a long hall that spread out on either side of her.
This was the estate. A very dingy, broken, and burned version of it.
Through the darkened halls, she heard a scream. And then another. And another. An eruption of misery barraged her eardrums until they bled. Women, men, and children wailed and screeched, each of them different. Some were blood-curdling, others were harrowing and mournful; while the rest sounded enraged, using their voice to spread their wrath as far as the ear could hear. She clamped her hands over her ears and took off in the direction of the foyer, leaping up the stairs and away from some of the screams, but the others grew stronger. More familiar.
Pounding steps chased after her over the deafening screams, and she ran faster–legs pushing her up to the landing where she floundered, unsure which direction to go.
“Y/n! Help me please! I can’t hold them off!” Yoongi cried out desperately from her right. The sound beckoning her towards the hallway to the right.
“ I can’t get out! I’m trapped! I need you–Y/n where are you?!” Jimin called desperately from somewhere below and she froze, her steps faltering.
She spun around towards the landing again and called down to him. “Jimin! I’m coming! I just need to help-””
Jungkook let out an agonized scream from down the left hallway, cutting off any hope of her plan. “They took my eyes-I can’t see. I can’t see anymore!”
“I don’t-I can’t-” Y/n clawed at her ears, Hoseok, Taehyung and Namjoon joining the begging screeches for help. She couldn’t take it–her head was about to explode and the room was spinning.
“I’m hurt!”
“There’s too much blood-”
“I can’t see!”
“They’re coming for me!”
“I’m trapped!”
“Help!”
The heavy footsteps approached her from behind, taking the stairs one at a time. The weight booming with each step. It was a shadow, looming over her with a size that swallowed everything around it in darkness, the edges of it creeping through the room like storm clouds. It inched closer, the wisps of darkness offering whispered relief, its night-like shroud muffling the screams behind it. The swirl of mist hypnotized her. Mesmerized her. It pulled her in like a moth to flame.
A door creaked open behind her, and soft footsteps halted at her side, and an even softer hand parked on her elbow.
“Follow me, yes?”
The short woman led Y/n away from the cloud and down the left-handed hall, straight into Jungkook’s room. Her touch brought forth silence. It brought forth peace. And once his door was closed, it blocked out all of the darkness that had once been–the walls in here were bright and clean, untouched by evil and flame. The window was opened to let in a glorious golden glow of sun.
The room practically sparkled. Upon every flat surface were lush, freshly picked bouquets with soft petals and glowing blooms, giving the room the appeal of an ethereal garden. Butterflies with luminescent wings fluttered through the air and bounced from bouquet to bouquet. One even circled about Y/n’s head before landing on a bulbous hydrangea in the bouquet nearest to her.
Jungkook’s mother let go of Y/n’s elbow and smiled up at Y/n, beckoning her with the wave of a hand deeper into the room. She crouched down over a plastic bucket, the surface of the water strewn with plant debris and a big yellow sponge. She pointed to it, then to Y/n.
“Wash.”
Y/n–still shaken from the experience on the landing–shuffled to a crouch and dunked her hands into the water and lathered them with it, unsure if she was doing what she was supposed to.
“No.” Jungkook’s mother smacked at the back of Y/n’s hands lightly and picked up the sponge. “I do it right. Watch.”
She sloshed water from the bucket onto the floors with the hefty sponge, and moved it in swooping circles, letting the flower drunken flower petals smear onto the floor. The scent was sharp, floral, and earthy. Lemon was one of the ingredients for sure. The petals that floated on the surface were abundant–peonies, hydrangeas, roses, lavender–but there were other smells and particles she couldn’t place.
Jungkook’s mother stopped, grabbing Y/n’s hand and placing the sponge in it. “Your turn.” Y/n mimicked her motions, letting the mixture drip from the sponge onto the floor and pushing it around in the same kind of circle.
“Good.” The older woman slotted her hand over Y/n’s and ceasing the scrubbing, forcing their eyes to meet, looking back to the water one last time. “Your…grandmother. She show me.”
“My grandmother?” Y/n gasped. “Margaret?”
The woman shook her head with a dismissive grunt. “No. Older.”
“‘Older’?” Y/n was taken aback. The only grandmother she had met was Margaret.
“Yes. I said older, didn't I?.” She smacked her lips together a couple times in thought, looking at Y/n with a hint of uncertainty as she sounded out her next word carefully. “Pa…Patricia.”
The door to the room burst open, startling them both and jostling the bucket so it splashed onto the two of them.
“Ah!” Jungkook’s mother looked at the intruder with clear disapproval written all over her features. “왜 항상 그렇게 빨리 움직이는 거야? 천천히 해! 내 꽃들이 다칠 거야!”
Seonggi, Jin’s great grandfather whom she recognized immediately from the photos Jimin had shown her, looked about the room with urgency until he found Y/n, completely ignoring their distress. At once, he clapped his hands in front of him like he was trying to get her attention and bounded closer to her.
“Wake up! He is here! Quickly!”
Y/n’s eyes snapped open, her chest tight with residual anxiety and her head pounding. Her fingers fumbled blindly for her phone, the time reading just barely a quarter to four in the morning. She had only been asleep for maybe three hours, a realization that dawned on her with a groan. Her frustration was short lived when flashes of her dream returned to her–her friends screams still echoing in her ears. She shot up in a haste, throwing the covers off and slipping out of the room as quietly as she could.
She completed her nightly rounds faster, and more frantically than usual. The ominous final message of her dream made each press of her ear more desperate in its attempts to listen for their sleeping breaths or light snores. She had only just gotten to Namjoon’s door on the second floor when she hear the low rumble of an engine from out front. The sound sticking out like a sore thumb from the remote silence in the forest here. No one was driving by here unless they were trying to find them.
“Wake up! He is here! Quickly!”
Y/n moved as quick as her feet could carry her–flying down the stairs with such momentum that she collided with the front door in her haste, her hands slipping on the lock and door handle a few times before she finally pried it open.
At the end of the driveway were two glowing headlights, the door propped open just enough for Jin to step out and reach the mailbox to slide a small brown paper package into its belly. Goosebumps traveled up her bare arms and legs, and her body moved on its own accord down the long gravel driveway towards him.
Y/n had done such a good job of blocking out her mind the past couple of days that she could’ve almost genuinely forgotten their deal. Almost forgotten how stupid she had been, and the consequences she was going to have to face was she told everybody exactly what she had done.
Jin looked up at the sound of her approach, shutting the mailbox door and leaning on the open door, one foot still propped on the car. He gave her a quick once over that he abruptly ended with a clear of his throat, his face flushing crimson. “Good morning.”
“Good morning.” Y/n returned, crossing her arms over her chest. “I didn’t think you would be the one delivering it.”
“I wasn’t going to. But in order to keep things….” He trailed off, his lips quirking to the side slightly. “I just had to do it myself.”
“Huh.” Y/n took a couple apprehensive steps closer, opening the mail box and unsheathing the package into her hand, weighing it in her palm. “Totally not suspicious at all.”
Jin pressed his lips together in a thin line, looking from her to the mailbox, and then back to the car. “I should be going now.” He lowered himself back into the driver's seat and closed the door, and Y/n just stood there, watching him go through the motions of buckling his seatbelt.
“Wait!”
Y/n pressed a palm to the glass, making him jump almost a foot into the air. He rushed to lower the window and looked at her with wide eyes.
“...Yes?”
Y/n wasn’t sure what she was hoping to achieve by stopping him. She probably looked stupid with her mouth hanging open around lost sentences.
“Seonggi.” Y/n finally managed to get out. “I saw him. He woke me up. Said you were coming.”
Jin was good at keeping his thoughts hidden. Good at keeping face. But in the harsh light of the overheads, she saw a crack whittle down from his brow to his mouth. A twitch here and a flare there.
“Tell him to stay out of it.” Jin turned off his hazards and averted his eyes back to the road. “I have it covered.”
“What? What is that supposed to mean?” Y/n snarled and gripped the edge of the window like her life depended on it. Like her hands could keep the car from running if she tried.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Y/n spun on her heels at the bark of Namjoon’s indignation. His massive frame moving down the driveway towards them like a man on a mission. “Am I really seeing what I’m seeing right now?”
“Goodbye Y/n. I’ll text you where to meet me for the second part of our deal.” With that, Jin gingerly removed her fingers from the side of his car and pulled it into motion with the tap of the gas pedal, leaving her alone with the fuming man at her side.
She turned to meet his eyes as though her joints were rusted. Slow and awkward. Y/n offered him a weak wave. “Heyyy…”
“Don’t. Back to the house. I think it’s time you explain yourself.”
“It’s not what it looks like-” Y/n chased him up the driveway to the porch.
“That’s the best you can offer me?” Namjoon closed the door behind them, not even bothering to keep his voice down.
“Because it’s the truth!” Y/n hugged the package to her chest to keep the distance between them bigger than it was.
Namjoon scoffed, veering from the entrance way and up the stairs. “I believe that’s what you think is the truth. But you have to have the grace with me to understand that I have reasons not to trust you right now.”
Y/n followed him up the stairs. “What reasons have I given you? Besides this one thing that I can very well explain.”
“Plenty.” Namjoon grunted, rounding the banister and passing the laundry room with long strides towards his room that was across from Yoongi’s.
“Like what?” Y/n hissed, offended.
Namjoon whirled on her, his eyes stern and aflame with broken patience. “Let me list them for you. One,” He took a step closer. “You ran off when we needed you the most. Needed each other the most. Just up and vanished with someone else’s car–not a single text or phone call. For over three hours.”
Y/n swallowed. Hard. Her eyes starting to sting.
“Two: when you did finally call, you were in the middle of nowhere by yourself, a huge ass rental under your name, and you hung up on us.” He took another step closer and she backed away towards the railing. “Three: The past couple days you haven’t been in your right mind. Skinny dipping in the lake? Pretending we are on some holiday vacation and that we didn’t just all almost die? Doing all of these eccentric activities when you should be resting? Skipping around, not eating, not sleeping–I can see right through you, Y/n. What you’re doing isn’t healthy. It’s not right. And I’m tired of tiptoeing around it. They all said it’d be best to let you get it out of your system, but I think you’re grown up enough to have a conversation about it. I understand you’re going through a lot inside, but I’m not just going to coddle you. I don’t believe in coddling. I believe in working things out before they grow into bigger problems.”
Y/’s mouth was dry as a desert, everything she wanted to say withered and died under the scorch of his scold.
“And four–do I even need to say it? What was that with Jin? What kind of deal did you make that you haven’t told us about?” Namjoon shook his head at her lack of response, retreating back towards his room to give her space. “I’m disappointed. I’m frustrated. And quite frankly, I’m ready to quit.”
Y/n’s stomach dropped to her feet and she scrambled forwards to follow him. “What? You quit? Quit what? Being friends?”
“Not being friends! But all of this–this-” he gesticulated his hands in wide circles “-this paranormal bullshit. This mission. All of it. I’m tired! Aren’t you?”
“Of course I’m tired! But we can’t just give up! We have to keep pushing. We have to keep going. There’s no choice but to-”
“Why isn’t there a choice?” Namjoon butted in. “I don’t know if you’ve realized, but while you’ve been off playing in a world of make believe, the rest of us are still recovering from one of the scariest experiences of our lives. We were all almost killed. And instead of sticking together and trying to navigate it, you went on a shopping spree and dropped thousands of dollars on a fucking vacation home!” He dragged both hands down his cheeks and fixed her with a look so cutting it left scars on her soul. “Y/n–I need you to ask yourself: Are we doing this for all of us, or are we doing this for you?”
Y/n couldn’t breathe. The package tumbled from her hands down to the floor and her teeth started to chatter together as adrenaline pumped through her veins. “What?”
“Look I’m not trying to make you feel guilty–I just want us all to be on the same page. I need you to understand that if we drop out, it isn’t because we don’t care about you. We just can’t keep putting our lives on the line just so you can take over the hotel.” Namjoon’s stern mask started to crumble to the floor and his eyes glistened. “Maybe we just have to throw the towel in. If they are willing to kill all of us over this, maybe we’ve met our match.”
Y/n’s eyes burned. Her throat was closing in and sticking together in the cotton that seemed to fill her esophagus and blockade her voice. She fought her way through it, nearly choking as she did. “And then what?”
Namjoon seemed caught off guard. “What do you mean?”
“I mean what I said. And then what? We give up, we go home and then I get slaughtered in the foyer? In the hall outside my room? My dad stays possessed for the rest of my life and I never see him again? Our parents tear us apart? I get excommunicated from the family again and kicked to the curb? Stepped over and forgotten about?” Y/n felt the tears running hot down her cheeks, and this time she stepped towards him. “I just lay down and die somewhere?”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Namjoon groaned in exasperation. “If we just stop they will stop retaliating.”
“You don’t fucking know that!” Y/n wiped furiously at her face. “They tried to kill me the first time when I wasn’t even doing anything yet!”
“But you were! You were digging already!”
“Because It’s my life! I can do what I want! You want to live a life with your head bent and your back ready to be stepped on?”
“It would mean we’re alive!” Namjoon’s voice boomed through the hallway, surely waking up everyone on the second floor. Y/n jumped back towards the railing, hands gripping the wood until the skin on her knuckles felt like it would split. He never yelled like that.
“Look. I don’t want to yell at you. But you have to see where I'm coming from-I don’t have powers. I don’t have a skill to work on that I can use to protect myself when things get hairy. I’m blind in those situations. Thursday? I was separated and vulnerable. I couldn’t hear, see, or touch whatever it was coming for me until my ancestors stepped in. Not only does that put me at risk, but it also makes me a liability. ”
“I’m sorry you feel that way. You’re not a liability and I keep trying to tell you that. But that day wasn’t a fucking cakewalk for me either!”
“You had everyone else!” Namjoon retorted.
“No! I didn’t!” Y/n was yelling now too. “I didn’t have anyone at first! I had to go find help! I had to claw for it–fight for it myself! I had the-”
“Enough!” Yoongi’s door swung open with enough force to smack the wall. “It’s fucking four in the morning!” He stormed out into the hall and pointed a finger at Namjoon. “I told you not to push it.”
Namjoon sneered at him, his words dripping with sarcasm. “I was willing to wait until I saw her standing outside at the crack of dawn with Jin of all people.”
Yoongi released a heavy sigh, and turned to her with a dangerous glint in his eye. “You were doing what?”
_________________________________________
Oh, how Y/n wished to go back to the night she first got here–galivanting through convenience stores and skipping through a brand new vacation home. Instead, she was surrounded in the living room, the seven of them littered around the sectional couch, except for Namjoon, who insisted on carrying a chair out from the dining room to sit in front of them. Her hands pulled at the soft fabric of the couch against the back of her thighs as though she could burrow herself right through the cushions.
No one spoke.
Namjoon was still buzzing with frustration from their previous argument. It’s ironic, because Y/n had been sure he would’ve been one of the easier ones to explain herself too before their arrival–but the roles had gone all topsy turvy. Jungkook hadn’t even looked too interested in scolding her since they had gotten here (yet), and Yoongi had already defused himself before they arrived. But Y/n was hiding a match in her pocket while swimming in a room full of petrol. Who knows how they’d feel if they knew where she had been that first night, and what lengths she had been prepared to go to. All eyes were either on her, or wandering around the room and away from Namjoon. It was impossible to look at him without shivering.
“If you keep looking at her like that, we're not going to get anywhere.” Yoongi finally broke the silence.
Namjoon shrugged. “I’m waiting for an explanation.”
“I don’t have one,” Y/n grumbled.
“Bullshit.” Yoongi snipped.
Y/n took a deep breath and ripped it off like a band-aid, taking the metaphorical match out of her pocket and sending it blazing straight into the oil.
“I went to see Jin. In a cabin…In the woods.”
Yoongi’s eyes slipped closed and he palmed a face over his eyes with a disapproving shake of his head from where he leant up against the wooden wall behind them. Jimin was still processing her stupidity, and Jungkook was already clenching his fists at his sides. Taehyung still looked a bit lost but did not dare ask for clarification when the room was so tense.
Hoseok was the only one to say anything, his leg shaking uncontrollably and his hands dragging his stress down his face. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ…” He leapt up and beelined straight to the kitchen, and she could hear the distinct sound of him twisting the cap to the rum she had bought and pouring a good amount of it into a glass.
“And?” Namjoon prodded, eyebrow poised, eyes sharp enough to cut.
“I went there to find my mom. I couldn’t just stay behind and wait around anymore. I wanted to…I wanted to just end it all.” Y/n swallowed, averting her eyes around the room. “Everyone was freaking out and talking about leaving–I didn’t want you guys to have to leave. If anyone should have to leave it should be me. I figured it out on my own before and I can figure it out again.”
“Did you find her?” Namjoon clenched his teeth ignoring the rest of her ramble.
“No,” Y/n answered, shifting in her seat. “I called Jin, and he gave me an address to a cabin to meet him at.”
“And you just went?” Jungkook sounded betrayed from his spot next to her.
“Of course I just went! I needed to do something! I needed to–” Y/n cut herself off with a frustrated groan, twisting her fist in the sweatpants Yoongi had tossed for her to put on before waking everyone else up.
Yoongi narrowed his eyes on her. “Needed to what?”
Y/n snapped, the energy that thrummed in her over the previous days rising to an unbearable height, clawing its way out with another groan that made her throat feel scratchy and her hands tug at her shirt like it was burning her skin. She stood abruptly, pacing between the coffee table and the couch.
“I needed to do whatever was necessary to make this all stop! If she would’ve been there, I don’t know what I would’ve done! I could’ve–” Y/n broke off from saying the unforgivable, hands curled out like vicious claws doing enough to finish her sentence for her, her outburst startling even herself. “You don’t get it! Every single one of you was dead for all I knew. I had to choose between who I went to next without knowing if the rest of you would still be there when I came back. She doesn’t just get to walk away from that and enjoy herself in who-the-fuck-knows-where! You!-” she gestured wildly to Yoongi “-were covered in red. I thought you were bleeding out for a good three seconds before I saw that it was wine. And you-” she twisted to look at Jungkook on the chaise behind her, “you were actually bleeding out. I thought I was going to have to choose between getting you help and helping them.” She spun on them, wild and untamable. “You can all be pissed at me for whatever is going on inside of me right now and the dumb way I’m handling it–but god I just don’t want to think about it, I don’t want to feel anything that has to do with it, and I sure as hell don’t want to remember a single second of that. Of the pressure of having to make that fucking choice. So yeah, I went to the cabin by myself, because I would’ve rather died there and taken her down with me than have gone back to that cursed house and pretend that even just the thought of seeing the basement door doesn’t make me want to throw up.”
She wasn’t finished, she just needed to catch her breath because it felt like it was far away. It all it felt too real all of the sudden. It was as if someone had dug out a hole beneath her feet and she was falling–fast. Carving out a cave in her chest that felt deeper than any low she had ever felt, her hands and feet went numb and her ribs felt like they were collapsing. She pushed on through it, because once she finished, she concluded her reward would be running to the nearest lake and drowning her sorrows in it. Hopefully, the cold water would knock her back into oblivion.
“It was just Jin there, and we made a deal. A stupid deal–one that I didn’t think through and jumped into way too fast. But it felt like something, and it felt right. So fucking shoot me for going a little crazy after it all and making another bad decision.” Y/n fell back onto the couch in her seat, curling in on herself. The previous want to be touched had vanished, and now she felt like if someone touched her she would combust. She wanted to be alone. She wanted to run.
“What was the deal?” Jimin asked, his tone even and still somehow calm in the midst of all the chaos.
Y/n grimaced, and the stretch of her cheeks made her realize they were wet. She wiped at them forcefully, then did a sweeping gesture of the house they were in, then down to the package on the table in front of here. “This. Stay here for one week, we get G-min’s journal. Stay here for two, he gives us something better.”
“What was it?” Jimin asked again.
“That’s the funny thing,” Y/n laughed at her own expense, the condescending nature of it directed at only herself. “I don’t know. I took a leap of idiotic faith that whatever was in this little mysterious pouch he showed me was worth it. That this isn’t a trap or some kind of sick setup. What would you have done? If you were offered answers to everything after today?”
“I would not have run off, that’s for damn sure.” Namjoon scoffed. “You scared the hell out of us Y/n. The last time you ran, we didn’t see you for years. Vanished from the face of the earth with vague suggestions from your mom to block you and move on. Yoongi said you looked unpredictable–Hoseok said you felt dangerous. I’m not disregarding what you went through that day but c’mon Y/n! Let us work as a team. Don’t start spewing idiotic ideas that are all based around you not being here. There’s a solution that can include all of us if we just work together instead of taking off at a moment’s notice.”
“Stop!” Y/n clasped her hands over her ears and bent down to her knees. Jimin tried to rest a hand between her shoulder blades but she recoiled from the touch, jumping from her seat and making for the exit of the living room before she could even realize what she was doing. It hurt–her chest hurt. It felt agonizingly unbearable. She wanted to yell again–to get behind the wheel and press down on the pedal to chase that high she felt earlier. Her behavior was erratic and she knew it–but she couldn’t stop it. She felt cracked.
“You just said you wanted to quit. You don’t get to go around saying we need to work as a team and making me feel guilty!” Y/n cried.
Jungkook looked from her to Namjoon, panicked. “What? Why would he quit?”
“Because he thinks it might be the only solution.” Her body pivoted again, looking at them with her hands still clasped over her ears. “There isn’t another solution, don’t you get it? They’ve made that clear. If I’m around, either I die, or you die. I’m not–I’m not playing that game anymore. This is my fucking problem. It’s my family's bullshit that’s hitting the fan and spraying all of you with its rot. I’m not saying this hasn’t been hard on all of you–but goddamnit I’m fucking tired. I’m pushed into a corner. I’m suffocating under it all. It’s my body that gets beaten, and used, and invaded, and my mind that they’ve infected in every way possible. And now they’ve left a scar so deep I don’t think I’m ever going to recover–and one I can’t get help for. How the fuck do I go to a therapist and say ‘hey! I genuinely thought everyone I loved was dead, because my mother controls demonic ghosts and all of her attempts to kill me fell through. Can you help me?’ And to finish it off with a bow, I can’t even sleep because I just keep reliving it over and over again in my dreams. Having to choose. Having to find you. And no matter what I do I never make it in time! I’m going fucking crazy. Every move I make, one of you has something to say about it or one of them does something about it. I get scolded for trying too hard, I get pressured to go harder. I’m told to rest, and then when I do shit happens and I’m reminded why I shouldn’t. I make a move, and one of you is pissed at me for trying to do something, and another one of you is cheering me on. We move as a group, and they retaliate.” Oh, this hurt, but it felt so good. Yelling into the room felt good. The thought of the lake still felt better.
“I don’t like telling you what to do–but I’m going to since everyone else in the world seems comfortable offering me their two cents, well intentioned or not. Jin and I booked us this house, and we are all going to stay in it together if you want me to have any kind of sanity. You can hate me, be pissed off–you don’t even have to look at me for the rest of the trip. But what you aren’t going to do is scold me like a child each time I do something you don’t like, or tell me what I can or can’t do because I’m a little out of it right now. I want you all to enjoy a comfy bed, sleep there, and stay where I can see you and know you aren’t lying dead on some floor where I can’t get to!”
She was shaking. Her entire body shook and the last of her high faded with a punch to her gut. And it was in that moment that she finally understood what Yoongi had meant in the bathroom on their first night. The delusion of perfection had finally fizzled out, and it left her with the realization that it had only been an illusion of good. A mirage of hope. It was painful and exhausting, a cloud of forced joy to shield her from how hard the ground felt when she hit it.
Y/n shakily brought her eyes up to meet Yoongi’s, and she could tell that he knew. He could probably see it chewing her up and swallowing her whole. She felt guilty for yelling. Guilty for running. Ashamed of how she acted impulsively, embarrassed of how she behaved. Echoes of her mother’s comments on her being too emotional and unpredictable slapped her across the face. And worst of all she felt dark. Achingly dark. Like her insides had been scooped out and filled with cement.
“That’s enough,” Yoongi pushed off the wall and came between them, cutting her line of sight from the rest of them. “She gets it. We get it. It’s fucked up, and everyone sucks. Now let’s move on to something more productive.” Yoongi stood in front of her, and gestured with his chin out into the living room. “You, apologize for yelling.”
Y/n felt a series of tears fall from her cheek, and she whispered out into the room a string of multiple apologies that couldn’t seem to stop coming. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry….”
“Good, now you-” Yoongi pointed to Namjoon. “Your turn.”
“I’m sorry for letting my anger get the better of me.” Namjoon sighed, dropping his face into his hands. “I’ll…I’ll keep trying to do better.”
“Perfect.” Yoongi clapped his hands together. “Now everyone go back to bed. It’s five in the fucking morning and we were out late. We will revisit this shit later with coffee and another four hours of sleep.”
_________________________________________
They definitely did not end up revisiting it in four hours. She was the one to blame, for the moment her body made contact with Jungkook’s mattress, she was out like a light. The world could have burst into flames and the fire licking at her skin itself wouldn’t have been enough to wake her. Every time her eyes struggled to open they would slip closed and another hour would go by.
She wanted to believe it was dreamless–but it wasn’t. Though someone wanted to let her think it was, because when she’d try to force her eyes open, she could only remember the feelings of the dream: the desperation, the terror, the rush. No visions accompanied the sensations except for snippets of petals and plant matter drowning in herbal-scented water, and moisture-pruned hands swishing it about on hardwood floors.
Y/n tried to rouse herself again, this time going as far as to sit herself up and shake her hands out, though her eyes still weighed heavy. The driving force to get herself moving was the gnawing hunger in her stomach that threatened acts of violence on anyone who got between her and a good meal.
The bed was empty save for herself which was unusual. She could vaguely remember whether Jimin or Jungkook being next to her each time she tried to wake up, but never was she alone. She swapped the t-shirt for a soft hoodie and slipped on one of the new pairs of sneakers she had gotten for herself.
She crept to the door and propped it open, craning her neck around the space to see if anyone was still around–but the communal spaces were all empty. It’s fine. Everything’s fine, Y/n reassured herself when the fears began to creep in like ominous gray-bellied clouds. Y/n made her way around the living room just to be sure, noting that the package with the journal in it had been swiped from the table at some point while she was asleep, and then through the kitchen. The counters were strewn with torn plastic containers and an empty meat tray, a couple of the cabinets left slightly ajar, and a stack of plates left in pristine condition on the counter.
Smoke and grilled meats wafted in from the cracked window, flooding her system with relief and guiding her feet out the door and around the side of the house where the grill and fire pit were located. For some reason she felt nervous. She didn’t want them to see her with her eyes still puffy from how much she had cried earlier. Didn’t want to have to face them after the reality of the risks she had taken really set in.
“Y/n! I was just about to come wake you up.” Hoseok was already walking in her direction, a pair of sunglasses perched on his nose and a plate full of foil wrapped potatoes stacked in a pyramid. He gestured for him to follow her in, and she did so wordlessly, holding the door open for him to enter first.
She helped him place them onto individual plates and top them with an ungodly amount of butter and salt. After the trash can was full of empty foil wrappers and their forearms lined with plates, she followed him back out the door to the outdoor tables where the rest of them seemed to be lingering around, a plate of grilled meat and vegetable skewers in the center of the table.
No one brought up what had occurred that morning–in fact it was like the outburst hadn’t even happened at all. The only indicator that it had was Namjoon’s sheepish smiles he kept sending her way. It was nice to just be with them, surrounded by good food Yoongi, Jungkook, and Taehyung had helped prepare and good conversation. Persistent as ever, that empty hole in her chest that had been dug out earlier still stung, and left everything dull and faraway. It was as though she was watching it all from outside of herself and not through her own eyes, and everything she said or did was under scrutiny from invisible judges–thus she said very little.
The food tasted fantastic, one of the best things she had eaten in days, and her plate was clean for the first time since she had arrived. They spent the evening circled around the firepit just enjoying the quiet atmosphere until her clothes smelt like smoke and her face burned from how dry it got.
It was close to midnight by the time they all retired to their rooms for the evening. Y/n could only stand laying with her eyes open in Jimin’s bed for so long before she found herself wandering already, her fingertips tapping on her collarbone and her ear pressed to each person's door. Most nights after that though, Jungkook and Jimin seemed to make some kind of unspoken arrangement where if they felt her get up, they would corral her back to bed the moment they noticed her absence. So she slept for a good portion of the day, and spent her nights trying to roam or talking nonsense with Jimin and watching movies on Jungkook’s phone until she fell asleep.
They still spent their days doing activities, just not one’s so grand or as many. Focusing more of the relaxing kind. Well–that was until Jungkook got his stitches removed the following weekend, and he was able to join in on all of the adventurous activities. All of which they had plenty of time for since Hoseok had rescheduled his appointments to a later date to enjoy their time together. The first thing on Jungkook's agenda was challenging Jimin and Taehyung to a rope course race since he didn’t get to do it the first time (which they both lost, obviously).
Namjoon seemed to have entirely forgiven her, their communal outburst having done wonders–and he was back to his (mostly) normal self, if not a little more apologetic than usual. Whenever he would join them for an outing, he would always swipe some kind of plant sprig or flower from somewhere and offer it to her, usually emboldened by a handful of science or spiritual facts alike in some sort of peace offering.
When Monday rolled around again, it seemed that someone had taken the opportunity that their time off offered them to start a certain…promised prank off if you will, that lasted approximately 2 days before Yoongi forced them to call it quits when he had an accidental run in that involved Tree, Jungkook, and a very unlucky pair of sweatpants. So the two of them settled on a board game tournament to settle it that Hoseok and Taehyung ended up joining in on.
It was Thursday night when she finally made her first successful escape from Jimin’s room to do her nightly rounds-the itch that she couldn’t help but scratch being soothed with each press of her ear. That would be what she would’ve thought if when she reached Yoongi’s room, she hadn’t been greeted with an overwhelming weight of silence. No breathing, no scratch of a pencil or flip of a page. Nothing.
Her hand was already on the door handle and pushing it open before she could register the breach of privacy, exposing his empty room that showed no sign of him. The rest of her route was a blur after that, so much so that she almost missed the fact that Hoseok’s room was empty as well.
Y/n skipped panic and just went straight to crying, tearing through the house in a blind terror. She had begun to lose all hope when each spot left her empty handed when she caught a glimpse of light from one of the windows, and she was gone. Racing out the back door onto one of the decks that overlooked the sloping lawn and peering down at where Hoseok and Yoongi were crowded over the outdoor table below with their heads bent over a book.
“Yoongi? Hoseok?”
Both heads turned at her call, shining their flashlights up to her in their surprise.
“Hey, what are you doing up?” Hoseok hollered out to her first. His voice was like honey to her ears, soothing the ache behind her eyes from how much they burned.
“What do you think?” Y/n returned pathetically, beelining for the steps down to the grass and approaching them as fast as her feet could carry her.
Yoongi didn’t even get one sarcastic word out before she had her arms thrown over his shoulders from behind and her face buried in his neck, breathing him in and feeling his warm and very much alive skin against her cheek. “God–Don’t you scare me like that again!” She released him from her bone shattering hold and rounded the table to Hoseok who received the same treatment. “You two scared the shit out of me! Why are you out here? I didn’t–I couldn’t find you!"
Hoseok didn’t say much, just moved a foot to the side so she could slide onto the bench next to him, one of his arms tossed over her shoulder to keep her close to his side while she calmed down her breathing and her unruly heart. Y/n was right about one thing from their first night–Hoseok was warm, and she couldn’t deny how nice it felt to press the outside of her thigh to his and let the heat seep through his sweatpants onto her night-chilled skin. The two men continued to speak in hushed tones to each other like they were before she arrived, letting her just be there while they pointed at different sections on a page of G-min’s journal.
The sight of the inked pages had her shaking her head of her panicked stupor and gasping. “What are you guys doing out here?”
Yoongi paused, and looked up at her interruption impassively. “Working on this.” He flipped the journal so she could read the passage, his finger sliding along the words. “A lot of it doesn’t make any sense. But around here, it really starts to not make any sense. I think he's trying to say something, but I just don't know what. Look.”
‘The spider in the corner is my friend. He says good morning to me and I say it back. The water is clean but the land is filthy. Muddies it up until you can’t see. She speaks to me but I can not hear. Skip seven times. Impressive. The feathers look so broken, I can’t catch them all–I want to. I found the prophet and he tells me so. Tells me so he tells me so. I don’t like writing. I will draw them out instead.’
Y/n hummed as she read, her eyes getting stuck on something in the middle. She pulled the book closer to have a better look. “Wait a minute…”
“Is somethin’ tripping your trigger?” Hoseok asked, tipping his chin down to gesture towards it. “I’ve been trying to channel some kinda feeling on it but I just feel lost, or frustration coming from it. Like I’m trapped and can’t find a way out.”
Y/n read part of it allowed, her brain on the precipice of something–but what she couldn’t tell. “‘I found the prophet and he tells me so’...’I found the prophet…’ The…” Y/n scowled at the paper, pinching the edges between her fingers until it nicked the skin of her thumb and she yelped. “Jesus!” She shoved the digit in her mouth instinctively and then brought it out on the table to look at the damage.
“Don’t damage the merchandise,” Yoongi joked dryly, sliding the journal back towards him.
But Y/n didn’t hear him. Her eyes were trained on the faint scar on her palm from when she had supposedly sliced it open with a piece of mirror when she had fought with Yoongi. Back when she was possessed. A memory she couldn’t recall. In seconds the thought had a memory she could recall springing forth–one of the last few she had before succumbing to Candida.
“Why don’t I walk you down to the greenhouse, yeah?” Jimin stiffened ever so slightly but hid it behind the sweetest of smiles, and took no time to snag his phone and wallet from his desk. “We can see if Joon is awake when we pass his room.”
“I guess…” Y/n willed herself to remember anything from the two hours that had just seemingly vanished from her mind. The harder she tried to picture them, the further away they felt–there was only nonsense wheeling around her head like a mobile. Find the Prophet. Find the Prophet. Find the Prophet.
“That’s it!” Y/n suddenly jumped to stand, her paper cut forgotten. “Find the prophet!”
Yoongi blinked up at her from his seat. “Ooookay….And that means?”
Y/n whirled to face Hoseok. “Can you see things in people if they can’t remember them? Like if I gave you a date and an approximate time could you pull it from me?”
Hoseok pursed his lips with a shrug. “Possibly. Kinda sounds more like Tae's thing.”
“We should get Taehyung up to help then, too. I think this…” Y/n trailed off, something in her gut coming to life and sending her intuition into overdrive. “No-I know this is important. I know it is!”
Y/n was taking the stairs two at a time before they could stop her, and dragging a half-awake Taehyung by the elbow back down them in less than a minute. She pushed him in the spot next to Yoongi and reclaimed her seat next to Hoseok, face hot and out of breath from all of the running.
“Okay hear me out. Taehyung can see images from past, present and potentially future through his dreams. He seems tired enough to channel him. And you, Hoseok, we can use your touch to channel our target for the exact time we want to pull up–which in this case is me. I’m going to focus on that morning, and I want you to pull it out of me and send it to Tae.” Y/n was speaking at a mile a minute, and they all looked at her like she had two heads. Yoongi was keeping up, but just barely. He already had a protest poised on his tongue.
“Y/n we don’t have the circle set up, we can’t just–”
“-Yes we can! We have to! Set up a mental one and give me your damn hand!” Y/n snatched Hoseok’s from her side and rested hers palm up on the table for him to take. “Just trust me.”
Yoongi muttered a few curses, sliding his hand into hers and grabbing for Taehyung’s. “You are unbelievable, you know that? You did so well with your little Hermit Crab lesson on your own yet now here you are, disrespecting it to my face.”
“You just make disrespecting you so easy to do,” Y/n quipped back, earning a bark of laughter from Hoseok.
“What are we doing?” Taehyung squinted at them, his eyes practically still glued shut.
“We need to use your dream powers. Hoseok will channel what we want to see to you, so all you need to do is close your eyes and Hoseok will try and send it back to us.” Y/n explained simply.
Taehyung raised his brows but succumbed to their directions, laying his head down on the table and letting his eyes slip closed. "If it means I get to sleep..."
Y/n focused all of her energy on the memory of that morning–or the lack thereof in this case–giving everything she could to the time before and the time after it while opening herself up to Hoseok’s energy that prodded at her mind gently. The sound of crickets and distant owls filtered to white noise, and then they were suppressed altogether.
Y/n was in her room, freshly showered and rolling up her socks at the ass crack of dawn. She was watching the scene play out like a movie screen, watching herself tuck her feet into work boots and grab for her phone to check the time. When her hand touched the edges of her phone, the motions of her body switched from fluid to clumsy. Eyes glazing over and her body teetering from one side to the other. Then she started to walk, each step clunky and robotic, out of her room and into the dark hall that was only just starting to glow from the early morning shine. She stumbled straight across the hall and into Taehyung’s room which was thankfully empty, stopping at the edge of his messy bed to stare at the wall above it, like she was admiring the old painting of the vase of flowers that hung there just long enough to make it seem unnatural. When she finally moved again, it was doll-like. Creeping over to his closet and slowly opening the door to rummage through the clothing cubbies close to the floor with overt expression in each limb. She knocked his shoes down and spilled the folded t-shirts onto the floor at her feet like a woman on a mission. Like she was searching for something and knew exactly where to find it.
Y/n seemed to find what she wanted, dragging the cubby out of the way entirely until her fingers snagged on the floorboards and lifted one of them up clean off. Y/n bent down, stretching her hand down into the rafters and coming back up with her fist clenched around something too small to be seen through her fingers. With her treasure found, she kicked the floorboard back in place and moved the cubby back where it had been, not bothering to try and put the clothing back like it was.
She trudged like a zombie back out into the hall, moving down through the darkness until she reached the old playroom doors, pushing them open and stepping in. The brightly colored carpet sank beneath her boots, the shoes creating indents of the path she walked to the center, where she waited, hand outstretched to no one in offering. Her fist opened, and a circular object made of rainbow and silver dove from her hands towards the floor where it vanished into thin air just before it could clamor to the ground. And then Y/n waited.
The glass paneled door crept open a little more behind her with the entrance of someone unseen, the intruder not willing to make themselves known to the physical eye. Their presence whooshed about like ice, circling, plotting–closing in.
“I don’t think it will do you much good, walking around so late at night.” G-min hobbled in from the hall, looking just as she remembered him when she he was a kid. Short in stature with similar eyes to Yoongi’s, hands clasped behind his back and his pace always leisurely. “I think it would do us all better if you went back to sleep.”
He took two thin hands and placed them on her shoulders, steering her out into the hall, not with a call back to the energy making its home in the playroom. “I mean it. It’s time to rest. You and I will have a word after this. After all I went through to keep that thing hidden…”
G-min ambled behind 'Y/n', hands on her shoulder blades so she wouldn't run. “And you. I have a mission for you. You want to help us all? You find the prophet. You hear me?”
“No!” Y/n hissed through her teeth.
G-min paused, rounding her body to face her head on, keen eyes joining in on her face. “What was that, hm?”
“I said…” Y/n’s voice sounded modulated and scratchy. Demonic. “I said no.”
“Oh dear…” G-min clicked his tongue in disapproval and wagged a finger in her face. “This is unacceptable behavior. Bad. You better pull yourself together before I do something about it.”
“Oh? And what would that be, old man?”
“If I tell you it will ruin the surprise, wouldn’t it?” G-min retreated to his spot behind her and started pushing her forwards once more at a snail’s pace.
“I hate surprises.”
“I know,” G-min sighed. “But we can’t always get what we want.”
'Y/n's' body locked up, the same cold breeze from the playroom floating after them and furling itself around her. “He is coming.”
“Of course he is, ah.” G-min shook his head. “Then we better get you back somewhere safe. How about…” He cast a glance to her door, but then decided against it. “Yoongi is gone, I'm afraid so that way would do you no good. Let’s go this way instead, yes?” He spun them around to trek across the landing, cheering like they were taking off on a rollercoaster and not a midnight stroll. “Here we go!”
They rounded the corner to the right-hand side hall and inched past Hoseok’s door, the older man humming a familiar tune all the way. The more he touched her, the more the real Y/n could see in the vision. Ani was flattened against the wall outside Jungkook’s room, cowering away from 'Y/n’s' approaching figure. Patti paced aimlessly from door to door, raising her fist to knock but never quite reaching the wood in time before her feet carried her away with little attention given to the two of them. One of the twins was intent on mocking Ani from the other side of the hall, making twisted faces and snarling out childish insults. She stopped, having found something better to do instead, zooming up to G-min’s side and following in step with them.
“Say old geezer, care to let me play tag with her? If I win–I get to eat her!” The twin jumped on the balls of her feet and clapped her rotted hands with joy. “Wouldn’t that just be delightful!”
'Y/n’s' neck twisted with inhuman speed, her jaws snapping together and her eyes alight with gold. “You keep your distance, Inga. I have little interest in playing games with you.”
Inga curled her lip in disgust. “No need to be so uptight! I wasn’t-”
'Y/n' lurched forward, bringing their faces closer together so her eyes shined brighter. “Don’t disrespect me, sister. Remember where I come from.” Inga recoiled away from her with a whimper, melting into the wall behind her and out of sight.
“No need to be so stuffy.” G-min scolded. “That is no way to treat a child.”
“I know not how to treat a child.” 'Y/n' dug her heels into the rug to keep G-min from pushing her any further. “Lest we forget who I am.”
“I have forgotten nothing.” G-min gave another firm shove, sending them a few inches further down the hall. “It seems maybe you have.”
'Y/n' growled, but said nothing further.
“Have you lost your mind?” G-min and 'Y/n' both turned at the sound of a newcomer, Seonggi Kim, moving with his shoulders squared to shove the other wandering spirits out of the way, his hands and wrists draped with needed chains. “What do you think you’re doing getting involved in Wörner business?”
“Taking a walk. Can’t you tell?” G-min grinned at him, hands still clasped on her shoulders.
“I see that–but why?” Seonggi moved closer, shielding 'Y/n' from Ani’s quivering stare.
“Because he enjoys tormenting me,” 'Y/n' seethed.
Seonggi gasped, one of his hands grasping for the string of beads and whipping them out at the speed of light, snapping them down on the skin of her forearm with a sharp sting. “What on earth-”
'Y/n' brought one hand up to her forearm, the flesh scalding hot where the beads had struck. “Why must you always be so…insufferable?”
G-min pat her arm lightly, and did the same to Seonggi who leapt back from the touch. “Now now, let’s not fight. I was just telling this young lady she needed to get somewhere safe.”
Seonggi still looked scandalized, eyes as wide as saucers. “She’s…She’s…”
“I’m well aware,” G-min chuckled, his attitude much too light for the environment they were surrounded in. “I was just telling her that she should find the Prophet. Don’t you agree?”
Seonggi visibly shivered. “Are you implying that we should-”
“Of course I am.” G-min waved a hand at him. “Don’t waste my time asking such nonsense at a time as dire as this. We are running late.”
“Late for what?” Seonggi inquired.
“He is coming.” 'Y/n' spoke again,
Seonggi turned furious. “You do not get to speak so freely, demon! He is too kind to you I fear.”
“Why is everyone so grouchy today, huh?” G-min chastised with a quick smack to his wrist. “I move too slowly. I need your help getting her to the end of the hall, yes?”
For a ghost, Seonggi was still able to visibly pale. “I-I can not p-p-possibly-”
“You can, and you will.” G-min lilted. “ Now get her to Jimin’s room. I will distract them.” G-min turned to start waddling off back to the landing. “Remember, there is still an eligible Wörner in there. One that may blur those lines you try so hard to keep. Draw some pictures for me if you have the time young lady, I think you’ll find them to be…quite enlightening. Don’t be afraid to ask me for advice! Good morning, and goodbye.”
Seonggi huffed out a sharp displeased breath through his nose, and pinched at her elbows with two fingers like she was poison ivy to spur her into motion and away from the old man. “This is ludicrous. Blasphemy. I can not believe this.”
“I am enjoying it no more than you are,” 'Y/n' scratched out. “Say, perhaps if you tell me to find the prophet, I just might do that.”
“Absolutely not.” Seonggi was able to move them a lot faster towards the end of the hall.
“Not even for the girl?”
Seonggi stopped, hands digging into the meat of her arm. “That isn’t fair and you know it. You have no right to speak of her.”
“I speak of who I want.”
Seonggi flipped her around and stared down at her with vengeance. “Whatever you are planning must come to an end at this instant. You have tormented us enough.”
“What do you see with thine eyes when you look at me, Kim.” 'Y/n' brought one hand up to splay over his face, hovering but never touching. “What do you see…Prophet?”
Seonggi swallowed thickly, his eyes narrowed in on her. “You know I no longer claim that title. My time has long since passed.”
“That’s a shame.” The voice coming from 'Y/n’s' mouth almost sounded genuinely disheartened. “I was hoping you could see me.”
“I can see you well enough.”
“Can you?” Y/n poised, the demonic tilt of her voice taunting. “Can you really?”
“I can. You are nothing but a parasite. An evil that haunts these halls and tempts fate deeper into ruin. A mark on our legacy.” Seonggi spat through his teeth.
“If a parasite I am, then I must have a host. Tell me, do you see my host? Is she worthy of this fate?” 'Y/n' stepped closer to him. “Will you stand by and let history repeat itself when the wound still lingers so fresh upon your own heart? Or will you remain a bystanding coward?”
Seonggi looked like he was about to burst, but before he could unleash himself on her, footsteps–human footsteps–sped towards them.
“Y/n! What are you doing out here?” Jin was in casual clothing, his sleeves maculated with broken leaves and plant debris. He was doing his best to keep his steps and voice quiet while still rushing towards her, his head bent low like he was hiding from something-or someone. “Taehyung said he saw you-” His voice faded, eyes bulging from his skull as they took in his Great Grandfather still standing next to her.
Seonggi looked conflicted. Like he simultaneously wanted to reach out and strangle his great grandson and pull him into some kind of awkward embrace. “Seokjin. How unexpected.”
Jin glanced back over his shoulder apprehensively, then moved forward to grab 'Y/n’s' shoulders from Seonggi with a tight lipped smile. “The feeling is mutual.”
“Don’t touch her! She is compromised!”
“She is my friend.” Jin corrected him softly. “I’m not breaking any rules.”
Seonggi’s face turned red. “Not breaking any rules? Have you lost your mind?”
“Go away. I have this under control.” Jin tried to steer 'Y/n' back down the hall whence they had came, but she stood her ground with a crooked smile.
“Oh no–I am more interested to stay and witness a family quarrel.”
Jin furrowed his brow at her voice, and stared straight into her golden eyes. “You’re not Y/n.”
“I am.”
“No…” Jin looked devastated, unable to find his footing with his words. “You aren’t. What–what have you done?”
“Not enough.”
Jin scanned her face, each round getting more desperate and crestfallen. “No…”
Seonggi placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder and tried to pull him away. “It’s too late. We must not intervene.” Jin let himself be pulled backwards, his hands falling like dead weight to his sides. “What’s done is done.”
“Will you end me here?” 'Y/n' took a threatening step closer to him until their chests nearly touched. “....Prophet?”
Jin swallowed down whatever he was going to say next with a gulp. The silence was so loud it weighed heavily like water, and drowned them just as such. Without warning, he crashed his palm to her forehead, something cool and metallic in his fist burning with his touch. Y/n yelped, her voice melting back into its normal tone with each passing second. As the sun began to rise, he gripped her shoulders, shaking them fervently to try and wake her up–the real her. The floor beneath her feet began to shake in time with his shoves, and a deep, guttural growl from below echoed through the hall and rattled the walls.
Jin brought his lips to her ear and whispered urgently into them. “Sleep, creature. I command you to sleep.” Y/n’s eyes melted back to their normal shade, though they grew heavy and slow. “And Y/n, for the love of god and all that is holy, do not find the prophet. Whatever they told you–don’t.” Y/n’s eyes began to close and she slumped into him as the growling grew in volume, and he shouldered open his bedroom door and shut it behind them. She was already falling to her knees with sleep, curling onto his floor near his door, sinking into unconsciousness.
He draped something cold over her face, a chain of beads that smelt of frankincense and roses, and laid his hand over the crown of her head. “You will wake when I tell you to.”
Y/n’s eyes could barely hold themselves open, stuck in a state of constant flickering between their normal shade and a bright glimmering gold, her voice torn between shredded and soft. “What is wrong with him, hmm?”
Jin lowered himself to sit with his back against his door so he could keep watch over her until he deemed fit. “He is damned.”
“No,” Y/n’s body released a ragged sigh, Candida’s spirit fighting with all its might to keep her awake. “He is not. He can’t be. I need him.”
“No you don’t.” Jin shook his head dejectedly.
“Yes, I do!” Candida brought her fists down onto the rug beneath her fists in a pathetic show of defiance, the mirror on his dresser rattling against the wall.
Jin straightened himself up, his eyes shining with new found resolution, and he crawled over to her to press two fingers to her forehead. “Sleep, Y/n. Go to sleep. Find G-min first. Please, don’t find the prophet.”
Y/n slumped down into a heap, and the vision flickered to blackness, the feeling of her friend's hands in hers returning slowly to her. Through the darkness, she heard an urgent whisper beckoning her forth back into the daydream, the air whistling into her ear sharply.
“Wake up!”
Y/n’s eyes shot open just as the vision of Jimin opening the door to her that morning started to replay, and she yanked her hands from her friends and took off for the stairs, ignoring their calls for her to come back. She skittered through the house until she found one of the notebooks she had purchased as well as one of the empty sketchbooks, returning to the table with her friends to scribble down every detail–every word or inflection she could. When everyone agreed on the recount of it all, she slid the sketch book over to Yoongi and the journal to Hoseok.
“That is the closest to answers we’ve ever gotten. I’m too fired up to go to sleep now.” Y/n scoped out the rest of the faces at the table. “All in favor of having another go?”
Yoongi and Hoseok raised their hands instantly, Taehyung was definitely more awake now–but not any less confused. They all looked at him and eagerly awaited his decision.
“I have no idea what we are doing but if it helps you all with your weird ghost shit and means I can stop having these visions–I’m in.” Taehyung relented, hands held up in surrender. “Just try and catch me up to speed on this a little bit before I’m unknowingly diving headfirst into something freaky, please.”
“Will do,” Y/n grinned, her excitement growing in her belly.
Yoongi took up the pen she had used to write out the memory of the vision and tapped it to the sketchbook paper. “While you two do that…In that vision, G-min had said something about drawings…” His eyes flickered up to Hoseok, raw vulnerability laced with determination. “I think I know what he wants. Let’s start there.”
For the next two days, it was all hands on deck. All seven of them would sit around the outdoor table, a circle of all of the assorted scented candles the rental had to offer used as makeshift protection circle, and Jungkook's intimidating presence enough to keep any ghostly stragglers away. Hoseok would channel G-min from the journal, drawing upon his friend's energies to push him as far as his body would let him. Then, when Hoseok would describe a vague painting or sketch that G-min was showing him, Yoongi would counter it with a roundabout date or time that Taehyung would try digging in further to see the artwork in its entirety.
Yoongi was precise in all of his estimates–never taking more than a few moments after Hoseok’s clunky descriptions to pull forth something for Taehyung to shoot for.
“It’s…some kind of like…some kind of blue blob with…eyes? Horns? Curvy lines?” Hoseok’s tone tilted upwards in a question at the end.
“Descriptive." Yoongi would click his tongue in dissaproval. "Hmm. That one was from the wintertime. It’s one of the few that I was able to take before all of his stuff went missing. I have it in one of my folders back home. I think the date on it was from 2009…January perhaps?” Yoongi turned to Taehyung next. “Is that enough?”
Taehyung rolled his eyes. “I mean a date would be best so I’m not just dropped into a random day–but I’ll give it my best shot.”
Yoongi took that as a challenge. “Fine. Try January 19th, 2009. See where that takes you.”
Namjoon was already waiting, one of his portable bottles of drowsy tincture in his hand that was stuffed in the bottom of his bag he had thought to grab before going to the hospital the first night. “Drink up.”
Taehyung opened his mouth just enough for a single drop to fall on his tongue, not enough to entirely knock him out into spiritual oblivion, but enough to send him into a dreamlike state. “Yeah yeah. There’s no way that he just pulled that from his–” Taehyung cut himself off, his cheek resting on the table and slurring his words together. “Well tickle me purple…it was the 19th.”
“Ew. Please never use that phrase again.” Y/n scrunched her nose in disgust while unlatching her colored pencil case. Jimin and Hoseok snickering at her comment, tossing in their own playful grievances with his choice of words which Yoongi quickly hushed so he could focus. Her, Jungkook, and Yoongi were on drawing duty. Meaning the three of them would do their best to each recreate one of the art pieces Taehyung would show them, that way they could do three at a time instead of one.
Jimin and Namjoon were used as conduits, their energy both feeding the depleted batteries of her friends and acting like the connecting pieces from Taehyung to Hoseok, and then to the artists on duty. As a team they made a machine that worked fluidly, taking breaks to fuel themselves only to go further than before when they returned.
Everyone felt the pressure. Time was closing in on them. Their stay was coming to a close the next day, meaning they would all have to return to the estate and hit the ground running with nothing but a collection of drawings, a journal, a new collection of Hawaiian shirts, and whatever they thought they knew before they left. The journal was invigorating to all of them–the kickstart their team needed to feel a semblance of control–to feel like they were doing something. Even Namjoon seemed to regain his drive, the thrill of progress and discovery reigniting him from within–he was a man of science after all, and he could never turn down a pursuit of knowledge. No matter how unorthodox this one may be. His friendly spark was back, and the warmth in his smiles and the rounded sound of his laugh during their evening campfires told her as such.
Yoongi on the other hand was shutting himself out. Each description from Hoseok or shared vision from Taehyung started a battle within him that Y/n could feel in his silence that stretched long into the evening. There was no way to imagine how it must feel to fight so hard to connect with a loved one, only for them to not mention you a single time. None of the drawings or visions were of him. They were mostly abstract pieces of color and shape with the occasional identifiable object thrown in it like a tree or an eye. None of them meaningful, none of them quite hitting the mark. Still, Yoongi put his faith in the process, sitting with his back bent over the sketchbooks and his face a perfectly poised mask of nonchalance or playful sarcasm day in and day out. But sitting so close to him made it impossible not to see the hope shrivel up from his eyes or the stiffness in his posture whenever Hoseok would describe just another blur of color, or another one of G-min’s older drawings. Hope that it would be him–hope that he would have something to say to him after all of this time.
As more and more drawings were produced, it became apparent that they weren’t all preexisting memories, but some were entirely new blends of color or charcoal that were given to Hoseok to describe–like it was G-min himself guiding him from the journal. This only stung more for Yoongi who had yet to have any direct contact with him himself.
Sunday evening came before they could blink, and with their bellies full, they all huddled about the table again as they had been. Each person fell into place with practiced ease, arms and hands overlapping like some kind of interconnected puzzle that made perfect sense to them and no one else. Hoseok took the journal in his hands, flipped through the pages, ran his fingers over the dog-eared corners, and followed the golden swirls on the cover with a pointed finger. And they all waited, pens and droppers at the ready.
Hoseok furrowed his brow, his fingers stilling on their path, and his jaw clenched for a few moments. This was not a part of their usual routine. He restarted his motions from the beginning and stopped with the same result. He opened his eyes and carefully lowered the journal back to the table.
“There’s nothing left.”
“What?” Yoongi looked from his hands to the journal. “There has to be more. There has to be. What we have doesn’t mean anything yet.”
Hoseok gave him a sympathetic shrug of his shoulders and a noise of agreement coming from the back of his throat. “I get that, but what I’m telling you is there’s nothing left. Zip. Nada.”
“Keep trying.” Yoongi challenged, taping the end of his pen against the paper in a blur of speed.
Hoseok shook his head, but still decided to humor him with another try. And he really tried–pushed himself until sweat beaded his brow and his hands flushed red and visibly radiated with heat. He opened his eyes with hissed curses, shaking his hands out like they burned. “Shit–Look man, I’m sorry. There’s nothing left.”
Namjoon stepped forward, picking up the stack of completed drawings and flipping through them, and Yoongi’s leg started to bounce enough to shake the table. “Maybe we aren’t looking at these the right way–maybe there’s something we missed. I’m sure there is more to this than meets the eye. They were so adamant about hiding this stuff from us, it can’t mean nothing. What if we look at it–”
Yoongi abruptly stood from the table, jostling the drinks and scattering the pile of colored pencils onto the ground. He snatched the journal from Hoseok and took off, long purposeful strides moving him across the lawn towards the trees, and when far enough away from them for his liking, he flung the journal on the ground and screamed. Not one that was high-pitched or forlorn–one anchored in fury, grief, and rage. It came from deep within his chest and clawed its way out. It must’ve hurt coming out as much as it had holding it in.
“Fuck! We were so close! Come back you coward!” Yoongi kicked the grass up beneath his feet with another outraged cry, throwing his head back to the sky and pointing a finger to the clouds as though they could hear him. “You come down and finish what you started! Mysterious rules be damned. You don’t just get to leave again!”
Y/n ran after him, grabbing his hands before he could bend down to fling the journal any further. “Why don't we take a deep breath and just-”
Yoongi wrenched his hands from her and stumbled a few steps back. “No! He needs to listen. He deserves to hear it!” He tipped his head back again and shouted with all of his might, and it was at that moment that Y/n could see the tears pooling in his lash line against his will, hot and uncontrollable. “This can’t be it! All the time I spent trying to find him and this is what he gives me.”
“Yoongs,” Y/n captured him in a crushing hug, holding his arms down against a fight he didn't have left in him to give. “I’m so sorry Yoongi.” His shoulders shook against her, and his next cry came out shuddered and broken.
“You got to see him. Hoseok got to see him. Jungkook got to see him. Hell, even Taehyung got to see him. But I didn’t.” He fell to his knees and dragged Y/n with him, turning so his head was buried in her shoulder, his hands gripping onto her hoodie like she too would fall away at any given moment. “He forgot about me again…” Y/n couldn’t do anything else but hold him. Even when little rocks dug in her knees or her legs felt numb, she stayed there. She refused to be the one to let go first.
Jungkook’s boots crunched over the grass when he approached, shifting from foot to foot above them, looking unsure and entirely out of his element. He lowered himself to the ground one knee at a time, hovering inches away from them, one of his hands suspended over Yoongi’s shoulder before he seemed to decide on letting it rest there.
His other hand grabbed for the journal, picking it up and running it open to one of the pages in the beginning. “I read my mom’s journals all of the time. To me it’s like I’m spending time with her–seeing her most vulnerable self. Something you have to do is remember that there’s a chance they never intended for you to read them in the first place. You can’t look for answers directed at you in a book they never thought you’d read. But sometimes if you look hard enough you can find yourself in there…” Jungkook lifted the book up and read a passage aloud.
“I’m stuck looking at my walls day in and day out. My friends are the loose nail above the door, and the spiders in the corners that spin their webs at night. This is the end of me, I’m afraid. Sometimes if I’m lucky, I can hear the ocean; and it speaks to me in tongues I used to know and reflects lovely pictures off its surface onto my walls so they seem less lonely. It gives me something better to look at while I wait for him to return with the tide the next day.”
Jungkook lowered the book back down to the ground and cleared his throat. “I know it’s not the same. I know it’s not what you had hoped to read or find. But you’re in here. Even when he didn’t know it was you–he put you in here because you meant something to him.”
Yoongi didn’t lift his head from Y/n’s shoulder, but she felt him take a deep breath, and felt the wetness pool on the fabric of her hoodie. After a few moments he sniffled and let out a weak chuckle.
“He was never good at saying he loved me outright anyways. Always had to be fucking weird about it.” Yoongi lifted his head enough to wipe his eyes. “Since when did you become so insightful, huh? Trying to take my job?”
Jungkook smiled, offering him the journal to take. “No. Just trying to be a better friend.”
Just as the words left his mouth, Jimin came swooping in, diving onto the grass beside them with a grace he could somehow always manage.
“Did I hear someone say group hug?”
“No, you didn’t. Literally no one said that you idiot. I thought you had super hearing?” Yoongi deadpanned, the stuffiness of his nose making his words less intimidating than he had hoped, and Y/n wanted nothing more than to pinch his cheeks and bring him in for another hug.
Jimin’s grin grew from friendly to teasing. “What was that? You said you wanted it?” he turned back over his shoulder to call out to the others still loitering on the lower deck. “Hey guys, Yoongi said he wants a group hug!”
“Don’t you dare!” Yoongi couldn’t make it a few inches before Y/n pulled him back into her chest with an uncontrollable giggle, Jimin throwing his arms over the two of them from the side and dragging Jungkook into it.
Taehyung came in next, a wide grin on his face as he joined in. “I know I don’t know you as well, but what better way to get to know each other~"
“Don’t worry, you fit right in. Just as grating and bothersome as the rest of them.” Yoongi grumbled from within the pile.
Hoseok came next, settling for just slinging one arm over the huddle. “This one sounds a hell of a lot nicer than my last group hug. Ya know, since it was with a demon. Gotta cleanse my palate.”
“Too bad, there is a demon in this hug and it’s ME.” Yoongi huffed.
“I guess it’s weird if I don’t join in,” Namjoon feigned an exaggerated sigh, his own smile showing just how much he was relishing in teasing Yoongi for once.
“See isn’t this nice, Yoongi?” Jimin sang up from the middle of the group.
“No, this is torture.” Yoongi hissed through his teeth, though for some reason he didn’t seem to be shoving them off as hard as he probably could. “Alright–alright ENOUGH! You’re suffocating me!”
He finally managed to free himself and stood up, shaking himself out like he wanted to rid himself of the residual touch of them surrounding him. “That was vile. Never do that again.” He turned to stomp off to the house, but the remaining group couldn’t help but howl out a few last teasing jabs at him when they noticed his ears were bright red, and he wasn’t crying anymore.
"He loved it~" Y/n said to Jimin from behind the cover of her hand, sharing mischievous laughter they couldn't stifle.
"No I didn't!" Yoongi shouted from the deck, ramming open the back door and slamming it closed behind him.
Hoseok gave them a knowing look. "He so did."
_________________________________________
Y/n tiptoed out onto the deck and into the porchlight, the sky black and littered with twinkling stars. Everyone else was in bed like they should be–as discovered by her nightly check–everyone except Yoongi. The deck was damp from the soft drizzle of rain, pushing her to move swiftly across the wood and down the stairs, pulling the throw blanket she had snatched from the living room tighter over her shoulders.
From over the banister she could see Yoongi reclined on the knitted hammock tied up between two of the closest trees with the thick stack of drawings discarded below him to shield them from the rain, letting the droplets spray across his cheeks and speckle his hair with his eyes closed. His lashes would twitch every now and then when a droplet much heavier than the rest landed too close to comfort, but otherwise, he looked like the textbook definition of a peaceful slumber. Y/n snuck closer, tugging at the blanket around her shoulders to bring it into her fists, fully prepared to toss it over him and leave him be.
Y/n winced, feeling guilty for waking him. “No bullshit here. Just trying to cover you up a bit so you don’t catch something.”
Yoongi exhaled sharply through his nose. “You? No bullshit? Color me surprised.”
Y/n rolled her eyes. “Believe it or not, I can be perfectly loving and gentle sometimes.”
“I’m choosing not to believe it.”
“Well, consider that a challenge.” Y/n let out a breathy chuckle and flung the blanket over him, taking the time to tuck in the edges with a little extra oomph than necessary. “See? Gentle and loving.”
"Geez, I think you're going to leave bruises with your 'gentleness.'" Yoongi cracked one eye open. “Why are you so persistent?”
“Invasive species, remember?” Y/n pointed to herself with a lopsided grin. “‘Persistent’ is in the job description.”
Yoongi let both eyes open to peer down his nose at her, watching her hands move around his outline in a much gentler manner to tuck the blankets in, his words accusing but his tone held no sharpness. “I’m not a child you know.”
“You don’t have to be a child to earn the right to be treated with gentleness.” Y/n let her grin melt into something softer, and booped his nose. “You should know that by now.” y/n let her gut guide her forwards, landing a tender kiss to his forehead while bringing the blanket up to his chin.
Yoongi gulped, his eyes glassy. “I thought I had to ask for that?”
“Not this time. Sometimes you just deserve it.”
There was a lull in their conversation, an empty space filled by the pitter-patter of rain against the leaves above them, and for a moment she had worried that she had pushed it too far. Y/n made a move to leave, but Yoongi stopped her with a clear of his throat.
“Wait-” He shimmied himself into a seated position so there was more room, letting his legs hang off the sides. “You can come sit for a bit if you’d like.”
“And I don’t have to ask first?”
“Nah. Like you said, sometimes you rarely deserve it.”
“That isn’t what I said,” Y/n giggled, plopping in the empty spot next to him, the nature of the hammock forcing them closer.
“I think it is exactly what you said. Are you doubting the psychic?” Yoongi stretched his arms up, letting one rest on the edge of the hammock behind her–the perfect display of nonchalance if it wasn’t for the bright pink color to his cheeks.
“I have reasons to be skeptical…" Y/n leaned into his side, resting her head on his shoulder. All of the humor had left her system–replaced with a rush of butterflies in her stomach that fluttered around her insides and set her heart to a new pace. She spoke again, her words coming out in a whisper. “Is this…Is this okay?”
Yoongi made a noise in the back of his throat that could be translated as agreeable, and the heel of his shoe tipped them back and forth in a soothing rock. Raindrops gained in speed and size, the boughs of the oak and pine trees over them blocking most of it from giving them an impromptu shower. Y/n wondered if she should say something to him–maybe offer him words of comfort or reassurance. A pep talk to encourage him to keep going with their efforts. But she wasn’t sure what he wanted to hear, or if he even wanted to talk about it at all. He was always better at knowing what to say to her and not the other way around in her opinion. Instead, she settled for some kind of middle ground first.
“So I’ve been meaning to ask…” She started easily. “Where did you guys hide Bear after we left to take Jungkook to the hospital?”
Yoongi blinked, then a small smile wormed its way on his face. “I thought you knew he was here.”
“What? Really?!”
“Yup.” Yoongi gave a couple of real squeaks of laughter. “I’m not surprised you haven’t heard from him. He and the other soldiers have been enjoying the modern-day privilege of streaming services having a fuck-ton of historical documentaries in the basement. I am a bit surprised you haven’t even tried to explore the basement during your zombie walks.”
Y/n’s jaw was still hung open in shock. “There’s a basement?”
That made Yoongi laugh hard enough to fall forwards, making the hammock swing dramatically back enough to make her clutch his hoodie to keep from falling off. “You booked this place and didn’t even know there was a basement?!”
“Where’s the entrance???”
“Near the hallway closet with all of the cleaning supplies.” Yoongi smirked. “Not that you’d know where that is either.”
“Oh. No wonder I didn't know. I just assumed it was another linen closet or something.”
They fell back into another comfortable silence that felt a bit less stiff now that they had shared a good laugh. The silence let her doubts creep back in again, her mind racing to come up with some kind of way to offer her support for what happened earlier with the journal. Yoongi was never beating the mind reading allegations to her, breaking the ice into the topic smoothly so she wouldn’t have to.
“I’m sorry about my outburst earlier. I should have handled that shit on my own. It wasn’t productive, and it wasted the time we could have spent planning out any next steps.”
“Why are you apologizing to me?” Y/n furrowed her brows. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. You’re allowed to get upset and have big feelings sometimes too. Lord knows I do it enough…”
Yoongi snorted softly, procuring a few of the drawings from the stack below them and looking over them again. “Yeah well, That was before we were on a time crunch. We have less than 24 hours before we have to pack up and head home with almost no fucking idea what we are going to do once we get there. And I was the one that drove everyone on this wild goose chase with my grandfather to begin with. I should’ve handled it better.”
“I think we could all use a day off anyway. We’ve been at it nonstop for three days. Maybe jumping back in tomorrow morning with fresh eyes will do us some good.”
Yoongi mulled over what she said, the arm behind her inching closer to rest over her shoulders, being pulled by gravity from the swing of the hammock. In his other hand he flipped to the next drawing and stared dully into the dark charcoal blob with white and gray squiggles etched into the blackness. “Maybe.”
“You’re smart Yoongi. You’re an engineer and a future architect for starters. You are kind, emotionally intelligent, loyal–but one thing you do too much is close yourself off and beat yourself up for mistakes that anyone could make. You yell at me for doing that all of the time–you can’t be an exception to your own morals. Ever. You have to give yourself that grace.” Y/n wriggled her arm that was squished between them behind his back and around his waist in a side hug. “As for everything else–we just keep trying. Keep pushing. I know we can handle it if we work together. Plus, we still have that mystery thing I’m going to get from Jin. Who knows? Maybe whatever the fuck it is will be a major piece to the puzzle of whatever the hell is going on. And we have so many talented friends to help us now too. Even with how bad it all seems right now, I have no fear that we will figure something out.”
Yoongi opened his mouth to smear doubt onto something she said when he froze, mouth open and eyes swirling with almost a hundred thoughts per second. “Wait–what did you say?”
“Together we can figure something out…?” Y/n tried hesitantly.
“No. Before that. With Jin.” Yoongi looked urgent now.
“That his weird mysterious pouch might be the missing puzzle piece we need to figure out all this fuck-shit?”
Yoongi’s face twisted with a sudden realization. “That’s it…That’s-” Yoongi was on his feet in an instant, sweeping up the drawings into his arms and darting through the rain with the blanket hanging off his shoulders like a cape.
“What is?!” Y/n was up and after him, matching his pace up the stairs and into the house.
“It’s a puzzle. I’m such a fucking idiot. I should have seen it sooner.” Yoongi skirted to a halt at the dining room table, using his arm to swipe off any clutter onto the floor and dumped the drawings in its place. “Back when I was a kid and he was teaching me to draw, he would break down the subjects into quadrants and we would each draw two. Then we’d tape them together like a puzzle. It was an exercise used to build stable basics of composition.” His hands started a hasty filter through the pages, staining his fingertips gray with led. “When he got old and started to lose himself, I would offer to do it with him again to busy his mind–except bigger–think six to eight pieces instead of four. Then I’d hang the finished piece on his wall until we made a new one together.” His hands were shaking as he matched color with color or shape with shape. “And if what they said in your vision had Bear’s letter is true about there being some set of rules preventing them from intervening–from saying something-”
“-Then he would try and tell you in a way that only you would understand…” Y/n finished for him with wide eyes.
“Exactly.” Yoongi’s face was closer than ever, and he held out a stack of drawings for her to sift through. “You planning on going to bed again, or…” He wiggled the drawings in front of her like he already knew the answer.
“Fuck no. Do you even know me?” Y/n exclaimed, ripping the stack from his hand and categorizing the first few she saw by color.
The two of them wound themselves around the table countless times, holding up drawings and trying to piece together where they fit best. It was like doing a puzzle with no reference photo–you just had to hope that you were on the right path each time you placed two next to each other that might fit. Yoongi was the best teammate she could ask for, evenly spoken and the epitome of calm, never assuming he was right and always asking for her input. Dawn was approaching quickly on their last day, and when the first rays of sun filtered through the windows onto the table, Y/n had an epiphany of her own when part of the picture started to resemble a basin of sorts, the rippling pattern and the strange “snake” that they had put together off to the side looking familiar.
“Wait–I think I recognize this part of it….” Y/n flew into action, directing a page here and or a colored picture there–and with Yoongi’s help, she lifted the snaking black shape they had taped together into the bottom center of the puzzle where it belonged.
Y/n’s pulse thrummed beneath her skin that felt alight with energy. She too began to shake from the rush of it all, and the room felt like it was whirring around her. Like they were on the precipice of something important. The rest of the pages fell into place after her discovery, and in minutes the image was revealed to them in all of its dark and twisted glory.
It was a collage piece, clunky and awkward with imperfect lines, pages shaded only in led alternating with those drawn in color. All of the strange jagged lines formed towering pines, and the abstract colorful blobs made a glittering surface of water which the plant life surrounded, detailed with swirling lines to show the violent flow of moment. That which they had called a snake, was a neck–the same wiggled black neck of a black and white bird she had seen in Yoongi’s memory–attached to a round body that struggled upon the surface of the lake with its wings flapping about wildly above the surface of the water. The bird's one large white eye stared wide open back at them from the table, shining with terror in an almost human-like way; the physical presence it left on her made her skin crawl. It didn't help that its small head was cracked open down the middle, spewing black droplets down into the lake in a much more grotesque version of the drawing she had seen him make before.
The longer she looked at the disturbing image, the more she saw. Some of the bushes and tree trunks looked humanoid–their dark figures circling the river bank to watch the bird’s freight. At the waters edge, a lumpy shape that could either be a rock or a person crouched with their hands dipped in the water–she wasn’t sure–but within the shading of it she could almost make out a mouth hung wide in misery and two eyes dribbling black lines down into the water.
It was then she realized that while she was focused on all of the small details around the background she had missed the biggest piece of all. The bird, with its elegant elongated neck and white tipped feathers—was a goose.
“Y/n–” Yoongi rasped, hand coming out to grasp at her wrist fervently.
“I know.” Y/n was barely able to get the words out. “I see it too.”
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, stealing her from the hazy space she was sinking into, and she tugged it out on autopilot.
[Jin 🛎️]: Good morning. I’m ready to hold up my end of the bargain. Hoseok will know where to find me. I’ll see you tonight.
The rest of the day was a blur. She didn’t remember packing up the car, or buckling herself into the passenger seat of Jimin’s jeep with Hoseok at the wheel. Even the luscious scenery that which any other time would pull her in with its beauty did nothing to her. The only thing she could think of was the goose on the lake, and its one terrified eye staring straight through her. For once, she didn’t let herself jump to any conclusions. She didn’t make any theories. She didn’t think at all. There was no world in which she would let herself without any solid reasoning for the dismal path her mind was sure to fall to.
Jungkook and Jimin took up the back seat, the two of them unusually silent throughout the entire drive. Not a single peep erupted from them when she stepped out of the car as the sun was beginning to set in the church parking lot. The brownstone cathedral looked down at her with a vengeance, towered over her like a threat, and welcomed her like a weary traveler all at the same time. The nostalgic smell of old velvet lined chairs and dust wrapping around her like a vice, and the sound of a choir practicing nearby did little to soothe her troubles. With one look, she told them all to stay near the doors–to give them space. And they listened, taking up the wooden benches at the entrance while they waited.
Y/n found Jin instantly amongst the empty pews, his head bent in reverent prayer with his eyes closed, his hands clasping something tightly in his fists. The stiff carpet dampened the sound of her entrance, giving her plenty of time to prepare herself for whatever it was he was about to give her. Jin lifted his head up slowly, gazing distantly at the choir at the front, then as if knowing she was there, turned his head to where she stood, imploring her further inward.
“You come here often?” Y/n spoke lowly to him, cringing as she realized what she had said.
“I do,” Jin brushed over her clumsy introduction smoothly. “It helps me clear my head a bit.”
Y/n sat next to him on the pew, her eyes trained forwards. “So. Our deal.”
“Right.” Jin thumbed over whatever it was that he held in his hand. “This part comes with instructions.”
“I thought they both did–hence the vacation.”
“Yes–but this one comes with its own separate instructions. And it is crucial that you listen to them.” Jin sounded earnest, if not a little desperate.
Y/n crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ll hear you out at least. But no promises.”
“When I give you this-” he opened his clasped hands and hung the velvet pouch from his fingers delicately, “-you can’t open it right away. You can’t, it's not safe. Everything about what I’m going to give you needs to be done in a very particular way.”
“And when can I open it then?”
“Friday. You’ll know what time and where.”
“Friday? Why-” Y/n choked on her own words and her eyes bulged out of her skull. She fumbled for her phone to check the date, doing a series of mental math in her head and the world stopped spinning around her. Friday was the fourth. The fourth of July. The day her sister died. Everything faded out of focus to her. And all at once, nothing mattered to her more than the date and the drawing of the goose on the water
“And why would I do that, did you know what we were going to find in the journal?” Y/n turned to lock eyes with him, her voice quivering. “What reason would I have to follow these instructions? Why is this so important all of the sudden?”
“Do you want to understand everything or not?” Jin suddenly snapped, the cutting edge entirely out of character for him. Guilt already flashed through his eyes within seconds of the words leaving his mouth, but he persevered. “This has always been important. I’m really sticking my neck out for you because I think it’s the right thing to do. Don’t prove me wrong.”
Y/n’s heart hammered in her ears, and she gulped down her nerves to save face. “What does that mean?”
Jin didn’t answer right away, joining her in looking forwards and away from her. “I know I have no right to ask you for a favor-”
“You don’t.” Y/n cut him off.
“But I’m going to.” Jin continued anyway. “When you go in, if you see her–the real her–tell her I’m sorry. Tell her I tried my best.” The way he looked at her tore a hole right through her chest, and left a cavernous gaping hole where her heart should be. No. No no no no.
“Jin–”
“I have rooms booked for the group of you in the hotel so you won't have to stay in the house until then. They are under my name. I already had them…prepared for you. If you need anything else, feel free to fix it how you see fit.” Jin stood, his eyes glistening with tears. She stood as well to block his exit, and he grabbed her hands and dropped the bulging pouch into them, gently curling her fingers down around the fabric, speaking with a voice so strangled she thought he might choke. “Please don’t hate me more than you already do. I tried my best to take care of all of you–I really did. I’m sorry that I failed.” With that, he turned and sidled out the other end of the pew, disappearing out one of the side doors before she could say anything else.
_________________________________________
The hotel was decorated to the nines since they had been gone. Red, white and blue ribbons and floral arrangements; bright, extravagant lights and decorations strewn from every lamppost and shrub; no expense was spared in making the property light up from every corner. The ballroom around the back side of the hotel was pulsing with music and lights, as every night during the week of The Fourth they held parties and celebrations for both the guests and the local community to take part in, each finished off at the end of the night with a firework show even bigger than the last. And with it being the 150th anniversary, they of course pulled out all of the stops. Each party kept her up late into the night with its deafening music and joyous laughter even from a dozen floors away. Tonight, it was the loudest and most lavish one yet. Tables were set up on the front lawns to welcome all who wanted to partake in the celebration, fully supplied with free cookout-style food and ice cream sundaes to any and all who decided to make the drive up. It was bright, it was joyous–it was high-spirited and vivacious down to the smallest piece of glow-in-the-dark biodegradable confetti. It was everything she wasn’t.
It was Thursday, the third of July. The second to last party of the week, and the second most grand of them all. The days that had passed until now moved like molasses. Most of which she spent locked away in her hotel room with Jungkook when he wasn’t escorting one of the others around. The protection they wore was amped up to the hundreds, not a single one of them didn’t walk around without smelling like they had taken a bath in an herbal teashop or with a dozen trinkets draped on necklaces and stuffed in pockets.
None of them braved the estate. Y/n most opposed of it to all of them.
Time was running through her fingers no matter how intently she tried to make it stop, the clock already reading close to seven-thirty. Y/n sat on the edge of her bed, staring at it, her leg bouncing out of control while she waited for them all to meet up in her shared family suite that she split between Jungkook, Jimin, and Yoongi. The latter often did his best to keep her company in the main living area during the evenings when she couldn’t sleep, never criticizing her for how long she spent curled up on the couch with the pouch in her hand–never opened.
Taehyung and Hoseok were the ones in charge of grabbing them all something to eat that night, as the rest of them were absolutely slammed with work because of the influx of guests and tasks they needed to catch up on from their break. It was the new routine for all of them to come back from work late, bone tired with just enough energy to wash their day away in a hot shower, shovel a bite to eat down their throats, and then crawl into their beds to sleep on command. Y/n wondered if it was purposeful sometimes–if it was their own way of dealing with whatever it was they were about to uncover.
They gathered around the coffee table for their meal closer to eight, their food mostly untouched and the conversation dreary. No one had an appetite. For the first time since all of this had started, Y/n found herself dreading the plan they had set. Yet still however hard she tried to stay in the moment, it approached faster like she was riding a rollercoaster up to the top of the biggest hill that she was strapped in against her will. Tonight was the night they were to move.
Or the morning, depending on how you looked at it.
Jin was accurate in not needing to give her more information than he did. She knew exactly where to go from G-min’s drawing, and exactly what time to get there by. It was the same location, the same date, and the same time that had plagued their family for years. Y/n kicked herself for being so caught off guard. For scrambling so much. She knew almost since the beginning that she would need to face her sister in one way or another–Yoongi had said it himself awhile back. She was important. She meant something.
She just never imagined it would feel like this.
Y/n placed her fork to the side on a napkin. Her nonexistent appetite foiled again by her churning stomach. “I think I’m done. I should probably try and take a nap since we have to be up so…Early.”
Hoseok nodded in agreement. “Same here. I don’t think the empanada's are agreeing with me tonight.”
Jungkook’s dark eyes flitted between the two of them, concerned. “You guys should try to eat. We will all need energy.”
“I have enough energy.” Y/n dismissed with a wave. “I just want to lay down.”
“Do we want to meet up here first at 2:30, or in the lobby? We never really decided.” Namjoon asked before she could fully take her leave, causing her to pause.
“Wherever.”
Y/n knew she was being too passive, but she couldn’t bring herself to make any kind of decision. Not right now when her brain had run itself to mush to keep it from conjuring up visions of what was to come. Truth be told, the last thing she wanted to do was separate from everyone. She wanted to return to the idealized summer they had gotten to have the weeks prior where they all stayed up late together, and they were all within reach of her wandering feet to check on. But she needed to sit in a dark room with her eyes closed. Maybe sleep would give her relief from the suspense that ate at her insides and left her restless and stuck in a state of inaction.
“You guys decide. Someone can fill me in in the morning.”
Y/n hid herself away in the shared room, not even bothering to care which person’s bed she let herself dive into. After some time, she did start to drift off somewhere between sleep and consciousness, only partially aware of her surroundings–but enough to hear the soft shuffle of Jimin’s light tread across the carpet, and the clink of something metallic being set atop the end table to her left.
“I’m alright. Just sleeping….” She blubbered out from the plush of the pillow she was smooshed against. “Did you guys figure out the rest of the plan?”
Jimin didn’t answer, but he continued to fiddle with something on the end table, the sound grating on her nerves. She had just finally fallen asleep…
“Do you need somethin-” Y/n lifted her head to glare at him, but her words were caught in her throat. “Holy shit…”
A woman stood at her end table, older in face with long hair wavy and thin in a way she hadn’t really seen on her before, but her eyes were recognizable. Her energy undeniable. Adelaide looked nothing like the photos she had seen of her younger years, but Y/n could never forget her eyes. She would recognize them anywhere. She looked down at her with the kind of sharpness only an older woman who was tired of everyone else’s bullshit could muster, one wrinkled finger pressed onto the object she was messing with on the end table.
“You…You’re…how…” Y/n stuttered up to the older woman in awe. “Where have you been?”
Adelaide pressed her lips together and held one finger up to them to silence her with a minute shake of her head, then gestured down to the object. It was a single bell that had lavender and pine threaded through the loop in the back, the aroma of the two smacking her in the face. Beneath it was a sheet of paper that had been folded small enough to hide away from prying eyes. Circling the entire ensemble was a thin wreath of woven rosemary, like a birds nest and the bell was the egg. Adelaide lifted the creation into her fist and held it out to her, and when Y/n took it, she closed their fists around it tightly, encasing Y/n’s hands in her own for a few seconds longer.
With one last firm shake of her hand, she gave Y/n a look that could only be described as solemn ambivalence, and faded into the blackness of her room. Y/n leapt up after her, fist still clenched around the charm, and burst through the door into the shared space to find her friends still loitering around the room having a hushed discussion she had clearly interrupted. She could not have been gone for more than half an hour.
“Jungkook! In the room-” She didn’t even have to finish her sentence before he was on his feet and scoping out the bedroom. She must’ve looked just as rattled as she felt. When he came back out shortly after with a shake of his head, he enveloped her hands in his until she dropped what she was holding in his to see. “Adelaide was in there. She was–I’ve never seen her before. She gave this to me.”
Namjoon rushed to put his drink on a side table, coming up to them to take a look at what was in their hands. He plucked them up, letting the note flutter back down into her hand, and inspected it in the light from the lamp. “The bell looks like some kind of charm. But the ring of rosemary…that’s usually used in-” He cut himself off with a frown, biting his cheek and looking over her with worry–like he was worried about upsetting her with whatever it was she was going to say next.
“It’s okay. You can say it.” Y/n encouraged him, crushing the piece of paper in her hands as she curled them into fists to ground herself for his answer.
Namjoon grimaced, keeping a watchful eye on her as he spoke. “It’s historically used in funerals. For remembrance."
Y/n looked down at her palm where the now crumpled piece of paper lay, her dinner threatening to make a second appearance, and peeled it open with two fingers.
‘To remember what was and will be lost for how we once knew it. I encourage you to stay strong, Entlein. May you do what I could not.’
Y/n didn’t show them what it said, and she didn’t return to bed. Instead she clutched the paper in her fist and pressed herself into Jungkook’s side on one of the couches while the rest of them tried to continue where they left off, pretending not to cast her worried glances over the lip of their beverages that begged her to share what she had read. But she couldn’t.
The only thing she could think of when she read the note was of her introduction with Bea at Adelaide a few months back. Of her white dress, her promiscuous demeanor, and the way she had insinuated that one of them smelled of death. Like one of them was doomed to die.
Y/n’s fist that held the paper shook. She’d be damned if she let anything happen to anyone tonight. Damned if any of them got hurt more than they already had. This was her fight. It was her game to play.
But she couldn’t play it alone. Fate had a way of being cruel like that. Especially now, as she watch Taehyung’s drink inch to the bottom of his cup, and Hoseok hadn’t take a sip from his in quite some time. The inevitable hanging on the edge of their tongues and in the shift of their posture where they sat. They were getting ready to leave for the night.
Which meant they were one step closer to the unknown.
Y/n had to pretend to fall asleep against Jungkook’s shoulder before they left so she wouldn’t have to watch them all go. It was her best attempt to keep her fears under control. An attempt not well made, she understood, when she had laid down in bed and still felt her fists wound shut with tension and her jaw clenched so tightly her molars ached.
“What can I do to help you?” Jungkook whispered to her in the darkness, skipping the obvious question of ‘what’s wrong?’ in favor of getting straight to the point.
“I don’t know,” Y/n admitted weakly, her throat closing in around itself and her breath stuttering with a quiet sob. “I’m scared.”
Jungkook shifted next to her so he was facing her, one hand coming up to rest on her cheek to tip her face towards his. “I know.” He chewed on his lower lip for a moment, just looking at her with eyes so dark they stood out from the shadows of the room. “Do you remember what I said, way back when you first got here?”
Y/n thought back to their first real conversation in his room when she had begged him to take her to Yoongi. She recalled his strange rules, the first impression of his ever-changing eyes that had become so mundane to her now, and his stern protest. “You’re going to have to be more specific. You made a lot of demands that day.”
He blinked at her, unimpressed, and clarified further. “Before I took you to Yoongi. I gave you a set of conditions.”
“Almost all of which I’ve broken by the way.” Y/n managed a broken laugh.
Jungkook beamed down at her softly. “I’m aware.”
“And you still let me be. Look at you, growing and adapting.” She pinched his cheek in a teasing manner, to which he grabbed her wrist to pull her hand away with a sigh.
“Okay, enough.” He held her hand between them, interlacing their fingers together. “But do you remember my last rule?” Y/n shook her head honestly, and Jungkook pressed a soft kiss to one of her fingertips in response. “I made you promise that if you ever felt scared, or if it ever felt like too much, that you’d tell me. And I still mean that.”
Y/n’s breath hitched. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that whatever call you need to make, I’m here for you. I won’t say I told you so, or I won’t pressure you one way or the other. I mean it.” He looked down at her earnestly, pressing another kiss to her knuckles.
Y/n felt more tears well up in her eyes. He truly had come so far, and here she was, still a blubbering confused mess. “Okay.” She whispered up to him. “I’ll remember that.”
A few more beats of silence passed, but still Y/n didn’t feel like she would be able to sleep anytime soon. The note still bounced around her skull and her nerves hissed vile lies and brutal fantasies of what could happen to her or her friends. What could be happening to them now. Y/n suddenly rolled over in their bed and grasped for her phone, pulling open their group chat and typing out a message in a moment of vulnerability.
[Morning Glory 🌼]: I can’t sleep. I’m terrified about what’s about to happen. I can't stop thinking that something is happening to all of you whenever I’m not looking, and not being able to check on all of you is killing me.
[Morning Glory 🌼]:....Sleepover?
Y/n threw her phone under her pillow and rolled back over, regret flooding through her system at sending such a juvenile request. Most of them had probably already passed out the moment their heads hit the pillow. She heard her phone buzz a few times, and Jungkook’s face was lit up from his own phone as he checked the messages and sent a couple of his own. He sniffed, then abruptly got out of bed and opened the door, pausing with a look back at her.
“Are you coming to help?”
“Help with what?” Y/n sat up slowly.
Her answer came as a knock from the main door, and Jungkook slipped out to answer it. Y/n, confused, followed after him, her eyes nearly bulging out of her skull as Taehyung and Namjoon were in the process of dragging in a fucking mattress from the room across the hall.
“What the fuck are you guys doing?” Y/n gasped, rushing over to help pivot it into the living space.
“Sleepover.” Taehyung shrugged with a boxy grin.
“What–did you expect us all to sleep on the floor? At this age?” Namjoon snorted.
“We aren’t that old, Joon.” Y/n shook her head with a bewildered laugh. “Honestly, I didn’t expect anyone to respond at all.”
“Your first mistake.” Hoseok chirped from behind them, dressed in a pair of sleep shorts and a loose fitting t-shirt. “You think any of us can sleep tonight?”
“Some of us are trying to!” Yoongi scowled from the doorway into his room, arms crossed and leaned up against the door frame. “What is all of this–why is everyone suddenly moving in.”
“Sleepover~” The rest of them called out to him in unison.
He rolled his eyes, walking over to help Taehyung and Namjoon steer the mattress into the shared bedroom. “Of course, silly me. How obvious. The one time I don’t check my goddamn phone you guys are smuggling mattresses…”
Poor Jimin was awoken by the group of them pushing his bed against hers and Jungkook's, sliding them against the wall to make room for everyone else’s, and he moved in a sleepy stupor helping everyone lug pillows and blankets over from their rooms with his eyes still closed. And after half an hour of them playing real-life tetris with a total of four plush mattresses and one air mattress, they had situated everyone just right to have their own spot to sleep.
Y/n’s cheeks hurt from laughing, and her wrists ached from carrying an ungodly amount of bedding and tucking sheets and pillows onto the corners of beds. But she wouldn’t have it any other way. Not when she could see them all, some of them curled on their sides with their nose buried on their phone, or their chests rising and falling in slow breaths, their presence making the weight of the next few hours feel so far away. She let one hand dangle down the side of her bed to the floor, her other one tossed over Jungkook and held by Jimin on the other side of him. Below her she watched Hoseok scroll mindlessly on social media, and she flapped her hand in front of his face to silently get his attention.
He quirked a brow up at her, mouthing a quick ‘what?’, and instead of answering, she grabbed for one of his hands and interlaced their fingers, swinging them back and forth through the air with a syrupy smile.
“Just wanted to hold your hand.” She whispered down to him.
He stared up at her, running his tongue over his bottom lip slowly as he took her in. “You sure?”
“Yep.” Y/n nuzzled her face down into her pillow, satisfied with watching the colors from his phone dance across his cheeks. That was until he the device slipped from his hand and landed square on his face, and Y/n had trouble stifling her giggles in her pillow, the two of them fighting for their lives to stay quiet in respect to their friends.
“Whoever is giggling–knock it off.” They didn’t do a good enough job according to Yoongi’s huffing and puffing from across the room, only spurring them on to laugh even harder.
Y/n’s face was hot, her stomach hurt in a good way this time, and she felt warm. So entirely warm in her chest that it lulled her to sleep within minutes of them finally reigning in their laughter.
_________________________________________
Everything felt charged to the max. The previously cheerful atmosphere their sleeping arrangements had created were long gone once the first alarm had gone off on someone's phone only three hours later.
Doom was all Y/n felt.
With bags packed, the seven of them set out of the hotel and across the grass, the distant thunder of fireworks from surrounding cities still popping through the sky even though the Hotel’s had finished long before they had gone to bed. The forest bent and swayed around them like it was alive, whispering down to them through the rustle of leaves in a prayer of protection.
Y/n’s hands were damp with sweat around the metal handle of the flashlight she held, and she forced herself to just focus on the bouncing of the light across the trees and the dirt path instead of the velvet pouch she held in her other hand, her fingers itching to just pry it open already and get this over with.
It took them a bit longer than usual to trek the path, the group of them taking their time to watch out for dangers of both the paranormal and natural nature. The reason the E.R had believed their bear story easy enough should give them a reason to be on guard for more than just ghosts. Not to mention, the soldiers were mostly out of commission. They weren’t lying to Jimin when they had said that the anniversary of their battles messed them up–their brains scattered, half of them still in the present and the other half trapped in a bloody battle that had long since passed.
Discussion was minimal. There wasn’t much for any of them to say. Nothing much any of them could say.
Y/n heard the hollow lapping of the lake against the dock before she saw it over the small hill. Goosebumps fanned out across her skin, and her feet sank into the dirt below her feet before she had even realized she had stopped moving. Namjoon came up beside her first, a firm hand clapping down on her shoulder to give her a reassuring shake, and a sympathetic nod of his head as he stepped forwards over the hill first, disappearing down the other side and out of her sight.
Jimin came beside her, slipping his hand in hers and giving it a strong squeeze. “We are all here with you. We all understand. Take your time.” He leant over to press a kiss to her cheek, then followed after Namjoon. Yoongi went next, he didn’t say anything, he just angled her flashlight higher so it covered more area, his hand lingering over hers just a second too long. Hoseok and Taehyung left with him, offering their own wordless gestures of support and giving her and Jungkook a moment alone on the other side.
Y/n turned to face Jungkook, using a shaky hand to push a face framing lock of hair from his cheek to rest behind his ear. His hair was so long he had to tie some of it up again to keep from falling in his eyes, a backpack slung over his black t-shirt, and his dark jean pockets overflowing with flower petals and sticks of incense. Without the plant matter, she could almost pretend they were two lovers in college, walking in the woods late at night without a care in the world. Maybe the flowers would be for her and not to keep away demonic relatives and monstrous creatures. But that wasn't the reality they lived in.
“You still doing okay?” Jungkook checked in, spinning the flashlight around in his hand a few times.
Y/n looked over the hill, listened to the gentle motions of the water and the distinct chatter of her friends as they prepared a spot for their session, and smelt the wet air and moist dirt around them. She wasn’t okay. Nothing about this made her feel okay. None of that mattered right now, she had to remind herself. So without trusting her voice, she nodded, and grabbed his hand to lead them both over the hill to the body of water that awaited them below.
She was at a standstill again at the bottom, locked in a trance of watching the tiny waves roll over one another in their lazy race to the embankment. No one held it against her, moving around her as though she wasn’t even there, setting up the blankets and candles, lining it with protective sigils and crystals, charms, and homemade protective spells. Y/n couldn’t say how much time had passed. All she could think about was how dark it was without her flashlight. How scary it must’ve been for her sister to come here all alone all those many years ago.
Enough time had passed for them to bless their small corner of the lakeside, and Yoongi came up to stand in front of her and tear her from her thoughts, pinching his lip between his teeth. “We are ready for you then, whenever you are.”
Y/n felt herself nod, and she swallowed down the tears that had unknowingly threatened to spill, stepping over to the blankets where the others were already seated. She couldn’t sit yet, she was too restless–so instead she hovered over them, standing on the edge of the circle so she was just within its confines, running her fingers over the velvet exterior of the pouch. Since the moment he had shown this thing to her, she had wanted to rip it open like an animal and pour through its contents, yet now all she felt was reluctance to do that very thing. The pouch fluttered in her hands, its energy pulsing and fluttering akin to a small bird. A part of her knew something in here was going to break her.
With a deep breath, she pried her fingers into the small cinched opening, and wrestled it open. Time moved in slow motion–or maybe it was her moving that slow, delaying the inevitable. With the top opened, she shook the contents out into her awaiting palm, observing each item carefully. First, came a collection of woodchips, after which came a tiny rainbow-beaded bracelet with a shiny silver butterfly charm. But the last item was stubborn, and needed assistance coming out. She stuck two fingers in, pinching them around something made of fabric and unsheathing it with a shaky breath.
It was a handsewn pouch made of the vibrant floral pattern that had belonged to her sister’s bedspread, and when Y/n flipped open the lip of it, out fell two small decaying teeth that clattered on top of the wood chips, and a clump of hair tied together with a black ribbon. She wanted to scream, her mouth opened to do just that though no sound came out to give her that release. She had no choice but to just stare at them in horror and lower herself robotically down to sit next to them, her trembling hand outstretched to the middle of the circle so they could see.
“Jesus Christ,” Yoongi cursed, scooping them out of her hand to rescue her from the weight of them and dumping them into the center bowl. “That’s fucking foul.”
Y/n couldn’t take her eyes off of them as they interlocked hands and wrists, Hoseok’s right hand inched forwards to dip his fingers into the bowl with a curled lip. “This by far has got to be the worst one I’ve ever had to do.”
Taehyung nervously licked his lips, tearing his eyes away from it to look to Y/n. “What time?” Y/n just blinked at him, lost. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably, nodding towards the bowl with a carefully curated expression of calmness. “What time?”
It was then that Y/n realized that Taehyung was the only one that wasn’t there for it–the only one that didn’t know the story in and out or hold scars from its memory. “Three thirty in the morning. Approximately.” Y/n rushed to answer, her voice already warbled with emotion.
Taehyung nodded, and the seven of them let their eyes fall closed, waiting for the visions to start. The suspense crushed her insides, offering her no moments rest, no breath to steady herself. She braced for the first image of her sister to flash behind her eyelids so she wouldn’t cry too loud.
But nothing came.
“Should we call upon her?” Yoongi broke the tense silence.
“Maybe. I’m sensing her energy but it’s just not–she just won't come out.” Hoseok grit his teeth and pressed his hand further in the bowl.
“Maybe we can try again?” Taehyung suggested. “It might take a couple tries.”
Silence fell over them again, and Hoseok prodded through the sensations the items offered intently, filtering through them to find one strong enough to pull from. Y/n could feel the pull inside of her, warming her insides and guiding her forwards with the same rapid beat the pouch had possessed. Against what she knew, a voice in her head told her to open her eyes, her gut drawing her to look for the something on her radar that rang alarm bells in her head. And she listened.
While all of her friends were still locked in a focused trance with their eyes closed, Y/n’s scanned the perimeter of the lake, searching for whatever was calling to her intuition and pulling her closer like a magnet. She skirted over the lake for the second time, and a flash of moment beneath the surface stole her attention.
Matilda’s small head surfaced from the water, her black eyes glowering across the way at her. Hateful. Frightening.
Beckoning.
Fear, cold and all-consuming took over her senses. Y/n thought back to how her sister must have have felt that night. Did she feel this kind of fear? Did she feel none at all? Was she brave in the face of pitch black forests and the dark abyss that she felt safe enough to come to alone? Matilda’s stare pierced through her and prickled at her skin like needles. Y/n could feel her. Feel the request her ghostly glare made.
“Come find me, Ente.”
If her sister could be brave in the face of something so frightening when so little, then so could she.
Y/n moved in a dreamlike state, rising to her feet and stepping over Yoongi and Hoseok towards the waters edge, leaving the protective circle behind her. Matilda didn’t move towards her, she let Y/n make the first move.
Jungkook was grabbing at her shoulder and yanking her backwards, eyes ablaze with indignation. “Y/n. No.”
“I need to,” Y/n pleaded, the tears she fought so hard to keep at bay falling quickly down her cheeks. “This is how she wants to show me.”
“Absolutely not.”
“You said I could make the call,” She countered, looking forlornly back at the waters edge. “And I’m making the call. I know you won’t let anything happen to me.”
Jungkook sighed sharply through his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. “Fine.”
The group started to move the candles towards the dock, but Y/n stopped them. “No candles. No blanket.”
“Y/n if you think we are going to let you just wade into the water without any protection because your demonic sister said so, you’ve lost your fucking mind.” Yoongi spat at her, hands full of crystals and protective satchels.
“That’s exactly what I expect you to do!” Y/n shouted back, breath hitching each time she tried to catch it. “She didn’t get to have any of that while she was out here. It’s not fair that I do.” Yoongi stared her down, eyes narrowed while the rest of them awaited further command, but Y/n wouldn't budge. Y/n couldn’t explain what she was doing, but she knew that it felt right.
“Snuff out the candles.” Yoongi relented under his breath.
“Are you serious?” Namjoon got to his knees looking like he wanted to swing.
“I said snuff out the candles. Fuck.” Yoongi tossed the stuff in his hands onto the ground and shucked off his jacket. “You can have it your way then. But I’ll be damned if you go in there alone.”
After a quick deliberation, none of them would be willing to let her go alone, all of them kicking off their shoes and wading in to about waist height for her to join them. Y/n followed her in her sister's footsteps, padding carefully down the dock until something told her to stop near the end and sit, letting her legs dangle over the edge and facing where she knew her friends were located
“Remember to keep your lights off.” Y/n shakily reminded them. “No matter what.”
“We know.” Hoseok reassured her. “Just get in so we know where you are.”
Y/n planted two hands on the dock and got ready to lower herself in, taking a moment to look out into the vast nothingness, for without their flashlights there was truly no light except for the stars from above and the far off flash of rogue fireworks over the tree tops. She let the night time breeze birth new goosebumps over her skin and send shivers down her spine. She imagined that her friends weren’t only a handful of feet away–imagined what it felt like to be there entirely alone.
A tiny, slippery, hand gripped her ankle, and before she knew it, she was plummeting below the surface, the water stifling any scream she could get with its rush into her mouth and her nose. She sputtered to the surface and scrambled over to her friends grasping for Taehyung’s side once she could feel the bottom and using him to pull herself into the semicircle they had formed.
“You okay?” Taehyung fretted down to her, guiding her into the middle.
“What was that about? Don’t scare the shit out of us!” Yoongi scolded, gripping onto the sleeve of her shirt while she caught her breath.
“I fell in.” Y/n’s teeth clattered from the residual chill of her sister’s palm that started to spread all over her skin and deep into her bones. “I’m okay now.”
Yoongi muttered a few more curses, but all Y/n could hear was her sister’s voice calling out to her from below the water.
“Lay back. I’ll show you now.”
“Okay,” Y/n sighed, answering her out loud, leaning back and letting the water take control of her, her friends hands anchoring her to one spot to keep her from floating away.
“Matilda is talking to her,” Jimin caught them up to speed urgently, fingers encircling her wrist.
Jungkook claimed one of her hands, but whatever he was saying to her faded to indecipherable noise. She heard them say something about connecting to each other, and she saw a flash of red as Hoseok wielded the satchel in his hand he must have swiped.
"I'm ready to see you, Gänse. Show me what you know." Then she couldn’t feel them anymore. Her bones compressed in on each other and her head ached as her soul was tugged from within. She blinked skyward, the view traded out for cream colored ceilings and a soft, plush bed.
“Y/n, Wake up sweetie.”
Matilda stirred in her bed, rousing from her sleep and unfurling from her blankets at the sound of a voice.
“Come on Ente, I need to speak with you.”
Matilda sat up in her bed, the nightlight on her bedstand casting a soft glow onto the figure that hovered over her sister’s bed. “Papa? What are you doing?”
Anselm flinched at the sound of her voice, and turned in amotion that resembled a rusty robot more than a human to look at where the sound had come from. At the sight of her, a wide smile taking over his features as he floated over to her bedside, cold hands pressing into her shoulders to recline back into her pillows with a soft coo. “Don’t worry Gänse, I just need to talk to Y/n. You can go back to sleep.”
“Why?” Matilda popped back up.
Anselm blinked, the motion unnatural to him. “Because I said so.”
“But why?” Matilda pushed further. “Are we going somewhere fun?”
Anselm tilted his head to the side pensively, his grin flickering momentarily before he regained control over it, the corners stretching wider over his cheeks. “We? Is your name Y/n?”
Matilda cast a nervous glance over to her sister who was still fast asleep in her bed. If Papa was going to take her somewhere fun–she wanted to go too. It was her that didn’t get to see the fireworks, not Y/n. Y/n always got to do the fun stuff with her dad anyways. Maybe since it was dark enough he would believe her just this once.
“Yes.” Matilda nodded fervently up to him. “That’s why I woke up first.”
“Oh what a good listener you are!” Her father pinched her cheek, and Matilda giggled–her father was acting quite silly tonight. He cast an apprehensive glance from one bed to the other. “Are you sure your name is Y/n?”
“Don’t be so funny, can’t you recognize your own daughter?” Matilda covered her mouth with a hand to keep her laughter from waking up her sister and blowing her cover.
Her father hesitated, giving her a quick once over that she missed, then he tossed the covers off of her with a flourish and held a finger up to his lips with a wink. “Well then Y/n, let’s stay quiet so we don’t wake up your sister. I want to show you something special that’s just for me and the future hotel owner. A special secret just for us.”
“Okay!” Matilda stretched her toes down to the floor and jumped from her bed, grabbing her father’s hand and letting him guide her out into the hall. She watched him close the door carefully, the action taking too long for her patience. “Where are we going?”
Anselm jumped at her volume, and clamped a hand over her mouth on instinct, lifting it only when he realized what he had done and an animated apologetic smile. “Sorry Ente-” he shook his hand at the feel of her mouth like he had touched something dirty, “It’s a surprise. But you have to stay quiet!”
Matilda bounced on the balls of her feet, drawing a zipper over her lips and making a show of throwing the key away.
“Perfect,” Anselm whispered, herding Matilda down the hall towards the landing.
“Mr. Wörner?”
Anselm spun around with an animalistic hiss to face the intruder, spine curling downwards like a startled animal.
“Are you…are you two alright?” Jin asked, head poking around the corner to take in the scene.
“Oh! Of course we are! Nothing to be worried about here.” Anselm resituated himself and forced a casual laugh, giving Matilda’s hand a gentle tug. “Right, little one?”
“Yep!” Matilda enunciated each syllable carefully.
“Oh. Okay…” Jin made a move to turn around the corner but stopped himself, this time looking directly at Matilda. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Positvalutley!” Matilda chirped, gesturing for him to turn around. “We are going to a su-”
“-She needs a drink! She had a nightmare and got thirsty. I have it covered kiddo, you head back to bed alright?” Anselm gently shuffled Matilda further behind him out of Jin’s line of sight.
Jin nodded slowly, and reluctantly turned to head back down the hall to his room with a soft bid goodnight. “If you say so…”
Matilda couldn’t contain her excitement, her smile growing bigger by the second and her steps turning to skips, swinging her hand in her fathers as they descended the steps and crossed the foyer. “Are we there yet?”
“No. I’ll tell you when we get there.” Her father stopped at the front door, spinning on his heel to address her, leaning down to her level with a playful wiggle of his eyebrows. “What would you say to a race?”
“Where?!” Matilda was barely able to contain her squeal of joy.
“To the trees. I’ll go around back, and you go out the front door and we will see who can get there first. Sound like fun?”
“Yes!”
“Wunderbar!” Anselm cheered, giving her a high-five and unlocking the door, opening it with a grand flourish. “When you get to the path, walk until you count to ten and then you can run. That way I can get to the back door before you start running. ”
Matilda skipped out the door, counting each step as she hopped down to the gravel, barely able to contain her excited giggles as she counted. “...seven…eight…nine…” She approached the flower garden, and caught a glimpse of her father rounded the back of the house, squealing with delight. “Ten!”
Matilda was off, flying across the grass towards the quickly approaching trees without hesitation. Anselm got to the dirt path near the edge long before she did, and she pouted, her lip puffed out in childish defiance. “That’s not fair! You’re much bigger than me!”
“Isn’t that how the game works?” Anselm looked down at her with a raised brow, his voice sounding funny to her ears.
“No. You’re supposed to give me a chance.” Matilda huffed. “You didn’t even give me a chance to win!”
“I did!” Anselm growled below his breath, eyes flashing in a way that frightened her.
“Papa, you’re scaring me…” Matilda took an unsteady step back.
Anselm curled his lip in disgust, his demeanor shifting slightly. “Don’t call me that!”
“Okay….” Matilda eyed him up as she took his hand again, feeling less sure of herself and her decision to lie. She wanted to crawl back under her covers and hide from her father for the first time in her life, and she didn’t know why. But her parents would surely punish her if they found out she had lied, so it would be best to just finish the surprise so she could get back to bed as soon as she could.
Her father pulled her further into the dark woods, and Matilda grew more and more unsettled as the minutes passed. There was movement in the brush behind them, and she looked back over her shoulder where the sound had popped from, and she screamed–gripping her father’s hand tighter and tugging him to a stop to no avail.
“Papa! Look!” She cried out, pointing a small finger down the path to the scary looking woman that followed them–her eyes glowing through the night, and her mouth hanging open in a silent scream.
Anselm didn’t bother looking back, keeping his head trained on the path ahead. “There is nothing there to be worried about Entlein. Just the wind.”
“No! She’s following us!” Matilda started to cry as the woman drew closer, stumbling after them on bloody feet. Her father didn’t say anything this time, clenching his jaw tighter and pulling her forwards with more force. “Papa, I want to go back home! Please take me home. I’m tired!”
“What about the surprise?” Anselm snapped down at her. “Don’t you want the surprise?”
Matilda looked back to the woman, and then her father. “What about her?”
“She won’t bother you.” Her father said smoothly.
Matilda sniffled to herself, clinging to her father’s leg to keep the woman away. If he wasn’t scared of her then he could keep her safe. Like how he would kill all the spiders that scared her, or hold her during the scary parts of movies. He would do the same here even if he was acting strange, she willed to herself.
They made it to the end of the path, the two of them climbing down the gentle slope of the hill towards the lake. Anselm padded onto the dock first, but Matilda let her hand slip from his, hugging the limb to her chest in her uncertainty. “We aren’t supposed to come here at night I thought….”
Her father plopped down onto the edge of the dock with a sigh, stretching his arms over his head to the sky. “You’re right. But tonight is an exception.”
“Why?”
Before he could answer, a handful of fireworks went off somewhere nearby, and Matilda gasped, taking off down the dock to sit next to her dad to get a better look at the bursts of color with her fear left forgotten on the grass behind her.
The booming fireworks drowned out the ragged breathing and heavy steps of their audience, shadows anxiously pacing the lake's edge before approaching the edge of the dock and vanishing from their field of vision. The amount of figures crowding around the trees grew in number as they blended into the shadows so she couldn’t see them closing in, stretching across the dock and joining into the hulking shadow her father’s body cast on the dock behind them, ballooning it to a monstrous size.
A burst of glittering gold showered down from the sky, and Matilda gasped. “Wow! Did you see that one?”
“I did.” Anselm hissed under his breath, spine curling inward under the weight of all the energy pulsing in his body.
Matilda’s excitement faltered, his voice taking on that buzzing edge she didn’t like. “Papa?”
Anselm shuddered, the veins under his skin pulsing with darkness, eating away at his insides and turning his eyes a bulging glowing gold like the firework from moments before. “I said you don’t call me that…”
Matilda cowered back. “A-Are you sick?”
Spit pooled in the corners of his mouth and dripped black down the edges of his chin and sprayed into the air as he snapped. “Shut up!” He lunged at her, hands outstretched to grab her.
Matilda let out a piercing cry, and scrambled to her feet to run back down the dock, her sneaker catching on one of the wooden planks before she tumbled into the water with another shout. Her father followed in shortly after, and she made a desperate grab to help her up, hands flailing blindly for any part of him to hold onto. He gripped her shoulders, and instead of lifting her up, he shoved her further under the water until she couldn’t scream anymore. Everything hurt–her chest, her head, her legs–and she tried to imagine her sisters coming up the hill to get her, or her mother waking up and pulling her out, begged the stars glittering through the water to let them come. The stars must’ve been angry with her for lying too, because none of her wishes came true.
She tried to yell for him–thrashed around to tell him to stop–but he didn’t. The last thing she saw was his eyes, shining like golden headlights into the water that splashed like an ocean current above her. And then all of the pain she felt floated away, and she couldn’t see anything anymore.
The ghostly woman who had followed them screamed out in unison, hands clawing into the water but she never moved in to help. She just wailed into the night like a howling wolf, throwing water into the sky in victory or misery, Y/n couldn’t tell .
“I want to be free, Ente.” Matilda weeped from the waters. “I just want him to let go of me.”
Y/n whipped all of her limbs around in a wild attempt for an escape, Candida and Matilda’s cries from the vision melting with her own as she shrieked–she could still feel hands all over her and she fought against them to let her go.
“Hey! Hey it’s just us–she’s gone!” Yoongi tried to soothe her with a hand on her forehead, but it did the opposite.
She’s gone.
She’s gone.
She’s gone.
Y/n fought to stand, throwing all of their hands off her and wailing at the top of her lungs into the night. She brought her hands up into the air and curled them into fists, bringing them down on the water with bruising force. She didn’t stop until her wrists ached and her throat burned with how much she screamed. Until the lake and the earth felt her wrath or the sky cracked she wouldn’t stop.
When she couldn’t hold herself up anymore, she turned to the lost faces of her friends who must’ve not seen a thing for how little of a reaction they had, and sobbed so hard she thought her lungs were going to fall out.
“It was supposed to be me….”
“What–what do you mean?” Yoongi tried again, stepping over the waist high water to get to her, growing increasingly worried. He grabbed her by the forearms to steady her. Wet pieces of his hair sticking to his cheeks and forehead “Y/n what happened? What did you see?”
Y/n couldn’t speak. She turned and did her best to run through the water, falling forward onto her hands on the rocky beach and throwing up what little dinner she had eaten. Jimin was at her side in an instant, rubbing soothing circles over her shoulder blades and whispering words of comfort into her ear, the sound doing little to drown out her sister’s cries for help, or the image of her father’s face hovering over her through the troubled waters surface through her sister’s eyes.
Jungkook crouched in front of her, and without thinking, she looked up to him with her face crumpled in another sob, pleading. “I can’t…” She crawled towards him and threw herself into his chest, clawing for a hold on his shirt like it was the only thing keeping her last threads of sanity together. “S’too much. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t…”
Jungkook held her, shushing her softly. Y/n closed her eyes. She couldn’t bear to see anything anymore. Especially not Yoongi–imagining his disappointment in her for quitting hurt enough. But most devastatingly, she couldn’t handle the risk of seeing her sister’s head poke out from the waters. Because in this state, she just might have to follow her down into the deep as a sacrifice to fix the wrong that had been done. To fix the mistake that her sister had paid the price for.
_________________________________________
Epilogue.
Y/n was broken. Utterly broken.
The sun was rising with its glorious orange glow over the treetops that flew by in a blur. She couldn’t dare speak of what she had seen, so she wrote it down in a fury of letters and ink, smeared with lake water and tears for her friends to read. All of them were in their own state of disarray, but Y/n was managing hers by being slumped in the back seat of Hoseok’s car, Jungkook’s arm around her to keep her warm from the chill she couldn’t seem to shake.
They pulled up to the cabin with screeching tires and slamming doors announcing their arrival. Her mother came out onto the porch in a disheveled haste, a robe loosely thrown over her shoulders, and bags hung low beneath her eyes like she hadn’t slept a wink in weeks.
“What is this? What is the meaning of this?”
Y/n didn’t listen, she ran across the gravel and landed a hard shove to her shoulders, sending the older woman stumbling back away from her. “How dare you!”
“Excuse me-”
“How could you!” Y/n shrieked, tears screaming down her face. “How could you keep him there after what he had done! How could you ever look at him!” She gave her mother another shove, this one much weaker than the last. “How could you live knowing what he did?”
Mariah visibly shattered, her shoulders deflating. “You know now…don’t you?”
“Of course I know! I was always going to find out.” Y/n seethed, eyes aflame with betrayal and wrath. “Why didn’t you do something, you coward? Why did you come after us and not him? Just trying to finish the job, huh? Fix your mistake?” Mariah just stood there as she threw every insult and accusation in her face, her silence getting under Y/n’s skin even more than her petty excuses.
“Say something!” She charged forward, landing another firm shove. Then another. And another. Each one growing weaker than the last as the last of her strength gave way, her shoulders shaking with sobs. “Say something…”
Mariah grabbed her wrists as they came down for the next shove, pulling her into her chest and wrapping her arms over her shoulders in a bone-crushing hug. “I know it hurts.” Y/n crumbled into her, her legs giving out and dragging them both to the ground. “Trust me, I know it hurts. It’s okay, I’ve got you.”
Against everything she knew she should do, she buried her fingers into the softness of her robe and leaned into her like the little girl she felt like. Finding solace in her mother’s embrace that had done nothing but betray her. “How did you live with this?”
“I cried. A lot,” Mariah answered, raw and vulnerable. “When I first found out, I almost killed him. But what good would that have done? No one would believe me.” Y/n listened to her mother speak–really speak–for the first time since before she had left. “You need to know that whoever that was, was not your father. He would’ve never done that in his right mind. I’ve been trying to…I’ve been trying to find who it was. Who made him do something so inhumane?”
“And threatening us was just a part of the process?” Y/n pulled back from the hug. “Kicking me out was part of the process? Ripping us all apart was the best you could–”
“He was going to kill you! Don’t you understand that?” Mariah’s shout came down on Y/n like an iron fist, rattling her soul. “If I didn’t send you away, he was going to kill you and anyone who got in his way to you!” Mariah cupped Y/n’s face in her hands that shook with emotion. “Don’t you get it? I messed up. I didn’t carry on a tradition that wasn’t mine. A religion that wasn’t mine, painted to me like some kind of misogynistic vow of my life to my husband. That, despite everything, it was my job to clean up the mess his family left behind. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t jump on board with it–trust me, I’ve regretted turning Margaret away every single goddamn day since she died.”
“But that doesn’t explain what you’ve done since then! Almost killing all of us, lying, hiding, all of your rules–Candida–Yoongi! All of it makes no sense!” Y/n argued.
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you Y/n–I didn’t do those things. Somebody else did. I was trying to stop them.”
Y/n’s heart stopped. “That’s not right. You…Hoseok said you used him–”
“-to figure out who was doing what! To gather intel on them–to see if they were hurting you! Jin would keep an eye on all of you for me and report back if he sensed something was about to happen. Then I’d try and find who it was and stop it before it occurred. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop them all…” Mariah finally let a tear fall. “And I’m sorry I had to lie. But with you being back, I haven’t been able to make any progress. We’ve just been trying to keep our heads above the flood that your presence brought.”
Y/n couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “What about Yoongi? Firing Jungkook?”
“Whoever is behind all of this is angry. Rotten. It's spiraled out of control ever since your sister was killed, but this has been brewing long before I got here or you were even a thought in our minds. It’s evil and holds no bounds for who it takes down with it. Like I said, they will kill anyone that gets in their way; they don’t care about any kind of truce or rules the other families have if breaking them means getting their way. Yoongi was too smart, too driven–he was going to end up like Hoseok if I didn’t step in. Do I even have to explain my reasoning with Jungkook? He loves you, and love is a dangerous thing here. It gives you a reason to stay.”
“Then why wasn’t Jimin a target?” Y/n spat. “I was with him first. I was–”
“Jimin is protected under the Kim’s, though he is not bound by blood. That boy would find a job elsewhere for you in a heartbeat. Everyone else has much deeper roots to pull up if they just decided to up and leave.” Mariah sounded exhausted. “His knowledge was his only threat. So I had to do what I could to keep it…censored.”
Y/n’s breathing was labored as she took it all in, trying to catch up with the sheer amount of knowledge being thrown at her. “Wait, back up–what do you mean ‘end up like Hoseok’?”
Her mother blinked a few times, trying to regain her composure. “Well, we–meaning Misuk and I–have reason to believe that his accident was…targeted.”
“By who?” Y/n tug her fists into the dirt to ground herself.
“That is the mystery I’ve been trying to solve--in every aspect. Keeping him close meant I could keep an eye on him. I didn’t intend to use him–I just had no other choice. I have no one to help me, everyone who knew anything is dead. And the biggest way to get you off their scent–to keep you all away from it all was to make everyone hate me. I’d rather have a daughter who hates me than another daughter who’s dead. ” Mariah slumped forward, defeated. “It’s ironic, isn’t it?” She pressed her palms into her eyes to stop the wetness from dripping down any further. “I ran from the beliefs your grandmother tried to push on me because I hated the thought of being responsible for your father’s actions–yet here I am, throwing everything I have to the fire to try and pick up the pieces of what he’s done.”
Y/n backed away slowly, her brain overloaded with more questions than answers. This was it. She had thrown herself so ferociously at the wall that she thought she needed to break down, and now she was in a bigger mess than she had been in when she started, with almost no answers, and no clue what to do from here.
She released a shaky exhale, running her sweaty palms over her thighs. “So what now? What happens now…mom?”
Mariah lifted her head from her hands. “Well,” she swaddled herself in her robe, holding it closed with her hands that still shook. Y/n could imagine how similar they must have looked. “I will keep trying to figure out who or what is behind all of this so I can get your father back, and I can get rid of them for good. And if that endeavor is successful, my hope is to have you all return to your lives at the estate, and that we may move forwards and grow together like we once had planned to with you as the…” Her mother paused, raising her hopeful gaze from the ground to meet Y/n’s. “Perhaps…perhaps we could work together instead of against one another. Lord knows there is no use in keeping you away any longer.”
Y/n hugged herself, her insides still churning and her mind whirring a mile a minute. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I believe you. If I can just trust you like that.”
Mariah nodded solemnly, wiping her nose with a sniffle and getting to her feet. “Of course–that’s completely understandable. That’s-” He voice cracked, but she covered it with a clear of her throat. “I can handle it from here. However, I hope you know what that means for you, don’t you?”
Y/n felt a new wave of tears pour down her cheeks. “I do.”
Their farewell was minimal. Barely warmer than their last one almost five years prior. Her mother’s offer replaying in her mind over and over again as the trees whirred past, and long after she crossed state lines from Pennsylvania further south. She needed to get away. Away from it all to think about everything that had just transpired in the past twelve hours. A faraway memory in her head of Matilda watching movies with sandy beaches and begging her parents to take her to the beach held her in a chokehold. They had never gotten the chance to go together and she had so desperately wanted to go. So with the little wooden box of her photos in her lap and her bag packed in the trunk, when Hoseok asked where she wanted to go, the answer was obvious.
Y/n looked for the answer to what to do next in the crashing of waves, and the shift of sand beneath her feet day in and day out. Matilda’s photos propped next to her in the box that she’d talk to whenever the visions she had shown her kept her up at night–which was every night more or less. Weeks passed by like this. Just her, and the empty concave Bear's presence left in the sand nearby. Though one of the night in particular stayed more memorable than the rest. That night as August approached, her mind was fixated on how small Matilda had been. How innocent her smile was when she imitated the star atop the holiday tree. How even to the last few minutes of her life, she had coveted herself with laughter and unbridled bravery. There was nothing there worthy of punishment–for either of them, for that matter. Neither of them had been much taller than the four-foot mark, so they weren’t much of a threat in that regard. The only threat Y/n could possibly be, she concluded that night, was how vibrantly she wielded her tenacity.
All Y/n felt was rage.
Who had the right to take something so precious? To sink their claws and starving jaws into the life of another based on some senseless standing of hatred and power? Who, was the question she asked herself every morning with her fists clenched in the sand and her eyes boring into the photos of her sister, for it was almost as if she believed that if she stared long enough, begged hard enough, that her sister would jump out from the photo and tell them all she knew.
But the sister she loved was gone, and in its place was one warped from ruthlessness–her soul tarnished from brutality and the evil that had so mercilessly squashed her from reality like an insect. Echoes of her cries deafened her thoughts. Images of her father standing over her haunted her.
She thought of Bear, and his observation that a wounded dog snaps its jaws when you poke its most tender spot. Which meant, at the root of it all, that Y/n taking ownership was a real threat. A real possibility that threatened the spirits and their puppet master to the point of waging war against the living. That did earn the smallest of smiles from her.
Y/n stood from the grassy plains and wandered closer to the sea, letting the water run over her feet and wash the noise away, carrying it off down into the earth so she would no longer have to deal with it. Gray misty skies kept her company in her misery, cocooning her away from the warm caress of the sun and giving her something to mindlessly stare off into until the daylight had started to dim.
“Dinner is almost ready.” Yoongi persuaded her from over the pounding of water to sand. “You should come back to the house. Jungkook and Taehyung tried making Creme Brulé–Smells pretty good if I do say so myself so hopefully they didn’t fuck it up too bad.”
Y/n barely acknowledged him with a nod. “I’ll be in then.”
His presence filtered closer, joining her in the tide pools with his hands in the pockets of his rolled up sweat pants dampened by sea spray. “Will you?”
Y/n looked to him through the whipping of wind, and from over his shoulder she saw her–bright pink swimsuit clashing against the gray sky, hair wound up in a series of braids to keep it safe from sand and salt, her small body folded over a lump of sand her hands were reworking. Another loud wave met the shore, and the mirage vanished. Gone. Y/n had been seeing Matilda a lot these weeks, tucked in corners or leaving footprints where the water breaks. But this was the first time she had seen her so peaceful. So normal.
“Yeah. I will.” She held her hand out for him to take, which he did so hesitantly. “Actually, I think I’m ready to go back in now.”
“Now?” Yoongi raised a pointed brow. “So easily? You’re not going to make me drag you by the ankles back up the sand tonight?”
“No,” Y/n laughed at the absurdity of the image. "Like you could handle that.”
“I could!” Yoongi defended himself.
“I don’t think so.” Y/n tugged him from the water, kicking up sand as they trudged back to the wooden box of photos near the edge of the beach. She carefully tucked the photos of her away, but one of them came loose, fluttering down to the ground at her feet that she rushed to catch before the wind carried it off any further.
Upon further inspection, it wasn’t a picture, but a note. The little crumpled up note Adelaide had given her the weeks prior forgotten under the weight of Matilda’s loss. Y/n picked it up, pinching it open to read it again. This time the phrase seemed different–the swooping letters stretching further down the page than before.
‘To remember what was and will be lost for how we once knew it. I encourage you to stay strong, Entlein. May you do what I could not.
Come find me when the time is right. Until then, I’ll be waiting.
Yours truly,
Adelaide. ’
“Hey!” Y/n folded the note and pocketed it swiftly, closing up the wooden box and chasing after Yoongi where he had gone ahead. Yoongi spun at her call, slowing his pace so she could catch up. “How would you feel about giving me hand? You know–with your…” she gestured to his head with a wiggle of her fingers.
Yoongi looked taken aback. “What do you mean?”
“There’s just…Things I want to know. Answers I need and all that crap…Just thought maybe you might be the one to go to.” Y/n gave a coy bounce of her shoulders, a smirk she was trying her best to hide breaking through.
Yoongi’s steps faltered, his eyes alight with mirth and a knowing smile playing with the edges of his lips. “You really want to open that can of worms?”
Y/n glanced down to the box in her hand, the weight of the note in her pocket dragging her feet into the ground with a new wave of determination. “I think I do.”
Yoongi wet his lips to stop his grin from spreading, a disbelieving shake of his head accompanied by an airy chuckle. “You’re insane…”
“Takes one to know one.”
He shook his windswept hair out of his eyes and the look he gave her said she had already won. If there was one thing she could always count on him for, it would be to hit the ground running. “Well then, I guess we better work together then to try and figure out those ‘answers’ you need, huh?”
Y/n beamed at him. “That’s what I like to hear.”
She took his hand in hers and tugged him up the path back to the seaside home, starting forth towards their journey with stable footing and an even mind. No secrets. No walls between them; yet ten times more danger than ever before.
The hardest part was just going to be telling Jungkook, she surmised, watching him lean up against the counter with a grin on his face, laughing at something Taehyung or Jimin had said. As per usual, he sensed her approaching, flipping the smile to shine down on her through the window and melt into something softer. But something about the way he looked at her–or the way he took the time to hang photos of Matilda around the house with veneration, and spoke to her unruly spirit with patience when she would show up on their doorstep told Y/n that Jungkook might be just as ready as she was. Just as willing to take the first steps as they all would be.
The seashell decorated wreath on the door swung on its hook as they entered, welcomed by the smell of home cooked food and sugary confections, her steps patting on the tile in the kitchen to place the wooden box on the kitchen island with the lid open. Next she splayed Adelaide’s note out beneath it for them all to see.
“She’s still suffering there,” Y/n bit her lip, gesturing to the display. “She’s still trapped. Alone. And I can’t stop thinking about that.”
Jimin looked at her from the stool he was perched on, with eyes gleaming with anticipation. “What would you like to do about that, my love?”
Y/n circled the countertop to stand between him and Jungkook, one arm wrapping around his shoulders and the other around Jungkook’s waist. “I don’t know exactly what, but all I do know is that I’d give up everything if it meant freeing her from that hell hole so we can finish this for good. Together. So what do you say?” Y/n looked around at each of her friends' faces, the food still steaming on the table ready to be picked apart and eaten.
“You already know I’m in.” Yoongi stepped forward with his arms crossed.
“I’m down,” Hoseok stood from the dining room table with a roll of his shoulders. “It’s been a little boring around here anyways.”
“You mean ‘relaxing?’” Namjoon scoffed, elbowing him lightly with his dimples on display. “I can’t say I’m not going to miss not having to worry about our safety, but you can count me and my plant collection at your service.”
Jimin leant his head on Y/n’s shoulder and tapped his fingers on the countertop restlessly. “Whatever trouble you’re getting into, I’ll follow.” He gave a pointed look to Taehyung who stood leant up against the stop top behind them, the flowery apron tied around his waist a stark contrast to the pensive expression he wore over it. They all turned to him earnestly awaiting his answer.
He threw his hands up with a sigh. “Fuck it–I’m in. And here I thought I escaped all your strange ghost shit….”
Y/n bumped Jungkook with her hip for he had yet to speak, which he returned with a slide of his palm in hers, eyes never leaving Matilda’s small face glowing up at them from the pile of photos. He selected one from the top of the pile and positioned it like it was a part of their makeshift circle.
“No one gets left behind.”
Before Y/n could release her breath of relief, the front door blew open with a gust of wind, sending a series of glasses flying out of the cupboard and smashing onto the counter top in front of them. They all ducked with a shout, covering their heads from the projectile shards that scattered about.
Little wet footprints smacked a trail from the door to the counter, and another photo flipped out from the box to land on the counter, dotted with tiny wet fingerprints. It was a picture Y/n had taken during one of their trips to the city on a dinky disposable camera of a stone statue of a Civil War general that Matilda mimicked, held up to the podium on Jin’s scrawny shoulder since he had been the tallest at the time.
And just like that, her moody energy dissipated, and her footsteps dried up faster than any normal puddles.
Y/n, shaken up by the outburst, carefully shook the photo of rogue glass and held it up to the room with her lips pressed into a hard line. Jin’s youthful grimace stared them all in the face, making his absence all the more noticeable.
“I think she’s trying to agree with us,” Y/n replaced the photo of Matilda Jungkook had selected with the one of both her and Jin. “No one should get left behind.”
Jungkook and Namjoon took to cleaning the glass while Yoongi dusted off his protection chest, already set on warding off the bedrooms and main living areas after Matilda's outburst. Y/n sat at the table with Hoseok by her side, and her phone in her lap, their meal growing cold beside them. Y/n smiled to herself, feeling such a strong sense of Deja vu from her circumstances: her, a window with a gorgeous view, and her phone at the ready with Jin's number typed in it. Hesitating. Nervous. Unsure of what she should say.
To keep herself from overthinking it, she stamped her finger down on the call button and waited, letting it ring out into the open room. Jin picked up immediately, the line full of static while they both waited for the other to speak.
"...Is there something you need?" Jin came through, quiet and even. Awkwardness perfectly masked by an air of self-assurance.
"Actually I think there is..." Y/n's eyes tracked a lone seagull flying overhead, stretching its webbed feet down to the sand to comb for any scrap of food it could scrounge for. "How do you feel about beaches?"
That broke his composure, her question not of the gravity he was preparing himself for. "Pardon?"
And she couldn't blame him-it had been almost a month since they'd spoken to each other.
"Virginia beaches, to be specific." Y/n held the phone closer to her mouth so she could cross her arms, leaning back in her chair. "I'll send you the address if you're interested."
"Why?" Jin didn't demand an answer, but the inflection made it obvious that he knew there were reasons he shouldn't.
"I think you know the answer to that. Prophet."
Silence streamed in from the other line, filling Y/n's head with worry that she had misunderstood the vision, or that he had hung up entirely. She glanced down at the screen just to be sure right as he spoke again.
"I'll be there as soon as I can."
Hoseok snickered at his urgency, leaning over to the phone to land a joke straight into the receiver. "You need me to send you a ride?"
"I think I have it covered this time, thank you."
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Book Two
“왜 항상 그렇게 빨리 움직이는 거야? 천천히 해! 내 꽃들이 다칠 거야!” : Why do you always move so quickly! Slow down! My flowers will get hurt!
A/n: Sorry that this is late y'all. I can tell I'm tipping out of manic and into depressive, plus I found out this week I might have to talk to my mom for the first time since I cut her off, my cat had a health scare, and then I had a health scare LOL. It's been a week. This chapter isn't my best work, and was definitely a challenge for me, so I'm sorry if it's not up to y'all's expectations. Depending on how things go, I might have to change my posting schedule-but I will let you guys know.
So many answers, but o many more questions.
Love, Delyn
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Recap
The doors to Jimin’s office burst open, Namjoon stood bracing it against the wall to keep it from closing in on them with the force that Jungkook had shoved it open with. Both of their chests were heaving with their efforts to catch their breath, having clearly run through the building to get here. Jungkook’s jaw was clenched so hard she could see the muscles of his face twitching, and Namjoon’s eyes blazed with a fierceness she hadn’t seen since he had first found out about Hadwin.
“Why didn’t you answer your phone?” Jungkook demanded sharply, stepping further into the room, his eyes trained on the smoldering bowl.
“Sorry, I didn’t hear it go off–but everything's fine! I'm safe!” Y/n jumped from her spot on the couch with a spirited grin, pulling Jimin up with her. “Guys, Jimin can–”
Namjoon cut her off, his tone uncharacteristically short.
“Yoongi is missing.”
Jimin couldn’t focus. He had the rest of a thesis to write that his entire future and career depended on–and if he didn’t want to end up guiding middle-aged dads, loud disinterested children, and young bickering couples around the grounds and answer the same three questions every day for eternity–he needed to focus. His fingers that were suspended on the keys of his laptop must not have gotten the memo about that, because they refused to move.
“Get it together, Jimin…” He muttered sourly towards himself while shaking out his shoulders, his eyes scanning the screen from left to right while rereading his last few lines to get his mind back on track.
“I had a brother, can you find him?”
“We are going to kill you, just you wait!”
“괜찮아, 지민아?”
“My mother was sick can you tell me if-”
“I felt her windpipe bend beneath my fingers–Does that mean nothing to you?”
“Do you do anything that is useful? What is that glowing tablet? Do you like stories? May I tell you a story?”
A loud clambering rang out, Jimin’s chair toppled over with how abruptly he rose to his feet. He was at his record player in a flash, cranking up the volume to a deafening level to tune out the white noise of voices that climbed over one other in a clawing chase to try and reach his ears first. The barrage of strings and wind instruments muffled the voices, as if putting up a thin wall of plaster and poles between them. He sighed out, his breath unfurling itself with relief. They were still there–seething, whispering, begging, screaming, lilting, hissing, singing–you name it; except now they were not nearly as suffocating. They rolled off of his back and onto deaf ears, a skill he had learned as a child: to be a master of ignoring.
He moved to walk back to the table, gingerly lifting the lopsided chair for him to sit on again. Taking a long, satisfying sip from the half empty can of soda he had grabbed from the lobby vending machine on his way in, the fizz combed through his racing mind and gave his senses a distraction–he would need to run to the convenience store and buy an entire box if he hoped to get any sort of work done at this rate.
His saving grace–the blasting music emanating from the speakers that kept the voices at a distance–scratched to a stop in a horrible shriek of metal against vinyl. Jimin’s head snapped up to look at it with wide eyes, the air thick with anticipation–swirling around his chest and squeezing with a twinge of fear when no reason could be found for the interruption. The vinyl continued to spin, emitting only a steady crackling sound peppered by the occasional squeak of the turntable.
Without warning, an agitating beeping sound began a new assault on his ears through the speakers of his record player. His hands clamped over his ears to save himself from a splitting headache, though the pulses were still audible through the barrier of flesh and bone. The pattern is just the same as that morning–and the day before for that matter. It had been two days of this absolute mind wrecking noise and he couldn’t take it–especially not when it was at this caliber.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Jimin lurched, all but running towards the player with no actual plan on how to stop it. He couldn’t unplug it, he found had discovered this morning that that was a useless effort. “You’re going to get me in trouble–I have coworkers here!”
The pattern didn’t stop, marching forward with an ascending volume. Jimin felt his blood pressure rising parallel to the dial that turned before his eyes under the influence of no visible hand, the noise unbearably louder.
“Enough! I’ll figure it out! Just stop–for heaven’s sake!”
On command the sound ceased, rescuing him from the clutches of insanity. He plucked the spindle off the side and placed it back onto the record with a huff, the sound reigniting through the space and slathering his auditory system with the mirage of control it offered him. Jimin veered back to his seat (for the last time he hoped), and plopped down onto it.
“It’s not like I was busy or anything…” He muttered to himself, cringing internally while he minimized the tabs of his school assignment and opened a new one to type his new question into the search bar: How to decipher Morse code.
Jimin lost track of time–stuck trying to study the rhythmic patterns and how to dictate them by listening, and comparing the lame attempts he had scoured onto notebook paper that morning to endless charts and pamphlets. He took up his pen, and started scratching new lines below it until he had to force himself to give up.
Beneath them, he did his best translating the three separate lines he had tried.
C_ _ _OU _EAR _E_ _ _ AR
He ran a hand through his hair and checked his watch—it was nearing four o’clock and he was due to return to the dining room soon for a few games before dinner. But he knew that if he put down his pen and walked out the door to his office for the night that he would only be delaying the next burst–and he really just wanted to get a good night’s sleep tonight.
There was only one option then, he groaned internally, the thought just as much a nuisance as the irking morse code messages. Rising to face the inevitable, he dragged his feet over to the record player to lift the arm off the turntable and place it to the side, letting the soft crackling sound take over and the sea of voices flood back in unchecked. He was going to regret this–he knew that with certainty. That notion circled his head like a hawk with talons stretched and eyes latched on its shivering prey below, berating him for his irresponsibility for letting him get into his current predicament. To have to cross one of his own boundaries felt impermissible to himself–but he had no choice if he wished to be left alone. How ironic, that doing what was doomed to only make his life a living hell of endless interruptions, badgering, and pestering, for the unforeseeable future would be his only way out.
He was going to have to speak to them, something he had told himself he wouldn’t do anymore.
“If you are still in here,” Jimin cleared an invisible ball from his throat that threatened to stifle his voice, walking back towards his chair as he spoke, “I’m giving you permission to do it again. If possible, please go slower. I am only an amateur.” He felt like an idiot talking out loud to his spinning record player, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
The moment he felt the chair beneath him again, the beeping started, grating on all of his nerves and forcing him to take controlled deep breaths to keep it from getting under his skin (he had asked for it after all). He honed his ears onto the pattern, and found his mouth repeating the blips like a song–scribbling a series of dots and dashes on his paper and hoping his afternoon crash course had been sufficient enough.
“That’s enough–thank you.”
Thankfully, the spirit listened to his direction and went quiet once more. Though something in the way the energy felt electric told him they were still there–waiting.
CAN YOU HEAR ME? BW AR
Jimin read it allowed, as if expecting some sort of confirmation verbally–though none came.
“BW…” Jimin rubbed at his bottom lip with his fingers pensively, squinting at the message. “Well yes, I can hear you. Though I could hear you infinitely better if you spoke to me normally. Is BW your name?”
Silence.
“BW AR…” Jimin repeated to himself like a mantra. He clicked back onto his laptop cycling through the half a dozen morse code tabs that he still had open and skimming each one until he found what he was looking for.
AR: abbreviation used for End of Message.
Jimin sat back in his chair, tongue between his teeth and finger tapping quickly against his thick wooden table. BW. The answer was obvious to him–Morse code already gave pieces of it away. The only option in his mind would be Bear Worner.
It only made sense–his extensive experience in military intelligence in both WWII and the Korean War–hell, his assignment in WWII was to try and intercept and translate German codes. The thing Jimin didn’t understand was why he wouldn’t just talk to him like everyone else if whatever he wanted to say was so important–there would be no need to disrupt his work and sleep schedules and it’d be more time efficient. Was it because Jimin had learned to tune them out so well? Had he tried and he hadn’t heard?
“Bear?” Jimin hesitantly called out to the air, eyes flickering from one side of the room to the other. There was no words spoken back, but the air felt sharper–like lightning was getting ready to strike down upon the room. The energy hummed beneath his skin, rattling his teeth and coating his tongue with a metallic taste. A silent confirmation.
Jimin wouldn’t be able to concentrate on many games now, not when his curiosity had awoken and willed him to try and find answers. That was his job after all, searching and archiving, noting and curating–he was hooked. He was notorious for letting his boundaries…bend when it came to his work. He wouldn’t outright ask them things or address them directly–but he wouldn’t shut them out if their ramblings had caught his interest either.
One would say it was to be considered cheating with his line of work, but he just considered it being thorough and checking off all boxes and sources. After all, what better way to document someone's life or history than directly from their mouth, or by listening to how they putz around their day to day in the afterlife?
Except the one person he wanted to hear from the most was nowhere to be found–the one person that he would break all of his rules for without hesitation. And perhaps Bear might be able to help him with that.
“Say Bear, have you heard from Adelaide?”
The energy that had been simmering vanished, fizzling out like the powering down of an old TV and leaving the space empty hollow, as if the lightning had been pulled elsewhere by the winds of a storm.
He was gone.
“So much for that…” Jimin sighed, closing his laptop with a gentle ‘click’, and sliding it off the table and into his bag that laid tucked away at his feet.
“Jimin! My mother!”
“Leave it be, bastard. Don’t go digging into business that doesn’t concern you.”
“Gone! Gone! Gone!”
“I’m not afraid to tell on you–because I will!”
“Bruder, I heard you~ Shall we play a game? Can you help me find him?”
The last voice put a pep in Jimin’s step, his hands rushing to zip his bag closed and sling it over his shoulder. He had heard ths spirit’s scratching hisses distantly before, and had no interest in humoring him–not today and not ever.
He had never sounded the kindest.
Using two fingers, he flicked the lights to his office off and started down the seemingly never ending hall. He would no doubt have to work on his assignment late into the night, and he had only himself (and Bear) to blame. The distant echoes of heavy soled shoes followed after him, and the muted whispers of the cacophony of souls had him keeping his eyes down and head low. One ghost felt brave (or maybe they are incredibly naive), their tone carrying over all of the rest.
“I can help you if you help me. Please.”
The voice that spoke this time was masculine, cracked at the edges with youth and wobbly with nerves. It’s soft desperation almost had Jimin willing to turn his head at the sound, but he knew better than to test his luck by communing with more than one spirit in a day, lest he wished not to sleep that night–or any night this week for that matter. His supervisor had just left her office and was padding behind him on his way to the front door, giving the perfect excuse not to.
“Good evening Jimin! How is your thesis coming along, hm?” his supervisor: a woman–short, stout and always donned in some kind of patriotic themed t-shirt chuckled up from his rear.
Jimin flashed her a polite smile, keeping his voice coated with niceties. “Good evening Mindy–Almost all finished.”
“Good, good.” Mindy breathed out, speeding up her pace to waddle through the door he held open for her with quiet gratitude.
Their discussions never dove past anything surface level as of late, sticking to varied version of the short interaction they just had. Unfortunately, she was someone he only got along with out of necessity. While he didn’t have any particular reason to be rude, he never appreciated her choices when it came to the displays or her views on history. Don’t get him wrong: she was good at her job and earned her way to hold her position in theory–though he couldn’t help but wonder how she had gone through to earn a master’s degree to dissect people, events and objects with little interest in doing anything…meaningful with it. Like she had read through it with blinders and rose colored glasses.
Her work always felt too…manicured. Too much like they glorified ideals and visions of what was comfortable, and less of what was truly interesting.
Like she was being told exactly what to do, and followed blindly without question. She was a safe choice for the Wörners.
After waving farewell to her car as it drove past, he took his time climbing the dirt path towards the estate, his hands tucked into his dress pants pockets and his jacket left draped on his arm. Thoughts of Mindy’s work left more to be desired in his opinion, his mind coming up with hundreds of different avenues on the spot of what she could have done. However he knew better than to let himself linger on those thoughts. Jimin already knew what their responses would be–for he had already experienced it himself when he had submitted initial exhibition mockup that he had prepared for approval, memories of Mariah Wörner’s words from the exchange ringing within his head loud and clear.
“This is too risky. We want to show the best of them, not the parts that are guaranteed to stir up questions and trouble.” Mariah scolded with a firm shake of her head. She took a finger and pressed it firmly against a framed photo of Lisolette Wörner: a wide brimmed cowboy hat perched on the crown of her head and a long rifle posed over her knee, her eyes callous and deadly as they stared at the viewer.
“Risky? Ma’am, with all due respect, it’s history. History in its nature always stirs up trouble–it’s good for the mind and to get people interested.” Jimin had countered, forcing his tone to remain respectful.
“And this is considered good for the mind?” Mariah stopped, giving a once over to a broad printed picture of Adelaide and her two brothers. The photo depicted her with hair cropped short in an act of defiance, posing in a pair of men’s trousers and riding boots on the back porch of the estate. Her head tilted down to fix the camera with a challenging smirk while unfurling a pillow case, torn and painted with only the word ‘Fuck!’ in elegant, swooping, inky, letters and strokes. Both of her brothers stood alongside her, Ernst with a wild grin and Freidrich’s eyes drifted uncomfortably off to the side at her display. Everything about the photo was about rebellion. From her hair that was considered unladylike, to her choice of language–a deliberate choice to strike discomfort into the viewer. A message to her parents that she wouldn’t back down and do as she was told.
“It’s part of their story, it builds character and connection between them and the viewer. It leaves room for questions–good questions that mean something. ‘What led her to do something like this, and what does it say about the time they lived in? What happened after? What was she hoping to achieve?’ All of these open the doors to curious minds. There’s a story behind these photos and the unfairness Adelaide experienced–and I think more stories deserve to be shown than just-”
“Than just what, Mr. Park?”
Than your lies.
Is what Jimin would have said if he wasn't worried about losing his job and livelihood. Instead he had rolled over and let her take control, removing nearly everything from the room and requesting Mindy help him organize something new–and fast.
Jimin sucked his teeth to reign in his festering irritation. How can one talk of history and insist on blanketing most of what makes it human? What means the most? For what–so they can show the same few men on rotation indefinitely? To hide what they considered shameful?
“Please Jimin, I can help you I swear.”
The young male voice called from over his shoulder again, louder and closer in proximity than the last.
His declaration pulled a scoff from Jimin’s throat before he could stop it, his response tumbling out with a sigh. “Yeah? You’re going to have to try harder than that–I’ve heard that one before.”
Jimin hadn’t gotten home until late as was becoming his normal (Taehyung had taking way too much time perusing the fabrics and linens section of the thrift store he had dragged them both too), only getting back to his room by the time his alarm clock read just after eleven. The house was bustling with noise only his ears seemed to hear–their screams and howls more unbearable than usual. He was only able to tolerate a few minutes of it before he started to dig around his room for his headphones, to tune out the voices huddled outside his door.
“She’s going to kill that boy one of these days. I’m sure of it. Did you see the state of him tonight?” The first one was scratchy and hollow, like one who had smoked one too many cigarettes in their lifetime.
“I didn’t get to. I was too busy hiding between the linens.” The second voice was younger, the melodic sound a stark contrast to the first.
The two women giggled, and Jimin heard the slosh of a metal bucket and the creak of an old wooden cleaning cart’s wheels begin a slow push along the rug. Though he knew by the fuzzed edges of the sound and the way no shadows passed along the edge of his door that they too were not of this world, and rapidly lost interest in their presence. Quick-footed steps approached from the direction of the landing, and a much younger woman joined in on the discussion–probably no older than a teenager with a bright and lively voice to match.
“Haven’t you heard–she was here! I saw her with my own eyes!”
The second voice chastised the child, a muffled ‘thwack’ heard through the wall. “Don’t be so airheaded. Of course she’s here, she lives here now.”
Jimin rolled his eyes, not interested in listening to the gossip of the passed on staff while he worked. He wrenched open the next drawer and stuck his hand into it to continue his search for anything to tune out their chatter, his tongue clicking in irritation when he came up empty handed. He could’ve sworn he had left them in that drawer…
“No you bumbling brutes. She was here, with us–on our side.” the child raved, and Jimin could almost hear the excited bounce in her step. “The reaper and the medium let her in. I even saw lady Margaret!”
Jimin froze, his hand stuck lodged into his other drawer and his ears perked up to listen in on the rest of their discussion.
“Oh that’s no good.” the older voice carried through with a ‘tsk’. “Well if that really is true then her fate looks no better than the boy–as good as dead they will be.”
“Don’t say such things Catherine! Maybe they will save us!” The child cried out, defiant and shrill.
The older voice–Catherine–laughed humorlessly. “Don’t get your hopes up anytime soon. Nothing ever changes around here–Misses makes sure of that. Now if you want to keep your eyes, I suggest you get back to work.”
_________________________________________
The sound of boots followed him back to the historical building bright and early, though for once it didn’t bother him–he was too lost in thought.
Cameras were being installed that morning and movers were bumbling about the foyer and halls making it feel not worth the effort to try and weasel one's way into the kitchen to scour for something to eat. Especially not when Mariah Wörner was stomping through the halls like a bull in a china shop, frantically directing boxes and the men doing the installation around with a firm voice and tired eyes.
Jimin dug into his pocket for his key to the historical building and shoved it into the lock, twisting it sharply just as the footsteps approached from behind.
“I can help with the others.”
Jimin remained unbothered, letting the heavy door swing open to welcome him into the dark exhibits. He watched the sun glinting from the ticket booth glass from the sun beaming in behind him, and the golden streaks of light that lit up the main room in stripes from the windows two stories above. He licked his lips, and found himself pondering their offer.
Something must’ve been in the water (or soda he guessed), because he felt his mouth opening to respond. His eyes were fixed in front of him in a distant stare, too afraid what it would mean if he addressed him fully–afraid of how many others would try the same stunt.
“And what would you get out of it?” Jimin sighed, taking his hand dragging it along his face with exhaustion.
“We just want something small in return.”
There it was. The same old request he had heard a hundred times before.
Jimin pushed through the entrance, shutting the door behind him. The physical barrier doing nothing to stop the heavy steps that followed him in. “I don’t take requests. Try someone else.”
“No!” The steps hurried after Jimin. “It’s not a grand request.”
“You aren’t helping your case by pestering me.” Jimin pushed forward, his brow twitching with irritation. “Leave me alone.”
“I can help you get the answers you want.”
Now that was something that had Jimin faltering at his door, his sharp eyes narrowing in the direction of the young man’s voice.
“Prove it.” The words hung heavy in the air between them, falling sharply from his lips like the fall of a sword. He heard the intake of breath, and then a scuffle of shoes along the tile.
“Yes sir.”
There was the sound of running, clumsy and squeaking on the tile before disappearing around the bend into the main room. Jimin shook his head, unable to believe he was even humoring the idea of working with one of them. All of the rules he had created for himself, tossed in the trash like day old food left on the counter within the past 24 hours.
He shouldered into his office, dropping his bag and soda onto the table with little grace. The day started off terribly, and the universe seemed to want to rub salt in the wound–for the moment his door clicked shut behind him, his record player flourished to life with another raucous torrent of beeps.
“Oh my god–enough already!” Jimin sprinted over to the play, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. He gripped the edges with white knuckles, eyes burning into the spinning plate with vengeance. “I already deciphered your message. Is this a new one or what? I can hear you Goddamnit.”
It still continued onwards, and Jimin’s only saving grace was that he was the first one to show up at the historical society that morning, so at least he wouldn’t have to do damage control with his coworkers.
“What do you want from me? I don’t understand!”
“Use the code.” The young man’s voice piped up from over his shoulder, and Jimin jolted back, startled from the sudden sound. His return must have been blocked out by the ear-splitting noise coming from the speakers.
“I can’t–I don’t know morse code,” Jimin turned to glare at the record player, “I already told him that.”
“Let me.”
The sound abruptly stopped, a quiet peaceful atmosphere taking over the room like it hadn’t been comparable to a tripped alarm system seconds before. Jimin heard the distinct sound of fingers tapping out a rhythmic pattern along the velvet lined box of the upright phonograph, gentle yet precise, understanding that the spirit that insisted on trailing after him that morning was the one doing it. After roughly twenty seconds, the voice spoke again, spry and prideful.
“I told him that you can hear him, and are awaiting further instruction.”
“Thank you.” Jimin huffed, bringing a finger up to point at the empty space next to him. “But don’t get any ideas in your head–I’m not helping you just yet.”
“Even if I have these?” The voice sang almost teasingly.
Jimin watched as a massive, rusted, old key ring clattered out of thin air onto the thick center table. The very keys that belonged to his manager–the older lady whose job he was set to take, and who had unrestricted access to anything she wanted.
With delicate fingers, Jimin lifted the key ring into his palm, feeling the metal in his hands that now felt heavier with the added weight of temptation. Temptation to do something very worthy of getting himself fired.
“How did you–”
“I–We–can go anywhere with enough energy.”
“Who is we?” Jimin prodded, his eyes never leaving the keys.
The man spoke clearly, as if following an order from an officer. “There are three of us, we were one of the same squad. We died not too far from here during the battle of Gettysburg.”
Jimin pursed his lips, accusatory eyes peering up into the empty space. “What side?”
“Union, sir.” The young man answered proudly.
“Good answer.” Jimin pocketed the key ring for later use, still having not decided if he was going to do anything with them just yet. “What is it that you want from me?”
“Well…” Jimin heard the young man swallow. “We don’t remember our names, sir. And we’d like to.”
“Your names?” Jimin scoffed. “You want to offer me your help for just your name?”
“Yes.” The voice became nervous, clearly not knowing how to respond.
“Well perhaps-”
“Yes, sir!” The voice interrupted him, rushing to make up for his lack of formality and growing sheepish with his next addition. “Sorry for interrupting, sir.”
Jimin closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Clearly this soldier was young, his behavior making him feel almost childlike with his responses. “It’s fine.” He opened his eyes to the empty space of his office to stare into where he thought he was. “I’ll help you. But only if you promise to help me with whatever this is.” Jimin gesticulated about the room wildly.
The voice turned giddy, words coming out rushed with glee. “Of course, whatever you need, sir!”
“Drop the sir thing with me, you don’t need to address me like that.” Jimin rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help the small smile that cracked onto his face.
“Understood, sir!”
Jimin didn’t get much of his school work done that morning either–which was what he had specifically called off from touring today to do. Instead he found himself too sucked into an online store, browsing morse code transmitters and looking into where he could try and request death records from any Gettysburg museums or archival libraries. His work was long forgotten, textbooks off to the side and stacks of ‘approved’ photos and boxes given to him by Mindy to dig through for the still empty exhibit discarded all over the room. He felt tensions rise in his mind at the overwhelming sea of things he needed to do, and humored the idea of grabbing another soda from the staff fridge where he had tucked them away.
Those thoughts of a fizzy sweet treat were cut short by a different voice–this one much older and gruff–calling to him over the constant loud music, bending to his ear.
“You have a visitor, sir. She is coming down the hill, Y/n Wörner.”
_________________________________________
Blink. Nod. Hum. Nod again. Blink.
Jimin had to remind himself to function normally, hands on his hips and face so full of boredom he was sure Eli–the new young tour guide–could see it and just chose not to acknowledge it. His alone time had been interrupted for questions so trivial that he had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.
“So Lisolette left in 1918?” Eli looked left streaks of blue ink on the side of his hand, looking back up at Jimin for confirmation.
“Yes.” Jimin responded curtly, leaning one hand up against the shiny walls of the lobby. “If you go back to the main office and review the–”
“How many kids did she have again?” Eli’s pen was held at the ready, eyes blinking and void of any shame that he really should have.
Jimin looked him up and down in outraged disbelief. He would know these answers if he had completed his mandatory training period, making this an unnecessary reason to interrupt his time with Y/n. The itch to leave him hanging and return back to his and Y/n’s shared table and revel in her company was undeniable. His patience was wearing thin.
“Two.” Jimin could have choked with how tight the words felt leaving his mouth.
Eli hummed, staining his palm with more ink. “And what were–”
“In the main office. Training materials. Now.” Jimin cut him off, his finger held up to point at the front door of the hotel with finality. “If you continue to display this level of incompetence I will not hesitate to report you to the head of the historical department–and as you know that will be me come June–so I’d work on refreshing your memory until then if I were you.”
Eli audibly swallowed, and tucked his ballpoint pen back into his cargo short pockets. “O-okay.”
“Good.” Jimin let a sweet smile pull his eyes into crescents. “Have a good rest of your day, Eli.”
He didn’t bother staying to hear his response, turning on his heel and starting back into the cafe only to find their table empty–Y/n had already left.
“She’s across the lobby sir, talking to one of your friends–she called him Yoongi.” The young soldier whispered to his left.
“Thank you.” Jimin kept his voice low, and steered himself reluctantly towards the front doors, knowing he shouldn’t feel as dejected as he did for losing out on his time with her. “I’ll just let her be then.”
A few more beats of quiet passed through them, weighed down by the nervous energy of the solider trailing after him.
“Sir, they were making plans.” The soldier left the end of his sentence hanging, an unspoken offer sliding out beneath them.
Jimin knew he shouldn’t–knew he shouldn’t be as interested as he was, or as willing to invade their privacy like he wanted to.
“What kind of plans?”
“One moment.” The soldier retreated back through the lobby, and out of earshot once more.
Jimin parked himself on one of the benches out on the front lawn of the hotel while he waited for his ghostly ally to return. He lost himself in the bending of sprouting tree branches and early spring flowers, the gentle kisses of cool spring air tickling his cheeks and tousling his hair. It blanketed him with a sense of calm, his mind slipping into a meditative state while the minutes ticked by.
“They are making plans to meet up, sir. With others.”
“Did they say who else?” Jimin kept his head down to keep his mouth out of sight from people passing by.
“Members of the house named Jungkook and Namjoon. They shared that the lady’s mother had set up cameras to stop them from completing a task, and I gathered that there is some sort of threat against her safety that warrants constant supervision.”
Jimin jolted up to look at where the sound came from. “What does that mean?”
“Would you like me to try and find out, sir?”
He hesitated, his mouth open to respond–but he wasn’t sure what the right answer was. “Maybe. I feel weird invading their privacy.”
“I’ll see what I can discover within reason, sir.” With that, he heard the boots make their leave, giving Jimin no more excuses than to go back to working on his studies.
The cameras, Jimin theorized on his walk back to his office, must mean something more than just keeping an eye on the safety of the home. Whatever Yoongi must be asking them all to do must be something more than just dabbling in the occult–it must mean that they must be fighting back somehow. Surveillance was a brash step–one that didn’t feel too unfamiliar, and led his thoughts tumbling down roads that only led to disaster zones piled high with thoughts of treason and rage. It left him questioning his resilience and morals.
Jimin had always told himself that in the face of adversity, he would never back down. That he wouldn’t have ever let things happen under his nose the way they had in times past; that he wouldn’ve been smart enough to call them out, and self-assured enough to stand up against it. But with a sinking stomach, he understood exactly where he had stood at the moment: Aside with his head low, protecting his safety and himself.
When word had first broken about the Wörner’s passing on the rights to Roland instead of Y/n, he had known something was terribly wrong. And then the same feeling of uncertainty struck when Mariah had made blanket statements about Yoongi, calling him dangerous and unsafe, and requesting Jimin’s assistance in ‘keeping their home intact’– whatever that meant–which while he had denied to involve himself, he didn’t speak up.
It was only when she had tried again, the next time drawing up Jungkook as her next villain that Jimin started to ask questions. And while she didn’t outright yell at him when he had questioned her motives, he had noticed following their altercation that the spirits around him started to…hover more. He’d get oddly specific suggestions from Mariah about what not to include in displays that were uncannily similar to something he had thrown together just the day before, and hadn’t shown anyone yet. He would ask his supervisor questions that had missing answers, and then be bombarded by hissing growls that told him to leave it alone when he would leave her office dejected. Then like clockwork the artifact boxes and photos he had been requesting to see on the topic would have been pulled by “management” later that afternoon for ‘quality checks’ only to never come back.
Thus surveillance, Jimin had concluded, had become his new normal. Something he had adapted to with little hope of ever escaping, or without ever finding a reason to escape it. He had disappointed himself. He had chosen to be complacent when he should have known better. He should have never turned Yoongi down those couple of years ago because of fear of what Mariah would do–he should’ve helped him.
Something in him must’ve known that was the right path to take in hindsight since he had directed Y/n to him so easily–he didn’t want her making the same mistakes he had. He didn’t know if Yoongi would be willing to accept him to help now after having stood by while he faced unfair hardships.
Jimin decided then and there, on the side of the winding property road, that he would try and help them. Even if he was past the point of forgiveness, or if his spiritual ailment made him a threat to their plans, then he would do his best to do what he could from afar. Which included delegating his men to protect Y/n from whatever it was that threatened her safety when outside of the estate when possible, and using his strengths to continue to push back against the regime that had settled over them: maybe if he caused a big enough stir, he could take some of the eyes off of them.
And he knew just the route to take to stir up trouble.
Thankfully, he had succeeded in completing a bit more of his thesis while he waited for his allies to return with more tips on how to proceed, music loud and his mind guarded. He enjoyed it–a good distraction for the world of uncertainty he had found himself on the precipice of jumping into. He might even be able to call this day a good one by the end of it!
“Sir. I have some unfortunate news to share with you.” The older voice bellowed out upon his entrance.
Well there goes his positive attitude. “What is it?” Jimin tipped the lid of his laptop closed to give him his undivided attention.
“We have heard from others that there are threats of extreme violence against Y/n Wörner from other spirits on the property. There are whispers of dark entities sharing bloodlust. Staff members have shared that the current proprietor is out of sorts–dangerous even–and his wife is rumored to have something to do with it. She is smiting all attempts to help and keeping herself very private. We even witnessed and aggravated interaction between a deceased staff member and a passed on member of the house.”
Jimin was rendered speechless. He knew that some of the spirits were angry–but he thought most of the spiritual hubbub was just a by-product of whatever was going on between families that was being covered up so precariously. He had never potentially humored the the thought that they were a major part of the problem.
“If I may continue.” The level voice of the man brought him back to reality. “Her companions have been trying to walk among us. They are searching for information regarding family members of the Wörner lineage. I am unsure of what though, exactly.
Jimin had an inkling as to what. He had pretty much tied a carrot to a line and led you there–something regarding the similarities between the stolen destiny’s of Adelaide and Y/n that both bore a striking resemblance to each other was probably the probable answer.
“I have a few ideas.” Jimin turned to stare off out of his office window, mind moving a mile a second. Processing and maneuvering pieces to a growing puzzle that's finished image was a mystery yet to be discovered. “But they are all just that: ideas. We should keep ourselves away from whatever it is they are doing and focus on our own goals. I don’t want to jeopardize them if something were to be overheard.”
Jimin scanned his office, gears turning through thoughts of what to do next–probably something that had to do with the stolen key burning a hole through his pocket. “We should start here. I’m going to be setting up a family tree for Y/n–perhaps if the four of us work together we can compile information to make their job easier.” He leapt from his seat, grabbing for his own family tree copy and starting to unravel it. “Would it be too much of you to ask to watch over the other house members? I don’t want anyone else getting injured if I can do anything about it.”
“Sir, there is something else we discovered that I think should be important to know first. It is regarding one of your friends.”
Jimin lifted his head to stare wearily at the voice, unease washing over him at the ominous proclamation. “What is it?”
_________________________________________
“I see you heard–The traitor!”
“He lured her away while they stole the child! She is completely torn up, she is!”
“Sinners! The lot of them! Do not let them get close for they are marked–keep your distance!”
“Turn away now, bastard child–your wandering hand might get trapped for being too curious. I have severed many from my enemies before, and I have no fear in doing it again.”
Jimin was as cold and coiled as a snake, the hisses of the dead coming upon him like a torrential downpour from all sides–indoor and outdoor. Who would have thought that listening to one ghost would open the floodgates of others grappling for any sort of foothold (surely not the reason he kept himself so distant or anything). While most of their musings and cries were nonsensical, this was not one of those cases. These snippets of gossip were proven by the soldiers he had found himself trusting.
And man, was he livid.
He learned two very damning things about one of his friends.
That Hoseok Jung had been seen leaving late at night with Mariah, and that Hoseok Jung was a traitor.
An informative rat.
All of those times he had struck up conversation with Jimin about his time at work or his schooling wasn’t because he cared, but because he was passing information along to higher ups. Had he done the same to Y/n? Did he have something to do with their choice to rescind her apprenticeship? As this has been some twisted end goal all long: help Mariah and Anselm with whatever it is they were hiding in return for something greater?
He didn’t think as he barreled in through the front door and into the dining room to take his seat, startling both Jungkook and Namjoon, both of whom were already seated near each other at the table. Thankfully for Hoseok’s sake, he wouldn’t have to be alone with Jimin for lunch–a fact that probably just saved his life.
“How’s your day been, Jimin?” It was Namjoon that spoke first, a warm smile pulling his lips up and his dimples popping out in greeting.
“Fine.” Jimin grunted through his teeth, leaning his weight on his elbows that slid to rest on the table. Taut and tense–like a steam engine that was ready to blow.
Namjoon whistled under his breath, his smile falling and his face dipping to hide behind his book. “Sorry I asked.”
Taking in the way Jungkook subtly shifted in his seat to create distance between them, and the way Namjoon kept sending him stern looks from over his book had Jimin almost feeling bad for letting his emotions sour the energy of the room. He was far from angry with them. Nonetheless, the guilt died quickly, cut down by boisterous bursts of laughter from Hoseok who had just made his entrance.
He waltzed in, blithe and without any cares–like he was living a life of ease and not betraying everyone he knew. Jimin couldn’t stand his presence. He found it both nauseating and invigorating, like seeing how little his deceit affected him drove Jimin’s own will to spite whatever plans he was a part of tenfold.
Seokjin trailed in after him, an exasperated sigh falling from his lips at Hoseok cracked another joke Jimin didn’t care to pay attention to. He couldn’t find anything he said funny anymore.
“Full house today I see?” Hoseok chirped, who just so happened to take his seat next to Jimin. He either had to be blind, or hopelessly oblivious to sit next to Jimin. He practically radiated waves of vitriolic heat from his seat that even Jin seemed to catch on to, his gaze nervously sizing him up as he took the seat furthest away from him.
Jungkook’s brows furrowed, his eyes passively scanning Hoseok as he nudged Namjoon lightly under the table. Namjoon brought his head up from his book to scan the seats, landing on Hoseok’s casually reclined form.
Namjoon gave him a quizzical look “Where’s Y/n? I thought she was with you?”
“She got tired and wanted to go catch a few z’s.” Hoseok shifted in his seat, his smile flickering just enough for Jimin to catch.
Jimin ran his tongue along his cheek to keep himself from speaking out, gripping the lunch menu in his hand with little interest–he wasn't here to eat. He’d have to keep himself together until he could get Hoseok alone.
Idle chatter filtered about the table, mostly from Hoseok, Namjoon, and Seokjin discussing their days at work so far. They tried to get Jimin to join in on their jovial discussion, but he couldn’t bring himself to give much of an answer to any of their questions. Not when he could feel fire threatening to burst from his veins every time Hoseok breathed too loud, or laughed too hard at any one person's joke.
His resolve was shattered, when in an unconscious act, Hoseok's arm brushed against Jimin’s as he went to take a bite of his meal. Hoseok’s nonchalant apology was ripped from his mouth, all mirth leaving the surface of his eyes for a fragment of a second as he saw Jimin’s damning stare. They were locked in a wordless stand off–Jimin restraining himself from tearing into him then and there, and Hoseok now finally appearing to comprehend Jimin’s brooding mood.
A voice out from the hall howled out from the foyer, warbled and distant like a warped cry bent through space and time. It was as if on a different radio frequency than Jimin that just happened to bleed into his–but he still managed to hear it.
“They call me the Devil.”
“Keep your hands to yourself.” Jimin spat, wrenching distance between the two of them and scooting his chair abruptly to the side.
Hoseok’s brows furrowed, his friendly expression dropping with his indigent defense. “Who pissed in your coffee this morning? How about you keep your hands to yourself.”
“My coffee was great this morning-if anything I had quite the enlightening time drinking it with a very high energy Y/n.” Jimin spun in his seat, giving Hoseok a pseudo face of extreme interest. “Found my mind opened to a lot of things I think you might be interested in. Care to come visit me at my office to talk over some of my concerns with my supervisor? Since you are so cozy with yours I figured you’d have the best advice.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Hoseok’s expression crumpled in on itself behind a mask of disgust.
“Don’t play dumb. Was losing your job to a newbie that devastating that you had to turn to extremes?” Jimin knew it was a low blow, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care–rising from his seat to glower down at Hoseok. “Had to go around and fuck up everyone else’s lives and jobs because yours didn’t work out the way you wanted it to? I hope whatever job they offered you for doing this is worth losing everyone else in your life.”
Hoseok’s gaze turned dark, sharper than a whip yet just as fast with his words. “You don’t know shit.” He rose to his feet, bringing his face closer to Jimin’s. “Messing with people’s jobs? That’s rich coming from you. How about you keep your mouth shut and keep your nose in your own business like you’re told. Or do you need your ears checked?”
“I think you need a reality check–”
“That’s ENOUGH.”
Jin’s hands slammed down onto the wooden table as he stood, a rare display of displeasure crossing his features and knitting his brows together. “Pull yourselves together. Shut up and eat your lunch like adults–and if you feel the need to say anything else,” He held one finger up, pointing sternly at the two, “don’t.”
Hoseok and Jimin immediately fell back into their seats, their heads lowered and fists clenched. Jin barely ever raised his voice, but they all knew when he did: You listened.
No one dared speak, the only sound being the clinking of silverware and the occasional glass scraping against the table. Their tension then shaken by the approaching sound of Y/n, her voice carrying from the landing entrenched in some discussion of strawberries and desserts with a much deeper one.
Hoseok fisted his utensil in his hand so hard it shook, unable to stop the way his eyes immediately glared in the direction of Taehyung’s voice–the wound had been freshly scraped open after all. He swallowed, forcing his anger down by focusing on the sound of Y/n’s voice, and released the utensil to clatter onto the table by the time they came into view.
Y/n’s giggles got stuck in her through, she appeared to be clearly shaken by the mood in the room by the way her eyes skirted about each face–not doing a good job at concealing her concern.
“You alright?” Y/n asked Hoseok, pulling out the chair next to him and sinking into its cushion.
Hoseok nodded, clearing his throat as he did so. “Yeah I’m fine.” He turned to regard her over his shoulder, his smile strained and his knee shaking where he promptly pressed it against her leg. “Are you feeling more rested?”
Jimin had to hold back a roll of his eyes with a sip of his drink, tuning out their discussion to keep himself in check. Y/n didn’t deserve to feel the effects of their fight, and it would be disrespectful to force them onto her, and potentially put her in an even more dangerous situation.
He kept his cool for the remainder of lunch, but took his leave without notice. He couldn't bear to see Hoseok's face any longer. For what it was worth at this moment, he was dead to him.
_________________________________________
“A slut! How vile of a young woman to be parading herself through their rooms in the evening.”
“And she isn’t even married!”
“Answer me! I will claw your eyes out in your sleep if you keep ignoring me!”
“I need something to drink. Get me something to drink.”
“내 손자를 도와주세요.”
Jimin ate his breakfast in solitude. The dining room all but empty with breakfast not to be served for another half hour, leaving him only surrounded by disembodied voices wandering hither and thither through the rooms: whirlwinds of running, pacing, sizzling pans, haunting hums, the groaning of phantom cleaning carts, running water–sounds to prove the dead still lived.
One voice caught his attention more so than the rest. A man–his voice a hurricane of contradictions: Wheezing yet clear; poetic yet vile; metered yet crazed with madness. Jimin let his slice of toast hang from his mouth while he listened to the recognizable snippet of Shakespeare, letting his eyes close with a hum.
“I’ll follow you. I’ll lead you about a round,
Through a bog, through bush, through brake, through brier.
Sometime a horse I’ll be, sometime a hound,
A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire,
And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and burn,
Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn.”
The spirit’s voice bounced from stair to foyer, their footsteps trailing around the room in pointless circles while they recited it with practiced ease. Jimin has heard them before–reciting lines from plays or old poets wherever they went. When he wasn’t lost in a role, he was miming a turn of phrase or unimportant thoughts said within his vicinity, stopping his recitation to test the sound on his tongue and imitate the way a cook, a housemate, or a friend spoke when passing by.
The measured words of a Midsummer Night’s Dream abruptly stopped–either the spirit had left or was moving to switch his focus. Jimin assumed the latter.
“Morning.” Yoongi grunted around a yawn.
Jimin let his eyes flutter open, finding Yoongi entering the dining room with his arms stretched over his head, eyes sagged and twinged purple with fatigue. He ambled around the table towards the kitchen slowly, his heavy boots scuffing across the carpet
Jimin rushed to pull the dangling piece of toast from his mouth as he nodded his head in greeting. “Good morning.”
“You’re up early.” Yoongi stated, pushing through the swinging door and disappearing into the kitchen.
“You’re up early.” The spirit sounded from the edge of the dining room, copying Yoongi’s words over and over again under his breath.
Jimin stood from his seat and followed after the man, scraping the rest of his food into the trash. “Haven’t been sleeping very well.”
“You’re up early. Up early.”
“I can relate to that.” The end of Yoongi’s mouth curved upwards into a half smile, his hands busy pouring coffee from the machine into a paper to-go cup.
“I can relate to that. I can relate to that. Relate.” Again like clockwork, the spirit (having followed them into the kitchen) chimed in with the same words Yoongi had just spoken, this time gaining more confidence in portraying the same tone.
Jimin and Yoongi danced around one another while they finished their respective tasks: Jimin washing and drying his plate and Yoongi preparing his desired drink. All the while, the sound of trailing steps followed them. For each grunt Yoongi made, the spirit made the same. For every weary sigh or languid step, the spirit mimicked it with otherworldly accuracy.
It was unsettling to say the least, Jimin had never heard him take it this far before. It left a rotten taste in his mouth when words from his discussions with one of the soldiers came back to haunt him.
There are whispers of dark entities sharing bloodlust.
“Have a safe day at work today.” Jimin cleared his throat, ignoring the strange look Yoongi sent his way and beelining out of the kitchen and into the dining room to grab his bag and hoist it over his shoulder.
When out in the dining room by himself, he thought of what he could do to break Clarence from his focus on Yoongi, his gut telling him the interaction meant more than just a warm up for his next entryway monologue.
He took out his mental folder of everything he could recall about Clarence and his life. The writings or live retellings, or any of his documented elective interviews.
A performer at heart and lover of all branches of the arts: theater, poetry, and music especially. From what they could tell, his marriage was strictly business so nothing regarding his wife would grab his attention. Jimin willed his brain to think, to dig through the flashing images of pictures and handwritten slips until he landed on the image of one: one of his own pocketbook entries of his favorite artists.
“I’ll put something on out here for you, Clarence–if you’d like that.”
He sidestepped over to the victrola, lifting the lid and skimming through the stack on the right hand side for the one he was looking for: The tattered sleeve of a Mills Brother’s record.
Pinching the disk out and cranking the lever, he turned the volume dial down to the minimum level so as to not disturb anyone else within the house. The slow bouncing start of Paper Doll crooning out with mild distortion from age, calling out to where Clarence had stayed behind with Yoongi in the kitchen.
As soon as the first few measures had warped past, Jimin heard quick steps exit the kitchen and stop next to him.
“Turn it up.” His scratchy voice wheezed out from his side, sounding if only a hair kinder than he had in the hall.
So Jimin did, turning it up just enough to be heard throughout the room but not any farther. He didn’t hear Clarence copy Yoongi’s mumbled goodbyes, nor did he hear his pacing. Clarence was too mesmerized by the music floating from the record player to pay attention to anything else anymore.
It had been days since he had shown his face at another group meal–or really anywhere for that matter that wasn’t his room, the historical society, or the Adelaide. It wasn’t entirely to do with Hoseok–he did still technically have only a week and a half to finish his conclusion and pass his last final–but he knew that if he spent too much time around Y/n that he would risk breaking into pieces and spilling everything he knew–getting him in more potential trouble than he could already be in.
He fell into a routine of waking up before everyone else, eating alone with a soldier by his side to keep whatever was going on at the estate at arm's length, and dropping in a record to see what stole Clarence away from his Shakespearean mutterings and into a standstill in the dining room. It was a win-win situation: Jimin didn’t have to listen to Midsummer for the hundredth time, and Clarence got to choose a song.
There were four things Jimin had learned during his time away.
One: Having his three new ghostly companions has been a life saver. They couldn’t keep everyone away and nor could they silence everyone, but they could at least intimidate the everyday spirits enough to give him some space–meaning Jimin had become more selective about what he was able to listen to and what he wasn’t. This coupled with burning through whatever Namjoon had given him had changed his life.
Two: The family tree that Y/n had left behind, marked with X’s and vague musings had become a wonderful tool for him to go off of. He had been able to quickly piece together through witness testimonies that there was a plague of sorts infecting spirits on the property–turning them dark and malevolent. There wasn’t much word yet on how this plague affected ghosts who weren’t family members, though there were whispers of a few passed on staff, hotel guests, and member’s of the Kim and Jung family that had succumbed; however nothing was confirmed.
He was also piecing together things about Y/n and her group as the days went by, but didn’t let himself dig too deep: he didn’t want anything to accidentally slip from his mouth into enemy ears. So he forcibly turned a blind eye to any rumors that uttered anything about them.
Three: Whatever this was, went back far longer than any one of the living. He had started to really take note of where the gaps in information were, for sometimes an empty space told just as much as a full file. The women all had lackluster recordings, an unfortunate reality when it comes to historical documentation. Nevertheless there were a few that had significantly less than the rest–most notably being Adelaide, Candida, Patti, Lisolette; and in some strange whirlwind of unexpected events: Bear. These four women in particular had almost no historical documentation, and had been almost all but wiped from but only a few photos, records, and writings that weren’t family tree outlines. The only thing left of Bear besides the few images plastered on the wall near Duane’s exposition for Jimin to find was just a few military photos, and his uniforms. Everything else was gone.
Four: Bear was looking for Y/n. his most recent message as of this Sunday making that abundantly clear: CQYL. CQYM. Please. BW AR.
The soldiers had aided him in understanding more about morse code, the youngest of the trio having been taught during his time serving by the eldest, and jumped at any chance he could to practice. They were able to put their heads together (with the help of the internet which was an entire ordeal to explain to them) and decipher that Bear was using commonly used abbreviations: CQ a call to response, and YL and YM meaning ‘Young Lady’ and ‘Young Man’ respectively–which was the name Jimin suspected Bear had taken to addressing him as.
When not working on cracking morse codes, Jimin found himself elbow deep in journals, notebooks, paper scraps, clipped photos, and bent newspaper clippings in search of any information he could devour with just as much enthusiasm as the growing pile of empty soda cans he had shamelessly lugged into his office late that previous night. The only thing that had managed to pull him from his search efforts, was the delivery of Y/n’s family tree, which he promptly sent her a text for her to come collect that afternoon with all intents to have his office tidied and organized–though fate had other plans for him.
It was close to midday on Wednesday, and Jimin was seated where he had been for the past hour–leg tossed over one arm of his cushioned chair with his nose tucked into a hand sewn photo book created by what he could only guess was one of the original Kim daughter’s. He could stop scouring her blocky mix of Korean and English writing, or the few photos she had stuck onto the pages with tape (which meant unfortunately, there would be no removing any of them to check for any written titles without potentially damaging the integrity of the photos).
There was one in particular he wished more than anything that he could remove, his eyes never failing to return to the grainy black and white image of three children standing in a small alcove near the hotel stairs: knees and skirts dusted with dirt from the yard and hands clasped behind their backs or gripping at handmade dolls. Two of them he recognized as the two Kim children, estimated around the ages of five and eight years old–one son and one daughter.
The third child, however, he had never seen before in any of his searches or documents he had access to. She was young–not older than four or five–with long lightly colored curls and dark eyes. One of her hands was clasped with the Kim daughter’s, with a small imperceivable smile lifting up the corners of her mouth. At first he suspected that perhaps it was a friend that had been photographed with them during a playdate–but that was before he registered the dress she was wearing.
Light in hue with little capped sleeves that ended hardly above the edge of her shoulder, and the skirt embroidered with tiny dotted patterns in white string. Regardless of the photo being in black and white, Jimin knew for a fact that the dress was yellow: because he had seen both Matilda and Y/n wear it on separate occasions. A Wörner hand-me-down from decades prior.
He hummed to himself, inspecting the photo and churning his mind to come forth with any sort of idea or memory as to who this child could be–like if he were to stare long enough she would leap from the pages and give him a personal monologue of her life. A thought struck him, digging its talons into his mind and swarming him with temptation yet again.
He had yet to use the stolen keys. When asked about their whereabouts by his supervisor, Jimin put on his best act of ignorance, reassuring her he’d be sure to keep his eyes out for it. Perhaps with the right discovery, this mystery child could leap from the page and give him a personal monologue of her life.
He just needed a name.
The music that had been embracing the room with lavish and grand orchestral swells suddenly cut off, the tell tale sound of the needle hitting the velvet liner of the box the only warning he had for what was to come.
“No, no, no!” Jimin was on his feet the moment the beeping started, running to grab a small pocketbook he had been using for only morse code messages now after having received a second one Sunday. “Why right now? Y/n will be here soon.”
That only seemed to spur the rhythmic pulsing to speed up, saying the same thing over and over again in one simple message that Jimin didn’t need his soldiers to translate for him:
SOS SOS SOS SOS
Jimin held his breath–a message with a completely different format–a completely different theme than the other two previous transmissions. This one struck fear within him, and had the syrupy sweetness of all of the soda he had drunk swirling about his insides with whispered threats of coming back up to greet him.
“Bear if this is you, I need you to just talk to me. If there is something wrong I can’t–” Jimin never got the chance to finish, for someone else spoke for him.
“Bear isn’t here right now. But I will take a message for you if you can tell me where to find him.”
A voice so wretched, like it was calling up from hell itself rasped from his table side, curling into his ears and scraping through his senses like nails on a chalkboard. Jimin turned on instinct knowing he’d see nothing, and he was correct–there was nothing his eyes could see. Yet his ears still picked up on a shuddering intake of breath that scratched through the creature’s lungs with each inhale like the crackling of flames.
“Not so brave now that I’m speaking to you directly, are you?”
Footsteps thumped across the tile, dragging and heavy, with a sound akin to crumbling stone, but he could still see nothing–no sign of what or who he was speaking to–and he didn’t dare ask. They wandered towards the chair he had just been seated at, stilling beside the cushioned arm. With a sharp exhale that radiated heat waves from its mouth, Jimin could see the temperature clashing with the cool air of his office, warbling into the air approximately seven feet from the ground; a height that was all the more striking.
“Oh no,” The voice growled with a disapproving click of his tongue. “This won’t do. I apologize if this…ruins anything of value to you.”
Smoke curled up from the open page of the book Jimin had rested on his chair; a black smoldering hole growing in size over the mystery girl’s face and eating any remnants of who she was and spitting her out in coughs of ash that glowed orange with the lingering heat of the spirit’s touch.
“Shame, it was a good photo too.” The voice lamented, the waves of heat wiggling the air in front of its unseen mouth.
The steps started up again, closing in on where Jimin stood frozen in terror, his record player pressing into his back from where he had backed into it to escape this obscured predator. He could feel him before he heard him again, for he was but a fever on legs–billows of hot air taking over every sense and leaving its victim ill with its wrath. A wall of smothering heat wafted off of the soul that stood scarcely inches away, and bathed him in it. A thin sheen of sweat glistening upon the surface of his skin being beckoned by the unbending warmth.
Sudden searing hot pain bloomed across Jimin’s side, and he cried out in agony. It dug deeper into his ribs to erode his flesh with its fire. The fingers–if that's what they were–retracted from his skin, leaving him unsupported and weightless. He fell onto his knees in a fit of ragged breaths and afflicted grunts, his hands already scrambling to lift his button down to check for whatever damage awaited his discovery.
“Consider this a warning,” the spirit snarled, departing towards the door with heavy steps. “Keep your nose out of our business, and you won’t be seeing me again. Shall you decide to keep pushing your luck and I might have to…remove you from the story entirely. And then I’ll find your friend too–the pretty one that likes to cause trouble.”
He waited, frozen in place with only the sound of his heartbeat pummeling his eardrums to save him from the sound of popping rock and flame until the steps disappeared entirely.
Jimin trembled, biting his lip so hard it started to draw blood as he peeled his now singed shirt from his torso where it had stuck into the melted edges of flesh of his wound. A burn–angry and red–found its home on his side, situated in the shape of three long lines as if someone had run their fingers over his ribs towards his stomach.
“Sir! We couldn’t get in, are you okay?”
“Do I look like I’m okay?” Jimin panted, struggling to find his breath and removing his shirt completely to free the welts from any friction. “Are you able to grab me one of my spare shirts from my bag? Or do you not have the energy for that right now?”
The soldier didn’t answer, but Jimin could hear his boots rushing about the office, and the consequential grunts of frustration as the young man couldn’t gather enough energy to lift the shirt from the confines of his bag. Jimin listened to his attempts for a few more minutes, using the sounds as an anchor to steady his breathing and prepare himself for the way his nerves were going to scream at him when he’d have to get up and get him himself.
“I can get it. Just–” Jimin gasped as he bent forward to press his sweat-slicked forehead to the cool tile, the movement pulling on the fresh wounds, “ –just give me one moment please. And let me know if you hear them come back.”
It took Jimin another 20 minutes and a lot of deep breathing exercises so he wouldn’t alert his coworkers to do his best attempts at dressing his wounds with his first aid kit. Luckily they didn’t look nearly as bad as they felt, the actual burn itself no larger than an two inches in diameter–but the drag of whatever it was’ fingers left irritated scratches along the surrounding skin, the abrased areas making the gauze sting whenever he tightened or applied any pressure to it. With his burns dressed and a new shirt tugged on, he was able to move with a bit more freedom to approach his desk, his ears constantly peeled for the fiery ghost’s return.
Jimin tore open his desk drawer, snatching up a lighter and a stick of incense from its packaging and not even bothering to place it on its stand when he lit it–he just wanted some sort of protection against that devilish fiend.
Jimin let his eyes close, the aroma of frankincense leaving room for no other smells or sensations as it overtook him–a welcomed temporary distraction.
“Sir, Y/n is approaching with a friend.” A soldier spoke hurriedly, his nervous hovering felt without having to be seen.
Jimin sighed, snuffing out the stick and stifling the earthy smelling smoke and shoving the half burnt stick back into his drawer. “Thanks for the heads up.”
Now Jimin just had to figure out how he was going to pretend he wasn’t just attacked by a ghost and given a festering wound while working on uncovering coveted family secrets that threatened the balance of everything they knew. He could put on a convincing act, right?
_________________________________________
Well that had been a disaster. A complete and utter disaster, he thought to himself, his hand still pressed firmly to the door to keep Y/n from coming back in incase she tried. His burn was crying up at him from having to move around the room with superficial composure–the only silver lining being that he had secured a dinner with Y/n at the Adelaide, and successfully passed along her copy of the family tree.
“Stupid. Why did I act like that?” Jimin scolded himself for what could be the worst performance of nonchalance he had ever given. “I literally couldn’t have done a worse job if my life depended on it.”
“It wasn’t that terrible, sir.” The soldier that was comforting him was different from the last, this one a bit older than the youthful spry voice he had grown accustomed to–the voice Jimin had requested guard Y/n on her walk back to the estate in case whoever had tug his talons into his side decided to spring upon her unexpectedly.
“I appreciate your input…” Jimin trailed off, unsure what to refer to him as.
“You can call me Arrow if you would like to call me something. It’s not my real name, but it is a nickname some of the other members of my squad had given me.” This voice was steadier, less sporadic and not as prone to voice cracks as the other.
“Well then I appreciate your input Arrow, but I think I may have just scared her away from me eternally.” Jimin grumbled, sitting down onto his chair in an attempt to actually get some of his schoolwork done.
The voice grew closer, taking on a more curious lilt. “You like this lady, yes? She’s pretty bricky–so I can see why.”
Jimin shot ramrod straight, his side aching in protest at the abrupt action. “That isn’t important. What is important is that she trusts me so when I start…figuring out next steps we can join forces. Nothing more to it than that at the moment.” Jimin started to turn back to his screen, but did a double take in his direction. “What does bricky mean? I better not be something disrespectful…”
“At the moment?” Arrow hid a chuckle from his words, and Jimin shot a glare in his direction, so to appease him, Arrow tacked on a teasing “It means brave, sir.”
“Yes at the moment.” Jimin cleared his throat, willing his mind to think of anything else but ghosts and Y/n for the time being. “We just need to focus on the task at hand and then maybe I can humor something else.”
“Whatever you say, sir~” Jimin could hear the smirk on Arrow’s face without having to see it, and had to force his face to stay its natural color instead of flushed.
Picking up the burnt photo, he grimaced at the damage that had been done to something irreplaceable. For all he knew, that could’ve been the only copy left. “I told you all to stop calling me sir.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Jimin was jumpy the rest of the afternoon, his music so loud that his supervisor had to ask him twice to turn it down (not that he ever listened–he didn’t feel like dying today, and the music seemed to keep them at arm's length for the most part). He wasn’t keen on digging any further into the unknown either–his paranormal encounter having shaken him to his core–they had never been physical with him, and he wasn't interested in testing how far their boundaries could go so soon after.
He was good at compartmentalizing, he concurred. With that skill alone, he managed to get through the rest of the week by the skin of his teeth, pretending what had happened simply hadn’t; throwing himself into his studies with foolish words of comfort that he was doing the right thing leaving it be for the moment, and that he would get back to it later–and it had nothing to do with fear of what would happen to him. Or worse, Y/n. Those were things he told himself to mute the guilt of being intimidated so quickly.
On the bright side of things, he had discovered that if he gave offerings or gifts of sorts to Arrow, and the other soldiers (the young one had jokingly named himself Tree after his recount of meeting Y/n; and the third, an older gentlemen who spoke sparingly to Jimin settled on being referred to as Sergeant), that they would get boosts of strength to carry out tasks for Jimin.
The discovery had been made by accident when Jimin had jokingly offered him a can of soda from his vast collection. After having taken it, he had been able to move objects around the room, and had an easier job removing unwanted visitors from his office. Of course, word spread to the rest of them, and it became a new habit to give them something when they would spend the day with him.
For example, it had taken an entire plate of chicken tenders from the Adelaide as an offering to Tree for him to be able to deliver a gift bag to Y/n’s room the previous Friday upon Jimin’s request. The bigger the offering, the more energy. This led to them each developing requests and preferences for what Jimin would offer–and whether or not them getting to choose what they got affected the outcome, or if it was just them sneakily trying stuff from the modern world–Jimin wouldn’t know.
Arrow would request to listen to specific songs on the record player, and Sergeant liked when Jimin would leave books open for him on the table, turning the page upon request as Jimin worked or eventually on his own as he gained strength. When Jimin needed to focus, he taught him how to touch his phone screen and select an audio book to listen to while Jimin worked.
The first time Jimin had seen one of them manifest was after Tree had tried a snickers bar from the vending machine for the first time.
It had been Saturday morning, and Jimin was finishing up the last of his thesis in time to enjoy the night out with everyone at the Adelaide. He wanted any additional stressors out of the way to help keep his feet grounded when he had to play friends and fake niceties with Hoseok for Y/n’s sake–she wanted Hoseok there, and Jimin wasn’t going to deny her that.
Tree was seated on his bed, a shallow indent on his comforter where his body would be, and the snickers bar was placed on a simple ceramic plate on Jimin’s desk for him to partake in. Jimin wasn’t sure exactly how they were eating food and drink when he would leave it out, but he took their word that they were–even if the plate in front of him never physically changed. Most of the time he would have to end up eating it himself or offer it to coworkers (and Taehyung, when he’d see him around).
“These are incredible!” Tree exclaimed with a slight crack in his voice.
The interruption and the accompanying crinkle of plastic caught Jimin by surprise, his eyes fluttering to the fully intact and wrapped bar to his right. He did what he always does: look in the direction of their voices and noises when he is going to address them–it was just that this time, there was someone seated on his bed.
It was a completely dark figure, their limbs stretched and lanky–the build of a boy who couldn’t be a day over eighteen–and that was a generous guess only influenced by the height Tree had on him. His shoulders were narrow and slim, and all of his features shrouded by shadow. It looked like a scene out of cheesy 80s horror film: a fuzzy black outline of a man, an exact replica of the snickers bar next to him now half eaten and pinched between his fingers growing increasingly smaller with each invisible bite.
“You’re so…tall.” Jimin commented, his mouth slack with shock and his eyes frantically scanning him from head to toe multiple times, waiting for the figure to vanish at any given moment.
“Huh?” The outline of Tree’s head lifted, tilting to the side ever so slightly. “Can you see me?”
“How old are you? I’m realizing I never asked.” Jimin inquired, not registering he had even been asked a question for he was still in a state of awe.
Tree brought a hand up to wipe at where his mouth would be. “I think I was sixteen. Maybe seventeen.”
“That snickers must really be something special…” Jimin forced himself to tear his eyes away from Tree and back to his laptop screen. “I’ve never been able to see you before.”
“It is very special, sir. I think it’s my favorite thing I’ve gotten to try from your time thus far.” Tree’s words were tilted by the sound of a smile, followed by another shuffle of plastic as he took another bite.
“Do you think that’s how you all become visible?” Jimin turned his chair back around, unable to stop his inquisitive mind from turning threads of answers.
“Candy?”
“No.” Jimin gave a curt shake of his head. “Gifts.”
Tree shifted in his seat, lowering the hand that held the chocolate to rest over his knee. “I don’t know. Some of the others just do it. I think they need to have saved up enough energy or have some sort of push.” His hand brought the last of the chocolate to disappear into the abyss of his face. “Sometimes Sergeant gets seen by civilians if he’s feeling scared or stressed. Usually around the summer we can get a bit…lost as that was around the time of the battle. Muddies our minds and makes us more scattered.”
Jimin hummed, drinking in his words and letting them pool in the crevices of his mind. “So emotional triggers or specific times can make you stronger?”
“I believe as much.” Tree shrugged, tossing the wrapper into the trashcan across the room where it dissipated. “I personally theorize that’s why the angry ones are so powerful. They are still stuck on something that plagues their minds from when they were alive, and it has bled over into this life. It’s just odd, for they weren’t always at this level when I would see them outside before you let us in.”
A light flickered within Jimin’s mind, the wheels turning even faster with Tree’s shared observation. If they hadn’t always been that way, then dates and random triggers should be temporary–like a shared Snickers bar that brings them joy, or reliving the circumstances of their death to make them depressed or stressed–not never-ending. Not the way they have been described or sounded as of late.
“Or maybe …” Jimin took a finger and brushed it across his bottom lip while the loose threads started to create a new image. “Maybe someone has learned to weaponize the things that affect them so strongly. Someone who would need someone else to do their dirty work for them.”
“That’s a possibility. But Who would do that?” Tree asked. “Bottom fact is that they’ve been angry for some time, but I hadn’t ever seen them attempt attacks against the living until recently.”
Jimin sucked in a breath. He already had an idea of someone of suspicion–someone so desperate to hoard and hide information from everyone else’s eyes. Someone who had taken to forcing everyone into silent submission through force and intimidation: blocking Y/n after she had left, bribing his supervisor to display what she approved of, taking over most of Anslem’s tasks behind closed doors, demonizing some members of the house yet recruiting others for who knows what; and the list goes on.
There was only one person that fit the bill.
Mariah Wörner.
Mariah Wörner was potentially building an army of volatile and damned souls as servants to do her dirty work–and if Jimin knew anything about history, the end goal would most likely be one thing: Power. Unchecked power.
“Tree?” Jimin called, swiveling his chair around. “Do you think you can try and tap a message to Bear? Tell him that we will all be at the Adelaide tonight, but I will be buying a morse code transmitter so we can send him messages.”
Tree had obliged, though they couldn’t be certain that their message had been received. Not until later that evening.
One moment he was dancing with Y/n in the thralls of loud music and colorful lights, and the next he was escaping to the bathroom to listen to a voice message left by an unknown caller; the message being entirely in morse code.
Tree had been able to put together his response quickly once he had called him in.
FB. CU. 0333. 88. BW AR; which Jimin had been able to translate into common speech to mean
“Excellent. See you. 3:33am. Love and kisses. BW, End of Transmission.”
_________________________________________
“He is going to kill her!” One voice hissed, banging against his door with desperate fists.
“He is here–The Devil!” Another cried, shaking the door handle. “Let me in–I must hide!”
“Stay away. Let fate run its course you filthy meddling child.”
“Grab a medical kit, sir! She’s in the kitchen!”
Jimin couldn’t breathe–he couldn’t think.
He scrambled about his room in search of his medical kit bag at the advice of Tree, finding it hanging from a velvet hanger within his closet and yanking it free. His feet blurred down the long hall, drifting onto the landing and scurrying down the stairs in a blur of speed.
A colorless and urgent Hoseok appeared from around the corner that led down the hall with the sound of his thundering feet, his expression daring to show a dash of relief at the sight of Jimin.
“Hey do you have a-”
“First aid kit? Yes, it's in my hand.” Jimin cut him off, starting towards the kitchen when one of Hoseok’s hands stopped him.
“Before you go in–”
“Now’s not the time for your excuses, Hoseok. Whatever you did we can talk about it after.” Jimin bit back in a whisper so Y/n wouldn’t hear, wrenching his forearm from his grasp and fixing him with an intense stare.
“I didn’t do anything.” Hoseok defended, his volume also lowered–but the nervous shake in his eyes and the quiver of his voice led Jimin to think otherwise. “We need to talk about-”
“I don’t want to talk to you about anything–I don’t fraternize with traitors. Just stay away from her. If she wants you in there than fine, but don’t get too close. I’ll be watching you.” With that, Jimin ran into the kitchen, not able to take another second without knowing whether or not Y/n was okay.
Y/n was all Jimin could focus on–the way she shook, the blood trickling down her temple, the glazed look in her eyes–the eyes he didn’t miss constantly looking over Namjoon’s shoulder like she was searching for something, waiting for something to be there with each glance in that vague direction.
The same direction Jimin could hear phantom howls and rattling breath–whispered words of violence and self-depreciation warbling through the veil between them.
“A devil! What a devil I am! Look what I have done! Pity my soul…”
Hoseok, at the bare minimum, had the wherewithal to listen to Jimin’s commands, appeasing him by keeping space between himself and Y/n; all the while looking like a kicked puppy whenever she wasn’t looking. Jimin could almost feel bad for him with the way he appeared to be punishing himself more than Jimin ever could–just for what he couldn’t even let himself ponder without making a scene. And Y/n didn’t need that right now–she needed help not more tension.
After leaving her with Namjoon to get herself situated, Jimin traced Hoseok’s steps back to the kitchen where he had excused himself to prepare Y/n’s food, steering himself through the door with little hesitation.
“You have a lot of nerve still being here.” Jimin seethed at where Hoseok stood slumped over a partially boiling pot of water.
“Mmhmm.” Hoseok grunted, void of any emotion and empty.
Jimin scoffed. “Is that all you have to say for yourself? After whatever you just did?”
“Mmhmm.” Hoseok repeated again in an identically disconnected manner, not even bothering to look up at Jimin from where he had hunched his shoulders inwards.
Jimin stomped over to the stove, grabbing a hold of Hoseok’s shoulder and yanking him to face him. “Look at me you–”
The rest of the words never left Jimin’s mouth, for suddenly he was engulfed in flame. The room was no longer the kitchen, but a burning blaze of wood and smoke–ember and destruction.
The room he had found himself in was smaller than the kitchen, barely half its size in length and even narrower in width. Its walls were entirely made of columns of old wooden beams that were being dissolved by blazing licks to crumble into the open mouth of the fire that spread below it. A few of them cracked and splintered, tipping to the side with a groan and thundering to the ground in an eruption of ash and orange embers.
He heard screaming. A child’s shattering cries for help swallowed by the roar of flames that enclosed around him. Jimin brought one hand up to cover his mouth from the chokehold the smoke kept trying to put him in, burrowing into his nose–his eyes, his mouth his ears–every orifice was a target.
Water pooled along the rims of his eyes that searched through the plumes for the calls of the wailing child, finding only a small lump that stirred with movement on the other end of it–blocked by a flickering barrier of fire. Only the tips of a small hand reaching up from the breaks in flame visible as its pale fingers reached to him.
“Help me! Please!”
Jimin started towards the child, his hands outstretched to reach for them–fingertips scarcely brushing each other.
“Please!” The child sobbed as their hands barely missed each other for the second time.
He grit his teeth and teetered even further forwards into the starving heat, their hands coming in to close around one another–
With just as much (or as little) notice, Jimin was back in the kitchen, his hand on Hoseok’s shoulder as if no time had passed.
Hoseok was glaring at him, imploring him to speak with expectant eyes.
“You still here with me? I asked what the fuck you wanted?” Hoseok’s voice was hot, just like the flames Jimin had been thrust into.
“I–” Jimin swallowed, frantic eyes looking at the room around him–the stove, the fridge, the counter, the saucepot of now boiling water. The child was gone. “I don’t-”
“Yell at me if you want–but I’m not gonna argue.” It was then that Jimin noticed the red swollen edges of Hosoek’s brown eyes, and the partially wiped tear stains that tracked down his cheeks. “So if that’s all you wanna do, leave.”
“Hoseok…” Jimin started again, his experience wiping all of his anger from his system and leaving him in a state of disorientation.
A crack of thunder tore Jimin from his stupor, pulling his hand from Hoseok’s shoulder to drop down to his side, letting Hoseok turn back to the pot with a huff. He staggered away from him and whatever spell he had put him under, quickly turning on his heels without another word to dash out into the dining room.
He couldn’t breathe again. Images of the child’s hand and the sound of their screams ripped through him like a knife over and over again. It had felt so real he didn’t know if he was hallucinating, or if it had been real. His shoulders heaved in ways that made each scab along his burns itch, the skin of his ribs stretching taut and releasing with his breath. He didn’t know how long he had stood there trying to regain some semblance of himself–it could’ve been seconds or hours. The only thing he did know was that the sound of the front door slamming closed told him he was no longer alone, and he had run out of time to recover in private.
“Are you okay?” Jungkook’s flat voice called to him from the foyer, his eyes dark as they scrutinized the way Jimin hung onto the table's edge like a lifeline.
“Yes–I’m fine. Go shower, you’re so sweaty.” Jimin did his best attempt at a teasing tone, but it only managed to come out sounding strained and out of breath.
Jungkook hesitated, his eyes flickering between Jimin and the stairs. “Are you sure?”
“Very sure.” Jimin tried to prove his lie by standing straight, and giving him a feigned teasing smile. “It was just that I could smell you from the other side of the door. It almost wiped me out I fear.”
Jungkook rolled his eyes, but Jimin saw the smallest of smiles quirk at the edge of his lips. “Whatever.”
Jungkook ascended the stairs, and Jimin stood still, waiting until he was out of sight to let himself crash into one of the dining room chairs with his head in his hands.
“Are you alright, sir?” Arrow asked hesitantly from over Jimin’s shoulder.
Jimin was immune for the most part to startling voices, so he remained unbothered by the intrusion. “I’ve been better.” He whispered, afraid if he spoke too loudly that Hoseok would hear.
Arrow hummed, sensing Jimin’s reluctance to speak and settling for hovering over his shoulder. When Jimin had found himself ready to return to his room, he could still hear Arrow’s boots treading the carpet behind him–a sound that now brings comfort to Jimin instead of irritation.
A few days had passed since the incident in the kitchen, though he couldn’t seem to forget the experience as much as he wanted to. It plagued his dreams and thoughts, torturing him with smokey nightmares and ringing ears. He lost himself in his thoughts of the child–his brain wondering if it had anything to do with the mystery child or the malevolent energy that had attacked him at the historical building. But every times his thoughts wandered that direction, he tugged them back in fear of their return.
Jimin found a new welcomed distraction, now sitting hunched over his desk with a new morse code transmitter carefully placed at the center of his desk still smelling of fresh plastic and metal. He prayed that this would work–that Bear would be able to hear it if he wired it to his radio with the volume low enough to not disturb his room neighbors.
No one had said anything about not contacting Bear–just not to dig through the historical documents–so technically he wasn’t doing anything he wasn’t supposed to.
He couldn’t simply wait around and twiddle his thumbs after what had happened–and with his assignments finished and submitted and his graduation date approaching, he had nothing else to do but mull over everything that had occurred over the past few weeks.
Tree stood hovered over his shoulder, invisible this time, guiding Jimin to choose his first message carefully.
“I think if you keep it concise, it should be fine. Use abbreviations where you can.”
Jimin nodded, his pen hovering over the paper while he willed his mind to come up with what to say. He pulled up a website to help him condense whatever he could into abbreviations so as to not make the message too tiresome for Tree to tap out. He settled on one, his eyes rereading it a few more times just to be sure.
I HR U, II, TALK TO ME NORMALLY PSE. YM AR.
“How is this?” Jimin slid the paper over to the edge of his desk, waiting a few moments for Tree to read it and leave his comments.
“Acceptable.” Tree’s voice cracked, and he cleared his throat to cover up the sound. “Shall I start then?”
“Have at it.” Jimin fell back into his chair with a sigh, and gestured to the machine. When nothing happened Jimin turned to stare at the empty space where Tree should be. “Is everything alright?”
“I need energy to press the buttons, sir.”
“Oh.” Jimin got to his feet, striding over to his bed to rummage through his messenger back for something. “Try this.”
Jimin tossed a bent granola bar onto the desk, watching it come to a skidding halt on the empty plate he now kept in his room. He heard the telltale sound of a crinkling wrapper, and stared expectantly at the place where he was sure he stood. After a few moments of waiting Jimin spoke up.
“Is that enough?”
Tree hummed thoughtfully before deciding on his answer. “It’s no Snickers candy–but it will do.”
Jimin sat down on the edge of his bed with his arms crossed, boring holes into the machine with fervent impatience.
The buttons started to dip, bouncing up and down in a meticulous pattern by–what it looked like to him–their own volition. There were no hands and no fingerprints left behind with each touch to the metal, only the faint beeping coming through his radio with each dip of a button. After what felt like forever to Jimin and his intolerance for the sound, Tree stopped.
“I sent the message through three times before ending transmission, sir. If he responds I’ll be sure to let you know. You can go to sleep.”
Jimin dragged his hands down his face, huffing out another sigh. “I guess I should.”
“Yes. For your outing with your lady tomorrow.” Tree sang from his spot by the desk, taking on the tone that wasn’t far from that of an obnoxious younger brother.
“Oh shut up.” Jimin whined with a roll of his eyes.
“Don’t be such a noodle.” Tree pestered. “Are you going to kiss her tomorrow?”
“What I’m going to do is go to sleep.” Jimin turned on his heel, escaping into his bathroom to change his clothes for some semblance of privacy. He could still hear Tree’s boyish giggles carrying through the wall as he turned the sink on to wash his face of all of that day's stressors.
_________________________________________
Jimin stormed into his room, tossing his keys onto his desk with an exaggerated groan ripping from his chest.
“I’ll take it you didn’t kiss her?” Tree asked smartly from the corner of his room.
“Don’t press him.” Arrow chastised, following in through the door. “He did his best and that’s what counts.”
“Yeah, well my best made her look at me like I was a monster. She probably thinks I’m one of them now.” Jimin flopped onto his bed, grabbing one of his pillows and yelling his frustrations into it.
“I doubt she thinks that way. If it matters it looked like you two were snug as a bug for most of it.” Arrow reassured him, coming to stand close to the edge of his bed. “Just keep your chin up. I’m sure we will be able to figure things out soon.”
Jimin bolted upright, tossing the pillow to the side and skittering over to his desk. He turned on his radio and scribbled out a new message, his pencil gripped so tightly between his fingers he felt the wood splintering from within.
“Send this to Bear.” Jimin dropped the pencil and shot to his feet with his hands fisting into his hair, beginning a pace back and forth in front of the desk.
“Are you sure? This message seems a bit…risky?” Tree’s voice was timid–nervous.
Jimin stopped, giving himself one more moment to question his choices–but the answer remained clear to him. There was no other option, there was only being complicit.
“Send it.”
The clicks and tones rang through the room, and Jimin closed his eyes, taking deep satisfying breaths with each pesky beep.
Tell me what I need to do. YM AR.
Tree sent the message out multiple times in hourly increments. Jimin would wait for each one, sitting at his desk with his eyes set on the radio, willing it to come to life with any sort of response with his stare.
Unfortunately, between the mumbled banter of his friends and the clicking of the buttons, he must of nodded off into a restless and dreamless sleep that was haunted by his least favorite lullaby of morse code. The only benefit of the sound was that it kept the nightmares of fire away.
Jimin awoke with a start, his forehead hitting the surface of his desk as he jostled himself upright. He blinked blearily up at his clock that read just before five in the morning, and wondered just what could’ve woken him up at such an ungodly hour.
Another bout of firm knocks shook his door, answering his unspoken questions with their persistence. Jimin stood, stumbling through his dark room to open his door, fully ready to tell off whoever it was that insisted on bothering him so early.
“Howdy Jimin, are you ready to head out?” Anselm Wörner stood outside his door, smiling brightly and already dressed in one of his red work suits.
Jimin blinked at him, eyeing the travel bag tucked under his arm and his smile that left Jimin feeling more so unsettled than enlivened. “Pardon?” He finally choked out, knitting his brows together.
“I’m here to grab your bags for our trip to Maryland for your graduation! Don’t tell me you forgot?” Anselm made a move to step into his room, but stopped–jerking backwards as if the doorknob had shocked him.
“I mean no disrespect sir,” Jimin started, surveying the way Anselm's face took no time to bounce back to its preppy demeanor. “However I was told that Hana and Yeongjin would be taking me this afternoon. I’m afraid I haven’t finished packing yet.”
Anselm’s smile dropped, and his head tilted sharply to the side much too swiftly for comfort. His eyes took on a clouded expression, falling into a daze like he had just…disappeared from his mind.
“Are you feeling alright, Mr. Wörner?” Jimin reached an apprehensive hand out to lay over Anselm’s–the skin cold beneath his touch. The contact reanimated the man in front of him, and Anselm seemed to fall right back into his body with a smile that would put any working clown out of business.
“Of course I am! They must’ve slipped and told you the wrong time. I’ll wait for you on the landing to finish packing.” He turned stiffly, and with movements similar to a marionette, traipsed down the hall and out of sight for Jimin to stare off after in bewilderment.
His room was a whirlwind–clothes flying from his closet and into his bag; a black garment bag with his cap and gown tossed over his bed; and his computer bag bulging with his laptop, cords and books shoved carelessly into empty spaces. All of these things are a physical representation of his mind: Frantic and disorganized.
None of this had been the plan, and Jimin had a sinking pit in his stomach that said it might have something to do with his choices the day prior–whether it was his split-second decision to write a note for Y/n, or his choice to reach back out to Bear with a more forward request. Either way, he didn’t want to push his luck, and rushed to carry his overly stuffed bags down the hall towards the landing, stumbling over his own feet with drooping eyes.
“Let me help you with that.” Jin piped up from behind him, the sound of his door clicking shut making Jimin turn his head to see him.
“Thanks, I appreciate it.” Jimin yawned out, handing Jin the bag over his shoulder and relieving his aching side of the added weight, still healing from his burns of his encounter. “Did I wake you?”
Jin shook his head, shrugging the bag onto his shoulder. “No. I planned to be up early to say goodbye to my parents.”
Neither of them spoke during the rest of their moseyed path down the long hall to the landing, both of them much too exhausted to offer anything of interest to a discussion. They made it to the foyer when Jin excused himself to the kitchen, bidding Jimin hushed farewells as he went to find his own breakfast.
Jimin took a second to steady his nerves, shaking out his shoulders and steeling his mind for whatever this trip was going to look like. He heard the clamor of parents out near the front steps through a cracked window, and with a sharp intake of breath, shouldered open the door to join them.
Within the first two steps, his bags were removed from his hands by the staff that was helping them load their vehicles, leaving him with no other excuse for keeping his distance from the four adults that huddled on the gravel. Hana’s friendly brown eyes lit up with delight at the sight of Jimin, a smile on her lips that mirrored Jin’s glowing up at him.
“Come here Jimin, we were just discussing you–let’s get a picture before we go!” Hana waved a dainty hand to him over Mariah’s shoulder, beckoning him to join the huddle of parents that had congregated out front of the estate. She passed her phone to one of the staff that was currently loading the trunk, their gloved hands holding the device at the ready.
“Alright.” Jimin swallowed hard, his eyes still heavy from the sleep he had been dragged from and nerves firing on high alert.
Jimin kept his face neutral, forcing his breathing to remain a natural cadence as he approached their chattering group. His control was nearly blasted to smithereens when Anselm grabbed his arm and lugged him against his side, clamping his other arm over Jimin’s back and digging his fingers into the meat of his arm in an effort to guide him to stand in the center.
“Yes, a photo! We must commemorate this trip.” Anselm gave everyone a wide grin as they all stepped in. Hana sidled up to Jimin’s other side, a proud smile blessing her face and her hand slipped comfortably into her husband's who stood at her side.
“Smile.” Anselm's voice tipped into something more as the phone flashed with light–something volcanic and corroded at the edges. A shift only Jimin seemed to catch, because none of the other parents seemed to stiffen like Jimin had.
“You alright Jiminie?” Hana looked up at him, having sensed the tensing of his arm against her side.
Jimin nodded, plastering on a sweet smile. “Just tired.”
Hana’s smile returned, and she waved a hand to the wait staff again. “Can you take a few more without the flash as well please?”
They held their position for them to snap a few more photos, and Jimin had to count out his breaths in his head to keep himself from panicking with the proximity of Y/n’s parents. There was no way for them to know any of what he had done already, he lathered his mind with ignorant thoughts, this must just truly be a misunderstanding.
“Alright everyone–let’s load up. We don’t want to be late!” Mariah fretted, walking towards the car with Hana close to her side, the two of them dabbing at the edges of their eyes and sharing watery giggles.
“Heavens. I figured we’d at least make it to Maryland before the two of them started crying.” Yeongjin tutted with a chuckle, giving Anselm a gentle nudge with his elbow.
Anselm shared in his jest, the two sharing a knowing look. “I give it five minutes on the road before they are inconsolable.”
“I give it two.” Yeongjin laughed again before jogging after the two women to open the car door for them. Jimin was now left alone with Anselm, his arm still pressed down into his shoulder steering the two of them after the others at a much slower pace.
“You know, Jimin,” Anselm started, his casual tone a stark contrast to the way he gripped Jimin like he was going to bolt at any second. “I always knew you’d do great things. You’ve always been a smart kid.”
“Thank you.” Jimin nodded politely, his smile appearing more as a grimace from the crushing pressure of his arm.
“Of course. Now there’s nothing stopping you from taking over as head of the historical department.” Anselm’s grin stretched wider–almost too wide–and his arm slid down to pull Jimin into a suffocating hug. “That is, unless something were to come up.”
The hand around Jimin’s middle pressed into the half healed burn on Jimin’s side, an involuntary grunt escaping Jimin’s lips at the sting so strong that it stole the breath from his lungs. As quick as he had pulled him in, he was gone–hand retracted from the burn and lumbering off to the car to follow after Yeongjin.
He started forward, the gravel crunching under his feet with each reluctant step after him. One of his hands instinctively came up to hold at his side, shielding the wound from any other prodding or squeezing from unseen forces. This was going to be a long weekend.
A gentle tinkling sound lilted through the air, something small and shiny skittering across the gravel and stopping against the toe of Jimin’s shoe. He bent down low, his thumb and forefinger poised to pinch the small orb beneath his fingers.
“What the hell…” He muttered under his breath, lifting what seemed to be a small rotund bell–like one of the ones they would dangle on branches of their holiday trees each year. He rotated it within his hands, the faint blue hint of sun approaching the horizon glinting back a reflection of his own face up at him.
“You’ll find yourself making good use of this, young man. Use it if they give you any trouble.”
Jimin’s head shot up in the direction of the front door, which was a few inches ajar and spilling yellow light across the tops of his shoes and shins. The voice belonged to a woman–its rich tone both firm and taunting.
A voice he had only heard once before in the corners of the historical building when he was a child, urging him through the exhibit aisles and expanding his mind to the love and joy of history.
The voice of Adelaide Wörner.
Jimin dared not speak. He dared not respond. He couldn’t believe his ears, turning the bell over in his fingers with a new found reverence.
“Sir, I don’t know if I will be able to accompany you the entire time. You will be traveling far.” Arrow murmured apologetically as he approached.
Jimin pocketed the bell, and shook his head with new found confidence. “Don’t worry about it. Keep an eye on Y/n for me.”
_________________________________________
It was late on Sunday evening. His hotel room shrouded in shadow, warping the sharp edges of furniture and hanging paintings into mysterious shapes that elevated his heart rate every time they crept into the edge of his vision. He couldn’t sleep. Something felt wrong–like he needed to be awake for something. But exactly what it was, he wasn’t sure.
Jimin had done a good job at keeping his head low, Hana and Yeongjin had been the perfect buffer between himself and the Wörners. The only risk he had taken was finally gaining enough courage to add something to Y/n’s family tree, hoping she wouldn’t hate him for it. He really just wanted to call her. He wanted her to be there with him, to have been there to cheer for him as he walked across the stage to shake some educator’s hand and pose for a photo. To come running down the steps and fall into each other's embrace like they used to, perhaps even get to–
Light erupted into his room from his phone screen, a new phone call from an unknown number blazing across his screen. His stomach dropped. His instincts told him that this was what he had been waiting for.
It took everything in him to let the call go to voicemail, waiting with baited breath and twitching fingers until the call ended just to pounce on it like an animal the moment a new voicemail notification appeared, his fingers fumbling to open it and press it to his ear.
The tonal message started–and boy was it long. Without Tree or Sergeant around to help him, he had no other choice but to mess around with downloading the audio file and inputting it into an online website. He wouldn’t be able to wait until morning to ask them–he would surely explode–he just prayed that this would be just as accurate.
Letters and numbers loaded into view, his eyes devouring them one by one as they appeared.
It is only me left. If this is my last msg, stick together. 73 88 CL, BW AR.
He couldn’t lose Bear. Not when he held the key to so many answers.
In what he decided was a better way to spend his time than lying unconscious for a few more hours, he took to the internet in search of ideas–if Bear wanted them to stick together, and for him to talk to Y/n–he would find a way. His search brought a conclusion with a few common themes: Smoke. Plants. Incense. Sound.
All things he had access to. He just needed more–and he knew just the way to get it.
Because Bear was right: they needed to stick together–whatever happened in the past be damned. If there was one thing Bear had been sure to drill in all of their heads, it was to never back down. That giving in did most of the work for your enemies.
And Jimin refused to give in any longer.
With his new contract already signed during a celebratory dinner the night before–Jimin was locked into his position for at least a handful of years. Thus he didn't hesitate to meet Mariah and Anselm’s gazes at breakfast a few hours later, silently challenging them to say something–to do something in front of witnesses. He met each threatening side eye and brush of hand with just as much push back. A silent act of defiance.
He couldn’t help himself when the Kim’s had left the table to take their key cards back to the front desk, to tear a napkin into a rectangular shred with a miniscule smirk. He wanted to send them a message just as they had sent him many–to return the threat back to the sender if you will. And he had the perfect way to do so, a declaration of rebellion that only they would understand.
“You seem…full of energy this morning Jimin. Did you have a good night’s rest?” Mariah schooled her voice, but kept her eyes cold and calculating.
Jimin shined up at them with a cloying grin, letting his eyes glow with nauseating sweetness. “I had an amazing night’s rest.”
Anselm’s eyes followed Jimin’s hand as it swiped one of the pens from the table, twirling it in his fingers. “That’s great to hear.” In spite of his words, Anselm's tone fell flat and modulated. Jimin’s lack of fear was getting to him already, and Jimin relished in the feeling.
Jimin hummed sweetly, coloring in thick, swooping letters across his napkin. “It is great.”
“Jimin.” Mariah scolded, all attempts at masking her displeasure ruptured. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”
“Oh I won’t regret anything.” Once satisfied with his little note, he tossed the pen back onto the table and stretched with an overly animated yawn. “I’m just having a bit of fun, reminiscing on a few things from the past.” He slid the napkin across the table as he stood, giving it a firm tap with his finger. “Some things to exercise your mind, if you will. I will see you after work, maybe.”
Mariah gasped in outrage, jerking her head to sow her rage onto Jimin only to find the space he had occupied empty. Jimin had to miss their reaction in order to afford himself the privilege of an escape, but what he wouldn’t do to have seen it. He was already halfway to the car he was to share with Hana and Yeongjin by the time she had looked up–leaving her with no victim to spew her punishment onto.
The edge of the table groaned, cracking into splinters that drew the outline of Anselm’s hands from the inhuman force he gripped it with and dug into his skip like little needles. Mariah couldn’t believe what she was seeing–she was besides herself. The coffee stains spread out in bleeding lines, the message small yet concise. An act of rebellion to share that he didn’t intend to back down.
Genre: Horror ish au, paranormal au, hurt/comfort, slow burn, romance, psychic au, eventual smut, friends to lovers, Mystery, BTS ot7 x reader
Total word count: 500k
Rating: 18+: Keep that in mind as this is at its core a paranormal/heavy theme rooted in history and myth, and some things are emotionally disturbing or spooky (so be prepared for potential gore/violence or scary elements). Read at your own discretion as I will only be putting trigger warnings for things that can pose severe safety risks to those affected. All else, like I said it is a spooky and mystery au.
Y/n Wörner left the Wörner Hotel and Estate nearly 5 years ago in an attempt to run away from a family argument that put a firm divide between her and her parents. She was managing fine, for the most part -save for the constant existential crisis of what she should do with herself and her life. That was until an invitation for the 150th anniversary of their family hotel ended up shoved in her mailbox on Thursday morning, and for no rational reason she found herself running back; unable to stop the pull to return home to her family and friends who live on the grounds. Once she arrives, however, it becomes inarguably apparent that things are very wrong. The ghosts of her long past family who were once friendly, are now vengeful and violent. Her friends are divided by secrets, mystery, and fear- changed in tandem with the ghosts she used to love. She has to relearn how to balance who she knew her friends as children, and who they have become in the recent years as a result of the darkness that threatens to drown them in its wake. She knows that something is threatening her home and her friends, but she doesn't know what. And if there's one thing about Y/n Wörner, it's that she's not a quitter. No ghost or demon will stop her from getting the answers she needs- even if it means they have to try and kill her before she gets to them. Because what does she have to lose?
The answer is everything. She could lose everything. Because unfortunately for everyone involved, the spirits seem to take the previous statement as a personal challenge.
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Pechsträhne Book Two : Requiem Doloris et Irae
BTS Ot7 x reader, 18 +, paranormal themes, violence, eventual smut, childhood friends to lovers
If Y/n thought her life was in shambles before, then today, she could confidently say it was obliterated. They are back to square one–back where they started with almost no real answers, a bunch of half-baked theories, and a fuck-ton of heartbreak. But you know how that saying goes: 'Whatever doesn't kill you makes you fucking pissed off and powerful". (At least that's how Yoongi's version goes anyway). While as crass as it may seem–he's right.
The tides are shifting, and the spirits of the property can feel it. All it takes is one person to stand against the current to show everyone else around them that they can. For if one stands alone, they are doomed to drown under the crushing waves. But if they all stand together–they can change the current to rush however they please.
Now they just have to get everybody else to stand up.
Teaser
I Ch. 1 I Ch. 2 I Ch. 3 I Ch. 4 I Ch. 5 I Ch. 6 I Ch. 7 I Ch. 8 I ...
500k special (nsfw ver.) Jungkook x reader "Can I Taste You?"
Summary:
Going from best friends, to estranged friends, to lovers means that the roadmap for their relationship may not look as straight as everyone else's - especially when their journey has involved more peril and demon-fighting than most of the population. Though despite having decades of friendship under their belt, there are still plenty of firsts to have! Like discovering Jungkook’s love of innocent physical affection behind closed doors, something much different than his usual stoicism and naturally shy demeanor.
However, while on their “vacation”, Jungkook grows needy for a different kind of affection, and due to their trip being rather impromptu, they have to get creative in how to satisfy those needs while preventing any accidents. Thankfully, Jungkook is never not up for a challenge.
What was that about firsts?
Beg For It (1 year Anniversary deleted scene)
summary:
Your mind has been spinning out of control lately, and the only person who can whip you back into shape is hell bent on making you beg for it.
pairing: Min Yoongi! x reader
Word count: Approx 3.5k of filth
Genre: SMUT. Pechsträhne universe. Deleted scene. 1 Year anniversary special You do not have to read the main story to read this. Took place at the end of chapter 24.
Trick or Treat!
What does each character's room smell like...
MTL to struggle with poly relationship ask ( spoilers for book one)
MTL to let reader Peg them [feat. god! yoongi and God! hoseok] (NSFW obvi)
Pechsträhne Boys caring for sick reader/in pain from a procedure (minor spoilers for book one and two)
When is the smut? (for those that are wary of it)
Is Pechsträhne Jungkook autistic?
The boys as Tarot cards
How the boys handled mc leaving the first time?
Author's Story Art!
Yoongi Tarot card
Pieces of Red String for you to Follow if you Dare...
Namjoon Character Moodboard
Seokjin Character Moodboard
Yoongi Character Moodboard
Hoseok Character Moodboard
Jimin Character Moodboard
Taehyung Character Moodboard
Jungkook Character Moodboard
Pinterest Boards
Family Tree of Y/n Wörner
Historical Archives of the Wörner's (COMPLETED)
Photos of rough outline of the estate (not hotel)
Morse code clues, chapters 7 to 14: x x x x x x x x x
Find chapter and character playlists here:
Spotify (No longer up to date)
Youtube music
Fanfic recs
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P.S: to avoid spoilers, I use a spoiler tag on asks for new readers to avoid if they want to. And If you ever want to look for asks where I've answered questions before, you can check the Chillin with Delyn and Pechsträhne tag! tag!
Do not repost anywhere or steal my writing/story. Thx.
Obvious disclaimer: this is just fiction and not actually about the bts members, they are simply face cards and names here. Enjoy, love you lots.
8. Seeing is believing (sorry, my eyes were closed)
cowboy! Jimin x reader
series masterlist I word count: approx 8k
Summary: Your brother has always been flighty. The type of person who would pick up your call from the depths of a cave in Kentucky on a random Tuesday, only to be halfway across the country by Wednesday on the lookout for the next big Bigfoot sighting. So no one really bat an eye when he disappeared into the woods of New Mexico with a flashlight and a dream of hunting down the ‘Deadwood Wardens’, yet another mythological legend you didn’t believe in that he felt was his 'destiny' to prove.
But then he stopped calling. And it turns out the woods were a lot scarier in person than in the photos.
With the help of a local who knows the woods like the back of his hand, you should be out of here with your stupid brother in no time! Not that you were worried or anything — after all, it wasn’t like those campfire stories of men in wide-brimmed hats coming to steal the souls of unsuspecting trespassers were true. It was only a coincidence that Jimin, your friendly woodsman, wore a hat just like the ones taped on your brother's wall....right?
Genre: 18+ Folk horror, paranormal themes, mystery/thriller, romance, slow burn, eventual smut (? we will see where the wind takes me)
Chapter Warnings: Language. discussions of death. Paranormal themes.
A/n: getting some biblically accurate lore finally. Sorry for being MIA; just vibing through life and dealing with some flares. For those that missed it, I made a post here about creating a Discord server for us to hang out and yap. You don't just have to talk about BTS, there's plenty of other things we can chitty chat about in there. Games, art, fics, life etc.
Anyways, Let's get it~
“Am I going to die?” Your question sounded small. Small enough to make Jimin look at you with a pity that made your stomach drop. A double hit considering the onslaught of snickers erupting from the kitchen behind him.
“We all die. Does it really matter when? Thought you were ready to burn it all down...” Hoseok barked out a cold laugh from the other room, silencing any further questions from you. That humored him even more. “Now look who’s finally learned to be quiet. Guess it was all just talk, huh?”
Humiliation twisted a hot fist in your gut, bile rising in the back of your throat. You felt exposed in the cramped quarters of the bathroom, the walls doing little to hide the tremor in your voice from the circling hyenas in the kitchen.
With one quick glance at your expression, Jimin’s hardened, looking at Hoseok with blatant scorn. “That’ll do. She’s been through enough tonight.”
Hoseok’s laughter fizzled out, his pride grazed by Jimin’s dissent.
“Protective already?” He mused, stepping up to his side while fixing his belt, making sure his holsters were proudly on display. “This ain’t gonna be a problem for us, is it?”
Jimin blocked him from the bathroom entrance, shielding your moment of vulnerability from his view. “No. I just remember how it felt to look in that mirror. Telling me you don’t?”
“Been a long time for me.” Hoseok bit back, bitterness coating every syllable.
Jimin didn’t back down from the obvious show of power. “You don’t remember how it was when you first found out?”
“Couldn’t even if I tried.”
They stared at one another for an unbearably long time. Long enough for the air to shift like the first intermingling dance of hot winds meeting a cold front, and it was only a matter of seconds until one of them cracked the other’s teeth or bolted.
You decided to ease the tension, schooling yourself to look as neutral as possible. “I need to go to the bathroom, i-if you wouldn’t mind.” There was no reason to wait for a response; your hands were already pressing the door closed and pinching the lock. A moment of privacy was all you needed to pull yourself together.
Waiting a couple of seconds, you held your breath and listened for any sign of struggle. The other room was completely silent; even when you pressed your ear to the wood, there wasn’t even a scuff of boot on tile or a murmured curse. A sigh of relief trickled out when you heard the porch creak, figuring Jimin had convinced the others to leave.
Something in your chest fluttered. Or choked. Or maybe you were having a heart attack...who knows.
Jimin’s good looks and charming nature had to be influencing you. Maybe his hair held secret magic that bewitched everyone who looked at it, or his eyes infiltrated the mind and softened its defenses...because you were actually starting to trust him.
Be it from his insistence to keep Hoseok at arm's length from you, or the unpleasant attitude from all the other cowboys you had gotten to familiarize yourself with so far, he looked like a saint right now.
Was this trauma bonding? Stockholm syndrome planting seeds in your head? No, it was too early for all that. His character must actually be decent enough to skim through your radar this long.
“Okay…” You heaved a shaky sigh, planting both hands on the sink and staring yourself down in the mirror. The collar of your shirt was still stretched out from your prodding, leaving a snippet of the scar to stare back at you. You shivered.
“Look. We are in deep shit. Shapeshifters, ghosts, and unexplained marks — maybe something worth hearing out.” Mindlessly, your fingertips pushed back under the fabric to press down on it, hissing a bit when you found it tender. “There’s gotta be a reason behind all of it, and that guy out there has it. We can’t give him too hard of a time if we want answers.” A short pause, and a point at yourself in the mirror. “Control yourself. Seriously. If we...die...then we can go out guns blazing.”
Splashing your face with cold water a few times, you dried yourself off with another deep breath, wrenching open the door to an empty kitchen. The only sign that the cowboys had even been there was your backpack still splattered on the kitchen floor, and the front door that had been left open just enough for a warm breeze to creep through. Jimin was nowhere to be found.
“...Hello?” You poked your head into the living room, finding Gooey’s friendly face gazing up at you from his cozy spot on the recliner. Now he was certainly a man you could trust. There wasn’t a mean thought behind those eyes.
You crouched in front of him, holding his heavy head in your hands with noses nearly pressed together. “What do you say about an alliance, you and me?”
It was stupid really, but it made you feel better to imagine that he could understand you. It might even be suicidal to expect a dog to betray their owner after only ten minutes of nonstop ear scratches. But a quick flip of the tip of his tongue over your nose and the beat of his tail on the arm of the chair fed into your delusions.
“Good. Very good.”
Lingering with your fingers threaded through his fur for a little while longer, you found your nervous system settling enough to regain some confidence, the uncertain shiver in your voice gone by the time the front door swung open again.
Jimin kicked off a pair of untied boots with a grunt, the crease between his brow showing his obvious displeasure. “He shouldn’t be bothering us for the rest of the night.”
Your hand came to a slow stop on Gooey’s head. At first your instinct was to nod, but something he said had you tripped up. Shouldn’t be bothering us for the rest of the night.
Heat billowed up into your cheeks and made you feel a bit woozy. You knew he meant it casually. There wasn’t an ounce of hidden intent behind those words. But coming from his mouth, it had you momentarily forgetting that you were strangers, or that you were ready to strangle him not more than a few hours prior. They reminded you just how pretty his golden eyes were, and how good he had looked in leather.
Then you found yourself stuttering for a different reason, your logical brain catching up with the dazed hopeless romantic. “The rest of the night? Am I not allowed back to my brother’s cabin?”
“Not tonight.” Jimin moved to the couch, slumping down on the cushions with a weary sigh. Gooey immediately betrayed you, using his 120lb body to shove you out of the way for a chance to snuggle up to his dad’s side. “Not until we know it’s safe.”
“You all really like telling me what to do,” You scrunched your nose, lifting yourself up to sit where the dog had just been. You couldn’t really let yourself relax into the plush seat knowing you were still filthy. Sure you could have an attitude, but you weren’t a barbarian — messy outdoor clothes on fabric furniture was a big no-no.
Although so was wearing mud and clay-caked shoes on carpet, and you had been doing that since you got there. Taking them off felt too casual. Not sure what survival mechanism told you that keeping your shoes on in a stranger's home meant you felt safer, but wherever it came from, it made you hold onto them just a little while longer. You’d take them off when you knew for sure there was no need to run.
Jimin shrugged, patting the wide rib cage of the dog on his lap. “You can leave town if you’d like.” He cast a hesitant look to your shoulder. “Not sure how much good it will do you, but you can try.”
Instinctively, your hand shot up to cover the mark through the fabric, bringing back a wave of questions. “Is this...a mark of the warden or whatever?”
He sucked in a breath, as though preparing himself to brave through the conversation ahead. “I’m gonna answer your question, and I want you to at least try and humor it for me. Or at least keep your thoughts to yourself ‘til I’m finished.”
“Don’t think I have any other choice but to humor it….” You trailed off bitterly. “So, Warden mark. Certain death. Explain to me like I’m five who did this and who is out to kill me.”
“Well that that there is the issue. We don’t know who does it, just that they do.” Jimin explained slowly. “Our understanding is that it’s from Deadwood herself, that she chooses who stays.”
“Deadwood...the town?”
Jimin recalibrated for as moment, wracking his brain for just the right thing to say. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees and inched closer to the edge of the couch to close some of the distance. “So you know how them legends talk about portals, and liminal spaces, right?”
“Right.”
“Well they aren’t wrong perse, just misguided. Those places where the green meets the sand, we call that the Cracks. That’s where the other things come from.
You nodded, albeit a bit skeptically. Sure you saw the ground open up and spit out a coyote-shaped loogie, but there could still be other explanations for that. You humored it further, for evidence purposes only of course. “Like those coyotes?”
“Scalers. We call them Scalers. Those ain’t normal coyotes.”
“That much I could tell.” Refraining from rolling your eyes, you urged him to continue with a wave of your hand. “You’re saying they come from the ground?”
“Saw it for yourself, didn’t you?” He raised a brow at your disbelief.
“Mmm. Maybe. I also could’ve hit my head on my little joy ride down the hillside.”
Unimpressed, he moved past your stubbornness. “Anyways. They crawl out, we kill them. That’s our job as Wardens, to protect this place from things like them.”
“So you’re addmitting you’re a Warden — just like that? After all that in the kitchen?”
“We usually aren’t allowed to tell people. Even if we want to, she won’t let us unless the...other person knows it first.”
“Deadwood...the town...won’t let you?” The look on your face must have been enough to describe your thoughts.
“Look,” He shuffled closer, voice dropping low. “I know it sounds nuts, but it’s the truth. We get chosen for whatever fuckin’ reason, and we play the part. It’s either that, or more people die.”
The gravity in his tone halted your knee-jerk response to tease him.
More people.
Puzzle pieces began to slot together behind your eyes. The Scalers. The missing people. Animal attacks. Your brother.
“Let’s say what your saying is true,” You started, naturally imitating his low volume. “What does this all have to do with me or my brother?”
Jimin ran his tongue over his teeth. “At first I thought your brother had just seen somethin’ he shouldn’t have, or fallen victim to some spirits that crawled from the Cracks. Some of them aren’t as easy to spot in a crowd as the Scalers — makes it easy to get in your head and fuck with you. Make you do things you wouldn’t normally do. But then we found his stuff and...”
That plucked an uncomfortable chord in your gut. Thinking of how genuinely worried Jimin had been for your brother back at the rental cabin made sense with his story. If he — they — were in charge of catching things or wrangling them back into place, that probably meant they protected this place in other ways too.
“You don’t just catch the things, do you?”
He frowned. “I wasn’t lying when I’d said I’ve seen it all. Part of protecting Deadwood means keeping suspicion low. Don’t want more investigators crawling around than we already have, puttin’ themselves in harms way for a damn video. Someone has to scare them out of town or clean up the bodies.”
Things started to feel too real. Too...unsettling. “So what do you think happened to my brother if it wasn’t spirits?”
Ugh. Saying that physically hurt.
“Not spirits, a spirit.” Jimin corrected. “Tracked your brother’s scent down south towards our neighboring town. There’s a...‘guy’ there that you don’t want to mess with, and he has a habit of pushing our buttons. Bastard is lucky he’s out of bounds, otherwise Hoseok would’ve done away with him ages ago. What we think happened is your brother got too smart. Dug too deep. Got tangled up with some entities he shouldn’t have while trying to find us. Someone must have done a good job teaching him how to sleuth if he was able to figure as much as his research showed.”
He offered a small smile, one that had your heart squeezing for more reason than one. Then as though realizing he had done something he shouldn’t have, he shook the smile from his face while averting his gaze, continuing where he left off. “Hoseok has his own spin on it — always does — but we can’t be too sure about anything yet.”
Clearing your throat of the weird lingering tension, you asked, “Well, what does Hot-shot think it is?”
“Thinks he was chosen. Like you.” He nodded to your shoulder. “Usually there’s decades between each new recruit, but lately that gap's been gettin’ smaller. When things act up past what the Wardens can handle, Deadwood picks a new recruit to help even it out. The more things crawl out, the more Wardens it takes to push ‘em back in. And at the rate its been going? It was only a matter of time before someone else got marked.”
Your brain short circuited. “Waitwaitwait, back up — decades?”
He grew solemn, scratching at the back of his neck to hide his discomfort. “Like those people say about the black holes and all that — this place is cursed. It’s nothing but a stretch of highway between whatever hell hole is below us and the rest of the world. It’s the definition of liminal in every way possible. And in order to be in the middle of it all, you have to be in the middle.”
A blank look came over your features. “I’m not following.”
He shook his head to himself, muttering curses beneath his breath before meeting your gaze. “The Wardens are considered urban legends or ghost stories, because that’s what we are. Ghosts. Cryptids. Trapped souls. Whatever floats your boat.”
Oh. If these legends were as old as your minimal research said they were, that meant that some of them had to be OLD. Decades wouldn't even be able to cover it.
“So when they say, ‘certain death’….” You processed your thoughts aloud.
“They aren’t far off. It's certain death for life as you know it.” Jimin finished for you. “The demons, the spirits, the Scalers — that mark there makes you smell like a four-course meal to ‘em. Meaning if you’re in Deadwood, they’ll find you. From the second that mark burns into your skin, it’s a race for your soul. If we get to it first, you live on here with us. Forever. If they get to it first...well...it’s like if a prison guard gets locked in cell block riot. Gets real ugly real fast.”
Thoughts whirled through your head at miles per minute, your common sense wanting to laugh in his face, but the other part of you that couldn’t shake the strange feeling in your gut was starting to believe him. Starting to being the most important part there.
“You’re telling me you’re a ghost?” You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest in a last ditch effort to hold your integrity in tact. “That’s impossible. You...You eat food. Drink coffee. Breathe.”
“In a way, yes.” Jimin chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I’m in the middle. Half dead, half living. I’m a Warden now, not a human living by human standards.”
Scanning him from head to toe you replied, “Look pretty human to me.”
“That’s because I was a human.” He laughed under his breath. “We all were.”
“But what — you died?” You didn’t mean for the question to sound so blunt and judgmental, but you supposed there was no way to ask something like that without it sounding harsh. After days of showing almost no hesitation or fear on this wild journey of a week, he suddenly looked taken aback. Closed off for a new reason entirely, this one softer and pinched at the edges of his frown with something raw.
His gaze flickered to the photo on the side table behind you, the one of the old woman and the child, then down to the floor. “You can say that.”
Guilt wormed through you, eating holes into your resistance. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”
“S’fine,” Jimin rubbed his hands on his knees as he came to a stand, moving over to the basement door and holding it open. “You’re probably tired. I’ll show you where you can clean up and grab some shut-eye. We'll talk more tomorrow."
For better or for worse, there weren’t cages and chains in his basement (you swear you weren’t disappointed). Just a room with a concrete floor and paneled walls, with a roughly sectioned-off bathroom that had to be a recent addition, judging by the shiny new faucet and squeaky clean counters.
Down here was much cooler than upstairs, and something about it just felt...comforting. Be it the solid wood and concrete walls that blocked all external sounds, or the mismatched layer of plush rugs that sprawled over the space and cushioned each step. It was like a personal sensory deprivation room wrapped in warm woods and the lingering smell of campfire smoke.
The only downside was that there weren’t really any doors, just a modesty panel on the way into the bathroom alcove, a storage closet, and the slat stairs to hide the bed.
Thoughts of having to share the singular mattress were squashed the moment they dared pipe up, as Jimin didn’t linger long after giving you a quick tour, climbing back up the steps as soon as he could to keep the distance between you two comfortable.
Jimin was sweet if a bit rugged around the edges, showing you how to lock the basement door after he left if it made you feel better, assuring you he’d be camping out on the couch until further notice. Even going as far as to offer to sleep in the barn if you were really that weird about being in the same building.
“Don’t worry about anything coming to get you tonight. This place is pretty locked down, and I’d hear anything before it’d get close enough.”
God, if it wasn’t for the weird cryptid-ghost-thing he had going on, you’d be throwing that door open and fluttering your lashes at him to come keep you company. The bar may be in hell, but hey — that’s what made it hot.
Maybe you could learn to believe in the afterlife if it meant he’d be hanging around on the other side of it.
You nosed around a bit more once you were alone, poking about the solid-wood wardrobes and storage closets before finally hopping in the shower. All you found was a punctured dart board, a mini fridge with a half case of beer tucked inside, and a horrendously large CD collection that hadn’t been updated since the late 90’s.
The last you saw of Jimin was him unloading your suitcase near the bottom of the stairs, his eyes almost swollen shut with sleep. It appeared that Jungkook hadn’t just stopped by to twirl on your nerves with studded boots, but to drop off your bags from the cabin, packed and barely zipped closed.
Nothing was folded though, that much you knew. The man had just thrown everything in there in a way that would form the most wrinkles as possible, just to really irk you. He was going to be a piece of work it seemed.
While scrubbing at the thick layer of grime caked into under your fingernails with one of the frayed washcloths stored near metal shower, you thought of his stupid boyish face, and the cocky grins of his companions.
If what Jimin said was really true, then those men would be the spiritual equivalent of your coworkers. Forever.
Ew! Just trying out the thought of being a gun slinging ghost made you gag, but being stuck with men? Talking to ghost hunters? In this heat? Forever?
That might actually make you throw up. All your worst fears rolled into one unappetizing sandwich and served up with a punch to your skeptic pride.
You thought for sure if ghosts and cryptids were real that they’d be cooler than some sleazy loser and a tattooed twenty-something-year-old. Maybe there was a good reason you hadn’t wanted to believe — the ghosts weren’t all that more interesting than the people walking down the street tossing cigarette butts on the corner.
Shutting the valve off for the shower off, you let the water drip into the drain for a few moments, relishing in the rush of cool basement air against cold water on your skin. Your fingers had a mind of their own, coasting over the raised flesh on your back in a trance.
...What if you let yourself pretend every part of it was true. Just for a minute.
That means that after you inevitably die after your long life elsewhere, you’ll be transported back to Deadwood to live a second life here as a Warden, wearing extravagant headgear and hunting creatures from hell.
If you even make it out of here alive to live out the rest of your life in the first place, that is.
What with all the creatures Jimin warned you about and the fresh target painted on your back. You had a feeling that he was purposefully leaving stuff out about whomever the “guy” a town over was, and knowing him and his elusive ways, there were probably more details about this whole Warden thing he kept to himself.
Whether it be not to overwhelm you or to keep things under wraps since you were still a “living” risk, either way you were kind of grateful for it. On one hand, it kept you up late, tracing shapes in the wood grain of the steps his bed was tucked beneath, trying to fill in gaps you didn’t quite understand. On the other hand, it meant you didn’t have any details to obsess over.
But did that stop you from overthinking everything?
Of course not.
There were just too many gaps for your anxiety to play with. How does one become a Warden exactly? Is it just when they die that their soul returns? What really happens if the other Wardens’ don’t find you? And what other kinds of creatures even creep out of the Cracks?
You thought about all the people you’d run into in passing and a chill ran down your spine. Any one of them could have been something else entirely, just waiting to pounce on you.
If you’re brother was really marked and hauled off to that mysterious “guy”, does that mean that they didn’t get to him in time? Or does that mean he hasn’t died yet, since they hadn’t felt the need to find him before you came along?
If he wasn’t dead, then you sure fucking hoped he wasn’t playing the role of trapped prison guard right now.
You groaned, shoving Jimin’s pillow over your face in hopes you could smother yourself enough to stop thinking. Not to die or anything — god no — you weren’t ready for the huge responsibility of picking out a cowboy hat you’d have to wear for eternity. Fashion choices were already hard enough as it was to make on any given day, the last thing you needed was knowing you’d have to wear whatever you picked out forever.
Forever was a stupid word anyway.
Still, images of your brother getting tortured by demons with stereotypical horns and cartoonish sharp teeth pervaded the backs of your eyelids. You couldn’t escape them even after you drifted, your heart racing at the smallest sounds and your eyes popping open every ten minutes just to be sure no one was there waiting in the dark.
You probably only got an hour of sleep total, all of it interrupted by nightmares of your brother’s demise or slimy Scalers biting your face off in a forest that never ended.
Jimin knocked on the door above mere minutes after blue early morning light began to invade the small window near the ceiling, calling down to you through the door to see if you were awake and offering breakfast with a gruff voice.
There was no reason to roll around his comforter wishing for a sleep that wouldn’t come, so you were up, running a toothbrush over your teeth and throwing on the last set of clean clothes you had in your bag that wouldn’t make you die of heat stroke. Looks like another trip to town would be in order, at least for another t-shirt and pair of shorts you could toss in Jimin’s washer.
He met you at the door, squeezing past you with a curt nod and something akin to a greeting to freshen up in his room, leaving you upstairs to calm down a newly excited Gooey. That dog acted like you hadn’t just seen him hours prior, yipping and wagging its tail fast enough to leave bruises.
Besides the rumpled couch cushions and Gooey’s animated greeting, there wasn’t much waiting for you on the main floor. Nothing that screamed ‘hot delicious breakfast’, anyway.
All of it whispered ‘leave me alone!’, the kitchen still slumbering away with a constant mechanical hum of the fridge and an occasional cough of the sink pipes. The stove was cold to the touch and collecting more dust upon its already thick layer. Who knows the last time one of those burners had been used as something other than extra counter space?
Grumbling to yourself, you shook off any loose tufts of dog hair from between your fingers and cautiously inched closer to the kitchen, still distrustful of the place. As cautious as you were, your stomach was growling and you’d kill for a cup of something caffeinated, meaning Jimin had approximately five minutes before you would be rummaging his cabinets like you owned them.
Now you finally understood why hikers ate so much — one afternoon in the mountains and you felt like you could eat a buffet clean and lick the empty trays.
Looks like he could sense your ravenous nature (that or luck was on your side) because he came up not too long after, fully dressed and trudging towards the door to lace up his boots.
“So. Breakfast.” You all but demanded, your voice scratchy from sleep (or lack thereof). Another silent rumble from your stomach had you biting your tongue from spitting out ransom demands, and you weren’t sure how he heard it, but he did — eyes darting towards your middle and back to his laces with a grunt.
“Down the road.”
His tone was short and rough, barely softened by his usual politeness. Huh. Looks like you both were hangry.
“I don’t have my wallet,” you responded, wrangling the mud-caked boots back on your feet. The whole ordeal enough to piss you off already — now you were hungry, out of breath, and starting to sweat.
Jimin stood with a stretch, snagging his hat from the wall and twisting open the door. “Don’t need it.”
Then he was gone, leaving the door open for the blur of Gooey to follow after him.
“Okay then...” you muttered to yourself, coming to stand on his porch to watch him veer off across the dirt path to the barn doors. The structure looked less intimidating in the daylight, painted the color of a robin's egg and clearly meticulously managed (almost obsessively if the lack of splattered dirt was anything to go by). If Jimin made any money, you could certainly tell where his priorities lay. Those insulated windows practically screamed dollar signs.
Did cryptids have the capacity to make money? Getting a bank account would probably be ten times harder if you had to constantly explain why you never aged or your eyes glowed sometimes…
“You coming?” Jimin’s voice broke you out of your thoughts, hands on his hips while he looked expectantly to where you stood.
With a sigh, you trekked across the dirt roads, wincing when your calves started to burn from the minimal exertion it took to skip down the stairs. Your body was not built for long hikes and mountain runs. You could only it expect to find more aches and pains as the day went on, if not from walking, from eating shit down the mountain side.
Coming to a stop beside him, you raised a brow. “What, are you finally going to take me to the barn and rip my throat out?”
“No, I’m trying to make sure that doesn’t happen.” He shouldered open the heavy wood with a vaguely hidden roll of his eyes.
“Wha-”
A throaty chuff cut you off, the space immediately filled by another larger dog who definitely had angry looking eyes set on you.
“This,” Jimin bent down to hook a leash around the heavy studded collar of the dog that looked like a spitting image of Gooey. “Is Dolly. Gooey’s more competent sister.” His tone grew stern, snapping his fingers towards your shoes. “Dolly, new friend. Sniff.”
Her black nose suctioned to the edge of your shoes, drinking in any smells you had to offer while eyeing you warily from below. Dolly growled to herself when she caught a whiff of something on the leather, to which Jimin reacted instantly, winding the leash tighter in his fist with a harsh “Be nice.”
Then her nose moved up to your shins, dainty twitches of air that tickled, stopping just at where your hand rested near your hip. Dolly nudged it gently, not for a pet, but for better access to your palm, finishing her interrogation with a huff and a disinterested side-eye.
She looked bored now that she had been acquainted with you, angling her body to return to her post in the barn. Not too social or clingy. She had a job to do after all.
You respected that.
“Now you’re free to walk around the property without…” The edge of his mouth quirked up. “Getting your throat ripped out.”
With that, he started a relaxed pace down the dirt path, headed the opposite way you had entered the previous night, down where it snaked through more pasture and thin trees.
“She mean?” You asked, hands shoved in your pockets and a skip in your step to catch up to his lead. From behind you could hear Gooey’s heavy pants and clobbering paws sticking to you like a shadow.
“When she needs to be.”
You pursed your lips with a subconscious glance over your shoulder. “What about when she doesn’t need to be?”
He returned your question with a shrug. “Only if you piss her off.”
“Comforting…”
Another shrug. “Just don’t piss ‘er off and she won’t have an attitude.”
“Yeah? And how do I do that?” You challenged with a scoff.
Jimin hummed, slipping his thumbs into his back pockets. “I think you’ll get the hang of it. You two have a lot in common.”
A sputter of offense choked from your mouth. “Are you saying I can be mean and have an attitude?”
The rising sun seemed to be waking him up with each stretching inch of light, his tired and tough exterior melting bit by bit. Because this man smiled. Not like on of the half ones or the polite ones he’d hide with a shake of his head or a well-placed chuckle. A real one — pretty, bright, and stretching up towards his eyes with a dangerous glint.
“Never said it was a bad thing.” His head tipping back towards the shrinking barn said one thing, but his eyes lingering too long on your face said another. “I like her that way.”
Ow. Fuck, now your chest hurt. Were you breathing? You exhaled sharply through your nose just to be sure. Okay, yeah, you could breathe. Barely. Pushing out a cough to hide the clear organ system malfunction, you averted your eyes to gaze out over the long grasses and rocky sand.
You could’ve sworn you heard him laugh under his breath, even going as far as to bite at his lower lip to keep it quiet. Not that you were watching! No, god no. He was an enemy of the state — your state to be precise.
...but was he an enemy anymore? Or was he now just a future coworker? Did the great and mysterious Deadwood have rules about dating coworkers?
You pursed your lips and stole one more glance at his profile, his face still haunted with a ghost of a smug expression. Technically, you weren’t coworkers yet, so rules don’t apply. You were a free woman as far as you were concerned.
Dirt crunched below your feet, spitting up clouds of dust that clung to the fresh layer of sweat forming on your skin, both from the gradual increase in temperature and the buzzing heat that pooled in your muscles from Jimin’s hovering proximity. You told yourself you were only sneaking glances for research purposes. Especially when he used his tongue to poke at the corner of his mouth to soothe the dry skin. Especially then.
Safety research, you repeated to yourself, wiping the fresh sheen of sweat from your hands on your shorts.
It was still hot, but it wasn’t nearly as stifling as I would be once the sun fully rose. Yet somehow you were still dabbing at a thin sheen of salt forming on your cheeks, like the air here had it sights set on sucking all the moisture from your body like a water-hungry mosquito. At this rate, you’d be a shriveled-up raisin by noon, begging passersby for just one sip of cool water. Like that one SpongeBob episode your brother used to quote all the time that you never remembered the plot of.
You weren’t sure where you were going, but you supposed it wouldn’t be much longer if Jimin had forgoed his horse or handy truck.
Luck was on your side, for your intuition was correct. From out of the thinning line of trees emerged another farmhouse, proud and worn from storms passed, with a foundation older than some of the trees drooping along the edge of the property. You were definitely in the south; that was for sure. The gun rack on the wall near the door said that more than any drawn-out county line could.
Where on earth was he taking you? It didn’t look like a restaurant. Not even a themed bed and breakfast could put the charm back into this farmhouse.
Then your stomach sank.
Jungkook’s mop of dark hair poked through the front door, already beaming. “Jimin and the Newbie are here!”
“Newbie?” Your lip curled in disgust at the nickname.
“Right of passage,” Jungkook laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He reached out and thumped Jimin on the shoulder. “Looks like you finally passed on the title.”
Jimin shifted uncomfortably under his touch, maneuvering past him into the open storm door. “Yeah, yeah. Out of the way, kid.”
“Kid?!” Jungkook parroted, unintentionally stepping in your way to follow after him. The door was inches from shutting in your face before he snagged it with his long fingers, cheeks pink. “S-sorry.” He dropped it the second you were in; his attitude picked up where it left off as he led the way to the kitchen.
“Don’t let him spin any tales,” Jungkook spoke animatedly with his hands, wagging a finger towards Jimin’s back. “I’m older than most of these guys.”
“By year maybe,” Yoongi sounded off from his seat at the diningroom table. “By age, then everyone’s got you beat kid.”
You paused in the doorway to take in the scene, leaving Jungkook to try and land a smack on the back of Yoongi’s head to no avail by himself.
This place was rustic to its core, all old rich woods and iron appliances. You were surprised there was a light bulb at all in this place, because even that looked too modern for the space. It smelt like bacon and cedar wood and smoke, all due to the sizzling cast iron placed atop the wood burning stove that Jimin had taken up checking.
Your eyes caught Yoongi messing with the dial of a vintage radio, twisting it until it landed on something of his liking — warbly guitar and high hats, with enough swirling tambourine to make you dizzy. But you couldn’t tell if that was due to the psychedelic rock or the blinding patterns on his clothes.
This was not the emo cowboy you remembered. This looked like if an alternative vampire from the 80’s had a one-night stand with a casino pimp, all deep burgundy’s and velvet and thin cheetah print, finished off with one too many sparkling rings and gaudy necklaces. And now that you mentioned it...was his hair...longer? That shouldn’t be possible. You could’ve sworn he had it cropped just yesterday, yet now it just landed at the apple of his cheeks and stretched into thick side burns.
While you were too busy trying to do the math on just how many inches an hour it would’ve had to grow to get that long overnight, Yoongi’s dark eyes flitted up to meet yours, a cocky grin splitting wider than the navel-deep cut of his shirt. “Like what you see, sweets?”
Jungkook answered for you with a loud bark of laughter. “Yeah right — she’s probably just hypnotized by that hideous scrap of fabric you call a shirt.”
Yoongi narrowed his eyes at Jungkook’s collar. “Says the one wearing knit in 90 degree temperatures.”
“It gets the job done up in the mountain. It’s breathable.”
“Didn’t have a pulse last I checked.”
Jungkook rolled his eyes so far back they could’ve rolled out his mouth. “You think you’re smart, don’t you?”
“Very,” Yoongi hummed, lifting up a chipped mug of coffee to his lips.
The radio dial on the table snapped left, diminishing the volume to a near murmur without so much as a finger touching it, and the single light bulb flickered overhead. Goosebumps tracked over the skin of your legs and arms, a thin cloud of chill traveling through the room and dissipating in the rays of morning sun.
Yoongi lowered his drink with a nervous clear of his throat, his gaze tracking down towards the newspaper spread out in front of him with rapt interest.
From an arch near the stove emerged Hoseok, rubbing at his temples with two fingers, while his other hands still blindly did the buttons of his blue cotton shirt, a pair of suspenders hanging limp at his hips.
Jungkook too seemed to not find much to say at his entrance either, hands drumming a fast rhythm on the table top (much to Yoongi’s annoyance).
Hoseok wordlessly stepped around Jimin to stir a pot simmering behind the sputtering pan, wiping off splats of hot grease from his forearm, the sting not eliciting so much as a flinch. “Beans are almost done.”
Jungkook made a face down at the table, lips curled in disgust.
“Watch that attitude. Either eat it or go make yourself somethin’ else. This ain’t your mom’s house.” Hoseok scolded him without looking away from the stove, and Jungkook’s spine straightened in his seat with his scowl wiped clean.
Your eyes darted from Hoseok’s back to the radio, then Yoongi’s hands that were still crinkling the back of the newspaper he hid behind. Yoongi met your dubious glare over the edge with a raise of his brow. Following your quick glance to the machine, a small smirk grew on his lips.
Extending his index finger out like a wand, he wound it in slow circles, never once breaking eye contact with you. The yellow dial inched to life, shuddering to the right and increasing the volume in time with his tauntingly slow whirls.
You squinted. That could be explained by a secret remote or magician’s string. Nothing to be so cocky about. It wasn’t even that impressive or anything.
A grunt sounded out from the kitchen, and with one swift glance at the table from over his shoulder, Hoseok spoke out. “Make me turn that shit down again and you’ll be eating leather with no teeth.”
With one blink the dial snapped all the way to the left, silencing it completely.
The light in Yoongi’s eyes deflated, and he settled into pouting at his own reflection in his mug. Jungkook latched onto him immediately, grin finding its way back on his face.
“He just wanted something he could show off. You know, since his little fashion reveal didn’t do it for her.”
Yoongi defended himself with a slightly puffed chest. “Says who? She’s swooning in there, I know it.”
“Holding in vomit, actually,” You butt in, scanning the gaudy outfit once more with a scowl. “I’ve seen better on mannequins in a dumpster after a frat house Halloween party.”
Yoongi playfully moaned. “You know I love when you talk to me like that.”
“Pathetic,” Jungkook spat with a disbelieving shake of his head, leaning forward to flick the bare skin of Yoongi’s chest. “Maybe you should focus on learning how to do up your own button’s before you say anything else.”
Jimin snorted from the stove, shoveling a pile of greased meat onto a plate of paper towels. “Or how to tie up his own horse.”
“While you’re at it, work on your aim so your bullshit stops leaking on my turf.” Hoseok took a sip of his mug with a pointed look at Yoongi.
The man in question held his hands up in surrender, struggling to keep up and looking genuinely offended. “Alright — you can step off my neck now.”
“I don’t think we’ve stepped on it enough.” Jungkook sneered. “You’re still talkin’.”
The squabble ended with the thunderous plop of cast-iron pots on the center table, Hoseok and Jimin dropping off a heaping plate of scrambled eggs, warmed tortillas, bacon, beans, and fresh diced tomatoes. “Stuff it.”
They didn’t need to be told twice, already making a dent in the mountain of food like a pair of moles set loose on a dirt mountain, shoveling as much as they could into each bite. You assumed since Hoseok wasn’t breathing down your neck from the head of the table that you were included in the command, and helped yourself to whatever was in reach.
Even if he was snarling at you, you wouldn’t have cared. You had never felt hunger like this before. This felt like you had spent three days straight swimming in the hot sun and had just returned home for lunch, stomach angry and aching. Attributing it to just the hike didn’t feel entirely accurate.
Maybe you should’ve felt ashamed to be plowing your way through someone else’s food in their own home, but you were far too busy building the perfect breakfast concoction on the fluffiest tortilla you’d ever eaten in your life, carefully balancing your toppings like it was a modern art piece. After you wolfed down your third, you found yourself staring forlornly at the dwindling piles, wondering if it would be rude to have two more.
Jungkook noticed your dilemma, slapping a new tortilla on your plate with a wink. “You’ll get used to the hunger. Eat what you want before it’s gone.”
“Or get it somewhere else. ’Cause I’m not making you shits anythin’ else.” Hoseok grumbled into his next bite.
Fiddling with the edge of your plate, you cast a cursory glance to Jimin. Was being hungry a part of the weird ass lore?
“Did you think about your look?” Jungkook innocently asked, using the last bite of his makeshift breakfast taco to sop up the residual herby tomato juices and bacon grease on his plate.
You paused with a bite halfway to your mouth. “My ‘look’?”
Jimin coughed into his fist, averting his eyes down to his glass of water. “Haven’t gotten there yet.”
“What did you get to?” Yoongi accused lightly, one brow twitching up. “Nothing fun without me I hope.”
“Taking things slow,” Jimin answered carefully. “No need to rush.”
It was Jungkook’s turn to cast a hesitant glance towards Hoseok. “Right…”
“What do you mean by ‘my look’?” You steered the conversation back in the direction you cared about before Yoongi could make another innuendo.
“It’s your signature style babe,” Yoongi drawled, leaning back into his chair with a satisfied sigh. “Gotta pick what you look like to the normies. Has to be different than your usual, that way no one suspects anything, you dig? I have a few ideas for you if you can’t think of any...”
“Yeah, like how I helped Yoongi pick his.” Jungkook’s full cheeks didn’t stop the impish twist his face had taken.
Yoongi’s expression instantly soured. “'Helped' is a funny way to say 'sabotaged'.”
“So the emo persona is...a cover-up?” Your eyes flitted between the two of them. “Why?”
The ‘youngest’ (a fact still up for debate apparently) jumped to his feet and darted around the corner for the coat rack, returning with a piece of paper in his fist. He slid it next to your plate with a snicker.
“See for yourself, Sherlock ~”
Before you was that yellowing missing poster that had gone on quite the journey from being taped to the wall of your brother’s room, to being waved around a BBQ joint. The man’s face was vaguely recognizable from when you'd last looked at it. An ink splotch where the printer fucked up the edge of the picture. A red sheen over dark eyes and a drunken smile from a bright camera flash. One lone groomsman with his arm thrown over an out-of-frame friend, grainy and desaturated enough to make it a bit hard to see the details of his face. You could make out a rounded nose, thick dark side burns, and a crown of black hair that coasted the collar of an obscene purple velvet jacket — wait a minute.
Abso-fucking-lutely not.
There was no way.
“Is this you?!” You gaped up to Yoongi.
He didn’t even need to respond. You could see it clear as day in front of you now that he wasn’t hiding behind a spiky, cropped haircut and band tees that never seemed to sit right on his shoulders.
Yoongi nodded to the picture, smug. “Quite the looker too, huh?” He then rubbed his hands together like a conniving fly. “So what’s the group consensus for the lady? We thinkin’ goth vampire mistress? Clown school dropout? Gorgeous contractor from overseas set on fixin’ up the town and the lowly shopkeeper?”
“Thinkin’ she can stay as she is.” Hoseok cut his dreams short, running his tongue over his cheek as he threw a calculated look over your features. “A few small changes should do the trick.”
There was a moment of silence for the soul that escaped from Yoongi’s body at that very moment. “You mean the trucker and the newbie get to wear whatever they want, but I gotta parade around like the missing member of Rites of Spring or Daughtry for another five years?”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have had such a recognizable signature style then.” Jungkook pinched one of Yoongi’s necklaces and clanged it about. Their conversation dragged on but you weren’t listening to their heated debate.
Suddenly the ache in your stomach switched from a grumbling hunger to a churning unease, the bite you were working in your mouth tasting rotten. Maybe it was the ink from the missing photo bleeding into the skin of your fingertips and poisoning each mouthful. Because each time you ran your finger over the blurred edges of trees and the bright red description along the bottom, your nausea increased.
Forever suddenly didn’t feel like such a dumb foreign concept anymore. Not when a man who should be well over seventy sat in front of you, having not aged a day in fifty years. And you knew this wasn’t fake — there had been a minimal police report tucked behind his picture in your brother’s collection with its own shiny (and very real) department seal on it.
This was a real man. A real, missing man. A dead man.
A ghost.
Is that what you were about to be?
You squeezed your eyes shut, and nudged the paper out of your line of sight. If you didn’t look at it you could pretend you hadn’t seen it. Pretend that your entire world view was crumbling beneath your feet at an alarming rate.
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Summary: Your brother has always been flighty. The type of person who would pick up your call from the depths of a cave in Kentucky on a random Tuesday, only to be halfway across the country by Wednesday on the lookout for the next big Bigfoot sighting. So no one really bat an eye when he disappeared into the woods of New Mexico with a flashlight and a dream of hunting down the ‘Deadwood Wardens’, yet another mythological legend you didn’t believe in that he felt was his 'destiny' to prove.
But then he stopped calling. And it turns out the woods were a lot scarier in person than in the photos.
With the help of a local who knows the woods like the back of his hand, you should be out of here with your stupid brother in no time! Not that you were worried or anything — after all, it wasn’t like those campfire stories of men in wide-brimmed hats coming to steal the souls of unsuspecting trespassers were true. It was only a coincidence that Jimin, your friendly woodsman, wore a hat just like the ones taped on your brother's wall....right?
Genre: 18+ Folk horror, paranormal themes, mystery/thriller, romance, slow burn, eventual smut (? we will see where the wind takes me)
Fogged-glass lamps punched holes of yellow light in somber navy skies, flocked by dozens of frantic moths and scuttling flies. The frenzy of bugs formed buzzing clouds from where the lights hung from wooden poles, welcoming you into the dirt clearing. Directly off to the left-hand side was Jimin’s truck, parked in a dug-out driveway alongside a humbly sized wooden house that looked much like those plastered on Lincoln Logs advertisements you would try to emulate as a kid.
The more important structure was the barn across from the house, large enough to house all sorts of animals with plenty of room to spare and painted a delightful blue. One you’d think to see on a ranch or farmstead and used for wedding venues, not a murder mob’s hideout. The difference between the two buildings gave you whiplash, like a poorly cut mullet. Business in the front; sketchy uncle in the back.
But despite the rather plain appearance of the rest of the property, it was still quite peaceful. Crickets singing to a midnight sea of twinkling stars. Swaying trees and tan dirt roads.
Honestly, the more you drank in the almost painting-like scenic farm, the more doubt tried to creep in.
Was this really where they planned to dispose of you? You surmised if they had pigs that might be why — this place could be a masterful cover-up of blood and guts behind a facade of comfort and humility.
Something poked a massive head from the cracked open barn door, nearly making you scream when it bolted towards your feet to walk alongside the horse. The poor thing froze mid-step, its wagging tail faltering and its head tilted, big dopey eyes blinking up at your arrival.
A dog.
Wow, you must be really out of it to be scared of a dog.
Still floating in limbo between fight-or-flight and safe, your overworked brain had mistaken the poor dog for a coyote, and this Jimin must’ve caught onto when he stifled a laugh.
“It’s not funny.” You caught your breath, staring down at the beast of a farm dog who had caused your spike in blood pressure, their tail picking up speed once more, excitement entirely unfazed by your momentary outburst.
“Never said it was.”
You frowned. “But you laughed.”
“Hm.” He jerked the horse to a stop and slid gracefully to his feet, expectantly holding his hands up for you to follow. You looked down at his outstretched hands like they were both clutching active grenades.
What, like you were going to jump into his arms for saving your life? Just like that? Yeah right. There had to be another reason they chose to intervene besides getting a chance to be exemplary citizens.
For a moment, the two of you just stared at one another, you in distrustful indecision and him in stoic patience. Glancing down at the reins, you debated grabbing hold and leaping off into the night, far enough to get a head start if you jumped off and made a run for civilization.
His gloves squeaked as they moved to curl around the straps, reading where your mind had wandered. “That’s not going to get you very far.”
“If it’ll give me a few extra minutes to live, it’s worth it.”
Jimin frowned. “I’m not going to kill you.”
“Says the man with blood on his face.”
At the mention of it, he brought a finger up to scratch at the dried stuff, letting some of it flake off towards the ground. "Guess you got me there." A brief wash of pink bloomed over the tips of his ears. “If it makes you feel any better, it’s not human.”
Your eyes narrowed. “Hardly.”
Clicking his tongue, he took a moment to reconvene with his thoughts, sorting through which of them would do him the most good to share. A treasure trove of things you wished you could sift through for answers, that much he clearly knew, eyes gleaming with the glory of predetermined victory.
“Tell you what — you get off that horse and get yourself inside, and I’ll tell you what I know about your brother.”
This was too good to be true. For all the trouble they went to shut you out and attempt to cart you off, there was no way he would just tell you all his secrets after a thirty-second negotiation. Either something truly was in it for them, he was bluffing and had nothing to tell you, or whatever he had to offer held no value to them anymore.
Assuming he wasn’t just planning on killing you instantly, you had to try and sweeten the pot in your favor.
Gripping the reins just above where he did, you held on with equal force. “I tell you what: I follow you, you tell me what you know about my brother, and you give me back all his stuff. Car included or no deal.”
Jimin weighed his options with a twitch of his brow. “You drive a hard bargain.”
“Always do,” You shot back.
Pursing his lips and squinting up at you, he went quiet again — his specialty. He then released the reins and held both hands out for you once more. “Fine. Deal.”
At first you wanted nothing to do with his offered help, but your tingling legs and shaking grip left no room for argument, letting you slide right into his hold like a newborn giraffe. You weren’t much better at walking either, and it didn’t help that his dog kept nudging your outer thigh in a plea for attention with every wobbly step.
Jimin made quick work of the door, so quick it made you wonder if he had even locked it at all (another one of his habits you could not get past). He kept one arm securely around your waist, and the other flicking on the entrance light.
Inside was just as small as it looked from the outside, the one light illuminating most of the main floor with just a single bulb. If this was their murder house, they really needed to do a better job at making it look intimidating.
A cramped entry way with nothing but a wobbly shoe bench and pegs on the wall to hang one's hats and jackets on greeted you. If you were to stretch one hand forward, you would be in the next room: a homely kitchen that — by the looks of it — hadn’t been updated since the 80’s. Bright orange linoleum countertops now faded to a terracotta, and vertical patterned wallpaper in a similar shade that crawled up beneath warm-toned cabinets; all of it nestled into the corner to save space for a small round table just big enough for two people to squeeze in at.
Immediately upon entering the kitchen, there was another sharp left-hand turn into a living room that kept up with the nostalgic theme, so much so that you weren’t even a little bit surprised to see brown shag carpets and aged accent wallpaper. It reminded you more of childhood than a murder den.
“You can not be serious.” You broke free of him with a scoff, rounding into the living room and nudging the side of a fuzzy recliner with your foot. The movement jostled it enough to knock the plaid blanket draped over the back off and onto the floor. “Is this really how you guys chose to decorate your top-secret base? Like my grandma’s house?”
Jimin pressed his lips into a flat line, stooping down to pick the blanket up off the floor. “Not a secret base.”
“Then what it this? A cover-up where the walls give way to a secret room? Let me guess — the bunker where you keep the chains and cages is in the basement, isn’t it?”
The corner of his lips wanted to smile, but didn’t, the rest of his expression still coming across as slightly too offended to let it slide. “It's my house. Isn’t supposed to be much of anything.”
“Oh.”
Leaving you to process what he said, he poked his head out the front door to whistle through his teeth and snap his fingers. “Gooey — in.”
The massive dog from before pushed in and barreled through the entrance to make a beeline for the living room, leaping onto the recliner and hunkering down on it before the door had even shut.
Jimin closed the door (without locking it, just as you suspected) and gestured through the partition between rooms at the dog. “That’s Gooey. He’ll keep you company while I rinse off.” He brushed passed you, a lingering hand on your elbow as though to steady you. “Don’t be intimidated by his size, he’s nothin’ but a big baby.” On his way passed him, he ruffled the top of Gooey’s head, the dog leaning into the touch while panting obnoxiously loud.
You gulped at the dog whose head was larger than a dinner plate. “Doesn’t look like a baby.”
Tutting down at him, Jimin shook his head with a sigh. “A waste of my money is what he is.” Despite what he said, his pats to the animals back were quite affectionate. Noting the way your gaze still nervously tracked back to the window, he nodded to the sofa, removing his gloves carefully. “Sit. If anything comes by, he’ll protect you. May be a baby, but he has a mean bark.”
You made no move to listen to his suggestion to sit, and Jimin didn’t wait around for when you did, ducking through a wooden door next to a boxy TV stand and trudging down a set of steps, disappearing into the dark basement without much else to say.
Now you were alone, in his supposed house, gazing into the eyes of a whining Anatolian Shepard through a wooden divider and wondering if everything around you was a granola bar-induced hallucination. A part of you was offended Jimin left you with wobbly knees and a spinning head to fight your way to the sofa, but the other half was grateful he was offering you space.
His courtesy definitely chipped away at the suspicion that he may return to sink a bullet in your brain at any second. It didn't erase it entirely, but enough to let you waddle over to his sofa and perch on the edge of it. Regaining your strength would be essential should he finally turn on you.
Gooey whined a few more times, pawing at the arm of the recliner with adamant defiance. It was cutting into your meticulous plan on how to escape, distracting you every five seconds with an impatient huff from his floppy lips.
“What?” You looked at him curiously. “Need to go out?”
Gooey must’ve taken something you said as an invitation, jumping down from the chair only to leap up next to you, curling against your side and flopping a heavy head on your thigh with a weary sigh. Every second you didn’t spend petting him was a second you couldn’t think due to the grumbles he’d let out, so your hand was stuck making lazy circles through his fur in order to string a coherent thought together about your evening.
Jimin was right. Gooey was a baby. But hey — at least his ears were soft and easy to mess with while you figured out your next steps.
Water rushed through pipes below your feet with the speed of your racing mind, images of melting coyote-like creatures and glowing blue eyes lining up like puzzle pieces your logical side tried to slot together. But logic had clear cut edges and shapes that matched up, and these memories were anything but that. All of them stuck to your hands like silly putty, defying all that you knew with slippery inconsistency. And just like putty was teetering between fluid and solid, the events of the evening had one foot in the door of loony tunes and the other in reality.
Coyotes and cowboys were common here. So were mountain lions. But coyotes that crawled from the ground like immortal centipedes were not common. Shadows that moved like sentient beings to shield the skin of men from watchful eyes was not normal.
At some point you were going to have to humor the thought that perhaps there actually was a supernatural element to all this. Though what is the ‘supernatural’ if not just the unexplained? And how many things that are mundane to you would be considered witchcraft by previous generations? Electricity, television, animatronic puppets, po-go sticks…so many things that can be confusing at first glance to someone with no knowledge of their existence.
That’s all this was. Something you didn’t have an answer for yet. But the answer had to exist. It was probably just hidden behind government paywalls and slowed by the shortfalls of human innovation.
Luckily, you weren’t an innovator, just incredibly stubborn and horrendously nosy. And you were set at checking off all other boxes before jumping to any conclusions.
Straining your ears, you listened to the sound of a scratchy radio and running water from the floor below, just to make sure it showed no sign of stopping. Then you made your first move — inching out from beneath the grumbling dog and tiptoeing across the living room.
On a side table near the partition was a framed photo, the contrast way too high and the saturation faded, making the older woman in it look almost ghostly. The child at her feet had that classic vintage rusty sheen over their wide eyes.
Squinting down at it, it became apparent that the woman in the photo had to be someone's grandmother, her hair cropped short and her skin sagged with age. A pair of thick bronze stockings on her legs reflected the camera flash back to the viewer, barely covered by the kind of dress you hadn’t seen anywhere but in photos of your own grandparents. By the looks of the baby’s familiar, rounded cheeks and thick lips softened into a gape of surprise, it had to be Jimin.
It had your doubt faltering. Why would they put real baby pictures in a house meant for business? Could he really be telling the truth? He hadn’t lied about showering….
Still holding onto your thinning skepticism, you shook yourself out of doubt once more, carefully returning the photo to the side table. Photoshop was one hell of a tool when used right.
Crouching at the TV stand next, you pulled open the cabinets and found them otherwise normal, just stuffed with VHS tapes still in their accordion packaging and a handful of DVDs. Which, depending on the age of whom you were talking to, could be read as abnormal on its own.
Just be certain they weren’t hiding anything, you cracked open a couple of tapes for a quick inspection, finding the copy of ‘Raiders of the Lost Ark’ in relatively perfect condition. The only thing out of place about them was...well...the fact that they were tapes.
Most people these days have DVDs if they didn't already donate them; no one really missed having to sit with their finger glued to the rewind button just so they could watch Barney or Toy Story again. Something you were all too familiar with from growing up with your brother, he never remembered to rewind them.
You opened a few more, but found no secret stash of weapons or recording devices within them. Just plastic rectangles that smelt how you remembered them: a little chemically, and a little dusty. The last couple were older than the rest, in the original cardboard sleeves that had started to crack and peel at the edges. Shaking the most beat-up looking one from the packaging, you ran your finger over the handwritten label.
‘Park Jimin, August 1975’
Your eyes widened. Jimin didn’t look like he was 19 or anything (thank god), but he didn’t strike you as...someone in their 50s? He looked early thirties at most. And unless he was smuggling some fountain of youth potion in that yellow fridge, this had to be some sort of mistake. Maybe he had the same name as his dad?
Gooey’s head lifted from you lap to tilt his head at the door to the basement, a steady thump of his tail against the back of the couch beating in time with the run of a light-footed gait up the stairs. Gasping, you leapt back to the couch just in time for the door to swing open again.
Jimin rounded the corner seconds later, hair damp and pulled out of his face, and looking like just about every other average twenty-thrity-something you’d expect to see lounging about his house on a summer evening. Not anything like the leather-clad, gun-slinging cowboy from before (or a 50 year old man, for that matter).
He mumbled to himself as he padded around the kitchen, opening cabinets and pawing through the freezer without as much as a glance your way. It had gone so long that you started to feel like you were intruding in a stranger’s home, just watching them read the cooking instructions for a frozen lasagna like a creep through the window.
“This okay?” Jimin held up the box and shook it.
Stiffening in your seat, you nodded, bewildered. “Uh, sure?”
“Sorry I don’t have much else. Wasn’t expecting guests.”
Sliding out from beneath the dog's heavy body, you slowly started towards the kitchen. “Nothing I’m not used to.” You leaned your hip up against the little round table behind him, arms crossed and lips pursed as you looked at him in a new light, inspecting every inch of his face for any sign of age. A wrinkle perhaps, or a few strands of gray hair in the forest of dirty blonde.
Jimin didn’t pay you any mind, twisting the dials on the oven to preheat it to the right temp before peeling back the corner of the frozen tray. A knowing smile toyed at the corner of his mouth as he bent to shove the thing on the rack. “Find what you were looking for?”
“Huh?” You jumped at the sound of his voice, meeting his teasing stare.
He rose back up to a stand, shrugging. “Am I free to go after your search, or is this-” Jimin gestured to your face with a wagging finger, “-still part of it?”
Your eyes narrowed. “Jury’s still out.”
He hummed, mirroring your stance against the counter across from you. “What’s the crime?”
“Dunno. I’m not the cop.”
Unimpressed, he replied, “Already told you, m’not a cop.”
“Then what are you?” Your question hung between you, taking up too much of the already cramped space.
Jimin let it simmer a second longer before answering. “What do you think I am?”
Smart. Deflection. Great tactic if it wasn’t being used against an eldest sister who had learned the art of getting shit done.
“You said you worked for the township but I don’t think they’d want you out killing natural wildlife. I know that whatever my brother had on those wardens was risky enough to your reputation to steal from me while I slept — which by the way, creepy behavior, haven’t forgotten about it. And I know that whatever happened tonight wasn’t just township guys doing community service work in the woods out of the goodness of their hearts.” Your gaze fluttered to the timer that had over twenty minutes on it. “So, we’ve got time. You tell me. Those wardens aren’t just ghost stories, are they?”
A sigh heaved from his chest. “No. They aren’t.”
“So what’s it about then? Drugs? Money? Some government project they don’t want anyone stumbling in on?”
Jimin chuckled. “What? Ghosts aren’t scary enough for you?”
“Ghosts are the least scary option considering they aren’t real. The government? Terrifying.” You argued. “And anyways, you said they weren’t ghosts.”
“No,” He shifted his weight to lean his hands back against the counter. “I said they weren’t just ghost stories.”
A huff broke from your lips. “What is with you and words? What are you — an English teacher part-time?”
“Just think they’re pretty important.”
“Yeah? Well, there better be more of them coming from your mouth, and they better be important before I shove your face into that hot oven grate.”
Jimin didn’t seem threatened in the slightest. If anything he almost looked like he was thinking of something else entirely and hadn’t even heard you. Then he was moving across the kitchen towards the side table in the living room, flicking open one of the drawers and pulling out your brother’s hat.
“For you.” He dropped it into your hands as he side-stepped back into the kitchen. “Deal’s a deal after all.”
You shook the crumpled fabric in your fist. “This wasn’t the only part of the deal.”
“And I don’t remember the Wardens being a part of that deal either.” Before you could snap back at him, he continued on with a pointed look at the hat. “Don’t need his stuff anymore anyway. We got what we needed from it.”
“And what was that?”
“Information. Needed to know who he was to know how to look for him.”
So they were looking for him, you paused, trying not to let his admittance knock you off course. You needed him to prove it. “And this hat told you more than I could?”
“Despite how highly you may think of yourself darlin’, yes. It was more useful.”
Squeezing it so hard your fists shook, you bit back, “What? Did you wave your hand over it and say abracadabra?”
“You won’t believe me if I said what I used it for.”
“Try me.”
Jimin leaned forward to meet you halfway, the shrinking distance making your heart pound. “Fine.” His gaze bored through yours. “Needed his scent. His sweat is all over that thing.”
That caught you off guard. You unintentionally broke eye contact to cast a fleeting glance over to his dog, but a sinking feeling in your chest told you that wasn’t who he was referring to. A nervous laugh tumbled out. “You think I don’t understand how dogs work?”
He was too close now, shaking his head slowly with a whisper. “ I think you’re smart enough to know that isn’t what I’m talking about.”
Just as your mouth opened to stutter out something embarrassing about how close he was, he gave one controlled blink, and his eyes shifted from honeyed gold to violet, reflecting the light from the kitchen back through an icy sheen. You recognized that look, wide-eyed yet fierce, rooting you in place with an uncontrollable flare of fear.
Lines of invisible red string tacked themselves between two very distinct moments: Jimin standing mere inches from you in this tiny kitchen, and the mountain lion up on the mountainside, face smeared with blood just like his had been when he trekked from the woods.
“That isn’t possible. Absolutely not.”
Jimin offered you a bit of breathing room, laughing to himself. “Nothin’ that happens in Deadwood should be possible.”
“What — so you just expect me to believe that you’re some shapeshifting cat that’s actually trying to track my brother?” Anger boiled inside of you. Did he really think you’d fall for something like that? “God, this is one crock pot full of shit you’re serving. If you were trying to convince me of your innocence, this just made it ten times worse. Take me to my brother and cut the shit, or I will actually hurt you this time.”
He held his hands up in surrender, stepping back as far as he could in such a cramped space. “If you don’t wanna believe me, don’t. I’m not trying to convince you of anything. Just trying to tell you what I know.”
“-which is that you have him somewhere.”
“We don’t.”
You groaned. “Enough with the lies just-”
“But we think we know who might.”
You froze, fight leaving your body instantly in a moment of surprise. “Who?”
Another shrug and a passive look to the ticking timer on the stove. “I’ll tell you when you feel like you’re ready to start believin’ in some ghosts.”
A truce was formed over that small wooden table. Was it spoken aloud? No. Did Jimin know about this truce? Also no. But the Encore lasagna in the oven smelled too good to pass up when you hadn’t had a real hot meal in days. And besides, after standing in his kitchen a bit longer, a quick glance in his cabinets knocked his threat level down a few points.
This had to be a man’s house, not one made up for aesthetics to hide something. There were too many things that just made sense when the person living in it was just some guy. Things that would probably be missed in some elaborate set up.
He had two plates (maybe three if you counted the oddly sized one beside the stove he used as a spoon rest), two glasses, and the only bowls he had looked like one of those novelty winter sets from the 90s a parent would pass down to their kids for their first apartment with the expectation that they’d be donated after. To tie it all together was his silverware, which was sparse and mismatched. He didn’t even have coasters for the wooden table, the grain tattooed with pale rings from countless sweating glasses.
You had a sneaking suspicion that had you not been there, he might have forgone cutlery entirely and just eaten it straight from the container. (You can’t judge, you’ve been there). Everything in his kitchen was about efficiency and necessity. Not a place to create connection or spend any more time than was needed in.
You liked that. Made the meal go faster when it wasn’t broken up with small talk or feigned politeness. Though a nice painting or table runner wouldn’t have hurt.
The absence of conversation left space for you to glare at him from across the table, just making sure that he knew you weren’t about to let your guard down completely just because he slid you a hearty helping of low-grade mozzarella and gummy noodles. Even if you did scarf it down embarrassingly fast.
Unfortunately for your pride, the lack of bubbling sauce meant that the only thing you could smell was yourself: sweat, sun, grass, and dirt. Had this been under any other circumstances, you would’ve offered money to use their bathroom to rid yourself of the film of the great outdoors that had stuck to your skin. But under these circumstances, you were stuck in place watching him polish off the last of the lasagna with excessive scrapes of his spoon, still fighting internally about whether or not you should trust him.
He said he was looking for him, but why was your brother lost in the first place? And why had they been so secretive about it?
His clean plate reminded you that there was a choice to make. One that involved humoring ghost stories sooner rather than later.
Your brother owed you big time once you found him.
“So.” You began, leaning back in your seat.
Jimin’s eyes flitted upwards from where he was digging in the crevices of the container for the last drops of melted cheese, his spoon sucked between his lips. “So.”
“Ghosts.”
The spoon popped out of his mouth and clattered into the empty container, and he leaned back in his chair. “What do you already know about the Wardens?”
“Whatever was on those papers you stole.”
He raised a brow. “Which is?”
You sighed sharply, eyelid twitching with irritation. Getting information from him sure felt like pulling teeth for someone who had made a deal to open his mouth. “That they’ve been around town since it was formed, set on protecting it from trespassers and whatever. Something something about stealing souls — yada yada shapeshifting coyotes.” Picking at the thread of your shorts you added, “Big hats, blue eyes. Smells blood. Being marked by the warden means certain death...just some light evening reading.”
“Nothin’ else?” He urged.
“What else is there to it? Missing people? Animal attacks?”
Jimin pressed his lips into a thin line, finger tapping on the table impatiently. “And none of those pictures or stories meant anything to you?”
“The animal attacks, no. The people told me that I was dealing with something real.” You thought back to the headshots on the photos, some grainier than others or hand drawn due to age. “Are they supposed to mean something to me?”
“Well, what do you think happened to ‘em?” Another question he dodged. Another hit to your patience.
“Murdered? Eaten? Fell off the mountain?” Ticking them off on your fingers, you rolled your eyes. “Why did this turn into trivia night? You’re supposed to tell me what you know.”
He blinked slowly, like he was holding back a sarcastic comment in the name of politeness. “I am. Just thought you would’ve stated the obvious by now so this would be...easier.”
You laughed. “What — want me to say that I think you’re one of them?”
That had him squirming in his seat. “One of what?”
“The rangers?”
Jimin squeezed his eyes shut with a disappointed sigh and a clenched fist, like he had just watched his favorite sports team miss a straight shot. “Say it again...all together. Correctly.”
Gritting your teeth, you obliged. “...That I think you could be a Deadwood Warden?”
“Jesus almighty-” he ran his palms down his face and cast a cursory glance towards the front door. “Say it like you believe it.”
“Fine.” You crossed your arms over your chest and delivered the line with as much conviction as you could muster. “I think you’re a Deadwood-”
Gooey roared to life with ground-shaking barks, bounding in from the living room and drifting across the tile to round on the front door. The sound had you jumping a foot straight into the air with your hands clasped over your ears to save your poor eardrums. Seconds later, the door handle twisted and pushed itself open, making just enough space for two of the other men from before to waltz right in.
Of course, it was Hoseok himself. Always getting in the way when you thought you were finally getting somewhere. This time, he was tailed by the one he called Taehyung, who now looked a lot like the friend Jimin had been riding with when you had first met him in better lighting. Oh, how blissfully unaware you were then. You wished you had just taken the leap and jumped on him before things got weird. Just one night of blissful ignorance...
“Down.” Hoseok whistled sharply through his teeth, irked at the large paws that kept trying to walk up his front like a bridge to land a sloppy kiss on his face. “Jimin, get your mutt.”
“I’ll get him~” Taehyung dropped to his knees, squishing Gooey’s face between his palms and roughing it up. An effective distraction for the attention hungry dog. “Hey buddy…”
Hoseok stepped over the two with a deep frown, tossing your backpack on the floor and letting it skid over the tile at your feet. “Guessin’ you want this back. Word of advice next time you wanna go pracin’ through the woods?” He stopped next to you on his way to Jimin’s fridge to look down his nose. “Don’t use your food and way home as a weapon.” He yanked open the fridge door and swiped a chilled bottle of water from it, chugging half of it in one go.
Looks like he was good at making himself comfortable wherever he pleased, you rolled your eyes.
“How’s it going?” Taehyung asked politely, still wrestling with the dog near the entrance.
Jimin pursed his lips. “Still stuck on step one.”
“Really? Thought she would’ve come at you guns blazing with the little show at lunch.”
“So had I…” Jimin trailed off, glancing at you quickly.
“A good scare always shuts 'em up.” Hoseok looked on the edge of a smile, tipping back the last of the drink smoothly. Fucker.
You rushed to defend yourself. “I wasn’t scared.”
“Yeah, cut the gas!” Another head poked into the open door with a laugh, tattooed knuckles rapping on the frame with no rhyme or reason, just to get the energy out. “We could hear you whimpering from down the hill.” The younger one made a show of blubbering like a kid with an exaggerated pout, rubbing his fists beneath his eyes to drive the point home.
“Don’t be a dick.” Taehyung shoved at the other’s hip with one hand, though he himself let out a small chuckle at the display. “Go home, Jungkook.”
“Don’t gotta tell me twice.” Jungkook kicked the other’s hand away before nodding to Hoseok. “We good for the night boss?”
“Beat it, kid.” Hoseok spat.
Jungkook darted to leave, but second-guessed himself, hovering nearby once more. “...And I’m off the hook tomorrow?”
Hoseok regarded him with vague disinterest. “How many Scalers you get?”
“Fifteen. Yoongi only got nine.”
The eldest sighed, shaking his head and launching his empty bottle into the trash. “You want the day off for fifteen?”
Hoseok planted his hands on his hips, chewing on the inside of his cheek. At first you’d thought he’d lash out and scold the kid for being so naive, but instead he rolled his eyes and pushed the lip of his hat down so he wouldn’t have to look at him anymore. "Fine, but I want double next time. Kick dirt before I change my mind.”
“Yes!” Jungkook cheered, leaping off the porch and sprinting off down the dirt roads with a howl of victory.
Taking up the opportunity Jungkook’s rude interruption had stolen, you seized control of the conversation again and faced Jimin once more. “So, back to our deal. Spill.”
“Like I said,” Jimin looked like the night was starting to weigh on him, his composure traded out for exhaustion. “Gotta be willing to believe in some ghosts first.”
“I do,” You lied smoothly.
Jimin made a face. “Don’t sound like it.”
As cute as he was, he had gotten on one too many of your nerves. What’d he want you to do? Get on your knees and beg? Maybe if the circumstances were different, but definitely not now.
While you began to calculate your next attempt at the role of believer, you felt Hoseok’s eyes on you just like before at the shop. Heard his boots scuffle closer, watching his shadow close in from the corner of your eye.
“Well I’ll be damned,” he mused to himself, hovering over you now.
Jimin stopped playing with the handle of his spoon instantly, responding to Hoseok’s shift in demeanor with one of his own. Fatigue wiped itself away to make room for guarded caution, muscles tense and breath caught, tracking each and every subtle movement his colleague made like he was awaiting the moment he’d snap for your throat.
“Seems like I was right.” Hoseok spoke again, sounding like his revelation was more of an expected calculation than a surprise. Hooking a long finger in the collar of your shirt, he gave it a sharp tug before you could swat it away. “Looks like she got herself a mark of her own. No good following any rules’ll do her.”
A noise of surprise bubbled out from Jimin and he was on his feet in an instant, instinctively tugging at the sleeve of your t-shirt. He only had half a second to do it before you were gnashing your teeth at his hands, leaping out of reach.
“Touch me and I’ll bite!”
Hoseok grumbled, rounding the table to a thin door behind it you had assumed was some closet, nudging it open to reveal the tiniest shoebox of a bathroom you had ever seen. Though calling it a shoebox was being generous if you were being honest. “Let ‘er see for herself.”
With your heart hammering in your ribs, you scrambled out from beneath the table and into the dinky bathroom, sliding past him and the strange, cryptic look he wore. Once in front of the mirror, you shoved at the fabric of your dirt-stained t-shirt until you could find what they were referring to.
At first, you didn’t notice it, the overhead lighting making it hard to see. But the pads of your fingers found the raised flesh on the skin near the top of your shoulder blade, thick and irritated like a scar, stretching further down than where you could reach. Twisting to get a better look, your breath caught in your throat at the raised bumps. Long oblong shapes bent and curved like a hand made of hot iron had seared its touch straight through your skin, its fingers curling just over your trapezius.
“What is this?” You whirled on Jimin, who had crowded in the doorway, his expression growing grim. “Jimin — what the fuck is this? What does he mean he was right? Right about what? Talk damnit!”
At a loss for words, Jimin tugged up the hem of his gray tee, brandishing a similar yet faded scar splattered across his ribs like an old tattoo. The palm situated just in line with where the bottom of his heart would be.
Taehyung was trying to pry his way in past Hoseok for a peek, but whatever they were saying to one another fell on deaf ears, the ringing sound in them starting to drown out even your own thoughts. The only one strong enough to break through was a flash of one of the woo-woo articles you had read from, their choice of words hammering into your mind like the last nail in your metaphorical coffin. Maybe even literal coffin.
There is only one fate awaiting those marked by the hand of the Warden: certain death.
Summary: Your brother has always been flighty. The type of person who would pick up your call from the depths of a cave in Kentucky on a random Tuesday, only to be halfway across the country by Wednesday on the lookout for the next big Bigfoot sighting. So no one really bat an eye when he disappeared into the woods of New Mexico with a flashlight and a dream of hunting down the ‘Deadwood Wardens’, yet another mythological legend you didn’t believe in that he felt was his 'destiny' to prove.
But then he stopped calling. And it turns out the woods were a lot scarier in person than in the photos.
With the help of a local who knows the woods like the back of his hand, you should be out of here with your stupid brother in no time! Not that you were worried or anything — after all, it wasn’t like those campfire stories of men in wide-brimmed hats coming to steal the souls of unsuspecting trespassers were true. It was only a coincidence that Jimin, your friendly woodsman, wore a hat just like the ones taped on your brother's wall....right?
Genre: 18+ Folk horror, paranormal themes, mystery/thriller, romance
Chapter Warnings: Language. Non-graphic mentions of suicide and death.
Taglist open! : @ae12moonss @lovehobicheol @next-bex-bet @jiminspersonalmaid @elmarimochi9513 @darksolace18 @cripilingdepression-blog @polnaraffsrack
A/n: I hope you enjoyed this story's debut 🥳🥳. More chapters will be announced soon I promise! I just wanted to give y'all some meat to start. I'm trying out the shorter chapters to see if that helps people who feel intimidated by large pieces.
Anyway, feel free to chat. I might have a little drinky drink, and I'm making a honey cake tonight to commemorate my june rituals and celebrate finally getting to get the start of a cowboy fic off my chest, so I'll be lurking on here. Much love!
There was a long stretch of heavy silence, your mouth opening and closing into the receiver while your brain worked overtime to try and come up with an explanation that didn’t scare the shit out of you.
Jimin moved first, dropping to his stomach with his hat placed off to the side, head angled to try and get a look into the room just like you had done. He grunted, pushing his fingers through the space and retracting them, the digits now glistening in the light from the window behind him.
He brought the mystery liquid up to his nose and sniffed, expression pinching.
“Is it…” You couldn’t even say it. Couldn’t think it.
“Coffee.”
“Coffee?” You repeated dubiously.
“A straight line of it across the door.” Jimin wiped the liquid off on his jeans, standing at full height. “See for yourself.”
Doing just that, you swiped them just as he had done and brought them up to your nose, the scent immediately making your face scrunch. It was coffee, alright — just weeks old and spoiled.
“Why would there be coffee on the…” Your voice died in your throat, the gears in your head starting to turn to life. The full night's sleep and the idea of your brother being in any sort of real danger had your big sister energy kicking into high gear, memories soaring through your head, and leading you to a rather unorthodox conclusion.
Locked door. Weird gadgets littered around the house in places they shouldn’t be. A strange note where he knew you’d find it. An eerily perfect line of spilled coffee, the very drink you had first thing this morning.
“What is it?” Jimin watched realization dawn on your features.
Goosebumps tracked over your skin. “He left me a treasure hunt.”
“A what?” Hot on your tail as you darted back towards the kitchen, he watched you rip open the cabinets with a raised brow.
“A treasure hunt,” You reiterated, scanning the mugs like you had that morning.
Half-empty jar of peanut butter. Instant coffee. Line of mugs. Multi-purpose window breaker.
“I used to do them for him all the time when we were kids.” Snatching the tool, you felt the weight in your hands. “I bet the key to that room is at the end of it.”
A hand shot out to grab your wrist, stopping you from rushing out the door instantly. “And you’re sure about this?”
“More than anything. I know my brother.”
His grip didn’t budge, gaze boring into yours with such gravity it knocked you still. “If I had a drop for every time someone’s said that to me before I found their loved ones doing the exact thing they swore up and down they’d never do, I’d have a barrel of the finest aged whiskey.” He took a hesitant step closer. “There’s just some things you’d be better off not seeing.”
The back of your throat burned, and you clenched the tool tighter in your fist. “If I see it, I see it.”
Jimin pursed his lips, searching your face for an ounce of uncertainty you knew he’d never find. Then he nodded, just once, backing off. “Okay.”
He didn’t ask any further questions, keeping all the comments he definitely had to himself as he followed you out to the driveway, clearly not in any hurry to leave you alone any time soon. The two of you located the blocked window first, hoping that maybe you could skip right over these clues and find a way in from the outside. But of course, your brother was a step ahead: the view covered by the back of a desk chair, and the window sealed shut.
That left you with only one option: to play the game.
Stalking up to the side of your brother’s blue jeep, you steadied your nerves with a flip of the tool in your hand. He loved this car more than anything. Which meant whatever was at the end of this hunt was going to be worth what you were about to do to it.
You grimaced. “Sorry, Ruby.”
Raising the pointed nub used for glass up to the center of the window, you swung it through the driver’s side door, the glass shattering into huge chunks upon impact. With the back of the tool, you hammered the edges back to make a hole wide enough for your arm to fit through unscathed, snaking your hand in and manually unlatching the door.
Jimin was beside you in an instant, holding the door open and shielding your bare skin from coming into contact with any loose shards.
Scanning the seats, your eyes spotted the passenger side seatbelt folded at an awkward angle and twisted in on itself as though glued shut. Your eyes were trained to find shit like this after spending so many years being the puzzle master; you knew all the tricks.
Spinning the tool around for the side with the seatbelt cutter, you began hacking at the spot above it until it fell into your palm. Next, you sliced through the sun-warmed glue and pried open the layers, a thin purple plastic game chip falling out into your palm.
Running your thumb over it, you stilled, unsure at first glance where this should take you. Shimmying back out into the open, you showed Jimin your hoard.
“A poker chip?”
“Maybe,” You chewed on your cheek as you shook the object in your fist. “Where does one typically play poker around here?”
Jimin shrugged. “A table?”
In a flash, the two of you were circling the dining room table, running the pads of your fingers along the bottom or scouring the underside of the chairs for any kind of taped key or secret note. When your search came up empty, you reevaluated just what exactly it was you were looking at.
Jimin reached across the table, lifting up your cute little breakfast companion and bouncing it in his hand. “People keep coins in these, right?”
“Genius!” You snatched the pig out of his hands and jammed the ‘coin’ into the slot and waited for something to happen — like a trapdoor opening in the floor, a message to play out through the belly of the animal, or something to fall out the bottom.
Nothing did.
Frowning, you popped the bottom off and ran your finger along the inside, stealing back your coin but nothing else.
“Wait,” Jimin urgently gestured behind you. “That one kind of matches, don’t it?”
You snapped your neck up towards the slender table by the front door, where an almost identical one sat, except instead of green, this one was a shade of soft lavender and spotted with violet flowers.
Duh, you thought to yourself, peeved you didn't think of it sooner.
Repeating what you had just done with this pig, you slotted the coin through and waited. Instead of clanging around against the hollowed out porcelain, it landed against something soft, falling so quietly you almost checked the floor to see if it had been spat out the bottom onto the rug. Flipping it over to run your finger over the little rubber stopper that held the contents of its stomach safe, you popped the sucker out and shook it over the table.
A piece of folded paper fluttered out with the coin, and your fingers stumbled over one another to read what was scribbled aloud. Jimin must have been equally as invested in the ‘game’, hovering close enough to feel the body heat radiate off his skin while his eyes followed along.
‘Beneath the threshold you once entered, I rose from seed to flower, hungry for summer sun. What a shame I can not plant myself a friend, for the soil is rich with opportunity.’
“The threshold I once entered…I rose for summer sun...” You left Jimin in the dust to retrace your steps back to the hall near the kitchen, spotting the window that had been conveniently left open for you to tumble into. “Hey cowboy, what direction does this window face?”
The man in question hummed, crowding beside you for a glance no longer than a second before he had an answer. “East.”
“The sun rises in the east-” Unlatching the frame, you grit your teeth, hoisting it up and open once more to crane your neck outside, smacking face-first into the long limbs of one of the rose bushes. “-oof.”
“From seed to flower,” Jimin reflexively grabbed the offending branches and held them back from your face, eyeing the gorgeous blush and orange-tipped petals. His gaze then dropped to the ground with an impressed twitch of his brow. “That soil’s been messed with recently.”
Not even bothering with the door, you swung your leg up and over the windowsill, plopping down onto the dirt and waiting for Jimin to do the same.
The soil smelt of worms and tree bark as you scooped your hands through it, making a pile to your right as Jimin helped widen the crater from your left. You did this for a few minutes to no avail, your patience beginning to thin like the new layer of sweat on your shoulders.
“Hold on,” Jimin took off in a light jog around the house, returning not too long after with a compact shovel, waving you out of the way so he could sink the tools' serrated teeth into the compost and chew through the layers more effectively.
Metal clanged against metal, and you dove to uncover whatever was under the soil, brushing loose grains from the top of a small box, the front clamped closed with a three-digit number lock.
Jimin wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead and stabbed the shovel into the ground, resituating the hat on his head. “I’m guessin’ he didn’t leave you any sort of code?”
“Just a receipt…” You answered bitterly, a wave of regret washing over you for having jumped the gun and returned the receipt to that Yoongi guy.
Think, think, think...
You sat there for a moment, willing yourself to remember the total amount inked on the bottom, or the price of the headlamp battery. But all you could remember was what the items were, not how much he spent.
Dropping the box back to the ground, you stood to get a better look at your surroundings. Maybe there was something along the way that you missed. Maybe a couple of ‘accidental’ fingerprint smudges, or scratched lines into the bark of a tree — you even found yourself formulating equations using the number of bloomed roses on the bushes, but none of them ended with a three-digit number.
“Would checking the car again be worth anything? There’s a bunch of numbers in those.” The man next to her shifted his weight to offer you a hand up.
“I guess that’s not a bad idea.” Taking the offered hand, your knees cracked as they straightened out. You were not cut out for the woodsy life.
With the box tucked under your arm, the two of you slowly made your way back towards the front (deciding to walk off some of the fresh soil that coated your shins before tracking it through the house). Your poor lower lip was being brutalized by the incessant scrape of your teeth, the pathways in your brain lighting up like a suburban neighborhood in mid December to try and come up with the answer, and fast.
If Jimin’s suspicions were correct, he might be in that room, and you didn’t think the owner would take lightly to you taking a shovel to the window or the latch.
To make matters worse, nothing in the car seemed to trip your trigger, all of it looking pretty mundane save for the shattered glass and shredded seatbelt. Now you were draped on a dining room chair with skin slick with summer sweat to cool your heat-induced attitude that threatened to bubble over with the boiling heat, still worrying away at anything you could pick at and eyes zeroed in on the box.
Right now it was the skin of your forearms where an old scar made for decent entertainment.
Maybe if you stared hard enough at the three little spinning numbers, they would tell you something new.
“Not used to the heat, are you?” Jimin was incredibly perceptive despite your efforts to hide your weakness, something you couldn’t decide whether or not it made him more attractive or threatening.
“Am I that obvious?” You tapped your fingers against the table impatiently.
He eyed the movement with diligent attention, as if he wanted to ask you to stop but refrained out of politeness. “Guess you can say that.”
“We had hot summers, but nothing like this,” You shared with a shake of your head, dropping your chin to rest on your palm. “Had some gnarly winters though. But I don’t mind those — I prefer the cold.” You nodded to the machine chugging away in the window. “Without this hunk of junk I think I’d be living in the car.”
Jimin gave you that same slightly humored twist of his lips and polite nod, and at this point, you couldn’t tell if he thought you were the cute kind of funny or ‘haha, you’re pathetic’ funny.
About to make a joke along those lines to test the waters, you paused, mouth open and eyes locked on the air conditioning unit in the window.
The note!
Raiding your pockets for where you had thoughtlessly shoved it, you straightened out the edges and read it once more: ‘up, up, down’.
“What’s that?” He nodded to the little green note.
You passed it over to him. “A note he left. One only I’d be able to decipher.”
His eyes flicked up to hers. “Can you?”
“Sort of.” Taking it back from him, you stuck the sticky part onto the table. “The colors are important. It’s a method I used to use all the time for him. If the ink color is opposite to the color of the paper, then whatever message is written on it is supposed to be read in reverse. Take red and green in this case. I just can’t be sure it’s for this box or if there's something we are missing...”
The chair creaked beneath Jimin’s weight as he slid the box closer to himself, tapping the first two numbers down, and the third one up, but again, nothing seemed to be interested in working. He looked at the note again. “Where’d you find this?”
Pointing to the machine you answered, “There. Beneath it.”
Jimin leaned back in his chair, balancing on the back two legs to get a look at the neon green numbers on the tiny blue screen. “What was it set to when you got here?”
Of course, a number he knew you’d be so offended by you’d never forget it.
“82.”
“So...81, 80, 81....Too many numbers.” Jimin pouted slightly down to the box, fingers fiddling with the numbers in hopes of getting hit with a stroke of luck and crack it without trying.
Pulling out your phone, you opened the calculator app, entered the three numbers in and hit enter. Your grin grew with the size of the number. “Yeah. But 242 is juuuust the right size~”
Stealing the box back from him, you punched in ‘242’ and nearly jumped for joy when the lid cracked, the lock separating in two.
Your grin immediately fell upon looking at the sad, folded sheet of lined notebook paper lying on the bottom. Bastard, you huffed.
‘Like sweat I pour from silver taps,
I wait for you beneath my father’s cap.’
Shooting to your feet, you started towards the bathroom, calling back to Jimin as you went. “Look for a baseball hat — preferably one with a plumbing or a sewage company label on it.”
Jimin took the main areas while you combed through the unlocked bedroom and bathrooms, rummaging through his clothes and whatever garbage he’d littered the house with. You did find a beat-up old baseball cap with the faded logo hanging from the hook of a hanger, but smoothing your fingers over the seams and shaking it out proved a pointless effort.
Returning to the living room where Jimin was poking around the drawers of a stocky end table, you threw the hat on the table to glare at the boneless flop of fabric. “Hats a bust.” You pursed your lips, scanning the room for the hundredth time. You had to think like your brother — or think how your brother thought you would think.
A quick reread of the note and a recap of all your strange findings had you thinking about your diabolical cup of salted coffee that morning.
Sweat was salty.
“The salt water has to have something to do with this...” You paced behind the couch and into the center alley of the kitchen, scratching at the back of your neck.
Jimin grunted softly. “Where’s that at?”
“Everywhere.”
Appearing behind you, he hovered his hands over the faucet. “Mind if I take a look?”
Blinking back visible confusion, you responded. “Uh, yeah. Have at it.” This man had just been nosing about drawers and digging in the garden, but he was asking permission to turn on the water?
The sound of rushing water filled the kitchen, and you leaned up against the counter while he soaked his fingers under the tap, nearly having to look away when he brought them up to his mouth to taste, pink tongue peeking out to dab at them.
Heat rushed up your neck. You should not be having those kinds of thoughts about him right now when you were actively looking for your brother.
Jimin blanched at the taste, leaning over to spit it back in the sink, much like you had done that morning. “Christ.”
“Yeah, now imagine that in your coffee.”
The man wiped his mouth on his forearm and violently shook his head of the taste, much like a dog would after drinking water. “No thanks.”
“So I’m guessing this isn’t a regional thing?”
“Not in most places it isn’t. Most of our water comes from underground — wells and the like.”
That got you thinking. “Private or public?”
Jimin shrugged, locating a towel hung above the sink to dry his hands off on. “Depends on the spot. Most of these properties have private wells.”
“Does this one?”
“Don’t know for sure off the top of my head, but I know how to check.”
Sneakers were not the prime shoe for walking through the spongy sheets of dried pine needles, decaying leaves, and wiry underbrush, each step sinking in like mud, melting through the earth’s personal mattress topper of debris. Thankfully, you didn’t have to walk for too long. Jimin was a natural at sniffing out just where and what one should look for when investigating local water systems.
“Here,” Jimin used his hand to sweep away a superficial layer of plant matter, revealing a small silvery plate of sorts jutting from the soil. “By the looks of the monitoring cap, it’s a well system. Most likely private.”
“And those shouldn’t be salty?”
“Not typically.”
Retrieving the note again, you scanned the short riddle.
‘Like sweat I pour from silver taps,
I wait for you beneath my father’s cap.’
You tapped the silver lid with your toe. “What’d you call that again?”
“A monitoring cap.” As he said it, your eyes met, sharing a look that told you he was thinking exactly what you were thinking. “Want me to pop it open?”
“Please.”
Without the need for tools, Jimin pinched a black tab on the side and twisted with all his might, muscles barely shaking beneath the surface of his honeyed skin. It released with a hissing ‘pop’, and he flipped the lid over to inspect the bottom.
There, taped with two layers of water-resistant tape, was a key and another small note. With nimble fingers, he peeled the key from the metal and offered it up to you, the note following shortly after. This one was simple.
‘Look up.’
Tipping your head back on command, your eyes immediately latched onto the stripes of red canvas sewn into your brother’s backpack where it dangled from a branch no less than fifteen or so feet off the ground. You had to shield the sun from your eyes to get a good look at just how he managed to suspend it, already thinking up ways to get it down when a hat was placed into your hands.
“Hold this for me, would you darlin'?”
Blubbering after the off-handed nickname, you could do nothing else but stand there and stammer with the soft fabric hugged to your chest as he pulled himself up the knobby branches towards the rope it hang from. From his jeans, he flicked open a pocket knife, holding it with his teeth while he got the rope into a nice position to slice through.
“Ready?”
You tucked the hat under one of your elbows and held your hands out, lining yourself up beneath where you projected it to fall. “Ready!”
The knife severed the cord, the bag dropping straight into your arms with a grunt. Jimin descended shortly after, slipping his hat from beneath your arm and placing it back on his head. You were far too busy digging through the bag to admire the rugged, sweaty cowboy in front of you, your anxiety returning tenfold at what you found in the bag.
His car keys were in there, lying on top of a folded sleeping bag, a head lamp with night vision goggles attached, a hefty flashlight, a hoard of granola bars, nuts, and a half-empty canteen. At the bottom was one of those bulk plastic bags of salt, ripped open with the air pushed out so it would fold small enough to fit.
“This is his camping stuff-” Your breath quickened, hands digging faster. “The new fancy set I got him for Christmas. I don’t see his old set but-”
Jimin was already frowning deeply from her side, hand coming up to force hers to stop their pointless search. She didn’t realize how much she had started to shake. “Why don’t I go ahead and take a look in that back room for you, hm?”
Visions flashed before your eyes. New possibilities of what you could actually find behind that door haunting your waking mind, all of them blurry and hard to pay attention to. The only thing you could really focus on was the image of your little brother sitting in front of the box set TV that shocked you if you touched it, it’s low saturation picture highlighting the concentrated shape of your brother’s little face. His chubby fingers digging through canned spaghetti and sliced hot dogs with baked beans — whatever concoction your thirteen-year-old self had been able to make with the ingredients you had found at the food pantry on the way home from school.
Then he'd point at the screen, sauce smeared on his cheek, and ogle at obviously fake clips of 'real' mermaids and Bigfoot encounters.
You'd always roll your eyes, but you'd never burst his bubble (too hard). That wasn't your job.
Your job had been to feed him. To tuck him in at night. To make sure he didn’t have off-brand lucky charms stuck to his cheeks before he got on the bus. A responsibility that pushed you to eat less at dinner so he could have more. That had you spending what little money you made to take him for ice cream after his graduation so he wouldn’t be so bummed that no one invited him to any of their fancy parties.
The responsibility that had never cinched so tight around your throat and weighed on your conscience more than it did in that second.
You clenched the strap of the bag tighter in your hand.
“No. If anyone is gonna find him, it’s me.” It's my job.
Jimin kept closer than before, probably preparing himself for what you would do if there was something truly traumatizing waiting for you back at the cabin. A part of you felt ashamed for being so adamantly against his idea when he probably wasn’t lying about just how many times he’s gone through this. But you couldn't let yourself believe it. Not for a second.
Maybe half a second. Not a full one, though.
You kept the image of your brother’s TV lit profile at the forefront of your mind as you shimmied the key into the lock of the back room, letting it sit there for you to stare at for a couple more seconds. Then a half second.
Your voice shook. “How many?”
Jimin made a confused noise in the back of his throat, knitting his brows together as he tried to stare through you like he’d be able to find an answer somewhere written in the nervous flutter of your lashes or the shuddering breath expelled from your nose.
“How many people have you…”
He leaned back with a sigh, his expression shifting to something you couldn’t get a good read on. Maybe you shouldn’t have asked such a question-
“Between the animals in the woods and the ones in people’s heads?” He whispered. “Too many to count.”
You nodded, compartmentalizing the bitter taste his sincerity left on your tongue behind a stoic wall of steel. Though a part of you was grateful for the honesty, you didn’t need anything sugar-coated for you.
“Okay.” You said lightly, like it wasn’t the hardest thing you’ve ever had to say, and pushed open the door.
The thin corner of the black trash bag billowed beneath the slow, oscillating blow of a fan, making sunlight strobe into the room in headache-inducing increments. Preparing yourself for the worst, you flipped on the light switch by the door and winced as light blared through the dark room.
A gasp fell from your lips, but not because of what you would have expected. “Holy shit.”
Any surface that was flat enough to tack or spill something onto was used up without an inch to spare. Newspaper clippings, printed photographs, and handwritten notes layered over one another to form a crude wallpaper, which your brother had gone the whole nine yards to decorate with red yarn. A spider building crimson webs all over the room. A string of consciousness vomited on the walls, floors, and ceiling like a pot of wet spaghetti chucked across a room, the starch sticking wherever it happened to land.
But there was no body; there was no brother. Just...whatever this was.
Your brain rushed to catch up with as much of it as possible, scanning over fuzzy Polaroids of dark woodsy tunnels punctuated with blue anomalies circled with red ink, and glazing over the missing persons’ signs taped beneath them.
“What have you gotten yourself into, shithead...” Using a hand to lift a clump of ribbons, you dipped beneath them, traversing deeper into the bubbling pot of noodle town.
The floorboard by the door creaked beneath Jimin’s heavy boots, his weight creeping in shortly after, mouth set in a flat line as he took in the state of the room.
A flicker of hope reignited in your gut at the contraption that toed the line between impressive and insanity, because even if he might be off his rocker and in need of intervention — this meant that as of now, he wasn’t crossed off as another statistic. He wasn’t dead.
“He’s quite the...collector…” Jimin reckoned with poorly disguised unease, leaning over a crossroads of string to get a better look at one of the newspaper clippings.
“Always has been.” Dropping the backpack on the floor, you let your fingers run along the red ribbons, feeling the frizz beneath your fingers as you followed the trail. Not so much looking at where they led other than if another road picked up at its end. You pulled your phone from your pocket, the screen opening up to where you had left off on his contact information.
You had a feeling the puzzle wasn’t quite finished yet.
You hit call.
The high-pitched voices of the backup singers squealed from behind the shuttered closet doors where one single thread looped around the doorknob, a faint glow slotting through the slats. Sliding open the door, your hope fizzled, and numbingly cold and painfully impertinent fear stole the show.
It was supposed to be some stupid thing, really — a word he had chosen after watching pirate movies and insisting on establishing it as “the one” with child-like persistence that being pillaged by pirates or abducted by aliens was a real threat they needed to prepare for. Never in your life had you ever thought you’d need to use it. And never had he ever actually needed to do so.
But now it felt anything but stupid. Especially when, in an almost complete replica of how the movie’s heroine had been discovered hiding in a secret closet within the walls, was the same word she shouted when kidnapped and held hostage by sword-wielding pirates. The same word that symbolized both surrender and a promise to fight, stabbed through the middle with a thumbtack to an out-of-focus photo of a towering shadow figure in a wide-brimmed hat.
Genre: 18+ Folk horror, paranormal themes, mystery/thriller, romance
Warnings (are subject to change): Frightening themes. Ghosts and cryptids. Violence. Mentions of death/missing persons. Smut undecided.
Release date: Summer 2026, Taglist open!
Summary:
Your brother has always been flighty. The type of person who would pick up your call from the depths of a cave in Kentucky on a random Tuesday, only to be halfway across the country by Wednesday on the lookout for the next big Bigfoot sighting. So no one really bat an eye when he disappeared into the woods of New Mexico with a flashlight and a dream of hunting down the ‘Deadwood Wardens’, yet another mythological legend you didn’t believe in that he felt was his 'destiny' to prove.
But then he stopped calling. And it turns out the woods were a lot scarier in person than in the photos.
With the help of a local who knows the woods like the back of his hand, you should be out of here with your stupid brother in no time! Not that you were worried or anything — after all, it wasn’t like those campfire stories of men in wide-brimmed hats coming to steal the souls of unsuspecting trespassers were true. It was only a coincidence that Jimin, your friendly woodsman, wore a hat just like the ones taped on your brother's wall....right?
1. Yeah, he's one of those - 6/4/2026
2. I wouldn't bank on that... - 6/5/2026
3. Parley! - 6/6/2026
4. Coyotes and cowboys and aliens - oh my! 6/8/2025
5. I Earn it -6/10/2026
6. You better not run - 6/11/2026
7. Lasagna with a side of certain death - release date 6/23/2026
8. Seeing is Believing (sorry - my eyes were closed) - release date tba
more to be announced...
Main masterlist I Teaser I Playlist I Come chitty chat! I Cabin/house model I
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