#thearmyprof

Yoongi awakens with a start. Cold. So cold. And grey.

He scrunches his forehead and blinks his swollen eyelids while trying to take in the landscape. He feels like his head should hurt. Or like he should feel hungover. But all he’s really feeling is cold.

He manages to get his eyes open and take in the landscape around him. Grey. Nothing really discernable beyond grey.

It’s not dark, but Yoongi wouldn’t call it “bright” either. It’s impossible to know where the light is coming from, but everything is lit in neutral, oppressive grey.

Then he registers a tugging sensation. He looks down to see he’s sitting in what appears to be running water. Grey water. It’s moving lazily around him, but every little while the water pulls, tugs at his waist where it emerges from the flow.

It’s cold.

“He-hello?” he croaks out. The air feels thick and his voice seems to fall from it easily, not carrying out across the greyness.

A fear begins to creep up his spine as he looks out into the void. A small voice, in his mind, whispers his fears. He knows exactly where he is, and has read about this place. He’s just not entirely clear on how he got here.

He pushes himself up with shaking limbs to stand. The water is up to his calves, the tugging a bit more insistent now. The shallowness of the water is a good sign, right? Perhaps it means he’s not in too deep.

Yoongi looks down at his clothes, checking for clues to jog his memory. Anything to explain exactly how he got here. But there’s nothing. His clothes are the same ones he remembers wearing before he ended up in this strange place. He’s wearing a black oversize Fear of God tee and dark joggers. Something he’d wear to lounge at home or maybe run out for coffee. Nothing that would have landed him here.

He shivers, wondering just how long he’s been sitting here, and how much longer he’ll have to endure the numbing cold. He thinks he can hear the faint slosh of water, masked mostly by his heavy, anxious breathing and blood pounding in his ears. It doesn’t know how much time passes. Does time even pass in this place?

He doesn’t dare move. He remembers his readings. There are potential pitfalls and drop-offs under the water that can’t be seen. Only experienced travelers can wander this river unaided. He clenches his fists at his sides and then tries to relax them again. How long can he stand here until his body gives out and just floats down the river?

The water continues to tug playfully around Yoongi, and the colder he gets, the less he feels. His feet and lower legs are numb but he can still feel where the water soaks his joggers, climbing up his knees to his thighs. The cold is no longer just a chill but an icy grip on his body that seems to reach his bones.

He takes a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself, trying not to think about how much longer he will have to stand here. His mind is consumed with thoughts of what could be lurking under the surface or what other creatures might inhabit this river besides him. A deep, full-body shiver wracks through him at the realization of what precisely is in these waters.

Yoongi doesn’t know how long he’s been standing there when he hears the hum. At first, he convinces himself it’s a hallucination or a mirage of sorts. The humming is so low, he’s sure it’s a sign of his going mad. The song becomes a bit louder, though, and it’s a pleasant little melody. Almost like a laidback walking song.

He carefully twists his torso, making sure to not accidentally dislodge himself from his place in the river, to look for the source of the song. He can see nothing at first and then, there, on the horizon, a shadowy figure appears, getting closer.

As the figure grows closer, Yoongi’s heart quickens in his chest. He’s not sure if this person is a friend or a foe, but the melody of the song fills him with some sort of hope. The figure is hard to make out in the grey, but he grows clearer and clearer as he gets closer. He’s wearing all black with a backpack slung on his back. The humming grows louder, with occasional sung words thrown in, and Yoongi can see his features now—soft, kind doe eyes and a warm smile. His dark hair is adorned with what looks like bright silver metallic threads woven through, all pulled up messily into a bun at the back of his head.

The man stops before Yoongi and tilts his head curiously.

“Hello,” he says in a soft voice, warmer than everything else in this frigid place, “I’m Jungkook. I couldn’t help but notice you standing here in this river. You don’t appear to be dead.”

Yoongi’s heart feels like it might explode as he opens his mouth to respond. He’s not sure if he’s hallucinating or if this is really happening, but he knows that he needs to grasp onto this opportunity to escape this place.

“I-I’m Yoongi,” he stammers after clearing his throat, “I don’t think I’m dead.”

Jungkook’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles, his hand reaching out to touch Yoongi’s arm. “Well, Yoongi, who is definitely not dead, what do you say I help you? I know exactly how to get out of this place.”

A glimmer of hope sparks within Yoongi’s chest as Jungkook smiles widely at him and reaches out a hand. Yoongi tentatively slides his own palm into that of the other. The warmth of Jungkook’s hand against his skin is a stark contrast to the icy cold of the river, and Yoongi can’t help but let out a sigh of relief.

“No matter what happens, don’t let go of my hand,” Jungkook says with a smile and a tone so serious it sends a shiver down Yoongi’s spine.

“I won’t.”

Jungkook begins to lead Yoongi forward, guiding him through the chilly waters. Yoongi can feel the tension in Jungkook’s arm as he leads them on, the current of the river pushing against their bodies as they move.

Jungkook murmurs to him every once and a while, pointing out a step to avoid. Meanwhile, the man is still gripping tightly to Yoongi’s hand and humming the same tune low from his throat.

“What is it you are singing?” Yoongi asks when they take a small break.

“An old, old tune, a walking song of sorts,” Jungkook says, eyes glued to the horizon in front of them. The landscape hadn’t changed visually at all, but the air felt different here, lighter.

Yoongi takes his chance to study Jungkook’s face. He’d been staring at his back most of the journey, after all. Jungkook was beautiful, with high cheekbones, full lips, and a sharp jawline. But his eyes were what really caught Yoongi’s attention—dark and shiny holding what seems to be an entire galaxy. His whole person seems to shine, especially here, among all the grey. Yoongi doesn’t know how to describe the feeling that bubbles within himself, but it is intense, stirring emotions he’s not felt in a long time.

“It’s a beautiful song, but sounds a little sad,” Yoongi comments.

Jungkook hums in agreement. He swings his backpack around and pulls out a flask, opens it, and takes a sip. Then he hands the open flask to Yoongi.

“Water. Drink. We’ve still a ways to go.”

Yoongi doesn’t know how long they’ve been walking when the pull of the river suddenly became much more insistent.

“We’re close to the gate,” Jungkook mutters.

“How can you tell where we are?” Yoongi asks the question that’s been niggling at his mind since meeting the traveler.

Jungkook glances at Yoongi for a moment before saying, “I’ve been traveling these waters for almost two decades. I learned from my father and he from his. There’s much to see, feel, hear, and smell with a trained eye.”

Yoongi nods and looks out across the mundane expanse. It’s just cold and grey to him.

“How old are you to have been traveling through here for two decades?”

“Ah, well, I’m 26,” Jungkook says.

Yoongi’s jaw drops open in surprise. He doesn’t know how to respond to this new information.

“Remember, no matter what happens, do not release your hand,” Jungkook says, emphasizing his point by squeezing Yoongi’s hand. “I do not know who or what might be at the gate. Not to mention the river often is loath to let travelers once ensnared back upriver.”

A prickling panic pulls at Yoongi’s scalp. He swallows down past the lump in his throat and nods again. Decisively. Like he has any choice about this matter. His chest warms a bit, despite the bone-chilling cold, when Jungkook squeezes his hand again.

The river’s pull is indeed more harsh after another twenty or so paces. It’s up to Yoongi’s knees, pulling, threatening to knock him down and sweep him under with one careless step.

Jungkook hisses and comes to a full stop, causing Yoongi to knock into his backpack.

“Sorry,” he mutters under his breath as he looks around Jungkook’s figure to see why they stopped.

Jungkook responds with another squeeze to his hand.

Yoongi’s eyes widen when he takes in the scene before him. A large black shadow shaped roughly like a large bull looms out of the river. It seems to be eating—pulling and shredding at with a shadowy maw—another silvery shape in the water. Flecks of the silver fly off into the river like liquid mercury. Terror grips Yoongi at the sight of the obscene violence.

Jungkook begins a new song, tone low from his chest, but loud, filling the cavern of the grey space around them. As Jungkook’s voice rises, so too does the shadowy bull’s head. Its empty eyes turn towards Yoongi and Jungkook, silvery liquid dripping horrifyingly from the void where the beast’s mouth should be. A low growl rumbles from deep in its throat that reminds Yoongi more of a fearsome cat than a bull.

Yoongi’s hand tightens impossibly around Jungkook’s. The shadow creature’s eyes seem to bore into Yoongi’s soul, paralyzing him with fear. He struggles to breathe. But Jungkook’s voice never wavers, and he continues to sing his song.

The bull’s head lowers, and it charges towards them, its shadowy form rippling with power. Yoongi closes his eyes, ready to meet his fate, as he feels a surge of the water at his knees pull more urgently around him and rise to the middle of his thighs. He snaps his eyes open again as the waters pull and pull at him. He somehow manages to keep his footing sure and his grip in Jungkook’s hand tight.

To their left, water is swirling into a whirlpool, sucking everything within the radius down into the dark center. The bull is roaring angrily now as it trips at the current of the water. Yoongi watches as the shadowy creature gets pulled to its side into the water. The shadows thrash and the bull bellows then gargles in the waters. Soon, while still fighting the river’s current, the shadowy beast is pulled around and around by the whirlpool.

All the while, Jungkook is still singing. After some moments, when the shadows have all been submerged into the center of the whirlpool, Jungkook shifts his song to something softer. As his song calms, so do the waters of the river. They recede until they barely lap at Yoongi’s ankles.

Jungkook then turns to check over his travel companion. Both men are panting heavily—Jungkook from the obvious spells he just conjured and Yoongi from sheer terror. Yoongi shivers violently then from shock and the cold water now completely drenching his joggers.

“What was that?” Yoongi asks, his voice shaking and barely audible.

Jungkook offers him a small smile before answering. “An evil spirit trying to gather enough energy to make its way through this gate, with the hope of escaping the river.”

Yoongi shivers again, his full body shaking with the exertion of it. This time Jungkook furrows his brow in concern before pulling his backpack around and rifling through it. He pulls out a dark green cloak that has flecks of silver shimmering in the weave. He hands the cloak to Yoongi.

“This will help with the cold. I’m sorry, I should have thought of it sooner,” Jungkook says and looks contrite.

Yoongi shakes his head as he grabs the cloak. Jungkook ends up helping him put it on and closes the clasp for him when Yoongi’s fingers shake too much.

“Let’s go before the river awakens again,” Jungkook says after giving Yoongi another once-over.

Yoongi just nods and readjusts his grip in Jungkook’s hand.

As they walk, Yoongi finds himself dwelling on the darkness of what he had just witnessed. They’ve been walking for an hour or two, Yoongi isn’t really sure, when he decides to ask the questions burdening his mind.

With a tremor in his voice, he asks, “What was that thing the shadow spirit was eating?”

“Ah,” Jungkook says, glancing back at Yoongi with an apologetic grimace. “That was, uh, a soul. Someone who had died who was making their way down the river, most likely.”

Yoongi felt dizzy at that. “A soul?”

“Yeah, those who don’t need escorts down the river,” Jungkook explains, “transition into Death as a soul that floats down the river. It’s rather peaceful. Usually.”

“Escorts?” Yoongi asks.

“Well, sometimes souls aren’t ready to depart. They tend to have more corporeal looking forms,” Jungkook says, glancing back at Yoongi again to see if he understands. “Grim reapers will escort those.”

Yoongi falls silent processing this new information. Then he asks, “And why–”

“Why was the shadow eating a soul?” Jungkook asks.

Yoongi hums.

“Well, evil spirits and those trying to make their way back up the river towards life use energy from the souls,” Jungkook says.

Yoongi nods even though he knows Jungkook can’t see him.

“You have no idea how you got here, hyung?” Jungkook asks after what must be several hours of walking. The only way Yoongi can tell time is passing at all is through the weariness of his body. Honestly, he finds it quite disorienting.

Yoongi shakes his head, but furrows his brow in thought regardless. “I remember going out for drinks with my hyung last night. Or, well, the night before. I’m not sure how long I’ve been here. Then I came home, a bit buzzed, but nothing out of the ordinary. As far as I know, I fell asleep in my bed. At home.”

Jungkook hums in thought or maybe he’s giving direction to the river again. Yoongi realizes after the whirlpool that’s what his music has been doing—Jungkook’s music can control the river of Death.

“No one weird at the bar? Or on your way home?” Jungkook asks. “Watch your step here. Follow me exactly. There’s a drop off to the right.”

Yoongi concentrates on putting his feet exactly where Jungkook’s had been while also trying to answer his question. “I don’t think so.”

They walk another few steps when a memory makes Yoongi almost trip. “Wait, wait. At the bar. Hyung and I were just chatting with ourselves when someone tried to buy hyung a drink. I told them to fuck off. Maybe, maybe that’s important?”

“Could be,” Jungkook murmurs. “Watch your step, hyung.”

When the path isn’t so treacherous, they talk some more. Yoongi shares about his love of literature and music and Jungkook about his love of travel. They find, surprisingly, that they both enjoy playing video games. As they walk, Yoongi finds himself more and more drawn to Jungkook’s easy smile and carefree nature. He can’t help but wish they had met under slightly better circumstances. Or maybe literally any other circumstances.

Eventually, Jungkook slows down until they come to a stop. The river is low here again, tugging playfully at Yoongi’s trainers’ laces.

“We’re here,” Jungkook states.

“Here?”

“This is the portal back,” Jungkook gestures to the open air in front of them. Yoongi squints, hoping to see something, but nothing is apparent.

Yoongi doesn’t know what else to say other than, “Oh, okay.”

He follows Jungkook, hands still tightly clasped together, forward. Suddenly he feels a strange pulling sensation in his chest and everything around him blurs. Then he is standing in what looks to be a small bookstore or library.

Yoongi feels disoriented, still adjusting to the sudden change in surroundings. The smell of old books and coffee fills Yoongi’s nose as he blinks a few times, trying to adjust to the light. There’s a man behind the counter who looks up from his book to greet them. The room is cozy, with books lining every wall and comfortable armchairs scattered around. Yoongi takes a few curious steps forward, still in amazement that they’ve somehow escaped from the plane of death.

Jungkook turns to him with a grin. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

Yoongi chuckles weakly, still feeling a little shell-shocked. “Thanks… for everything.”

Jungkook waves him off. “It was nothing. Really.”

Yoongi nods, not quite sure what to make of everything that has happened. He’s not even sure how to process his feelings for Jungkook. All he knows is that he’s grateful to be alive. He looks down to see he’s still holding Jungkook’s hand.

With a start, he relaxes his hand, allowing his arm to fall limp by his side. His face heats up in embarrassment.

“I–” Yoongi starts at the same time Jungkook says “Well–”

They both pause and laugh awkwardly.

Yoongi finds himself desperately wanting to ask for the younger’s phone number, but isn’t sure what the protocol for friendship-after-literally-saving-from-river-of-death is. He waves at Jungkook to speak first.

Jungkook smiles and says, “I was going to say, I should probably be going. I was in the middle of an errand that I really must finish. Are you able to find your way home?”

Yoongi swallows down any and all disappointment he feels. He nods. “Thank you, again.”

“Don’t mention it,” Jungkook says. His smile is so brilliant, Yoongi is sure he’s going to go blind from looking directly at it.

“Well, then,” Jungkook says. He gives Yoongi a quick bow and then turns on his heel to head towards the bookstore’s exit.

Yoongi stares at his retreating back, fingers playing with the cloak that is open at his side. Cloak.

“Wait!” he calls out.

At the exact same moment, Jungkook turns back towards him and says, “Actually–”

Both men laugh again.

Jungkook says, “You first this time.”

Yoongi nods and lifts his hands to the cloak. “Your cloak.”

“Oh,” Jungkook says with a small grin. “Keep it.”

“I couldn’t possibly, this must be expensive,” Yoongi sputters.

“No, it looks good on you. Keep it.”

Yoongi blushes. He knows there are almost no circumstances when he’d wear a cloak like this out on the streets of Seoul. But maybe that doesn’t matter. Not right now.

“If it wasn’t about the cloak, what did you want to say?” Yoongi asks.

“Ah,” Jungkook lifts his hand and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I actually thought I’d ask for your number.”

As it turns out, the little bookstore is only a handful of blocks from Yoongi’s apartment. While the walk, with Yoongi in his still wet joggers and trainers, exhaustion pulling him down like an extra gravitational force, is unpleasant, it is quick.

When he gets to the front of his apartment building, he stops in surprise. Standing just in front of the doors Yoongi recognizes his neighbor—not anyone he knows personally except for nods in the elevator—talking to what Yoongi can only describe as himself.

Yoongi’s heart hammers in his chest as he takes a cautious step back. No, not himself. Because he’s here staring at what? A doppelganger? Do such things exist? They must? There he is, gummy smile in reaction to something his neighbor has said, wearing his clothes. He’s wearing his favorite black snapback and has his backpack casually hanging off one shoulder.

Yoongi takes several more steps back, until he can turn and get around the corner of the next building. He racks his brain for a plan. His phone is in his apartment. There is some kind of copycat person standing outside his apartment. How the fuck is this his life?

He peers around the corner just in time to see the doppelganger casually strolling down the block away from the apartment building. Yoongi seizes his chance.

As soon as Yoongi deems the copycat is far away enough, he makes a break for the apartment building. He barely acknowledges his neighbor’s surprised “oh, back so soon?” as he makes a dash for the elevator.

His heart pounds as he enters the code for his apartment, holding his breath as he enters, hoping no more of whatever that doppelganger is are inside his apartment. He lets out his breath once inside and the apartment is quiet and still. He leans against the door for a moment, to will his racing heart to calm down before he starts hyperventilating.

He’s quick to find his phone on his bedside table. He wishes he had time to change out of his still-damp clothes, but he doesn’t want to risk running into the copycat. He’s already making his way to his front door when he’s pulling up the notification for Jungkook’s text message.

He barely glances at the “this is JK” message before hitting the call button.

“Hyung?” comes Jungkook’s voice after two rings. He must be able to hear Yoongi’s labored breathing as he wrenches open the front door of his apartment. “Is everything alright?”

“I don’t–” Yoongi doesn’t even know how to describe what he saw. Maybe he’s losing his mind after spending so much time in Death? “I don’t know what’s happening.”

Yoongi’s voice breaks at the end, and he hates how vulnerable he sounds. And he hates that Jungkook seems to only ever hear him when he’s vulnerable.

“Are you safe right now, hyung?” Jungkook asks.

Yoongi hits the elevator call button. “No. No, I don’t know. There’s someone who looks like me. No, they are me. I don’t know what is happening.”

There is silence on the line and Yoongi steps into the elevator. He hits the “L” button.

“Go somewhere public, hyung. Don’t go anywhere you will be alone. Hyung–”

“Jungkook?” Yoongi asks as he feels the elevator begin to descend and he realizes the call dropped. The elevator comes to a stop on floor 4 with a ding.

The doors slide open and Yoongi is staring, frozen in terror, at himself.

“Shit,” Jungkook says as he looks at the “call ended” screen on his phone. He knows he should have walked Yoongi home, but was distracted by finishing up the drop. Rookie mistake. One he probably wouldn’t have made if Yoongi wasn’t so damn distractingly pretty. Shit.

He grabs his backpack and slings it back over his shoulder. He should feel drained right now. He’d already done so much magic today, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins is making up for any spent energy.

First, he needs a locator spell to track Yoongi down. Second, he needs something that banishes mimicry demons. Third, he needs to ask Yoongi out before he has any more demonic run-ins because this is getting ridiculous.

He squeezes his eyes shut in frustration. Then he pulls his phone out and dials.

“It’s been a while,” the voice on the other end of the line says.

“Sorry, hyung,” Jungkook pouts, hoping that translates into some kind of apologetic tone. “I need help.”

There’s a pause over the line and Jungkook holds his breath.

“What do you need, Kook-ah?”

Jungkook smiles to himself, ducking his chin to his chest.

The water hits Yoongi’s face with a force that sends some of it up his nose and he coughs. The iciness of it makes him think for a moment that he’s back in Death. He sputters and tries to wipe his face only to realize his arms are bound behind his back. He’s sitting in a wooden chair. He blinks the water out of his eyes only to see his own apartment—his kitchen, in fact.

“So nice of you to rejoin us, Yoongi-ssi,” he hears himself drawl. “I know little jaunts through Death can be so very tiring.”

Whatever it is that is masquerading as him sounds a little off to his ears. The Daegu satoori is a little too thick for him having spent a decade in Seoul. The emphasis on certain words is just a little wrong in his ears.

“What do you want from me?” he manages to cough out.

He watches as the doppelganger steps in front of his vision and smiles at him. Yoongi can feel his mind trying to make sense of what he’s seeing, but he almost feels fuzzy, like he’s going to dissociate. He blinks some more, trying to help himself focus.

“Well, I’m a little hurt you don’t recognize me,” copycat Yoongi pouts.

Yoongi huffs a laugh at that.

The doppelganger looks down at himself and chuckles. “Ah, yes, I’m sorry. I forgot I changed outfits. No wonder.”

Yoongi squints, trying to piece together whatever puzzle this creature wants him to solve. There’s a slight pounding in his temples and he wonders briefly how exactly he became unconscious.

“I do believe,” the doppelganger continues, “your exact words to me were, ‘fuck off.’ Which, I’ll be quite honest with you, is a little offensive, Yoongi-ssi.”

Yoongi stares at the copycat, mouth slightly agape. “You were the one trying to buy Seokjin-hyung a drink. At the bar.”

“Ah! Yay!” copycat Yoongi giggles and claps excitedly. It’s sound wildly out of character for Yoongi and for this situation that Yoongi’s head reels. “You do remember! And I’m so glad you’ve mentioned your Seokjin-hyung. Because that is who I want to talk to you about.”

Yoongi feels his blood run cold.

“What do you mean?” Yoongi asks, his voice quivering slightly. He tenses his arms, testing the bindings, but the movement only seems to tighten them.

“You see, Yoongi-ssi,” the doppelganger says, his voice dripping with fake concern. “I need to know more about your hyung. And you. Your Seokjin-hyung is so very beautiful. I’ve decided he’s the perfect match for me. No one else on this plane can compare. I honestly don’t understand how he could settle for such a mundane sack of meat, to be honest.”

The copycat Yoongi looks down at his own body, lip curling in distaste. He looks at Yoongi with a smirk. “You are going to help me take your place next to his side.”

Yoongi blinks slowly, trying to comprehend what the creature is saying.

“So, you stole,” Yoongi says, “my face?”

“Yes, so I can be the lover by his side.”

“Right,” Yoongi says slowly.

“But he’s not here,” the doppelganger says, pouting. “Do you not share a home?”

Yoongi thinks for a moment before responding, mind whirling, “No, we don’t live together.”

The doppelganger’s expression darkens, the pout being replaced with a much more malicious facial expression. “Well, that’s inconvenient. Then we’ll just have to lure him here, won’t we?”

Yoongi’s eyes widen as he struggles against his bindings.

As if reading his thoughts, the copycat smiles cruelly. “Oh, don’t worry, Yoongi-ssi. I won’t hurt your beloved Seokjin-hyung. That would ruin all this work I’ve put in.”

Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut, trying to concentrate, trying to find ways to stall the inevitable. “Why was I in Death?”

The doppelganger chuckles and tilts his head to the side, clearly amused by Yoongi’s question. “You’re a very simple human, aren’t you? I needed a place to keep you so that I could take your place, of course. I am a bit upset you somehow managed to escape. It took a lot of effort to put you there.”

His eyes narrow at Yoongi, face frowning in anger. He says, “I’ll have to make sure to stash you somewhere no one will find you. A Hell plane, perhaps.”

Yoongi finds himself shaking his head at the realization that dying here would not be the worst outcome. A small whimper escapes his throat unbidden.

“Now, now, Yoongi-ssi, no use getting all worked up. Plenty of time to curse your own existence later,” the copycat says as he places a palm on Yoongi’s shoulder. His fingers dig into the muscle painfully, making Yoongi utter another whimper. “Now tell me if there are any special pet names you call your dear Seokjin-hyung before I dial his number.”

Before Yoongi can even respond, the doppelganger drops his hand and steps out of his line of vision. Yoongi knows the moment the copycat has Seokjin on the phone, he’ll figure out they are not actually dating nor are they lovers. He doesn’t want to find out how the creature will react to that. He fights his bindings with renewed vigor, only to hear the creature chuckle from somewhere behind him.

“No use fighting, Yoongi-ssi.”

A knock on the door echoes throughout the apartment.

Yoongi halts his movement as he feels twin spikes of fear and hope run through him in equal measure.

“I wonder who that could be,” the copycat says, sounding amused.

He walks into Yoongi’s vision again, only to place a large piece of duct tape over Yoongi’s mouth. Yoongi struggles and tries to shout, but the doppelganger is faster and much stronger.

“Be good or I’ll have to make sure your next trip is to a plane so depraved you soon won’t remember your own name, Yoongi-ssi,” the copycat says with a pat to Yoongi’s cheek.

Tears burn at Yoongi’s eyelids before he even registers the despair weighing down his lungs.

“You’re sure this is the right apartment?” Namjoon asks.

Jungkook nods as he bounces up onto the balls of his feet.

“Thanks for coming, hyung,” Jungkook says after another beat. “I’m sorry I’ve been out of touch–”

“Don’t mention it,” Namjoon says with a shake of his head. “I know you’ve been busy. The coven misses you though. You know you don’t need to be a witch for them to feel that bond.”

“I know, I know. I’ll come by soon. When things settle down.”

“No, pressure, Kook-ah.”

They stand for another moment, straining to hear anything from inside the flat. Jungkook still bouncing anxiously on his feet.

“Is no one home? Should we just–” Namjoon starts, but is interrupted by the door to the apartment opening.

Yoongi—or what is posing as Yoongi—holds the door open to the two men in the hall, a charming smile on his face. As he stands there, he eyes the men up and down, appraising them.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” the not-Yoongi asks pleasantly.

Namjoon glances at Jungkook. “We’re looking for Yoongi. Is he here?”

The not-Yoongi’s smile never wavers as he steps aside to let them in. “Well, you’re in luck because I am he. What can I do for you?”

“Ah, well,” Jungkook says as they step into the apartment. “I was hoping to be able to ask you on that coffee date we were talking about.”

“Oh, well, that’s too bad,” not-Yoongi says without hesitation. “I’m afraid I’m already dating someone.”

“Really?” Jungkook says, eyebrows raising. The front door of the apartment clicks shut behind them. “That’s not the impression I got this morning.”

The demon looks Jungkook over again, narrowing his eyes. “I’m sorry. I think perhaps you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right about that,” Namjoon mutters as he fiddles with something in his bag.

The doppelganger looks on edge now as his eyes flick back and forth between the two men. Then he says, “Well, in that case, I’m going to need to ask you two to leave.”

Just as he finishes talking, there’s a thump and a crash from somewhere in the apartment. The demon hisses and whips his head around towards the noise.

“Now,” Namjoon says calmly.

Jungkook wastes no time in clamping his hand down over Namjoon’s shoulder, humming low on this breath to lend his magical reserves to the older.

Namjoon speaks then, words twisting together to create a magical tapestry that wraps itself around the mimicry demon before it can escape further into the apartment. The demon screams as it’s pulled back towards Namjoon and Jungkook, struggling against the magic.

Jungkook winces as he watches the face of Yoongi writhing in pain, both light and dark cutting through his skin, pulling his body apart, until nothing is left but a haze of smoke. He drops his hand as soon as Namjoon moves to open the front door, letting the air move to clear the smoke. While Namjoon casts a cleansing spell, Jungkook moves quickly into the apartment, looking for Yoongi.

Yoongi tries not to panic as he lies on his side on the cold tiles of his kitchen floor. His shoulder hurts from the impact of throwing himself off the chair. He tried to understand the muffled talking and other noises he’d been hearing, but the agonized wail he’s hearing now sends goosebumps all over his skin.

It’s strange hearing yourself scream in pain.

The apartment is quiet again until Yoongi hears footsteps approaching from behind him. He tenses up, not sure what to expect. But the gentle touch on his uninjured shoulder is surprising, and he turns his head to see Jungkook kneeling beside him.

“Yoongi-hyung, are you okay?” Jungkook asks softly, concern etched on his face. Yoongi wants to say he’s never felt more relieved to see Jungkook’s face, but it’s been a wild 24 hours.

Yoongi tries to speak but the duct tape is still tightly bound around his mouth, making it difficult to form any coherent words. Jungkook deftly pulls it off, and Yoongi takes a deep breath before speaking.

“I’m fine, I think,” he says, voice hoarse. “Thanks for saving me. Again.”

Jungkook lifts one side of his mouth in a wry smile, and Yoongi can feel warmth spreading through his chest at the sight of it. He waits as Jungkook unties his arms and carefully helps Yoongi to a sitting position against the kitchen cabinets. Yoongi winces as he rubs his tender shoulder.

“Does anywhere else hurt?” Jungkook asks, still visually examining Yoongi for any more injuries.

Yoongi shakes his head and then winces. “I guess my head, a bit.”

Jungkook gets closer, inspecting for wounds. He speaks softly, “We destroyed the mimicry demon. You do seem to have a tendency to get yourself into trouble, hyung.”

Yoongi grins at that. “Lucky for me I seem to have someone who just wanders in when I need rescuing.”

Jungkook scoffs at that.

“Well, I’ll have you know I can’t resist saving a damsel in distress.” He winks at Yoongi, and the older man makes a face of disgust.

“I am going to pretend you didn’t say that,” Yoongi says, still cringing.

Jungkook laughs and settles down next to Yoongi, back against the cabinet. They sit in comfortable silence for a moment, while the low incantations from Namjoon can be heard down the hall.

“Want to tell me what happened with the demon, hyung?” Jungkook asks, voice only a murmur.

As you stand in the brisk night air of February, you think about all your life choices that led up to this moment. You watch as one of your coworkers giggles cutely behind her hand and then immediately shifts your eyes away when she side-eyes you. They are all laughing at you, at your expense, you realize. Maybe it hadn’t been a silly mistake after all. Maybe this had been intentional.

You look down at your jeans, torn generously at the knees, your black combat boots, and your iconic Nirvana tee underneath an oversize purple plaid button up, hanging loosely, unbuttoned, off your shoulders. You knew there had been a fuck up somewhere when you approached your group of coworkers at the club line and they were all in neon colored spandex. Their hair was poofy and frizzed out. You had even double-checked the group chat: “meet at Club Hubba Bubba at 8! 90s fashion night, don’t come without a costume!” Judging from the entire line of people waiting to enter the club, everyone had gotten the “1980s”—not 1990s—memo, except you. 

Now that you’ve worked out that it wasn’t a mistake, you realize they must have a separate group chat even—without you—where a clarification of the decade took place. It’s too late to bail though, as the doorman looks you up and down.

“It’s a 30 dollar cover,” is all he says, his lips making a thin, displeased line across his face.

Your colleagues busily all push forward to pay with their phones, as you get yours out of your purse. You briefly think that 30 dollars feels like a steep price to pay for this utter humiliation, but running away now might be even more humiliating. 

The inside of the club is dark, save for the strobing lights on the dance floor. Your group makes their way to a u-shaped table along one side of the room. You drag your feet following them so that you can be on the edge of the u, for a quicker escape if need be. However, your colleagues seem to be aware of your game, calling you out immediately and shoving you in between several of them.

They order a round of drinks and sit back to chat about work. You half listen, half zone out. You imagine what you could be doing right now—including, but not limited to, taking a bubble bath with that pretty bath bomb you bought on impulse last week, listening to music from literally any other decade than the 80s, and certainly not thinking about work outside of working hours.

“Oh, but did you hear that Bradley had a meeting with HR last week?” one of your colleagues says. You squint at her pretty face, trying desperately to remember her name. 

If you’re honest, you don’t really make an effort with your coworkers socially-speaking. They are loud, clique-ish, and bubbly. You are none of those things. You prefer reading or a nice long walk along the river. At the beginning, you chalked the vague bullying as a kind of hazing ritual for being the new person. But, nine months at this position and nothing much has changed. You have been type-cast as the weird loner and now that’s who you are.

Still, company-encouraged social outings seem to be extremely important for some reason. The first time you tried to bow out, you had a manager having a “talk” with you the next day about not being a team player. So, here you sit, squashed between two loud, twittering social butterflies, pretending to nurse a shot of some kind of clear alcohol.

“Bradley is not gonna be around long, just watch,” another person adds to the conversation. You rack your brain for a “Bradley” and get nothing.

“Well, good riddance, he’s gross,” someone else chimes in.

A chorus of giggles erupts with someone shouting, “You can’t just say that.”

You have no idea what’s going on. You feel yourself sink lower on the cushion of the bench. Would they notice if you just kept sliding right down under the table?

You watch the dancers out on the dance floor. There’s a group of men dancing like it’s their livelihood. You feel kind of mesmerized with their fluid rolls and sharp hip thrusts. The bass booms, vibrating the floor underneath you, adding to the otherworldly feel of the moment. As you watch, you feel your cheeks heat and the close press of the women on either side of you suddenly feels that much more claustrophobic. 

“Aw, look at our Miss Wrong Decade, see something you like?” shouts one of your coworkers. The giggles and shrieks erupt all around you.

You stare at the table and will yourself to just vanish into thin air. Suddenly everyone is moving.

“Come on, you should dance with them!” the person next to you is shrieking at you and yanking you by the arm.

“Bet the hot guys would give her a pity dance!” someone else yells.

You feel yourself slide along the bench and are pulled up by your arm. Most of the group has already left for the dance floor and your feet feel like they’ve been made of lead.

“I- I’m not interested in dancing,” you stutter out.

Despite your protests, they pull you into the throng of dancers. Soon, there are bodies all around you, bumping and rubbing up against you in ways that make your blush more furious. It’s very public and you can hear the teasing giggles of your coworkers echoing in your head. You hate this.

You wiggle and slide through the crowd, pulling yourself free from your colleague’s arm and step backwards toward the table again. You keep your eyes down on the floor, avoiding the scathing looks of your coworkers.

You hear their faint protests and mocking your being a wall-flower. Your back bumps into something hard, which you assume is the table. So, you step to your right until you can feel the bench of the “u” behind you and you sit down.

You watch the feet of your coworkers walk away back to the dance floor as you sit frozen in your panic.

“Are you okay?” you hear a deep voice, right in your ear. You jump and whirl around to find the source.

You recognize two things at once. One, the man, with his dark, cat-like stare and dark hair pulled into a half bun on the top of his head, in front of you is the most handsome person you’ve ever seen. Two, you’ve sat down at the wrong booth.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was sitting,” you say. You push yourself up to a standing position immediately, bowing your head in apology.

You startle when you feel a warm hand wrap around your shoulder pulling you up from your bow. The man has stood up and is looking at you with the utmost concern etched into his features.

You swallow down the lump in your throat and say again, “I’m really sorry for intruding.”

“I don’t mind,” he says with a soft smile. “You didn’t want to dance?”

You swallow again, calculating whether this means he is asking you to dance—is he flirting with you—no, wait you sat at his table, not the other way around, or is he just a concerned citizen? You realize you’re just staring at him. You jump a little as you say, “Ah, it’s a lot of people.”

He nods at this, as if this is a perfectly reasonable explanation. “Would you like to sit? I could get you another drink?”

“Oh,” you say. “I, uh, am just drinking club soda tonight, actually.”

He nods again and looks at you like this is a perfectly normal drink to have in a club. He waves his hands back to the booth, guiding you to sit, which you do in a sort of daze. Then he powers off towards the bar, presumably to grab the drinks.

“Who are you?” a tall man with black hair running to his shoulders asks, stepping up to the table. You realize he’s one of the dancers you were ogling earlier. Now would be a great time for someone to pull the fire alarm.

“I, uh,” you glance around for some kind of excuse or explanation. “I think I’m at the wrong table.”

You get up quickly and look around, pretending to look for your table while wildly debating how to escape this whole damn night.

“Hoba, she’s my guest,” says the man coming back with your drinks.

“Oh, your guest,” the new man, ‘Hoba,’ says with a raised eyebrow. He turns back to you and says, “I’m Hoseok. Nice to meet you.”

He looks at you expectantly, while your eyes flit between him and the other man. You take a deep breath and say, “Nice to meet you. I’m Y/N.”

“You want to come dance, Y/N?” Hoseok asks with a dazzling smile.

“I’m, uh, I’m okay. Thank you,” you say. The first man hands you your club soda, which you gratefully take just to have something to do with your hands.

“Alright, well, have fun, kids,” Hoseok says with a cheeky click of his tongue and another sensational smile.

You watch as the first man slides into the booth and looks up at you with hesitance. He says, “I’m Yoongi, by the way. Sorry I didn’t get to introduce myself sooner.”

“Nice to meet you,” you say as you slide down next to him in the booth.

You quickly find your anxiety and fears about awkward flirting or stilted conversation are all unfounded. He nurses his whiskey and you your club soda and you talk about a range of subjects from latest reads to work to the quirks of life in the city. You are fascinated by his job as a music producer and are pretty sure you could listen to him speak on the subject for hours. Occasionally, your conversation lapses as you both listen to whatever song is on and just enjoy each other’s presence.

You find out that it’s actually Hoseok’s birthday, which is why Yoongi is at the club at all. He is there with his group of friends, humoring the birthday boy with his wish to have everyone together for the evening. It seems allowing Yoongi to “guard the table” was the compromise to ensure everyone had a good time.

Yoongi even laughs while showing you the e-book he has loaded up on his phone. It’s apparently what he was doing before you had crashed into his booth and upending his plans for the night.

“Y/N!” you hear screeches of your name, with raucous giggles following. Three of your colleagues from work have spotted you and have clearly decided to ruin the one good thing going for you this evening.

You turn quickly and utter a quiet, “I’m sorry.”

He tilts his head and raises his eyebrows in confusion.

Your coworkers stand at the end of the table, eyeing you and Yoongi sitting casually together in the booth. They are still giggly and have mischievous grins on their faces.

One of them, wearing a skin-tight neon pink bodysuit, says, “You should introduce us to your friend, Y/N.”

You shrink into the back of the booth seat as you move your gaze from the expectant faces of your coworkers to the now-steely facade Yoongi has adopted. His eyes flit to your face and then he glances down to take in your whole body posture. He tenses up before looking back at your work colleagues.

You feel the need to say something to break the tension, so you say, “Uh, these are my coworkers. They invited me out tonight. This is, uh, this is Yoongi.”

You watch as they smirk at your shaky introductions and then turn a hungry gaze to Yoongi.

Pink Bodysuit says, “So nice to meet you, Yoongi. Wanna come dance with us?”

You curl into yourself a little more and slide down the seat a fraction, perhaps hoping to disappear completely.

“I’m busy right now,” Yoongi says. His tone is deep and dark. It contains none of the warmth he’d had while speaking with you.

“If you think you’re getting an easy lay, you might want to think twice. Miss Mousy is just a stuck up bitch and is probably playing you,” Pink Bodysuit says.

You feel like you’ve been doused in a tub of cold water. You stare, mouth agape, at Pink Bodysuit. The underhanded bullying and the teasing are one thing, but this is in your face. You can’t think of anything beyond how completely and totally humiliated you feel.

“I, uh, I just remembered- I have to, uh, I have to go,” you stammer out and rush to your feet. Dots dance across your vision, probably from getting up too fast, but also from the panic attack that is threatening to freeze your lungs.

Red hot tears burn your eyes as you push past your awful coworkers and you stumble as you make your way to the exit. You feel the first tear slide down your cheek as you double over on the sidewalk. The cool February air is welcome as it shocks your system, allowing your lungs to gasp in air.

You keep falling forward, eventually letting your knees hit the sidewalk and your right palm pushing out to take some of your weight before you face-plant into the concrete. People walking by give you a wide berth. You let more tears fall and are almost glad no one is stopping to check on you—almost.

You don’t know how much time has passed, probably only a minute or two, when someone wearing a black shirt, black ripped jeans, and a black leather jacket are kneeling directly in front of you. Their hands, fingers adorned with thin silver rings, are clinging to their own knees.

You look up and gulp in surprise when you recognize Yoongi. His cheeks are flushed red and his brow is wrinkled in worry.

“Can you hear me?” he asks.

You try to decipher whether that’s a strange question to ask, but nod all the same.

“Do you think you can stand?” he asks next.

You nod, even though you don’t actually know if that’s the correct answer. He holds out his hands to you, palms up, and you take them into your own hands. They are large, calloused, and warm. Safe, even.

He supports your weight through your hands as you both stand up from your kneeling position on the sidewalk.

“That’s good, you’re okay,” he murmurs.

“I’m so sorry, that was so mortifying,” you manage to say after taking a few deep breaths. “I- I don’t even know how you can look at me after that.”

He gives you the softest smile you think you’ve ever seen. Belatedly, you realize he’s still holding your hands and shows no signs of letting go. People are still walking past you on the sidewalk, but now you can’t find it in you to care.

“At the risk of sounding very, very cheesy, I think the trick is going to convince me to stop looking at you,” Yoongi says.

You make a choked sound as you try to groan and laugh at the same time. You squeeze your eyes shut. “Are you actually real?”

“Afraid so,” he says with his own laugh. “You wanna get out of here?”

“Yes, please,” you say without hesitation.

Yoongi grins at you and then laces your fingers together in one hand before pulling you gently along down the sidewalk.

~

You casually wonder if the 80s, as a whole decade, is just out to haunt you this evening. You look around the small diner, completely decked out in 1980s decor. At least this place seems to be quieter than the club, with Blondie singing at reasonable decibels over the sound system.

“So, I don’t want to pry, but are you coworkers always that shitty?” Yoongi asks after you place your orders with the server.

“Uh,” you say before clearing your throat. “No, I mean, they are shitty, yes. But not, uh, usually that obvious about it.”

You shrug in an attempt to say this was not a big deal, like you hadn’t just had a panic attack in front of a whole ass club less than an hour ago.

Yoongi just nods, eyes searching your face.

“You left your friend’s birthday party,” you say.

Yoongi blinks for a moment before it’s his turn to shrug. “He’ll understand.”

Your mouth drops open and then snaps shut again, before you say, “You, uh, aren’t actually going to tell him what happened? Right?”

Yoongi studies your face before saying, “You don’t want me to tell him.”

“Uh, well, it was- is mortifying,” you say. You are really hoping this is obvious.

“The only people who should be embarrassed are those vapid people you have the misfortune of working with,” he says.

“Oh,” you say.

“So, Nirvana?” Yoongi asks.

You stare for a minute trying to understand the sudden change of topic. He waves at you. You look down and remember your shirt.

“Oh, yeah, they told me it was a 90s theme at the club,” you say. You add a little more quietly, “And, honestly, this is how I dress outside of work, anyway.”

“Well, their first album was published in 1989, so technically, you are in theme,” he says dryly. “Not everyone in the 80s wore obnoxiously neon spandex.”

You snort at this, a little mad you hadn’t thought of this clap back when your coworkers were torturing you earlier. Then you start laughing and can’t stop. You can feel the tears pricking at your eyes and your sides start to hurt, but you can’t stop.

Yoongi sits with a small smirk on his face, watching you. There’s a warm light in his eyes. As you start to sober up again from your hysterical laughing fit, you return the fondness with a smile of your own. You think very briefly about the childish hatred of your coworkers and how in one fell swoop, this man in front of you makes you feel like shrugging and saying, “eh, let them hate me.” Here this man is acting as the perfect mirror for you to understand the simple answers in life. Your smile grows.

“Can I have your number?” you ask.

Your reward for your impulsive bravery is the most adorably heart-melting smile you have ever seen. Worth it.

~

“Thanks so much for walking me home,” you murmur.

You’re standing outside your apartment building and want to kick yourself for not coming up with a clever way to make the evening last longer. You really don’t want to part yet. You kick the toe of your boot with the heel of the other.

You are holding hands again. You have been since leaving the diner. You look at your fingers woven tightly together. You don’t want to let go.

“It’s no problem,” Yoongi says. “I’m happy you accidentally sat in my booth.”

You huff out a laugh at that. You look up to his face, smile slipping into something more serious, and say, “Me, too.”

Yoongi leans forward, slowly, and when your brain catches up to what’s happening, you meet him in the last moments. His lips are a bit chapped, but gentle. You step closer to his body, not willing to let him pull away from the kiss. With your free hand you clutch at his shoulder, pulling yourself even closer.

You don’t know how long you stand pressing your lips together, before he’s pulling back just far enough to let you both breathe for a moment.

Into the air between the two of you, you whisper, “Please, don’t go.”

This close to his face, you can hear and feel his breath hitch. So, you double down and whisper again, “Please.”

He closes in on your lips again and kisses a little more fervently this time. Not breaching with his tongue, but setting a rhythm to the kiss that has you fighting to keep your knees from buckling.

This time when you break apart to breathe, you turn towards your apartment building and pull him by the hand you still have firmly grasped in your own. He doesn’t resist.

You stand shoulder to shoulder, next to each other in the elevator. You squeeze his hand. He looks towards you and you exchange small smiles.

You fumble with the keypad to your flat. 

“You don’t know the code to your own apartment?” Yoongi teases.

“Ah, I might be a little nervous,” you say with a chuckle.

“Hey,” he calls softly. You look up at him. “You don’t need to be nervous. Nothing will happen that you don’t want.”

You smile at him. “I know. I’m a- It’s a good nervous. I don’t, uh, do this much- or ever.”

You turn back to the keypad before you can freak out from whatever facial expression he might be making at your boldness. You breathe a sigh of thanks when you get the code right this time.

The light over the door inside the apartment clicks on automatically as you pull Yoongi in through the threshold. In your head, you envision the front door closing, Yoongi pulling you into a passionate kiss, both of you a tangle of limbs and shedding clothing as you stumble your way to the bedroom in the dark, and land in a heap of fiery passion on your bed. Of course, that’s what happens in movies or maybe for those giggling neon pink spandex coworkers. Not you and your awkwardness.

The door shuts with a soft clink and a beep behind you as you both silently bend over to unlace and take off your boots. Yoongi takes off his leather jacket and hangs it on an open hanger over the shoe rack. The automatic light clicks off and you are engulfed in soft darkness, the only light coming in faint from the city lights through the window in your living room.

“Ah, sorry,” you say as you hurry forward to push the button that turns the lights on in the living room.

You glance around nervously, glad you had spent the time earlier that day cleaning to work out the nerves about going out this evening. The apartment isn’t big, and honestly not much lived in. You spend a lot of time at work, being the new person still trying to make their mark on the company. You mostly come home, watch a bit of TV, and then read or sleep in bed. A quiet life, to make up for the too-much-drama that is your workplace maybe.

The room is enough to hold a medium-sized TV with a loveseat. You have a plant in the window that boasts a semi-impressive view, only blocked partially by another high rise in front. If you tilt just right, you can see a pretty good view of downtown, especially on clear nights, with the city lights twinkling. The kitchen is also modest, just right off the living, separated by the small breakfast bar. No room for an actual dining table.

“It’s, uh, not much,” you say.

“This is great,” Yoongi murmurs as he walks around the living room. He pauses to look at the photos on the wall.

“Thanks,” you say. “You, uh, can I get you something to drink?”

Yoongi turns and looks at you with a smile. “Sure.”

Having something to do, you spring into action, stepping over to the kitchen. You open the small fridge and cringe. “I, uh, I have water? I might have some tea.”

You slide over to the draw and pull it out. “Yeah, I have some green tea?”

“Green tea sounds good,” Yoongi says, still looking at your decorations. He pauses to admire the view.

You quickly put water from the bottle in the fridge into the electric kettle to boil. You pull two mugs from the cabinet and pull out bags of tea. “Sorry, it’s just tea bags. I don’t have company over enough to spring for anything fancier.”

Yoongi huffs a short laugh. “It’s fine.”

When the tea is ready you motion to the loveseat and bring the mugs into the living room with you. You set them on the coasters on the small coffee table, so that you can grab the throw from the back of the couch to put on your lap. After fiddling with it and settling yourself in, you pull up a lo-fi fireplace channel on the TV to fill the silence a bit.

After a few minutes of sitting together and sipping tea, you feel compelled to fill the quiet. “So, what, uh, book were you reading tonight?”

Yoongi smiles into his mug and proceeds to regale you with not only the book title, but an interesting backstory about the author and finishes with recommending you check it out. You respond with an animated recommendation of your own. The conversation flows easily and you cannot for the life of you remember why you were ever anxious around him.

Somehow, without you realizing, you both move closer and closer to the center of the loveseat. Soon, you are pressed up to one another and Yoongi has an arm slung casually behind you on the back of the couch. With the warmth of Yoongi’s almost-embrace, the gentle sounds from the TV, and the late hour, a wave of exhaustion washes over you.

As Yoongi is talking, you let the weight of your head rest on his shoulder and your eyes drift closed. Just for a moment. Then you realize how quiet it is. Your eyes snap open.

“Sorry!” you murmur. “I think I drifted off.”

You can feel more than hear Yoongi’s laugh with your side pressed into his. He says, his voice husky, “You were only asleep for maybe 10 minutes. I was just going to let you sleep. It’s late.”

You shake your head and realize he’s turned off the TV, which is why it’s so quiet now. You swivel yourself so that you are facing him and then scooch up so that you can reach his face with yours.

Rather than the burning passion you had imagined when you first invited Yoongi into your apartment, the kiss is soft, caring, slow. The almost-embrace becomes a full embrace as Yoongi pulls his arms around you. You settle in further by pulling your hands to his chest and grab at the fabric there.

As you melt into him, you let your nerves go and bite at his lower lip playfully. The moan he lets out in reaction goes straight to your core, lighting you on fire. You let out a pitiful whine in response and Yoongi tentatively slips his tongue out to meet yours. Rather than it feeling like a fight for space and dominance, the kissing feels more like a gentle appreciation of one another. You feel special, seen, full of care and cared for.

When you finally pull apart to breathe, you don’t hesitate to stand up and reach out for Yoongi’s hand. He looks at you for a moment before placing his hand in your outstretched one. You grasp at it and pull him up to stand with you. You stand on tip-toe to place a sweet kiss on his cheek. Then you squeeze his hand and you pull him around the loveseat and towards your bedroom door.

When you step into the dimly lit room, you take two seconds to thank your past self again for the anxiety-induced cleaning frenzy you went on earlier. 

You pull him into the dark room and hesitate before going straight to the bed.

“Uh, I just-” you start. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. You feel Yoongi go completely still next to you.

You try again, “I just hope that this isn’t, uh, like a one time thing. Just to be clear. I don’t want this to be just tonight. Sorry, probably being a total buzzkill.”

You feel your face heat up and you stare down and your sock-covered toes.

You feel the warmth from Yoongi’s palm as he cups your cheek and lifts your face so that you’ll look at him. He has a soft smile on his lips. Your stomach feels like it’s doing back flips. 

He leans in and plants a chaste kiss on your lips before he says, “I have every intention of making you breakfast in the morning.”

He kisses you again and you feel your knees wobble a little, you squeeze his hand a little tighter to keep yourself upright. “And I will probably try very hard to wait to call you until tomorrow evening, so as to not overwhelm you.”

He kisses your lips, a little harder this time, with a little teeth grazing your lower lip as he pulls away a fraction. “And I will ask you if you’re free next weekend to take you out on a proper date.”

More kissing, his tongue swiping along the seam of your mouth, which you readily meet with your own. He pulls back again and says, “And then hopefully every weekend after that. Unless I get greedy and want to meet you for lunch in town sooner.”

You are the one to pull him in this time, reaching your fingers up to tangle in his hair. You step backwards towards the bed, while keeping your lips locked on his.

You let out a small grunt when you accidentally hit the bed frame too hard. Then you laugh as you fall backwards. Yoongi, not realizing what is happening until it’s too late, follows you down and manages to roll slightly midair so he doesn’t crush you completely with his weight. You don't stop kissing, but both of you are laughing now, smiling as you kiss, teeth knocking awkwardly.

When you pull back to try to catch your breath and regain the mood, you pant out, “I don’t think you’ll overwhelm me. Call me whenever you want.”

Yoongi leans over the top of you and kisses you again. This time slower, but you can feel the tension that’s building between your bodies. Hands that were cautious before now wander more freely. You slip your fingers under Yoongi’s shirt, tracing up his abs to his pecs. You appreciate how quickly his nipples harden under your touch.

In one swift movement, Yoongi reaches behind himself and pulls his shirt off. Quickly, returns to tracing your lips, jawline, and throat with his lips and tongue. You grab onto his shoulders in an attempt to ground yourself. You can feel the heat leaving a trail on your skin as Yoongi soothing draws a hand down your side, over your shirt, before squeezing lightly at your waist. His hand glides lower to wrap around your hip, the weight of which makes you realize you’ve been canting your hips slightly forward and back, your body chasing some kind of friction. That realization makes you moan—jarringly loud for the quiet of the room.

You feel your face burn a scorching red in the embarrassment of how turned on you are. When Yoongi stops kissing you and looks up into your face, you realize you’ve stilled your body. You pull one hand from his shoulder and cover your mouth and nose with your palm. The sleeve of your plaid shirt is hiding your fingers, which just reminds you of how very dressed you are while Yoongi is topless.

“‘M sorry,” you mumble behind your hand.

Yoongi gives a low chuckle. While pulling your hand away from your face gently by the wrist, he murmurs, “You don’t need to hide from me.”

You feel a giggle bubble up inside of you and you attempt to swallow it down, which leaves you making an awkward squeaking cough. Yoongi looks surprised and moves his hand from your wrist to pat circles into your back.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Just horribly awkward and embarrassed now, I’m fine,” you say while shaking your head. Another giggle escapes you. You squeeze your eyes shut and grit out with a clenched jaw, “Wow, what the fuck.”

Yoongi laughs loudly and rolls onto his back on the bed. The arm closer to the mattress gets pulled along with his body and ends up sort of tucked under his neck. He’s still laughing and you feel another giggle burst out of you.

“I- I don’t giggle,” you say, exasperated.

“Really?” Yoongi says while still laughing.

“Really!” you exclaim, staring forlornly at the ceiling. “I’m not a giggler.”

After another beat, Yoongi rolls back over onto one elbow so he’s leaning over you. He looks at you with a brilliant smile, making you catch your breath. With his free hand he’s pushing your hair behind your ear. His own hair has come loose from its tie and is now hanging down around his face. You mimic his motions by lifting your hand to tuck some of the strands behind his ear.

“Okay,” he whispers. His thumb is now caressing your cheek.

“Okay?” you ask with a raised brow.

“Okay, you’re not a giggler,” he clarifies. His smile reaches his eyes, making them crinkle at the edges.

Instead of the million wonderful comebacks you are sure would normally be on the tip of your tongue, you push yourself up to find his lips again with yours. You run your hands through his now-free hair and whimper at how amazing it feels to be able to tangle your fingers in the long locks.

Soon enough more clothes are being shed and you are nestling at the head of your bed, exploring each other’s bodies. There’s no pressure to rush and you both take the luxury of pressing soft kisses everywhere. With the gentleness, the hesitation you felt earlier is completely gone.

When he’s tenderly entering you with a smooth motion, you’re both gasping into one another’s mouths, swallowing each other’s moans. He sets a steady, unrushed rhythm that your body naturally curves in to meet with each thrust. You revel in the feeling while twisting your fingers in his soft hair. You can feel your toes curl as your orgasm builds. Yoongi’s hands are caressing your skin. To you, he feels like he’s everywhere, touching every part of you at once.

Without any warning, the white hot ecstasy of your orgasm makes all the muscles in your body tense. Instead of crying out, you swallow your moans in surprise. Yoongi slows down, but doesn’t stop his ministrations as you ride out wave after wave of pleasure. He picks up the pace a bit as soon as your muscles relax again and you can almost immediately feel another orgasm building in your core.

You know Yoongi is close when his own muscles get more taunt and his pace slows, but his thrusts are harder, more targeted. He opens his mouth, perhaps to warn you, but you pull his face down to yours and you kiss him deeply.

Between the passionate kiss and Yoongi groaning as his own orgasm takes over, you feel another wave crest and your vision goes white again. You think every cell in your body is screaming in bliss. As you come down from your respective highs, your bodies melt into one another. The kissing and touching does not stop for a while, only interrupted briefly when you help clean each other up, disposing of the used condom, and laughing through brushing teeth together in your small bathroom.

Dawn light is creeping through the window as you curl up under the covers of your bed. Yoongi runs his fingers lightly through your hair in a soothing, repetitive motion until your eyelids are too heavy to lift.

~

You wake up to the sun streaming through your tiny bedroom window. You rub your eyes, sit up, and realize the bed is empty. A lump forms in your throat. You quickly get up and throw some clothes on before peaking out into the living area. It’s empty.

“Fuck,” you groan.

You walk out to the quiet space and try to sort out your emotions. You don’t really want to cry. You also feel a bit stupid.

You startle when there’s a buzz at the door. You walk over to the intercom and press the button. 

“Who is it?” you say.

There’s a pause, a delay in the intercom, and then a familiar voice, “Yoongi. Can you let me in? It’s freezing out here.”

You let out a giggle—thankful no one is in the apartment to hear you—and press the button to let Yoongi into the building.

You race to the bathroom to brush your teeth, now that you know Yoongi is coming back.

When you open the door for him after he knocks, he stands with his arms full of plastic bags. You quirk your brow at him.

He steps inside, placing the bags on the floor in order to take his shoes and jacket off.

“I said I would make you breakfast, but you had absolutely nothing edible in your kitchen,” he states. He turns from hanging his jacket up to smile at you.

“Oh.” You feel your face heating up and you don’t know if that’s embarrassment at the state of your pantry or the blooming feelings you have for this man in front of you. Both, probably both.

The man can cook. Breakfast is delicious. He stands at the door with his shoes and jacket on, clearly as reluctant to finally leave as you are to see him go.

“Thank you,” you say. You see the slight confusion on his face and add, “For breakfast.”

He smiles at that and waves a hand to shrug it off.

“I’ll see you soon,” he says. He leans in and gives you a tender kiss that makes you want to keep being greedy for more.

“See you soon,” you say.

Then he’s out the door, turning back to give you another beautiful gum-filled smile, and disappearing as the door shuts with a click.

You walk back into your living room feeling a little empty in the now-too-quiet space. As you take a seat on the couch, your phone begins ringing.

“Hello?” you answer.

“You said I wouldn’t overwhelm you if I called you when I wanted to instead of waiting until a reasonable time had passed,” Yoongi says.

You laugh. “I did say that, yes. And it’s still true today.”

“Good,” Yoongi says. You can close your eyes and see his soft smile as he walks down the city street below your apartment.

CHAPTER ONE.

Prince Jungkook was born under a set of auspicious star signs in the waning weeks of summer. The King and Queen of the Kingdom were elated to finally have an heir after many years of waiting. The people rejoiced, taking the prince’s birth as good tidings for the kingdom as a whole.

During the Harvest, the soothsayers were brought to read the fortunes of the royal family, as is the tradition of the people during the bountiful time of the year. The soothsayers, in a private audience with the King and Queen, foretold the prince would weather many storms, but his trials would ultimately bring glory and prosperity.

While the royal parents fretted over the hardships their son, only weeks old, was fated to have, they took solace in a foretold good outcome. Celebrations lasted all Autumn season in the kingdom, which was also blessed with a particularly plentiful harvest.

The first few months of Prince Jungkook’s young life were blissful. During the Winter Solstice, the fairies of the realm came to bless the new child. The fae blessed him with sweetness and innate beauty. The tree nymph blessed the prince with patience. The dragon blessed him with twin conviction and compassion. And finally, the leprechaun gifted the baby a pair of well crafted shoes to take his first steps in. As their fairy dust tickled his nose, Prince Jungkook giggled and cooed benevolently. The King, Queen, and subjects all sighed at the sweet-hearted prince and knew he would grow into a kind and wise leader someday.

Prince Jungkook’s first storm came the following springtime. While the realm blossomed and warmed, a terrible plague ripped through the lands. Soon, many succumbed, with the healers unable to find a cure for the often fatal disease. The Queen was one of scores who lost their life that year.

Although the prince was too young to understand, the kingdom was changed irrevocably. The King fell into a fit of melancholy in which he closed himself off from the world, only attending to those duties of utmost importance, leaving everything else to advisors and servants of the realm.

Prince Jungkook’s care was placed primarily in Nanny Yeonhi, an older woman who cared deeply for her ward. The two lived comfortably with their own retinue of servants in the prince’s wing of the castle. Here, the prince was insulated from much of the goings-on in the castle and the outside world.

The realm suffered dearly for many years after the plague decimated the population. Harvests and crafts were impacted from lack of a workforce. The economy hobbled along, unable to generate enough for trades with other kingdoms. The lack of decisive leadership further exacerbated these issues.

Relations with the fae folk and other kingdoms languished under the King’s absence. Soon, the nymphs and pixies were not attending to their blessings of the crops and weather. Not out of smite or laziness, but a lack of an invitation—something the fae need in order to use their magic in another’s boundaries. Babies, humans and animals alike, were born sickly. It was as if the King’s desolation had cast a wide shadow across the entire realm.

When Prince Jungkook was five-years-old, a young boy was sent to him from another wing of the castle. The boy was an orphan of a Duke who had died in the plague. The Duke’s estate fell into ruin in the years proceeding the Duke’s untimely demise. The boy was eventually sent to the castle to serve until he came of age. 

At ten-years-old, Seokjin was perhaps too grown up to be a companion for Prince Jungkook, but for the pair age did not seem to matter. Never did the older complain when giving additional tutoring lessons to the prince, assisting with tasks such as dressing the younger boy, or chasing him through the grounds. The pair did everything together, carefully tucked away in their wing of the castle under the watchful eye of Nanny Yeonhi.

~

The second storm of Prince Jungkook’s life began slowly, with dark clouds first gathering off on the distant horizon. The creep was so slow, even, that the prince did not even know he was in a storm until it was far too late to escape the torrential winds and pouring rains.

The King of the realm was convinced by his advisors to take a new bride.

The new Queen Hana brought new life to the castle. Her father, a king of his right in a neighboring kingdom, spared no expense at her dowry, sending a large retinue of servants, a small militia, and much in the way of goods and libations. 

The wedding was a grand affair in the summer of Prince Jungkook’s tenth year. It seemed the entire kingdom had turned out, with many grand celebrations both within the castle and without. During the ceremony and grand feast, Prince Jungkook was sat at the royal table on his father’s left hand side. It was the first time the prince was so near the King in well over a year. Prince Jungkook took solace in the proximity, even if his father did not deign to speak with him.

The Queen was sweetness and light. Her smile seemed to glow as brightly as the hundreds of candles they used to illuminate the hall. She even danced a song with Prince Jungkook, much to the delight of all the Lords and Ladies present. Even the King’s melancholy seemed temporarily abated as he smiled at his new bride.

After the month-long celebrations, life returned to normal in the prince’s wing of the castle. Prince Jungkook rarely saw the King and Queen and was never summoned to court for any reason. The prince, however, did not mind. He was mostly timid outside his small circle of people in his wing of the castle. He did not revel in attention being drawn to himself. He was happy to continue his tutoring lessons, practicing sword fighting and archery, and exploring the forests abutting the gardens of his castle wing.

Life, for Prince Jungkook, was peaceful. Little did he know of the storm brewing on the horizon.

~

“Your Highness!” Seokjin yells as he runs through the corridor, his light armor clanking as he goes. “Your Highness!”

“What is all this racket, Master Seokjin?” Nanny Yeonhi admonishes as Seokjin slides into the kitchens wildly looking around for the missing prince.

“His Highness has been summoned by the King,” Seokjin pants out, doubling over as he catches his breath. “Have you seen him?”

“I believe he is with his tutor now,” Nanny Yeonhi says with pursed lips. “This is probably just to do with the prince’s fifteenth birthday celebrations.”

“The King hasn’t summoned His Highness in so long,” Seokjin says, breathing more under control. “I must find him.”

Seokjin turns on his heel and heads to the library to find his prince.

“Do you think this outfit is enough, hyung?” the prince says, with his eye trained on the long mirror before him. He fidgets with his sleeves, a habit Seokjin has been trying to break him of when he’s nervous. “I don’t want to disappoint the King.”

“Let me just fix your hair a bit, Your Highness,” Seokjin stands behind the prince with a comb and practiced motions. Soon he has the prince’s long, unruly hair off his face with the top half of his hair in a bun. He settles the thin silver metal of the prince’s crown underneath the crown in a most pleasing way.

“You look as Prince Jungkook should, Your Highness,” Seokjin says, his eyes tracking up and down in the mirror.

Jungkook is wearing a simple silver blue hanbok with enough layers to denote his stature. Thankfully, he has not yet gone out riding or to the training yards, so he is still tidy and unmuddied. He thinks, as he often does, that the gods must be smiling down upon him.

“Prince Jungkook, dearest, don’t stand on formality, come, come,” Queen Hana coos. She sat regally on the Queen’s throne wearing a rich purple dress. Though her face wears a bright smile, she is still intimidating.

The King’s throne is conspicuously empty.

Jungkook rises from his bow and steps forward towards the Queen. Two steps behind him, just to his right, Seokjin mirrors his motions, per protocol. However, with only 6 steps left to reach the throne, Seokjin stops as is respectful for his standing in the court.

The Queen reaches out her hand, a small pout on her lips, to Jungkook. He swallows down a nervous turn in his belly and obliges her by resting his palm in hers. He tries to quell the voice inside his head that tells him, like this, he is trapped.

“Prince Jungkook, my heart, how have you been?” the Queen says, voice sweet like songbirds. She uses both her hands to hold his, caressing his knuckles.

“My Queen, I have been well,” Jungkook says. He prides himself that he does not sound as anxious as he feels.

“A little bird told me that our dearest Prince is turning fifteen in only a few weeks!” Queen Hana exclaims. “We must prepare celebrations in your honor. It is not everyday in this kingdom a royal prince comes of age!”

“You are too generous, Your Majesty,” Jungkook replies, looking down at their hands.

“Nonsense, nonsense,” the Queen says. “I have heard many good things of your growing up, dear Prince. You have grown into a fine young man.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Jungkook bows his head.

“I also hear we have Master Seokjin to thank for many of your accomplishments,” the Queen continues.

“Yes, Your Majesty, he’s been an invaluable companion to me these many years,” Prince Jungkook takes the opportunity to praise the older. “His skill in sword and bow have become unmatched in the castle.”

“Wonderful,” the Queen says, a smile splitting her face. “I think a reward for Master Seokjin is in order, don’t you?”

Jungkook, unsure of what she might mean, nods meekly. 

“Master Seokjin, step forward,” the Queen says, waving him forward with one of her hands.

Seokjin steps forward two steps and bows low. “Your Majesty does not need to reward me. Seeing Prince Jungkook growing in his own skills and coming of age well is reward enough for me.”

“Very commendable, indeed,” the Queen says. “Still, your father was a Duke, was he not?”

“He was,” Seokjin replies. Jungkook is the only one in the room who knows his companion well enough to discern the tension in his jaw, the tightness in his tone.

“And you have been of age for almost five years now, yes?”

“I have,” Seokjin says, his eyes still lowered. Jungkook, watching him, noting the tension in Seokjin’s frame.

“Well, I think being a simple companion, now that the Prince is coming of age, is no longer appropriate for you,” the Queen continues. “You are deserving of something more.”

“Your Majesty?” Jungkook asks. He feels his skin prickly with anxiety and wonders if she can feel it where their palms touch.

“I shall be promoting you to head of the Royal Guard,” Queen Hana presses on, ignoring the prince completely. “I believe that the time between now and the Prince’s celebrations will be sufficient to make the transition.”

“Yes, Your Majesty, thank you,” Seokjin says with another low bow.

Jungkook is bewildered by this turn of events. A part of him knows that this promotion is good for Seokjin, much more prestigious than his current post. However, a much larger part of him is already mourning the loss of his friend. The Royal Guard are stationed at the barracks at the front of the castle. To Jungkook, Seokjin might as well be relocating to the other side of the world.

~

“You must remember everything hyung has taught you, Your Highness,” Seokjin whispers to Jungkook.

The pair are hidden together in the darkness of night under a large comforter in the prince’s quarters. They are not touching, but close enough that Jungkook can feel Seokjin’s warmth. He longs to reach out a hand and grasp his friend’s in his own, but there is already too much uncertainty in the air.

“Yes, hyung, I’ll remember everything you say,” Jungkook murmurs.

Jungkook can barely make out the smile on his hyung’s face in the darkness.

“Now that you are coming of age, there will be many dangers ahead,” Seokjin says. “There will be more pressure, especially if the King continues his absences in the court.”

Jungkook nods. “I’ll be careful, hyung.”

“I know, this is not what you want, in your heart, my Prince,” Seokjin says. “We are bound by fate not our choosing, I’m afraid.”

“I know, hyung,” Jungkook says. He feels the heat of tears unshed and refuses to let them fall. Not on their last night together. “I’ll remember your words, hyung.”

When Jungkook wakes the next day there is a single parchment left on the pillow where Seokjin had lain the night before. On the parchment is a drawing of a sunflower and the single word, “remember.” Jungkook smiles and allows a single tear to fall before he tucks the note carefully into the book at his bedside.

The meaning of sunflowers is loyalty, longevity, and adoration.

~

In the year that follows, unease begins to spread in Prince Jungkook’s wing of the castle. Little does he know, the disquiet spreads throughout the rest of the castle and, therefore, the kingdom as well. The Prince, however, is distracted by his own loneliness as one by one, those important to him are dismissed or leave the castle. To further his own sense of isolation, he’s only been able to visit with Seokjin a handful of times. The visits are short and never enough.

Just week’s before Prince Jungkook’s sixteenth birthday, Nanny Yeonhi dies. Her illness and subsequent passing came as a shock to the young prince. The servants and physician explain that she was old, this was her time. Her body is sent off to her distant family, as is custom. Prince Jungkook is left completely alone.

~

“Your Highness, the sun set long ago, we should prepare you for sleep,” a middle aged servant says as Jungkook sits by the fountain in the garden just off his wing of the castle. 

“Momentarily,” Jungkook murmurs. He had spent the day thinking of a way to ask for the resources to create a small memorial for Nanny Yeonhi. He hadn’t come up with anything—yet. 

Jungkook pulls out a small folded parchment from inside his breast pocket. The paper is soft from being folded and unfolded and touched so often. On it the sunflower is somewhat faded. Jungkook runs the tips of his fingers lightly over the petals. Then he caresses the word “remember” gently. 

It had been at least two months since he last saw Seokjin. Even then, it had been in passing, when the prince was summoned for something or other. Jungkook feels a pang in his heart at the longing for his best friend.

The servant, undeterred, clears their throat. Jungkook sighs quietly, not wanting to seem put out, and replaces the note into his pocket before standing up to head back inside.

Jungkook is startled awake by a hand shaking his shoulder.

“Your Highness, Your Highness, please wake up,” the whisper of a voice sounds familiar and anxious.

Jungkook groans and half-opens his eyes. The room is dark, lit by a solitary candle on the bedside table. Standing over him is Seokjin.

“Hyung?” Jungkook mumbles.

“Please, Your Highness, wake up,” Seokjin says again. “Prince Jungkook?”

“What’s happening?” Jungkook feels a trickle of dread as his mind becomes more awake. “Why are you here?”

“You must away, now,” Seokjin says. He turns towards the chests and cabinets along the wall of Jungkook’s bedroom. He has a sack that he’s adding some clothing to.

Jungkook sits up and rubs his eyes. “Why must I go? Where am I to go?”

“You’re in danger if you stay here,” Seokjin says as he brings a change of clothes for the prince. “I must get you away quickly. I will help you through the woods as far as I can go without it being too suspicious.”

Nothing is making sense. Jungkook is too tired to decipher his friend’s logic.

“I have put a map in your bag and some provisions to get you to the border. If you can get across the border, you might find refuge there. You are so likable, they will certainly help you.”

“I don’t understand,” Jungkook says.

“I’ll explain more once we are away from here, Your Highness.”

Seokjin helps Jungkook dress in dark clothes, fit for longer travel.

“We would go faster on horse but I don’t want to raise suspicions with the horses being gone,” Seokjin says as they head out the garden towards the woods.

“Won’t the alarm be raised once they find me not in bed?” Jungkook asks.

“No, I have already dealt with that manner. If my plan works, they won’t look for you ever again.” Seokjin’s words make Jungkook shiver involuntarily.

The woods are dark, so dark. The pair decide not to risk a light, though. They want to put as much distance as they can under the cover of the pitch blackness. They orient themselves by checking constellations whenever they get visibility through the trees. Jungkook is just glad they have dry weather and clear skies for their journey.

The year is well into autumn and the air is crisp, but cold. Seokjin explains at some point during their walk that he packed Jungkook extra furs for later, when the winter weather hits. Jungkook sincerely hopes he is settled somewhere sheltered before that happens.

The first night of walking passes in an adrenaline fueled blur. Both fell, tripping over tree branches and other invisible obstacles in the dark, on numerous occasions. By the time dawn’s light began filtering through the trees, they are muddy, sweaty, and generally worse for wear.

They find a large rock to take shelter under to nap for a few hours. When they wake again, Seokjin hunts down some rabbit for them to cook and share. Having put some distance between themselves and the castle seems to have relaxed Seokjin some.

“Hyung, how long must I stay away?” Jungkook asks after they finish eating.

Seokjin eyes the prince warily, then sighs. “I don’t know. There’s a possibility you might not be able to come back.”

Jungkook nods at this. As much as Jungkook wants to be surprised by this comment, he’s not. He had been feeling like his days in the castle were tenuous at best. The King has been absent for too many years, the Queen has too strong of a hold over the court. Despite her lavish platitudes, Jungkook knows she despises him, the legitimate heir to the throne. A throne he has never had the desire to sit on.

“Can you come with me, hyung?” Jungkook asks. He also already knows the answer to this, but asks anyway.

Seokjin’s eyes hold all the sadness of the universe in them. Jungkook regrets asking.

“I must go back, it’s the only way to keep you safe, Your Highness,” the elder says.

Jungkook nods, not trusting his voice.

After three nights of travel, which they primarily conduct after dark, Seokjin can go no further. He must turn around and find his way back in order to convince the royal court not to come looking for the prince. Jungkook is not sure how Seokjin is going to do that, but the elder promises that it will be convincing enough.

“After our parting, you are a prince no longer. Go live your life as you have always wanted, Your Highness,” Seokjin says with a kind smile.

Jungkook knows he means well, but he never intended to live any life, as a prince or not, without Seokjin by his side. He’s not going to say that now, though. Not when the elder has done so much for him.

“Remember, Your Highness, you have a light inside you. Those with pure intentions and pure hearts will be drawn to your light. Just be yourself, full of kindness and care, and you will never want for friends,” Seokjin says. He has his hands resting on the prince’s shoulders in a warm embrace.

“I’ll remember your words, hyung. I remember all of your words,” Jungkook says with conviction. “Please, be safe, and come to me when you can. I will be waiting for you. I will always wait for you.”

After a long kiss to the prince’s brow, Seokjin turns and flees back into the forest toward the kingdom Jungkook can no longer call home.

He holds the phone to his ear with his shoulder as he digs through his pockets for the house key.

“How are you holding up, Namjoon-hyung?” the voice on the other end of the phone asks.

“Fine, you know,” Namjoon shrugs and immediately drops the phone onto the worn wood deck with an impression clacking noise.

“Fuck,” he says as he inspects the phone. No new cracks.

“Hyung?” he can hear his friend asking and he remembers he’s on a call.

“Sorry, sorry, Jungkook-ah,” he says, putting the phone back to his ear. “Dropped the phone trying to find the house key. Wish this place had a keypad lock.”

“Maybe you can install one,” Jungkook says.

Namjoon hums noncommittally. Then smiles as he finds the key in the zipped back pocket of his shorts.

“Unless you’ve changed your mind about staying.”

“No, no. It’s just,” Namjoon pauses as he lets himself through the door, toes off his shoes, and inhales deeply the smell of the previous owner the house hasn’t relinquished yet. “It’s just weird.”

“Well, you have time,” Jungkook says. “No need to rush any decisions.”

“I just,” Namjoon starts and flounders for the right word. “I feel like I’m a guest here. Like she’ll be back after a long weekend.”

His voice trails off as he looks around the living room. The furniture is worn and mismatched. An unwashed coffee mug still by her chair. Then his gaze lands on the simple wooden box on the mantle, housing her ashes.

“It just takes time, hyung,” the younger says on the phone.

“Time,” Namjoon replies absently. “Yeah.”

It takes another four weeks to stop feeling like a guest in the house that is now his. Namjoon can’t pinpoint exactly when the shift happened, it being so gradual. First, throwing out perishable food in the fridge past its due date. Then, emptying the cupboards of unexpired, unopened food Namjoon will never eat for the local food bank. Then, refilling the cabinets again with food procured from H-Mart in Seattle—the ferry ride being picturesque, but the whole day out just for food from home being exhausting. Then, the front hall coat closet is emptied to make room for some of Namjoon’s belongings, the previous occupant’s useful things being donated again to the local shelter. Then, Namjoon’s pretty beach rock and glass findings from his daily walks become a collection featured on the mantle, the wooden box removed to a safe place in an unused bedroom. Little by little, the old house that was once his grandmother’s pride and joy becomes Namjoon’s home.

Namjoon curses under his breath when the coffee pot apparently decides it no longer needs to make coffee. He looks forlornly at his empty mug. This won’t do at all.

He huffs as he pulls his tennis shoes and grabs the key from the dish on the little table by the door. He admires the blue and purple hydrangea and the pink sweet peas in full bloom as he walks down the winding path marked by pavers from the front porch to the road.

As he reaches the road, Namjoon turns left and starts walking towards the café and nursery. He passes a few houses, spread out with large yards all alive with plants and trees, their owners still asleep or in the midst of morning routines. The ocean breeze from off the bluff carries the soft sounds of waves on the shore and the smell of salt on the air that Namjoon finds comforting.

He walks up a long, steep hill at the end of the sleepy residential road feeling the burn in his glutes, which would bother him less if he’d been able to have his morning caffeine first. Maybe this means he’s earning a pastry with his coffee.

At the top of the hill, more trees and houses dot the way. Turning right, he walks another few minutes before he comes to a small, quiet village center. There is the coffee shop, garden nursery, post office, and small convenience store. He’s driven past this place many times, as it’s on the only road toward real civilization, but has never stopped in before. It’s cute. Quaint. A throwback to an era when neighbors know each other’s names and the coffee shop owner knows everyone’s orders before they arrive.

The coffee shop is equally cute and quaint inside as out. Chickens is apparently the theme. The motif carries through all of the décor and even into the naming of specialty drinks and baked goods. Namjoon stands in line and studies the chalkboard menu, trying to decide on what to order, brow wrinkling trying to decipher the meaning behind the various names.

“Maybe I can help you, sir?” the middle aged woman at the counter asks.

Namjoon steps up to the counter and puts on his best dimpled smile. Yes, help. He needs help. He asks, “Maybe you can tell me the difference between the Cluckuccino and the Eggpresso?”

The woman lets out a low chuckle, “Let me explain, the Cluckuccino is a latte with a hint of cinnamon and vanilla. Or if you’re feeling adventurous, try the Eggpresso with an egg yolk!”

Namjoon wrinkled his nose in disgust before he can school his features into something more neutral, “I think for today I’ll just get a plain americano. Oh, and uh, blueberry scone, or whatever you call it.”

“The Clucky Blueberry Scone it is,” the woman says with a grin. “Anything else for you?”

“No, no, I think that’s good,” Namjoon says quickly.

“You got it,” the woman says. “That’ll be $12.45.”

Namjoon blinks at the price for a moment before he hands over his credit card. Forget cute chickens and themed village centers. It’s all a front for bandits and thieves. Highway robbery is what this is.

As he waits for his order, Namjoon takes in the surroundings. The coffee shop is cozy, with mismatched chairs and tables that look like they’ve been here since the 80s. There are shelves full of vintage knick-knacks and trinkets, and a sign hanging above the door that reads “Chickens Crossing.”

It doesn’t take long for his order to be ready and he leans into the door with an elbow, one hand grabbing tightly to his very hot americano and the other holding onto the bag with his scone. Namjoon thanks the woman before stepping back out into the sunshine. He decides to take his scone to go and explore the nursery next door.

He sticks to the outdoor portion of the grounds, with plants and flowers spilling out of pots and baskets with more of the same hanging from hooks screwed into large wooden frames. There’s no distinct aisles or really much rhyme or reason he can see for the layout, except for the obvious shade plants are under an arbor and the sun plants are out in the sun.

Towards the back of the nursery is a small metal table with two chairs. Grateful that it hadn’t rained last night, Namjoon sits on one of the chairs to enjoy his breakfast and caffeine.

For the outrageous price, the coffee was okay. The scone was good, clearly baked this morning with good ingredients. He’s still not sure it’s worth the price though.

A breeze blows through the garden carrying the smell of salt and tide with it. The leaves of the potted hydrangea in front of him—the blossoms on this one a brilliant pink color—shimmy and wave. Namjoon watches with a small sort of reverence. No wonder his grandmother had decided to stay here, in this place that was so far away from home.

“Oh, hello there,” a soft voice says. Namjoon turns to find the owner of the voice, thinking perhaps they are speaking to him.

But, it turns out, they are not speaking to him. A young Asian man, perhaps in his mid-20s, with auburn hair is bent over a tall stalk of a plant with large purple blossoms at the top. He’s wearing a dark green canvas apron over his fitting blue jeans and white tee-shirt, indicating he’s an employee.

“You’ve bloomed so beautifully,” the man continues, perhaps unaware he has an audience. “You’ve worked so hard. Good job.”

Namjoon can’t help but be a bit endeared by the man as he boosts the confidence of the flowers in front of him. He gives a brief start when he realizes he’s been listening to the man speak in Korean.

“Uh, hello,” Namjoon says in Korean, voice cracking a bit. After clearing his throat, he continues, “I couldn’t help but notice you’re Korean?”

The man whirls around with round eyes, mouth agape, hand clutching at his chest. “Oh, you startled me. I didn’t realize anyone was here.”

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon says, turning his lips down in a bit of a frown. “I just got excited to hear someone else speaking Korean. My brain gets so tired hearing English all day.”

The man breaks into a smile then and anything Namjoon might have said next vanishes from his mind. The smile is sparkly and warm, with his cheeks pushing his eyes up into adorable crescents. Namjoon feels a flush creep onto his cheeks.

“Oh, I’m so glad to meet another Korean,” the man says. He bounces over and sits down gingerly in the other metal chair at Namjoon’s table. “I’m Park Jimin. It’s very nice to meet you.”

“Kim Namjoon,” Namjoon says, his smile working to match Jimin’s smile intensity. “Nice to meet you.”

“And, what do you do, Kim Namjoon?” Jimin asks with a cute tilt of his head.

“Ah, I’m a writer. Novels, mostly.”

“Oh, a writer! How exciting!” Jimin says with an enthusiastic energy. “Have you written anything I’ve read?”

“Uh,” Namjoon starts, mind trying to provide any book title of his. “I mostly write science fiction? My most sold book is probably ‘Spring Day.’ But don’t worry about it if you haven’t heard of it. I’m not really that famous.”

Namjoon feels his gut curling a bit in embarrassment as he rubs a palm across the back of his neck. When he glances at Jimin, he sees excitement in his eyes.

“Spring Day is your book? The one about time travel and a love story between two people from different eras?” Jimin asks eagerly.

“Uh, yeah,” Namjoon answers, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the enthusiasm of the other.

“Oh, I love that book. The pure longing and sadness of two people who come from two different worlds,” Jimin says wistfully, looking over at the hydrangea. “I didn’t realize that was yours. I don’t think it’s published under the name Kim Namjoon, is it?”

“Ah, yeah, RM is my pen name. Early on, I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to actually sell any of my stuff. I don’t know. I felt more confident being someone else.”

“Well, it’s amazing that, here, of all places, I am meeting you,” Jimin says with a smile. “Ah, I wish I had my copy. I’d ask for an autograph.”

“Thank you,” Namjoon says softly with a grin, still feeling a bit bashful. “That means a lot to me.”

Jimin leans back in his chair and looks around the garden with a contented sigh. “It’s so peaceful here, isn’t it? I love working in the nursery. It’s my dream job, really.”

Namjoon takes a sip of his coffee and nods in agreement. “Yeah, it’s beautiful here. And you clearly have a talent for it. I saw you talking to those flowers earlier.”

Jimin blushes slightly at the compliment, a small smile on his lips. “I just love watching them grow and change. It’s like seeing your hard work pay off right in front of you.”

Namjoon takes another sip of his coffee, trying to calm the nerves that are fluttering in his chest. He’s both endeared and intrigued by the man in front of him.

“So, are you a tourist?” Jimin asks.

Namjoon startles out of his wandering thoughts. “A tourist? No. What makes you say that?”

“Oh,” Jimin blinks. “I’ve just never seen you here before. And I would definitely remember you.”

Namjoon feels his cheeks pinkening at Jimin’s comment. He clears his throat before he says, “I, uh, inherited a house down the road recently. So I’ve only been here for, uh, a month or so.”

“Oh! I don’t know why I didn’t make the connection before!” Jimin says excitedly again. “You’re Kwon Seulgi’s grandson.”

Namjoon nods, a little dumbfounded.

Jimin’s face falls a bit. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“You knew her? My grandmother?” Namjoon asks.

“Yes, I would help her with her garden. It was hard for her, especially, you know, towards the end,” Jimin says.

Namjoon nods, familiar guilt curdling in his gut.

Jimin takes a deep breath and looks back at Namjoon, his smile returning. “But, it’s good to see the house is being taken care of. Your grandmother loved her home and really put herself into it.”

Namjoon nods in agreement, feeling a sense of pride. He says, “Yeah, I’m going to try my best to keep it up.”

“I’m sure you will,” Jimin says with a reassuring smile. “And if you ever need any help with the garden or anything, just let me know. I’d be happy to lend a hand.”

“Thanks, Jimin,” Namjoon says gratefully. He takes one last gulp of his coffee before standing up from the table. “I should probably get going now, but it was really nice to meet you.”

Jimin stands up as well, his warm smile still plastered on his face. “It was really nice meeting you too, Namjoon-ssi. I hope we run into each other again soon.”

Namjoon nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Please call me hyung. And I hope so too. See you around, Jimin.”

As he walks away, Namjoon can’t help but feel a sense of excitement about the prospect of meeting Jimin again. Maybe, just maybe, in this strange land where coffee shops embody chicken puns and one has to spend a day traveling to get Korean ingredients, he has a potential new friend. Or more than a friend, the traitorous whisper in his mind says.

July and August on the island mean most days are filled with sun, which rises early and sets late in the evening. While the occasional overcast or foggy day occurs, most days are warm and dry.

Namjoon settles into a routine. He continues his morning walks down the hill to the beach where he wanders up and down the shoreline for at least an hour. He never tries to time it with the tide, so some days the tide is so far out the rocky shore gives way to truly sandy beach. Other times, the tide is so high, it’s lapping against the concrete seawall.

After his walks, he takes his light breakfast to the small front room he’s converted into his office. There, he tries to get a few hours of writing done, before he sets himself to the tasks of sorting through his grandmother’s possessions and fixing up the house.

Some of the days—the best days, if one were to ask Namjoon’s opinion—Jimin comes over in the late afternoon, after his shift at the nursery has finished. He works good-naturedly in the gardens of the house until the skies over Seattle are painted pink, orange, and purple, a reflection of the sunset happening behind the island.

As the sun goes down, Namjoon makes tea for the both of them and they sit on the porch drinking and admiring the view. Some nights they talk, sharing stories both innocuous and meaningful. Some nights they just sit in comfortable silence as the sky grows dark.

“I didn’t know her very well. Most of my memories are vague, from childhood. She somehow came into this house long before I was born,” Namjoon says into his cup of tea.

The sky is full of bursts of pink, purple, and orange over Seattle. The sun had been warm today, almost too hot, as Namjoon watched Jimin work on pruning back some trees from the comfort of his little front porch office. Now, though, as the sun begins to set, a cool breeze blows off the Puget Sound making the hot sun a distant memory.

“We would visit,” he continues, now watching the colors changing across the sky, “when I was little. So I have memories of running around this garden, looking for treasures.”

He laughs at the memory and glances at Jimin to see if he’s bored the younger man yet. Jimin gives him a soft smile.

“I would spend hours reading up in the apple trees,” Namjoon says and points down the yard to the gnarly old apple tree, now propped up by a two-by-four. “My grandmother started calling me Namu.”

“Namu,” Jimin tries it out quietly with a grin. “Can I call you Namu-hyung, then?”

Namjoon laughs, loud and bright in surprise. “Sure, Jimin-ah.”

Namjoon watches from his front office window as Jimin whispers to the peach blossomed water lily in the small pond off the deck of the house. Namjoon remembers helping digging out that pond when he was young, on one of his summer visits. Digging out the hole, laying tarp, nestling the lilies in their pots, filling the pond with water. He had wanted to get fish, but “we don’t need to feed the raccoons and herons, Namu-yah” was all his grandmother had said.

Namjoon tilts his head as he watches Jimin. He imagines—or at least he tells himself he is imagining it—the lilies bend their faces towards Jimin, as if eager to hear exactly what he has to say. Namjoon can relate.

“Do you ever regret?” Namjoon asks another night, after the sun is gone and the stars dot the sky. The stars are so bright here, despite the light from Seattle across the Sound. The Milky Way is a visible band across the heavens.

“Regret?” Jimin asks. Both their voices are low, as if they are afraid of disturbing the night. A frog croaks from the pond.

“Yeah, regret,” Namjoon echoes. He’s quiet for several minutes before he says, “Sometimes I regret the choices I made when I was younger. When I didn’t know what was going to be important to me later. Who was going to be important to me later.”

Jimin hums in thought. Somewhere, probably up on the main road, they can hear a car drive by.

“I don’t– I don’t think I regret,” Jimin says after another sip of his tea. “We can never know who or what will be important later. The best we can do is live for what is important now, I guess.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Namjoon says, swatting away a too-friendly moth. “I just– I wish I had spent more time with her, here, before she was too sick to know me.”

“She knew you,” Jimin says quietly with confidence. “She was your grandmother. I don’t think she’d want you regretting.”

“Maybe,” Namjoon says.

Another frog joins the first, creating a chorus of night sounds.

“I left my home,” Jimin says, voice sounding far away. “I lived by this river that ran off a mountain. I knew every tree, plant, animal. I knew each nob and bend in the river. But, after being there for so long, I felt like I needed to see more of the world.”

Namjoon hums and asks, “So you came here?”

“Well, first I ended up in Busan,” Jimin says with a chuckle. “That was the closest town to my river.”

“Ah, that explains the accent,” Namjoon says with a grin.

“Yes,” Jimin returns his grin. “Then, I guess, you could say, I let the wind blow me here.”

Namjoon laughs. “Must have been a strong wind to get you all the way across the ocean.”

Jimin smiles, all toothy with his eyes disappearing into his cheeks. “Well, I had an important person to meet.”

Namjoon feels his cheeks warm up and he turns his gaze determinately into the bottom of his empty tea cup. He clears his throat and murmurs, “Aish, is it really that late?”

Jimin laughs as he stands and takes Namjoon’s cup. “I’ll wash these before I go, Namu-hyung.”

He’s feeling good about the amount of words he got onto the page today. While he’s pretty sure most of them are garbage, he’s proud of himself for actually getting something out at all. Pushing back from his desk, he stands and peers out the window to the porch.

Jimin is leaning against the railing, facing the Sound, but his eyes are shut. Namjoon feels his breath catch for a moment. There is something so incredibly soft about the younger man—that makes him beautiful. The wind off the water plays with his hair and a smile graces his lips.

Namjoon runs to the kitchen to get two glasses of water, as an excuse to go out and stand with the other man.

“The weather is nice today,” Namjoon says, setting the glass down the railing next to Jimin.

“You know,” Jimin says, “there’s so much in this world we can’t see. But we know it’s there.”

Namjoon watches the soft expression on Jimin’s face, still turned into the breeze, his eyes still closed.

“We can’t see them, but they still change the world. The most important things we can’t see.” He raises his hand, palm out, as if feeling the breeze blow.

“Like the wind?” Namjoon asks.

“Like the wind,” Jimin agrees. “We only know it’s there because it’s changing things, moving things, changing the world around it.”

“Like music,” Namjoon thinks aloud.

“Music?” Jimin asks, opening his eyes and looking thoughtfully at Namjoon.

“We can’t see it, but it changes the world,” Namjoon says.

Jimin nods and turns to look back over the Sound, seemingly lost in thought. After a few minutes, he turns back to Namjoon and looks at him intently. He says, “Like love.”

Namjoon feels his cheeks burst into flames, but a smile grows on his face. He nods slowly. “Like love.”

“What do you say, when you’re whispering to the plants?” Namjoon asks. It’s overcast today and Jimin had mentioned it would probably rain tonight.

“You might not believe me,” Jimin says, a cheeky grin on his face.

“Try me,” Namjoon says, smiling, dimples on display. He finds he’s been smiling like this a lot lately.

Jimin sets his glass down on the little table they’ve set out for their little tea breaks. He turns his body so he’s facing Namjoon from his chair.

“I am casting spells,” he says. His face is serious, but his eyes twinkle mischievously.

“Spells,” Namjoon deadpans.

“I told you you wouldn’t believe me!” Jimin says, clearly trying to look hurt but failing.

Namjoon looks around the yard. All the plants look incredibly happy and healthy. Everything is overflowing with blooms and fruit. He turns back to look at Jimin again, starting to question, just a little bit.

“Spells,” Namjoon says again, this time it almost sounds like a question.

Jimin’s face lights up with his smile. He laughs a little as he says, “Spells. Really!”

“If you say so, I’ll believe you,” Namjoon laughs.

“You know how I said I lived by a river?” Jimin asks, voice sobering.

Namjoon shifts in his chair sensing the change in mood. He nods and watches as Jimin bites his bottom lip.

“Well, I was, how would you say this? I was the guardian?”

“Guardian?” Namjoon asks.

Jimin makes a small, frustrated noise in his throat. “I don’t know the word for it. I was a spirit guardian.”

“Spirit guardian,” Namjoon echoes, brows furrowed.

Jimin nods, looking a bit nervous as he eyes Namjoon. “I was a guardian of the river for hundreds of years. But, I wanted to see the world. I wanted to see the things everyone who traveled on my river talked about. So– so, I became human.”

Namjoon blinks. “You’re serious.”

Jimin nods, eyes now trained on the deck in front of him.

“Hundreds of years,” Namjoon says absently.

“But only 27 human years! So, you’re still my hyung, Namu-hyung,” Jimin says quickly, gaze flickering over the other man’s face before settling over the Sound.

“Did you get to see it?” Namjoon asks.

“What?” Jimin looks back at Namjoon, brows pinched together.

“The world,” Namjoon explains. “You said you wanted to see it. But you’ve been here, in this garden all summer.”

“Oh,” Jimin says, looking at Namjoon wide-eyed. “Well, yes, I traveled around for most of my twenties. Then I found myself here. Like I said, the wind sends messages. It brought me here. To you.”

His last words are a whisper.

“I’m glad,” Namjoon says.

Jimin looks at him in question.

“I’m glad you got to see the world,” Namjoon clarifies. He reaches out across the table in between them and takes one of Jimin’s hands. Despite his working in dirt and shrubbery all day, Jimin’s hands are soft and small in Namjoon’s. After reveling in the warmth for a moment, he adds, “And that you found your way here. To me.”

Namjoon looks at the vase of flowers, cut from his own garden, and arranged by Jimin, as it sits on his desk. A large blue hydrangea blossom hangs to one side, light peach colored rose and dark purple dahlia blossoms crowd the rest of the space. It rained overnight and the deck is wet still.

He hears a knock at the door to his office. He wheels himself around and then stands to open the door. Jimin is standing with a smile on his face, auburn hair pushed off his forehead, still a bit damp.

“Were you out in the rain?” Namjoon asks.

“Only on the walk here,” Jimin says with a large smile.

“Let me get you a towel,” Namjoon says as he grabs Jimin’s shoulders and turns him around back into the house. “And some hot tea. Can’t have you catching a cold.”

Jimin giggles—a beautiful sound like tinkling wind chimes, Namjoon thinks—and lets Namjoon manhandle him back into the living room.

“You can’t get a cold just from walking in the rain,” Jimin laughs. “That’s just myth. A little rain is good for you. Especially if you’re a former river spirit.”

Namjoon laughs at that, but still guides Jimin into the kitchen. “Well, then, how about I don’t want you dripping on my floors?”

“Ah, the real reason comes to light,” Jimin says with a nod. Then he giggles again. Namjoon thinks he might lose his mind in the endearing adorableness.

After he’s dry, wrapped in a comforter with a warm cup of tea in his hand, they stand together in the kitchen looking out the window. The rain picked up again while Namjoon was fussing over the kettle.

“The plants will be happy,” Jimin says. “It’s been very warm this season.”

Namjoon bites back his political commentary about global warming and capitalism. Not the time, he thinks. Not when Jimin has that endearing smile on his face.

“Drink up, friends, drink up,” Jimin whispers, eyes trained on the garden out the window. He turns to look at Namjoon with a large grin. “A spell, see?”

Namjoon nods, brain short-circuiting. Without another thought, he leans forward and brushes his lips along Jimin’s, still warm from the tea. Jimin gives a small, startled noise, but doesn’t pull away.

Namjoon pulls away far enough to get Jimin’s face into focus and asks, “I– Was– was that okay?”

Jimin nods, biting his lower lip with a grin.

“Can I–” Namjoon cuts himself off with a swallow.

“Kiss me again, Namu-hyung,” Jimin whispers.

Another spell, Namjoon thinks, before he leans in for another kiss.

Namjoon comes back from a walk on the beach to find Jimin busy weeding under the bushes near the deck, morning glory intent on taking over everything uninvited. Jimin’s figure is illuminated by the mid-morning sun, his slender frame bending to pull weeds from the soil. He’s surrounded by vibrant green plants swaying softly in the wind, some reaching out to him as if begging for attention. The overhang of grape vines that hang from the metal arbor creates a dappled shade of sun and shadow on his skin, and the rhododendron bushes seem to be leaning in closer, as if they too want a bit of his attention. Jimin is humming to himself, a soft melody that is carried on the fresh summer breeze, mingling with the scent of the Sound. The chirping of birds and buzzing of bees intermingle with Jimin’s melody, creating a tranquil harmony in the air. Another kind of spell, perhaps.

Not many of the trees surrounding the property turn for the fall, being evergreen, but the apples are finally harvested and those not turned into sauce and preserves are taken to the neighbors and the local shelter. Autumn feels well underway and the last of the hot, sunny days have passed.

Hovhaness’s Mount St. Helens Symphony plays on the living room speakers, as Namjoon and Jimin snuggle together on one of the worn couches, watching the sunset. Everything about them is soft and slow. Namjoon wouldn’t want it any other way.

Jimin, whose back is half-resting on Namjoon’s chest, turns his head and tilts it up for a kiss. Namjoon obliges by meeting him the rest of the way and giving him a languid kiss. Soft and slow.

The room mostly looks the same as when Namjoon moved in, until closer inspection. His rock and sea glass collection takes up most of the mantle. A better stereo system takes up home on the far wall with surround speakers installed in the corners of the room’s ceiling. Only recently, Namjoon finally washed and put away his grandmother’s coffee cup. The house mostly smells of Namjoon now.

Later, they settle again with fresh cups of sleepytime tea, Jimin resting his head on Namjoon’s shoulder.

“I have to leave for a while,” Jimin says.

“What do you mean?” Namjoon asks, brow wrinkling.

“It’s my birthday soon. I have to, uh, go back home. Just for a little while,” he says.

“Oh.”

“I have to check in on– on the river,” Jimin says, voice low. “It’s sort of part of the deal for being here the rest of the time. Plus, my parents insist on seeing me in-person.”

“I see.”

“I’ll miss you,” Jimin murmurs.

“Come here, when you get back,” Namjoon says.

Jimin tilts his face to see Namjoon’s. “Of course, Namu-hyung.”

“No, I mean,” Namjoon clears his throat. “Come live here, when you get back. Live here, with me.”

“Oh.”

“If you want,” Namjoon quickly adds.

Jimin relaxes his head again, his cheeks comfortably against Namjoon’s shoulder. Namjoon can feel his smile.

“I’d like that.”

Namjoon feels the hole of Jimin’s absence. However, instead of moping and feeling sorry for himself, he decides to finally finish cleaning out the house. Certain items are saved and put in special places, to commemorate the previous owner and her place in the current tenants’ hearts. Everything else is clean and donated or taken to the dump. Namjoon feels lighter than he has since moving in.

Space is made for Jimin—closet space, shelf space, his own room, if he wants. The whole house feels like it’s getting ready for new life.

Namjoon goes to the nursery at the top of the road one day when the sun happens to be shining. He wanders through the outdoor plants and then heads inside to see what else there is for sale.

Sitting near the counter is a table of small bonsai trees. He picks up one with a single trunk and a few branches, small leaves precariously clinging on.

“That blooms lovely purple flowers in the spring,” the woman standing at the register says.

“Is caring for it difficult?” Namjoon asks, eyeing the little tree.

“I’ll throw a care guide with it, if you like,” the woman says with a smile.

The door at the front of the store opens, the little bell at the top jingling. A brisk breeze follows through the store, seemingly excited to have found its way into the warmth as much as the customers.

Namjoon watches as the little leaves sway momentarily. He can put his beach rock collection under it, he thinks.

“I’ll take it,” he says, moving to the counter. He eyes the little tree again. “And any and all guides you might have.”

“Namu-hyung!”

Namjoon hears the shout before he sees the man shouting. The airport is packed. Neither he nor Jimin had accounted for the Thanksgiving holiday when booking the flight. Everywhere Namjoon looks there are people, pushing through the crowds with carry-on bags and suitcases in tow. Lines of people snake out from ticket booths and security checkpoints, while families and friends reunite with luggage is scattered here and there, adding to the general chaos. The whir of rolling suitcases and the occasional call of an announcement can be heard above the din. The airport is bursting with activity and everyone seems to be in a rush to get somewhere.

Finally, through the mass of people, he sees familiar auburn hair sticking out from under a black beanie. He’s wearing comfortable sweats and a hoodie, pulling a worn rolling suitcase haphazardly behind him. He races towards Namjoon, eyes wide and filled with joy and anticipation, face beaming, and throws himself into Namjoon’s arms.

“Jimin-ah, I hope your flight was okay,” Namjoon says into Jimin’s neck. He wraps his arms tightly around the other, one hand grasping the back of Jimin’s hoodie and the other embracing the back of his head, holding him tight.

He hears Jimin sniffle. “There was some turbulence. It was fine.”

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Namjoon says. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, hyung.”

“I thought we’d pick some food up at the H-Mart on the way to the ferry, unless you’re too tired,” Namjoon says.

Jimin shakes his head. “I slept on the plane.”

“Alright, let’s go home then,” Namjoon says with a smile.

Jimin brushes the tears Namjoon pretends not to see away from his eyes. “Let’s go home.”

It’s cold, but clear as the water pulls away from the rocks on the beach making its now-familiar sk sk sk sound. The water glimmers and sparkles in the winter sunlight. Seaweed cling to rocks, while seagulls fight over some shelled sea creature in the distance. An old, dilapidated set of pilings—great tall timber, now rotted and barnacle covered—stand out of the water, cormorants pose on the tops with their wings outstretched, drying in the sunshine.

Jimin has been back now for three weeks. This is only the second day since his return that it hasn’t rained. The first non-rainy day, they came down to the beach to the small part of the bank that belongs to the property, where once stairs had gone from the top to the bottom, allowing his grandmother easier access to the water. They had washed away many years ago now, the bank constantly eroding into the Sound. Namjoon and Jimin sat on a washed up log to watch the tide roll in and eventually spread his grandmother’s ashes into the water, letting her forever be a part of the island that she loved so much.

2am-closing Old Canyon Friends Only – anon

“Fuck, Jimin-ah,” Hoseok breathes out, brow furrowed at his phone screen. “You see the text?”

Jimin finishes wiping the sweat off the back of his neck with a now-too-damp towel and makes an inquiring hum. Hoseok waves his phone, screen facing Jimin, as if he can see anything from this distance with the phone going wild through the air.

“Don’t make me guess, hyung,” Jimin says blandly. He gives Hoseok a look as he finishes with the towel and throws it in the bin in the corner of the studio. “My phone is still in my locker.”

“Friends Only at the Old Canyon tonight,” Hoseok says after giving Jimin a thoroughly unimpressed glance. His eyes glue themselves back on the phone screen as if the text message is going to suddenly reveal more details.

“Cool,” Jimin says with a shrug, already heading towards the door to go change. Just as his hand hits the handle he stops with a curse. “I forgot I have a job tomorrow, hyung. I don’t think I can go.”

Hoseok scoffs. “Absolutely not. No. I am not going to take one of your excuses this time. Is the job even real? No. You’re going.”

“Hyung,” Jimin whines. “I do have a job.”

Hoseok is pulling open the door now, having elbowed Jimin out of the way. “I do not believe you. Go shower. I’m coming by at 8pm to dress you.”

Jimin’s eyes narrow. He knows he’s already lost, but he can’t stop himself from trying to fight it anyway. “I can dress myself, you know.”

Hoseok is already down the hallway, rounding the corner to the front office and exit. Jimin sighs at his friend’s back.

“I could have had a job tomorrow. You never know,” he says to no one before heading off to the showers.

~

Yoongi tosses the notepad onto the desk in frustration. He glances at the clock and regrets it immediately. It’s only noon and even though that doesn’t matter when he’s been in the same position, hunched over his notepad, sitting at his messy desk, music mixing software waiting patiently since yesterday. Yesterday morning. He thinks Namjoon brought him dinner, he glances at his trash can by the door. And yes, there’s the evidence, he did eat at least one meal in the over-24 hours he’s been here. He pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes, feeling relieved at the pressure. 

“Fuck,” he breathes out.

His self-loathing session is interrupted by a soft knock at the door, before the keypad is beeping with someone letting themselves in.

Yoongi turns back to his desk, instead of looking at the person stepping through his studio door. There are only two people who know the code beside him and one of them has never used it, probably never will. Instead, Yoongi starts tidying up the desk. Piling notepads and scraps of paper together neatly, putting loose pens away in their cute little Kumamon cup, straightening keyboards.

“Hyung, I brought lunch,” Namjoon says. “Were you here all night?”

Yoongi doesn’t bother to answer. Namjoon already knows the answer to the question. Yoongi finally turns to take in Namjoon and eye the take out containers being set on the small table at the end of the couch. He raises an eyebrow at the fried chicken containers.

“You here to break some bad news to me, Joon-ah?” he drawls.

“You wound me, hyung,” Namjoon says, but the blush blooming across his cheeks tells Yoongi all he needs to know.

“Let’s eat first so I can at least enjoy the food you went to all the trouble of bringing,” Yoongi says. “Fried chicken really deserves beer though.”

Namjoon sheepishly digs into his jacket pocket and produces a can of beer and then digs into the pocket on the other side to produce a second can.

“Shit,” Yoongi says with a whoosh of his exhale. “So, it’s really bad news.”

“Let’s eat first, hyung,” Namjoon says.

When they are done eating, sitting next to one another on the couch, Yoongi leans back giving his stomach an appreciative pat. He closes his eyes for a moment and enjoys the peace of the studio. Then after a deep inhale and exhale, he sits forward, forearms on his thighs, head cocked in Namjoon’s direction.

“Let’s hear it then,” Yoongi says.

Namjoon adjusts himself, clearly feeling anxious, jaw clenching just slightly. Yoongi watches all the little signs—tightening muscles, fingers twitching as if they want to be fists—Namjoon is angry. Not angry at Yoongi. No, he wouldn’t have brought chicken and beer if he were angry at Yoongi. But he’s angry.

“Spit it out, Namjoon,” Yoongi says flatly.

“They are summoning you back to the Seelie Court,” he says, voice tight, just like his muscles.

Yoongi blinks for a moment, processing the words. Then he pushes himself back, throwing all his weight to the back of the couch with a huff, kicking his feet out in front of him. He lets out a strangled laugh.

“You have to be fucking kidding me,” he manages to say finally.

“Hyung,” Namjoon whispers.

“Well, I am not going,” Yoongi states definitively. “They can fucking kiss my ass. And they can fucking stop using you as a messenger. It’s bullshit to put you in this position. Fuck them.”

Namjoon makes a small choking noise in his throat, then coughs as if trying to clear it. “They’re worried you’re going rogue on them. I guess Sunhee was spreading rumors you were seen with folks from the Unseelie Court.”

Yoongi laughs freely and loudly this time. “With what time? I am literally in here most waking hours.”

“I know, hyung,” Namjoon says. “They still want you to come. They didn’t say for how long.”

“Well, my answer is still no,” Yoongi says. “I am, in fact, under no obligation to scamper off to them when they beckon me. I haven’t been a member of the Court for a long time. They’re all just too far up their own asses to realize it.”

“I know, hyung,” Namjoon says again, letting Yoongi drop the topic.

“I’m glad you’re here though, Joon-ah,” Yoongi says. “Can I run some lyrics by you? This song is driving me up the fucking wall.”

Namjoon laughs, smiling with dimples and all. Yoongi returns his smile and gets up to retrieve the mess of notes he’d made about lyrics some time in the middle of last night. Both Namjoon’s and Yoongi’s phone chime at once.

Namjoon looks at his screen while Yoongi ignores his own phone in favor of searching through his messy handwriting for the lyrics he wanted to workshop.

“Oh, hyung,” Namjoon says with a hint of excitement in his voice.

“What’s up?” Yoongi says distractedly, still rifling through his notes.

“Friends Only tonight,” Namjoon exclaims.

Yoongi stops looking through his notes and glances at Namjoon. “Really?”

“Old Canyon,” Namjoon says with a nod.

“Huh,” Yoongi says, thinking.

“We should go, right?” Namjoon sounds hopeful. “You need to be with people, hyung. You’ve been cooped up here for days—weeks. You could do a battle, even. You know that always gets you inspired after a battle.”

Yoongi looks back down at the scribbles and crossed-out chaos on the papers in front of him. He thinks about how terrifyingly behind he is on this song, deadline looming. He thinks about being hunched over his notes, his keyboard for several more hours on end, getting nowhere. 

“Sure,” he says, looking at Namjoon with a shrug. “Why not?”

~

Jimin looks at his reflection in the full length mirror hanging off the back of his bedroom door and exhales a pained sound through his teeth. 

“Hyung, I don’t know about this.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Hoseok looks him up and down critically as if looking for the mistake. “You look sexy, Jimin.”

“I think he looks emo as fuck,” Jungkook says, not even looking up from his phone, lying on his back on Jimin’s bed.

Hoseok scoffs before he says, “ He’s emo? You have literally only worn the color black this entire calendar year.”

“That’s not true,” Jungkook retorts. “Remember? When your parents visited? I wore that grey sweater.”

“Dark grey,” Hoseok mutters. Then he shakes his head and gives Jimin another once-over. “You look hot, Jimin. I see a hookup in your future. And then you’ll be thanking me.”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “This is Friends Only, remember? If, and it’s already a big ‘if’, I wanted to get with someone, the odds of me finding anyone I’d want to hook up with are pretty low, hyung.”

Still, he looks at himself again in the mirror. The outfit, he will admit to himself—not out loud, he doesn’t want to give Hoseok that satisfaction—, but to himself, yes, the outfit is pretty hot. The black faux leather pants, practically skin tight, show off all his muscles earned from years of training. The black boots and black tee (again, rather skin tight) work in all the right ways. Pretty silver earrings dangle from his ears, his black hair intentionally a bit messy, like someone had grabbed onto it during a moment of passion, leaving it going every which way. 

The make-up though. He steps closer to the mirror, inspecting how Hobi put dark eyeliner around his eyes, silver-grey eyeshadow making him look…seductive. He sighs. He’s feeling anything but seductive at the moment.

“I think it’s too much, hyung,” he finally says. “People will be mad if I’m sending mixed-signals.”

“And what would you suggest wearing instead?” Hoseok narrows his eyes at Jimin, daring him to keep pushing. “A plastic bag? Or, worse yet, denim overalls.”

“Yah, what’s wrong with denim overalls?” Jimin quips back. 

Jungkook blinks over at them. “Yeah, I’ve even been known to wear denim overalls.”

“My point stands,” Hoseok says, his lips thin in feigned irritation. “Plus this is a Friends Only .”

Jimin clicks his tongue and looks at himself one more time. Then he glances over at Jungkook and says, “Yah, how come Jungkook isn’t getting all dolled up?”

Hoseok stares over at the boy who is laying one leg crossed over the other, foot jiggling wildly in the air, completely oblivious to the conversation, sucked into something on his phone. “He’s a lost cause, Jimin. Get him out of that oversize t-shirt? Convince him to wear something other than those boots that could stomp out an army? Nope. Lost cause.”

Jimin scoffs as he grabs his phone. “Alright well, let’s go get this over with. The sooner we go, the sooner we come back home and sleep.”

“That’s the spirit, hyung,” Jungkook says with a bright smile as he leaps gracefully off the bed.

~

Yoongi regrets. So much regret. He regrets convincing himself that coming to a Friends Only, right after the Seelie Court back-handedly summoned him, is anything but a terrible idea. There are fae everywhere. And maybe he’s being paranoid, but they keep giving him looks, like they all know—or at least know something he doesn’t. It’s unnerving.

“Namjoon,” Yoongi says, standing at the edge of the crowd, back to the large hangar door they came through. “Please tell me you also can see the chicken.”

“Chicken?” Namjoon asks.

Yoongi points, blatantly, not caring if it’s rude, at the small hen sitting on a young woman’s shoulder, looking perfectly content despite the booming bass coming over the large industrial-size speakers.

“Ah, yes, that’s a chicken,” Namjoon confirms once his eyes find where Yoongi’s pointing.

Yoongi nods. He looks out to the mass of people. To the untrained eye it’s chaotic, a writhing storm of bodies convulsing and twisting in time with the bass that reverberates through the dirt floor. The flashing, colorful lights bounce off the corrugated metal ceiling of the warehouse they’re in. It’s dizzying.

“Alright, let’s go find sign ups,” Yoongi says, pulling Namjoon down by his arm so he can speak in his ear.

Namjoon nods and uses his height to look over the crowd. When he sees his target, he grabs Yoongi’s sleeve and weaves them through the mess of flailing limbs across the dance floor.

“V!” he yells when they’ve cleared the last bunch of dancers. 

It’s calmer over here on this side of the warehouse. The party is only getting started and most people haven’t made it this far into the building yet. The tall man with brown curly hair falling over his nape turns at the sound of his name. His hair is long in the front as well, falling artfully into his eyes, the curl of it making him look deceptively innocent. His careful brown tailored suit—cut to look just a little bit too big on his frame in a very intentional way—makes him look like he wandered into the industrial block from another time period, not just another neighborhood of Seoul. His wide eyes light up at the sight of Namjoon and Yoongi.

“Hyungs! You made it!” he exclaims, pulling Namjoon into a hug and then Yoongi. “You battling tonight?”

“Yoongi hyung is,” Namjoon says with a smile. “I’ve got other plans.”

Yoongi snorts at that before dryly asking, “Why bother even coming here at all if you’re just gonna take Jin back home immediately?”

Namjoon pouts. “He’ll want to dance first, hyung. Plus, maybe we’ll stay to watch your battle.”

“Yeah, right,” Yoongi says with a roll of his eyes. “We all know you’ll last 30 seconds before you both want to fuck.”

“Who’s fucking?” a cheery voice says from behind Yoongi.

“Apparently you and Namjoon hyung, hyung,” V says cheekily.

Jin sidles up in between Yoongi and Namjoon, sliding his arm around Namjoon’s. He smiles sweetly. “Yes, that’s true.”

“Alright, well, I’ve heard enough,” Yoongi says, taking a step away from Jin. “You got my name down there, kid?”

“Yup,” V says. “Small crowd tonight. Maybe it’s the weather?”

“Storm’s coming, yes,” Jin says almost wistfully. “I heard the Court was asking for you, Yoongi.”

Yoongi stares Jin down and says, “Not you, too, hyung. Why do they think going through my fucking friends is going to work? It has never worked.”

“I guess they feel that sending a full on Sidhe to come collect you is extreme,” Jin replies.

Yoongi laughs at that. “It’s also not going to work. I would never accept their invitation and they can’t fucking touch me without it. They know it. They might be stupid, but they aren’t that stupid.”

Yoongi sees the look in Jin’s eyes, like he’s about to argue, about to tell him all the reasons he should have never left Court in the first place, but they’ve been over it. They’ve rehashed the argument so many times, it’s left a bad taste in Yoongi’s mouth.

“I’m gonna go find a drink before the battle starts. If I don’t see you, hyung, Namjoon, have a good night,” Yoongi says with a mock salute before he saunters away in desperate need of libation. He feels the eyes of not just his friends, but also of every fae in the room, follow him as he goes. He swallows the irritation down. He’ll save it for the floor.

~

“This was a mistake,” Jimin says. The three of them are standing across the street, encased in darkness with half the street lamps out, looking at the large warehouse where the Friends Only was probably already in full swing. From outside it’s dark and quiet. Not a stray bass note or strobe light makes an appearance on the quiet industrial block. Jimin shudders at the thought of the magic it took to create such a large masking spell, his stomach churning.

“How about this,” Hoseok says, voice pitched ready for negotiation. Well, he’s going to sound like he’s negotiating, but what he’s really going to do is convince Jimin to do whatever he wants him to, but Jimin will feel like he compromised somehow. “We’ll just pop in, watch a battle or two, have a drink, maybe take one spin on the floor, and then bounce.”

Jimin huffs out a laugh. “That’s basically the whole Friends Only, hyung.”

“Well, you can’t not see a battle. Those are half the fun of a Friends Only,” Hoseok argues.

“He’s right, you know,” Jungkook chimes in.

Jimin’s eyes narrow at him. “Not helping.”

“Wasn’t trying to,” Jungkook says without missing a beat.

“I’m not drinking,” Jimin says after giving Jungkook the stink eye.

“No one’s gonna try anything,” Hoseok says. “It’s a fucking Friends Only. They’d be dumb to.”

“I’m not fucking drinking, hyung,” Jimin says with finality. 

“Okay, okay, you don’t have to drink.”

“Let’s go,” Jungkook cuts in after looking back and forth between his hyungs.

“Yeah, let’s get this over with,” Jimin says.

After they show their text message to the bouncer and get their hands stamped, they stand letting the scene before them wash over them as their eyes adjust to the low lighting. Despite his reticence, Jimin feels the thrill of the bass as it vibrates through the dirt floor below his boots. His body is already itching to get out on the dance floor.

“You have your phone, yes?” Hoseok yells into his ear. “Call if you need anything. And I mean, anything, right, Jimin-ah?”

“Yes, hyung,” Jimin answers, making sure to look Hoseok in the eye so he knows he’s serious.

“Alright, have fun!” Hoseok gives a blinding dimpled smile and then is off into the crowd.

Jimin scoffs and turns to see if Jungkook wants to dance, only to find Jungkook is already gone.

“Fuckers,” Jimin mutters under his breath.

He inhales deeply, ignoring the niggling anxiety in favor of the thrum of excitement that pushes from inside his chest. He decides he’ll make his way over to the pit where they have the battles, so he can snag a good spot. Hoseok was right when he said the battles are half the fun of coming to these things.

After pushing his way through the crowd, he’s pleased to see not many have gathered yet. The best spot along the wooden fencing that blocks the “pit” off from the main part of the warehouse is still devoid of people. The pit is not really a pit, just a cordoned off part of the floor, really, various barriers put in place to keep onlookers from crowding participants. The wooden fence is considered prime real estate because it’s stable enough to lean against comfortably and the view is great. Plus, sometimes if a battler is in the mood, they’ll come interact with the audience and the fence is the best point of access.

Jimin leans happily against the fence, chest pressed into the top rail of wood, fingers drumming in beat with the music. Pleased he’s going to be able to check Hoseok’s Friends Only to do list off quickly, he lets his thoughts drift as he waits for the battles to start. He vaguely wishes he had thought to grab a bottle of water on the way over.

“Hey, gorgeous, you here all alone?” a saccharine sweet voice drips out next to him.

Jimin doesn’t move, only flicking his eyes to the left to see the man that had ambled up next to him, leaning his back against the fence.

“You mean, like on this planet or here at the pit?” Jimin asks, biting the inside of his cheek.

The man laughs brightly, loudly. Not bright like Hoseok hyung’s laugh, but a fake shrill sound that grates on Jimin’s ears. “I’ll take the answer to either, but I meant here at the Friends Only, gorgeous.”

“No, I’m not,” Jimin says tersely. He’s already over whatever this guy thinks he’s trying to do right now.

“Well, I don’t see anyone,” the man replies.

Typical. Jimin moves his head subtly, just slightly, to get a better look at the man while trying to not appear too obvious. He’s tall with big muscles threatening to rip the skin tight white tee he has on. Jimin bites at his cheek again, assessing. He curses, not for the first or last time, that he’s human and can’t feel out if the guy is fae.

It’s a Friends Only. The odds aren’t in Jimin’s favor.

“Like what you see?” the man asks. His tone is smug, obnoxious.

Jimin scoffs, but almost chokes as the man turns his head to face Jimin. His eyes glint silver and as he smiles, it’s a little too wide. Like someone was trying to create a human but didn’t quite know what one looked like, just this side of creepy as fuck. Guess that answers the fae question.

“Not really my type, sorry,” Jimin grits out, turning to face firmly forward again, hoping for the battle to just start already.

“Ah, don’t judge a book by the cover, gorgeous,” the man says. “I’m sure I can be exactly what you like.”

“Seriously doubt it, so, no thanks,” Jimin says, refusing to move, to look at the man.

He doesn’t relax even as the man remains quiet. Then the MC is yelling into the mic.

“Hey, hey, hey, party people! You made it to the Only Friends! You ready to rumble?!” the woman shouts, cutting through the music on the speakers near the pit.

Jimin starts in surprise as he hears shouts and screams, realizing that at some point in the last few minutes the crowd must have filled in around him.

“Make some noise!” the MC shouts.

The screams and shouts grow louder. People around Jimin are stomping their feet, vibrating the dirt of the floor. Jimin joins them with a simple loud “whoop” and stomps his feet. He feels the thrill sing in his veins.

“Alright, alright! First up, we have two competitors who have battled in the pit before! Please welcome K-K-K-KilllerKraft aaand YoFlow!”

The lights flash in brightly strobing rainbows as the crowd thrums in excitement. Jimin feels bodies press in around him. People manage to stay fairly respectful, even if they are hoping to get that much closer to the action, but he notices the man that had been poorly hitting on him earlier is definitely taking advantage of the proximity. He can feel like sides bump into one another, even if the man is keeping himself facing the pit.

Two men come out to the pit to more shouting and screaming from the crowd. Jimin does his best to ignore the constant presses at his side, watching the pit. He’s seen YoFlow perform before, not having been particularly impressed with his flow, despite the choice of stage names. KillerKraft is a new name for Jimin, so he waits to see what he’s got to offer.

The two men in the pit turn to face one another, each holding a mic in their hands. They are both posturing, making gestures and moving in circles confidently around the pit. Neither seem to remember there is an audience at all, both focused on the other.

Jimin sighs. He’s been to enough battles that he knows this is going to be a boring one. The two men are way too focused on dick measuring instead of performing. Sure enough, as soon as the music dropped signalling the start of the battle, the beat and flow changing, the crowd falling silent in anticipation, YoFlow jumps into lyrics about how many women he fucked this week. Boring. And also lies, Jimin thinks, looking YoFlow over. There is no way he’s getting women to give him a second look with that attitude.

KillerKraft is marginally better. The bar is low though, so that’s not really saying much. At least he manages to use some metaphor as he plays off some of YoFlow’s lyrics. Boring.

That’s when Jimin feels the creeping sensation at the back of his neck. At first he thinks it’s just in his head. He gets like that sometimes. So anxious he starts seeing or feeling things. But it doesn’t stop. Then the weight of the man who had lodged himself without permission against his side moves, so he’s half behind Jimin, pressing into his back. This forces his chest to dig uncomfortably into the wood in front of him. Panic wells up inside of Jimin. He has a half-fleeting thought that this behavior is very on theme .

“Fucking get off me,” he says, or tries to. It comes out as more of a wheeze between the panic gripping his throat and the pressure of the wooden beam on his lungs.

He can feel a hot breath on his neck as the man leans in to speak into his ear. “Just relax, gorgeous. I promise I’ll take good care of you tonight.”

And Jimin can feel it. The words are laced with symbols, infused with whatever fae magic this guy is channeling. The panic rises and rises, his heart pounding, throat closing.

“St-st-stop it,” he pants out. He briefly thinks of trying to thrust his elbow backwards, maybe get the guy to step back so he can get away, but his arms are sluggish and awkwardly trapped up by his chest on the wooden fence beam.

“Or what,” the man breathes. “What are you going to do, human?”

Tears prick his eyes as he feels his body involuntarily relaxing everywhere the man is touching, the spell taking effect. Everything feels heavy and it takes all his willpower to keep from sinking backwards into the man completely. A tear rolls down his cheek as he hears the man’s pleased, “That’s it, gorgeous. Just relax. I’ll make you feel good.”

Fucking Friends Only. Fucking magic. Fucking fae. He’s going to kill Hoseok for bringing him here. He’s going to hate himself forever for letting himself come here. The scream that’s building, building, building in his throat chokes him, having nowhere to go, no escape.

~

Yoongi shrugs his shoulders to loosen them up under his leather jacket. He jumps a bit in place, getting blood flowing. He’d been half-listening to the first battle and he’s a bit disappointed at the competition. He could really use a real challenge. He thinks he should have worked harder to get Namjoon to sign up. Then maybe he’d feel a lick of anxiety right now. He runs his hand through his jaw-length hair.

“Okay, give a big round of applause for KillerKraft, winner of our first battle!” the MC shouts through the mic. “And let’s make some noise to encourage YoFlow! Better luck next time!”

Yoongi scoffs. Fucking Friends Only. Ridiculous. Why not just give everyone gold stars? Participation trophies?

“And nowwwwww!!” the MC continues. “We have a special treat, folks! A legend walks among us! Make some noise for our one and only, Agust D!”

With one swift inhale and one long exhale, Yoongi becomes Agust D and walks out into the pit. The crowd is so loud the ground shakes. Yoongi can never get used to it—the enthrallment, not spelled, that takes over the crowd whenever he’s on stage. Agust D, however, soaks that shit up. It keeps his heart beating.

With cold eyes and subtle movements, he steps around the pit, facing his opponent. This KillerKraft is new on the circuit, a kid. Agust D can see through all the bravado, immediately spots every single weakness, and gets ready to strike.

Agust D smirks as KillerKraft opens his rap keeping with the motif of the last battle—sexual conquests and prowess. Child’s play. The kid falters at Agust D’s smirk, knows he’s waded too deep, he’s out of the kiddy pool without his floaties.

The beat shifts, changes, and the MC shouts “Agust D!”

The crowd is screaming before Agust D even has the mic up to his lips. His eyes glint steel, boring a hole into the kid in front of him.

“Hey you, thinking you’re a contender,

Spending all your time begging women to look your direction

While I’ve got men and women burning for me

Simply from my tongue technology

Go back to school kid, Get your grades up kid

Watch me a while, Study this flow here

While I’ve got men and women burning for me

Simply from my tongue technology”

Agust D turns from the kid then, who is pale and clearly knows he’s beat, and looks out to the audience. The crowd is screaming and jumping, losing their minds as Agust D keeps rapping. He walks along the edge of the pit, occasionally reaching a hand out, letting people from the crowd brush his palm. Every single person is in the zone with him, flowing along with his cadence, like one organism writhing with life.

All except one person. Agust D, wraps up his last stanza and the MC is shouting about his victory as he comes up to a section of the wooden fence where a man—beautiful, ethereal—is leaned chest against the wood, knuckles white as fingers grip the top of the beam. A tear track on his cheek, streaked black with his makeup, is shocking against his skin. Aside from the tension in his hands, his body seems relaxed. A large man—sylph by the looks of him—is standing directly behind, towering over the angelic man. At a glance it might look like they are just leaning into one another enjoying the show. But Agust D, following the tension in the shorter man’s hands juxtaposed with his body being propped up by the larger man, not to mention the tear, is setting off all kinds of alarms.

So, instead of going back to the center of the pit to accept his victory in the battle, he continues walking until he’s directly in front of the pair, only separated by the wooden fence. He watches the man’s wide teary eyes follow him as he approaches.

“Is this guy bothering you?” Agust D asks the shorter man, not even bothering to look in the taller man’s direction.

He doesn’t need a verbal response. The large eyes, brimming with more tears are enough to tell him all he needs to know.

“Okay,” Agust D says. He flicks his eyes up to the taller man who is staring down at him looking enraged. “I suggest you back the fuck off now.”

“Fuck you, I found him first,” the man spits out.

Possibly, maybe, in this moment, if Yoongi were Yoongi, this would go down a bit differently. But Agust D is at the mic. The mic that he lifts to his face. The face that is smirking, fire burning in his eyes. The man looks back confidently, smiling too widely, challenging the rapper.

So Agust D accepts the challenge.

“Everyone! We having a good night?” Agust D asks.

The crowd screams.

“I can’t hear you,” Agust D says calmly into the mic.

The crowd writhes, pushing forward as feet stomp and voices pitch higher.

“Everyone, make some fucking noise!” Agust D growls, elongating all the vowels as he speaks.

The crowd screams so loudly, his ears go fuzzy and he feels the shock in his skull. 

After the crowd settles down a little, waiting for Agust D’s next words, he speaks again. “Friends Only is a great place, don’t you think?”

Screams of agreement ring out.

“Well, we have a problem here at tonight’s Friends Only, everyone,” Agust D says, eyes locking with the taller man who is now gripping tightly at the shorter man’s upper arms. That’s going to leave bruises. Agust D sees red. “Someone has used their magic on one of our Friends without their consent, everyone. You and I both know that ruins the fun for everyone. Isn’t that right?”

There are gasps and angry cries in the crowd now as people start to catch on to what Agust D is saying.

“What do we do to people who use magic on a Friend without consent, everyone?”

The crowd responds immediately in a unified voice, “Life ban! Life ban! Life ban!”

“That’s right. Life ban. So I suggest you get fucking lost, asshole,” Agust D keeps his piercing gaze on the taller man. “I know your face. You fucked up at a Friends Only. Consider this Friendship canceled. Get the fuck out.”

The crowd keeps chanting “Life ban!” as the man—finally—steps away from the shorter man, who collapses against the fence, barely holding himself up. The taller man, anger still clear as day on his face, storms through the crowd, cursing as he goes.

Agust D turns to the MC, shouts “catch” a moment before throwing the mic at them, and then is launching himself over the wooden fence in the blink of an eye. When he lands in the dirt on the other side, Agust D melts away and Yoongi is left reaching out for the man who is sliding down to the floor, unable to hold himself up any longer.

“Hey, hey, there we go,” Yoongi murmurs as he slides down next to the other man, catching him under his arm before he completely hits the floor. Yoongi helps him all the way down so his back is propped up against the fence, still holding him up with one arm.

“Can you speak?” Yoongi asks, watching the man’s face carefully.

The man’s throat convulses several times as he swallows, clearly trying to get control back of his body.

“Can I– fuck,” Yoongi says as he watches the man’s eyes fill with tears again. “Can I ask permission to summon a release spell? It won’t do anything but undo some of that asshole’s summons.”

The man is trembling slightly, his eyes are wide, tears flowing down his cheeks again, but—almost imperceptibly—he nods.

Yoongi nods in return and then closes his eyes. In general, he doesn’t spell much, at least not this way. His music is a kind of magic, too, but takes none of the effort that summoning spells does. He imagines the symbols for release and freedom. He wants to add one for peace or safety but knows that would be a step too far, so he leaves it. With a soft hum on his lips, he pulls at the magic and it pulses through his own arm where he’s holding onto the man.

The man pulls in a loud gasp, gulping at air, and a full-fledged panic attack crashes over him. Yoongi adjusts himself so the man is leaning more firmly against the fence post, so that Yoongi can get eye-to-eye with the man.

“Hey, Friend, can you hear me?” Yoongi asks.

The man’s breathing is so rapid, Yoongi is afraid he’s going to pass out. He’s shivering too, which Yoongi frowns at. The man’s tight tee and leggings not helping him be warm or comfortable. Yoongi shrugs himself out of his leather jacket and pulls the man forward enough to get the jacket around his shoulders. Then he settles the man back against the fence post and watches as he gasps for air.

“Listen to my voice, Friend,” Yoongi continues. “Follow my breathing. In– and out– that’s right.”

He doesn’t know how long they sit there, the man’s breathing finally, finally regulating.

“There we go,” Yoongi says. “What’s your name?”

“Jimin. Park Jimin,” the man says. He wipes aggressively at his cheeks with his hands and then gasps at his hands as they come back black from the makeup. Almost to himself, as he wipes the makeup stains onto his pants, he mutters, “Fuck. I fucking hate Friends Only.”

“I’m Yoongi. Min Yoongi,” Yoongi says after a moment. “Is there someone we can call?”

Jimin laughs. It’s a bit pitched, a bit hysterical. Yoongi doesn’t blame him. Jimin pushes himself up, making to stand instead of continuing to sit on the dirt floor. Yoongi hovers but doesn’t touch him. Jimin leans himself against the pole, now standing mostly upright, shrugging Yoongi’s leather jacket around himself.

“I know who you are. You’re literally a famous rapper,” Jimin says, voice as pitched and hysterical as his laugh. In a different context he might sound cheeky or mocking in a friendly way. But here, in this tucked away corner of the warehouse, he sounds lost, terrified.

“Do you have someone you can call?” Yoongi asks again. He wants to reach out with a hand and hold Jimin in some way, to help him, but he knows more unprovoked, unconsented touch right now will not be helpful.

“Yeah. I-” Jimin starts, but is cut off by another voice shrieking his name.

Yoongi watches as V comes barreling towards them across the floor, the crowd that had formed around the pit completely dissipated now that the entertainment is over.

“Jimin?! Jimin! What the fuck happened?”

~

Jimin feels the breath get knocked out of him all over again as a body engulfs him in a full body hug. His back presses up against the fence once more, but instead of anxious, he feels safe and protected.

“Taehyung,” he breathes into the other man’s neck. “I didn’t know you were here tonight.”

Taehyung pulls back and looks at Jimin’s face. His hands come up to cup Jimin’s cheeks, thumbs wiping away some of the smeared makeup. Jimin melts into the gentle touches.

“What happened, Jimin-ah?” he asks.

“There was a guy– an asshole,” Jimin starts, but finds he can’t really come up with the right words. His eyes flit from Taehyung’s face to Yoongi’s, who is standing in the same place he had been before Taehyung’s arrival.

Taehyung follows the movement of Jimin’s eyes and turns to look at Yoongi. 

“Is this the asshole?” Taehyung asks, his face the perfect picture of confusion.

“No! No! He– he helped me,” Jimin says quickly.

“Do you two know each other?” Yoongi asks. He looks back and forth between the two, noting how Taehyung’s hands are still caressing Jimin’s cheeks.

“This is my soulmate! Jimin!” Taehyung says enthusiastically. 

Jimin watches as Yoongi furrows his brow for a moment and then a look of enlightenment blooms on his face. He smiles as he says, “Oh, you’re Park Jimin. I should have recognized your name. I’m sorry.”

Jimin blinks at Yoongi’s smile. He’s not sure he’s ever seen it. He’s been going to battles for the last couple of years, ever since Hoseok took him to one his first weekend after moving to Seoul. Of course, he realizes, he’s never really seen Yoongi before either. He’s only really seen Agust D. Agust D has a wicked, soul-crushing smirk, but never smiles. Which is hot as hell, but Jimin thinks he might actually find Yoongi’s sweet gum-filled smile more attractive.

“Wait,” Jimin says, jolting in an epiphany. He points a finger back and forth between the two men. “Do you know each other?”

“Yoongi is my hyung,” Taehyung says happily, as if that is enough explanation of anything. “But seriously, what happened?”

This time Taehyung glances back to Yoongi to see if he’ll fill in any of the details. Yoongi looks at Jimin with a question in his eyes. Jimin nods. “I– I don’t know if I want to talk about it right now. But you can tell him.” 

Yoongi nods before he looks at Taehyung. He says slowly, “Well, the short version is some asshole sylph spelled Jimin without his consent and I had to ban him.”

“What the fuck?” Taehyung screeches. Now he’s pulling Jimin back in front of him by the shoulders and inspecting him all over. “What did he do? What the fuck? This is a Friends Only . Oh, my goddess, and in front of you , hyung. What the fuck was he thinking?”

Jimin is jostled this way and that as Taehyung keeps on with his inspection. He’s starting to shake a bit again, at the memories of the spell that had seeped in his veins, unfortunately far too similar to the exhaustion left in the wake of his panic attack. A shiver runs up his spine and then he starts feeling a bit dizzy.

“V, look, I banned him, okay?” Yoongi is saying flatly.

“Should have fucked him up first, is what I’m saying, hyung,” Taehyung replies with a pout.

Yoongi laughs. Jimin watches him, even with his vision swimming a bit. Is this normal? Or is this residual effects of the spelling? Multiple spells, he remembers. His breath catches. Yoongi can summon. Fuck, Yoongi can summon.

“Are you okay, Jimin-ah?” Taehyung asks. His hands are back on Jimin’s cheeks, moving to feel his forehead. “You’re a little cold. Are you feeling ill?”

Then he glances at Yoongi, and says, “What did that asshole do?”

“I don’t know, I think it was just a standard immobility spell,” Yoongi says with a frown. He steps a bit closer to look at Jimin’s eyes. Jimin gulps in air as his lungs seize in fear. Yoongi stops and takes a step back again. “I’m not going to hurt you, Jimin-ssi.”

“Hyung is good, Jimin-ah,” Taehyung murmurs comfortingly. “He won’t hurt you.”

Jimin shakes his head. He’s not sure what he’s saying no to. It’s not that he thinks Yoongi will hurt him, per se. Shaking his head brings the dizziness back full force. He throws his arms out, flailing for something to hold onto before he falls over. Taehyung is there immediately, arm under his curled protectively around his back, keeping him upright.

“He’s really cold, hyung,” Jimin hears Taehyung say. “Jimin-ah? Who did you come with?”

“Ho-Hoseok hyung, Jungkook,” Jimin mutters out through gritted teeth, sure if he opens his mouth too widely he will throw up. “Uh, ‘m not, not feeling good.”

The room is well and truly spinning now. Jimin is pretty sure he says, “Wanna go home, Tae-ah,” right before everything goes black.

~

“What the fuck?” Hoseok says again. Yoongi’s lost count of the number of times the man has uttered the phrase in the last 10 minutes. Each time he’s put different emphasis on the words, perhaps stressing the parts that are most perplexing to him in the moment. He stares down at Jimin, sound asleep on the couch, as he says, again, “What the fuck ?”

“Did any of the cameras catch that guy? Any of the wards? We should be pressing charges,” Jungkook says, eyes flashing gold in the light. He’s tense, hands fists at his side. He’s on the far side of the room, as if he’s afraid his negative energy is going to somehow impact Jimin’s sleep. Of course, with Jungkook, that’s not an impossibility.

“Namjoon and Jin are talking to security right now,” Taehyung says. He’s sitting on the floor of the small room, leaning up against the couch, hand slowly carding through Jimin’s hair as he watches the man sleep. He had already cleaned Jimin’s face and hands free of makeup with a wet cloth early. Yoongi watches, mesmerized by the tender care exhibited by the normally no-nonsense, zero shits given V.

The room itself holds nothing but a filing cabinet, a table, both shoved against one wall gathering dust, and the couch. For the gathering tonight, it’s meant to be a rest area, and seems to be serving its purpose well at the moment. 

“What the fuck,” Hoseok growls, his hands yanking at his own short hair in frustration. “I brought him here thinking he’d be safe. He’s going to hate me.”

“He’s not going to hate you, hyung,” Jungkook murmurs. He seems to have deflated some of his anger. “Friends Only is supposed to be safe. We couldn’t have known.”

“How is it that all of you know him,” Yoongi says, waving towards the sleeping man, “and I’ve never met him.”

The other three men glance at each other and shrug in unison.

“Well, I’ve known him since university,” Taehyung says and looks at the other two men.

“And, as you might have guessed,” Hoseok says, “we dance together.”

Everyone glances at Jungkook who looks tense again. His jaw flexes as he says in a low tone, “I’m his Guardian.”

“Ah,” is all Yoongi says, glancing back at Jimin.

“I actually didn’t realize he and Tae were close until now,” Hoseok adds.

“Soulmates,” Taehyung corrects. He looks back down at Jimin and whispers, “Soulmates.”

Yoongi nods. He feels a bit like a creep watching Jimin sleep, so he looks up and around the room, occasionally accidentally making eye contact with the others as they all stand vigil forcing his eyes to pingpong all over the place. Nervously he quickly glances at Jimin again. Yoongi is feeling oddly protective of this man he just met. He doesn’t know his story, but Yoongi is finding he really wants to know it.

“I need to get back to the floor,” Taehyung says, reluctance clear in his tone. “You’ll stay with him?”

Yoongi is surprised that Taehyung is addressing him and not the other two men in the room—the men that are actually Jimin’s friends. Everyone is looking at him and he feels sick as he recognizes the looks on their faces. Reverence, respect, deference. All the foolishness he’d left behind when he walked away from the Seelie Court. He glances down at Jimin again and understands. They’re trusting him, Yoongi, to protect their friend.

“I, uh, yes,” Yoongi says after a long pause. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly through his teeth. “I’ll stay.”

With that, Taehyung nods and stands, dusting the dirt off his trousers. “Thank you, hyung. If there’s a lull, I’ll come check on you.”

“Let me go with you,” Hoseok says. “I want to see what Namjoon and Jin have found on the CCTV.”

Yoongi watches as both men walk out and then looks at Jungkook. “How’re you holding up, kid?”

The younger man, eyes still trained on the sleeping man on the couch, just shrugs. After a moment he says, “I’ve been better.”

Yoongi nods. He doesn’t know much about imugi guardian bonds, but considering how protective he himself is feeling for the human sleeping away on the couch completely unconscious to the turmoil going around in his friend group, he can’t imagine Jungkook is feeling great. Yoongi allows himself to ponder for a moment more what it is about this human that has everyone so whipped. Yoongi is broken out of his reverie as Jungkook shifts in his place on the far side of the room, moving his weight from foot to foot.

“Do– do you think something is wrong with him?” Jungkook asks in a small voice.

Yoongi looks at him carefully, noting the gold glint in his eyes and the way his fists are white-knuckled and tense at his side still. He answers him slowly, “I think he’s human and was put through a lot of stress. I got rid of all the casting on him, but I think his body still needs to recover from the effects.”

“But he will recover,” Jungkook says. It sounds like a statement, but there’s just enough tremor in his voice to make it sound uncertain.

“He will recover, Jungkook-ah,” Yoongi says. “He’ll be fine.”

They fall into a silent vigil after that, only the muffled thrum of the bass from the dance music can be heard through the walls, waiting for the others to come back with news or for Jimin to wake up. Yoongi finds his mind wandering, thinking through how the day had gone absolutely fucking sideways. He can’t entirely say he regrets it though.

“Cocky little shit probably didn’t even realize we use CCTV in this place,” Jin says. He and Namjoon returned less than an hour after they settled Jimin on the couch in the lounge.

“Cocky? Or an idiot?” Yoongi asks, eyebrow raised.

“Probably both, honestly,” Namjoon says. “We were able to pull multiple angles of his face before, during, and after the, uh, incident.”

“It’s already been sent around to those that need to know,” Jin says. “If he’s smart, he’ll have already fucked off back to the Dreaming or at least out of this city.”

“What are the chances we’ll get that lucky?” Yoongi grumbles. “You said it. Cocky and stupid. Not a winning combo.”

“He better hope he doesn’t run into me on the street,” Jungkook says darkly.

Yoongi eyes him warily. “Don’t do anything stupid, kid. You can’t Guard him if you’re banished back to the Dreaming.”

Jungkook gives a huff and crosses his arms across his chest.

“Let’s just hope we’ve seen the last of the sylph then,” Jin says, patting Yoongi on the shoulder.

~

The first thing Jimin is aware of is his pounding headache. His hands immediately go up to rub his temples to try to find some relief. He slowly tries to squint his eyes open, but the fluorescent lighting makes the pounding in his head worse. With a groan, he pushes himself upright, the world spinning for a moment as he tries to piece together how he got here.

“Woah, woah, not too fast,” Jimin hears a low, gravely voice say. 

“Drink this, hyung,” a much more familiar voice says and a bottle of water is floating in front of his face.

He gulps the whole bottle down greedily. He looks around the room again as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He’s half-laying, half-sitting on a dingy couch in what looks like a converted office or storeroom. Kneeling in front of him are Agust D— what the fuck —and Jungkook. Where Agust D’s face looks neutral, Jungkook’s is pinched with worry.

“How are you feeling, hyung?” Jungkook says, gently taking the empty water bottle and cap out of Jimin’s hands.

‘I– what happened?” Jimin finally asks, mind going a mile a minute trying to figure out how he got here. His memory is coming back in snapshots and the images he’s seeing are disconcerting to say the least.

“Do you remember the rap battle?” Jungkook asks. Jimin thought he’d looked worried a moment ago, but that was apparently just mild concern. The look on his face now is definitely worried.

“I– oh,” Jimin says as soon as he does remember the rap battle. “There was a handsy asshole that wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

Then the evening clicks into place. Jimin shuts his eyes as he says, “Oh, he used magic on me. He fucking magic-roofied me.”

Jungkook makes a small whimpering, broken sound in his throat. Jimin throws his eyes back open to see the tears welling up in Jungkook’s eyes. Without thinking he opens his arms and Jungkook falls into them.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there, hyung,” Jungkook says in a small voice. “The hyungs are making sure he can’t come back, won’t bother you again. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. Won’t leave you alone again.”

“Hush,” Jimin says, patting Jungkook’s back. The sadness in Jungkook’s voice is the most sobering of medicines. “It’s not your fault. It’s that magic-wielding fae’s fault. No one else’s. Besides, what could you have done anyway, huh? You know I’d rather see you safe.”

Jungkook nods from Jimin’s shoulder, his face buried in Jimin’s neck. The man still kneeling on the floor in front of the couch makes a small coughing noise that Jimin almost mistakes for a laugh.

Jimin’s eyes flick over to the man, Agust D—no, he’s Yoongi right now—still has a neutral expression on his face. His hair is pulled back in a half-ponytail. Jimin feels a needling sense of irritation in his chest at the sight of him. In entirely different circumstances, Jimin would find him attractive—like beyond attractive, really. But the fact is, they are in these circumstances and Jimin finds the pull to this man irritating at best.

“Why are you here, exactly?” Jimin asks.

“Your friends asked me to look out for you,” Yoongi says calmly.

Jungkook pushes himself up so that he’s sitting at Jimin’s knees, on the edge of the couch. Jimin keeps his eyes on Yoongi.

“Well,” Jimin continues shortly, waving his hand at himself dismissively, “as you can see, I am now fine. So, you can fuck off.”

“Hyung,” Jungkook whispers, sounding aghast.

“No, Jungkook, don’t,” Jimin says. He refuses to take his eye off the fae in front of him though. “Thank you, Yoongi-ssi, for stepping in and for helping my friends out. I am no longer in need of your services.”

Yoongi opens his mouth and then closes it again. Jimin narrows his eyes at him, challenging him to try arguing. Just as Yoongi opens his mouth again, the door to the room opens and Hoseok walks in with two other men. Jimin has to do a double-take to realize it’s Namjoon and his boyfriend.

“You’re awake!” Hoseok says cheerfully as he hurries over to Jimin’s side, nudging Yoongi out of the way. Yoongi nearly falls over, but catches himself and stands up, fading into the background of the group as everyone crowds around.

Jimin looks at everyone’s stricken faces and plasters a smile on his face and lies, “I’m fine. Everyone is so dramatic.”

“Jimin-ah,” Hoseok starts.

“No, no, you know what,” Jimin interrupts. “I am going to go dance. I’m here, aren’t I? I’m going to go dance, like I planned. Then I’m going to go home. Everyone is being so ridiculous.”

He pushes himself up off the couch in one movement and only feels a little bit dizzy. He hides it well, he thinks. Hoseok hovers at his elbow, but doesn’t intervene. Jungkook stands to be at his other side. With the two of them flanking him, he feels fairly confident.

“Jimin, are you sure? I can take you home,” Namjoon says.

“No, hyung, that’s okay,” Jimin says as he shakes his head. He’s incredibly impressed with himself at how stable he sounds. “I don’t want to ruin your night. I’ll be fine.”

“It’s no trouble,” Namjoon’s boyfriend says. Jimin feels a little bad that he can’t remember his name right now.

“No, hyung, I’m okay,” Jimin is even more impressed with himself now that he manages to sound exasperated.

Yoongi, who has edged back into the circle of men standing around Jimin, says softly, “I can stay with you or, well, not actually dancing, but I can keep an eye out.”

Jimin tenses to hide his shudder. “No, thank you, again, Yoongi-ssi. I’ve had quite enough of fae tonight, thank you.”

With that declaration he turns on his heel and walks to the door, confidently pulls it open, and steps back out into the warehouse.

~

Jungkook and Hoseok are quick on Jimin’s heels as he makes his dramatic exit from the rest room. Hoseok throws an apologetic smile over his shoulder before he’s shutting the door behind him. In the few seconds the door is open, the room seems to fill with music, but the silence after the door shuts is deafening.

“Does– does he not know you are all fae?” Yoongi says to no one in particular in the wake of Jimin’s departure.

“I guess not,” Jin says with a click of his tongue. 

Namjoon looks just as bewildered as the other two as he says, “I guess it never came up?”

Yoongi huffs out a laugh then, perhaps bordering on hysterical. He says faintly, “That’s– that’s maybe the most nonsensical encounter I’ve ever had in my life. And I fucking lived at Court for years. What the fuck.”

Neither Jin nor Namjoon seem to have a response to that other than for Jin to give Yoongi’s shoulder a comforting squeeze.

“Are you going to report that sylph to the Court, Joon-ah?” Yoongi asks. “He really shouldn’t be allowed to mingle with humans.”

“I do think he is a liability walking around Seoul,” Namjoon agrees.

“You know, Yoongi-chi,” Jin says. He kicks the heel of his right foot against the toes of his left, looking the picture of innocence, even as his voice sounds coy. “You could deliver the report yourself. It would have more weight coming from you.”

Yoongi scoffs. He clenches his jaw and takes a deep breath before he says, “You know fucking well that Namjoon’s voice has plenty of weight.”

“Well, just think about it,” Jin says.

Yoongi slowly nods his head in a way he knows can only be interpreted as sarcastic.

“Okay, well, this has been some kind of evening,” Yoongi says. “I’m gonna fuck off home now.”

He pats his side for his phone only to discover his pocket isn’t there, because he’s not wearing his leather jacket. Because Jimin is wearing it.

“Fuck,” he breathes out. Then he laughs again—breathy with an edge to it. Then he growls, “Fuck!”

The two men in front of him look understandably bewildered. Namjoon opens his mouth to ask, but Yoongi is already moving towards the door.

As Yoongi rips the door open, he yells back at the two wide-eyed men, “I gave my fucking jacket to the kid and the jacket has my phone in it!”

Yoongi decides to ignore Jin’s stage whisper, “how chivalrous” as he stalks out to the dance floor.

Following the thumping of the bass and skirting around the throng of people dancing in the warehouse, Yoongi finally spots Jimin dancing sandwiched in between Hoseok and Jungkook, who are each facing inward. There’s a fine cloud of dust from the dirt floor of the warehouse, creating a hazy scene. They are all moving their hips synchronously, arms draped across each other’s hips and shoulders. They all look hot and sweaty. Entirely too warm to be wearing Yoongi’s leather jacket, which Jimin still is. Jimin tilts his head back in a clear laugh, even though nothing can be heard above the din of the music.

Yoongi grits his teeth, eyes are trained on Jimin, as he feels a spark of heat ignite in his gut. He clicks his tongue in annoyance. Park Jimin is a menace. Whatever it is he and Jimin are doing right now, Yoongi knows he needs to come out on top or have the last word or whatever it is. He needs it. So, Yoongi decides to go find something to drink and wait the younger man out. Yoongi is nothing if not a patient man.

~

Jimin can see Yoongi watching him. Jimin hates it. He’s determined to ignore it. He carefully starts to move Yoongi out of his line of sight, slowly but surely navigating the trio in the opposite direction so that he doesn’t have to see him staring at him and feel heat from his gaze any longer. Every time he tries to move his trio of dancers around the dance floor, he still somehow catches Yoongi’s eyes on him, dark gaze piercing through his skin into his bones and nerves. Jimin’s skin crawls with the feeling of eyes on him. A part of him is angry about the fact that he likes it, likes that feeling. It makes him feel important, desired almost. But he quickly pushes the thought away, knowing it’s dangerous and alluring in equal measure. His frustration builds until he can’t take it anymore and can’t be held responsible for what he does next.

“Mother fucker, what is his problem?” Jimin growls out.

His two dance partners, clearly still on alert from earlier, whip their heads up to look at him, stopping right in the middle of the dance floor. Jungkook’s hands hover over Jimin, eyes scanning, as if checking for injuries.

“What is it? What happened?” Hoseok asks.

“He’s fucking watching me!” Jimin says, ignoring the ridiculous hysteria of his two friends.

“Who? Who is watching you?” Jungkook says quickly, whipping his head all around as if looking for some boogieman to come out of the dance floor.

“Min Fucking Yoongi,” Jimin grits out.

Much to Jimin’s annoyance, both his dance partners visibly deflate, tension leaving their bodies.

Jimin bites back his urge to scream in frustration and instead yells, “Why do you guys trust him? He can fucking cast! Why are you even friends with him? How are you even friends with him?”

Jungkook opens his mouth to respond when Hoseok cuts him off with a shake of his head. Instead, the older man wraps his hand around Jimin’s waist to steer him off the dance floor, Jungkook trailing behind them.

“Hyung,” Jimin says shortly, once they are away from the swaying mass of dancing bodies, towards the outer edge of the warehouse where it’s a little easier to hear one another.

“Jimin-ah,” Hoseok says sweetly. “Maybe we should call it a night, hm? It’s been a hard night, yeah?”

“Okay, I know that face,” Jimin says, eyes narrowing. “You’re lying to me. There’s something you’re not saying. What the hell is going on?”

Hoseok has the gall to look sheepish. His gaze stays low and he puts his hands in his pockets. Jimin glances at Jungkook who is also looking awkwardly down at his own boots, nervously twisting the ball of one foot into the dirt.

“Here you are!” a shrill voice calls out. Jimin looks to see Namjoon and his boyfriend approaching. Namjoon’s boyfriend—Jimin is feeling increasingly angry at himself for not remembering his name—is apparently the one that called out to them. “I thought you would have gone home after a few dances!”

“Hyung!” Hoseok says cheerfully, his smile heart-shaped, all remnants of sheepishness gone.

“We were just talking about taking off,” Jungkook says. He, Jimin thinks, at least has the decency to look a little wary and guilty.

“The fuck we were,” Jimin growls. “These two were about to explain to me the thing none of you are saying. Why do you trust Min Yoongi? Why are you friends with him?”

“Why are we friends with Min Yoongi?” Namjoon’s boyfriend blinks.

Jimin crosses his arms across his chest to keep himself from exploding. “Yes, why do you all hang out with a fae?”

“I really think we should head home,” Hoseok tries again. But, at the same time, Namjoon, still trying to understand Jimin’s question, speaks over the top of him.

“I don’t understand why we wouldn’t know Yoongi hyung. We all know each other from Court.” Namjoon says. He turns to confirm this with the others as Jimin stares at him, Namjoon’s words sinking into Jimin’s skull.

Jimin thinks everyone starts screaming at Namjoon, but he’s not sure. His ears go fuzzy with white noise and it feels like someone pulled the bottom out from the floor. He frowns at his group of friends, all bickering and gesticulating at one another.

“I’m sorry,” Jimin says in a neutral voice. “I’m sorry, I thought I heard you say– did you just say you’re fae?”

With a mind that has gone amazingly blank, he waves his hand around the group of four to accentuate his point. “All of you are fae?”

The silence is telling. Jimin doesn’t even have the courage to look at their faces. He swallows thickly. “Is anyone else fae around here that hasn’t bothered to tell me?”

“Taehyung,” Namjoon supplies, with Hoseok body slamming him a half a second later.

“Taehyung,” Jimin repeats blankly. “My Taehyung?”

Again, silence falls across the group.

Jimin is sure the music is still playing. The party goes on. But none of that matters. He doesn’t hear any of it. All he hears is static. Jimin’s eyes burn like embers with tears he absolutely refuses to shed. He feels betrayal like ice in his veins. Jimin can’t move. His limbs feel heavy, like lead, and his head is spinning. He feels like he’s in a dream. But this isn’t a dream. He reels trying to get some semblance of control back, feeling a little like he’s going mad.

He takes a few deep, shuddering breaths as he tries to grapple with the revelation that everyone around him is fae, putting pieces together of his memories, trying to find the place where he missed this key detail. His heart is pounding in his chest, and he can’t seem to shake off the feeling like he’s been the butt of some sick cosmic joke.

“Was there going to be a point in time when any of you thought to, I don’t know, tell me about this?” Jimin asks calmly.

He watches as the four men in front of him glance at each other. Anger flares up inside him, hot and fierce. He scoffs, an embittered smirk plastered on his face, and he rolls his eyes. He feels the anger build until he’s sure the lava inside him is visible even to those standing guiltily in front of him.

“Fuck this,” Jimin hisses. He’s spent the last several years apparently good friends with fae—a lot of fae. He looks at Jungkook, who he’s known forever, and feels his heart crack in his chest. He watches as a tear slides down Jungkook’s cheek. Jimin thinks he should feel bad, and maybe he will later, but right now he feels like all the people in front of him have just confirmed his suspicions—fae manipulate and spell to get what they want.

“Hyung, I can explain,” Jungkook’s broken voice is muffled by the static still echoing in Jimin’s ears. Jimin just numbly shakes his head.

Jimin realizes he’s been unknowingly playing with fire his whole life, a fire he grew up fearing, and his rage turns to impulsiveness. His mind whirring with ways he can take back control of this, of his life, of who he spends time with. At that moment he feels like there has only been one person this evening who has been honest with him. So, without another word to the speechless men— fae —in front of him, he turns on his heel, knowing exactly where the man is standing against the warehouse wall, still feeling his gaze burn holes into his skin, like a beacon.

Jimin can hear the surprised shouts and protests from his friends but he ignores them and stalks over to the man standing, one hand holding two water bottles, the other hand in his jeans pocket, t-shirt just tight enough to allow Jimin’s imagination to fill in the details of his chest and abs, permed hair still up in a half-ponytail, loose hairs framing his face beautifully. He’s so beautiful.

Jimin confidently strides towards the fae and watches as the barest flicker of confusion crosses the other’s face before he retrains the neutral gaze on Jimin. Without another thought he steps right into Yoongi’s space, chest to chest, gripping his shoulders, and pulls him into a desperate, bruising kiss.

For a moment, Yoongi is too stunned to respond, but soon he gives in to Jimin’s kiss. It’s hot and needy, the kind of kiss that tells Jimin Yoongi wants this as much as Jimin does. Jimin feels his heart pound faster as Yoongi leans into him, and he can practically feel the heat radiating off of the other man’s body. Jimin’s own impulsiveness terrifies him, but not enough to stop.

When they finally break apart, Jimin looks up at Yoongi looking for signs of regret or anger, but sees none. He closes his eyes for a moment, leaning his forehead against the fae’s, savoring the feeling of closeness, with their hot, panting breaths intermingling.

Then, without speaking, Jimin leans in again for another kiss. It’s rough and demanding, all tongue and teeth as they claim each other’s mouth. Jimin moans into the kiss, his entire body melting against Yoongi’s. As they kiss, Jimin can feel one of Yoongi’s hands slowly inching up his shirt, teasing the skin underneath, pressing around his waist. He gasps at the touch, his skin erupting into goosebumps, craving more. Their kisses become more feverish, more passionate, until Jimin feels like he can hardly breathe. All he can feel is heat and fire.

They pull apart once more to catch their breaths, they lean into one another, still panting. Hands still gripping at one another, the water bottles Yoongi had been holding forgotten at their feet.

“Fuck,” Yoongi groans, hot breath rustling in Jimin’s ear.

After a few moments of heavy breathing, Jimin asks coyly through his panting, “Why are you watching me, Min Yoongi-ssi?”

“You’re wearing my jacket, Park Jimin-ssi,” the fae responds without missing a beat. He gives out a short, labored laugh. “With my phone. In the pocket. I couldn’t call a cab.”

As if to prove his point, Yoongi slowly moves his hand out from under Jimin’s shirt and reaches into the jacket pocket, pulling out a silver phone. He waves it in between their chests before sliding it into his own jeans’ back pocket.

Jimin, still breathing heavily, huffs out a long laugh. Then his smile drops and he leans further into Yoongi’s ear, his fingers digging into Yoongi’s shoulders, and says softly, “Use that phone, hyung, and take me home.”

~

Yoongi is pretty sure the higher functioning parts of his brain shut off minutes ago when Park Jimin started kissing him. Now all he seems capable of is feeling the burning on his skin as one of Jimin’s hands trails up from his shoulder to the nape of his neck, fingers tangling with his nearly-shoulder-length hair there. Every hot spot along his body igniting where Jimin is pinning him against the wall, panting into his ear, his wet, hot breath sending shivers down Yoongi’s spine.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind there is a niggling sensation of something forgotten, but Yoongi could not care less. That is, until he realizes Jimin has his eyes trained on him, waiting for a response to something. Did Jimin ask him a question?

Yoongi’s eyes move slowly from Jimin’s kiss-swollen lips to his eyes. Jimin raises his eyebrows expectantly. Yoongi manages to breathe out a quiet, “Oh.”

Then he ducks down and grabs the water bottles from the floor. He opens one and hands it to Jimin, who takes it with a confused look on his face. Then he opens the second one and chugs it in one go. Glancing at Jimin, he sees the younger man watching him drink. Then Jimin takes a tentative sip of his own water.

When Yoongi is done with his water, he pulls out his phone and opens the taxi app, ordering a taxi for a few blocks away.

“Drink up,” Yoongi says, gesturing at Jimin’s water bottle, before slipping his phone back into his back pocket. “Cab’ll be here in 10 minutes.”

Jimin gives a small nod and it’s Yoongi’s turn to watch as the other drinks down the water in huge gulps. Once Jimin finishes, Yoongi takes the bottle from him and grabs Jimin’s hand with his free one. Pulling him along, around the edge of the dance floor, he only pauses once to throw the empty bottles in his left hand into the large bin.

The air is cool as they step through the warehouse door into the night. Yoongi leads them to a small alleyway, away from the noise and lights of the party. Jimin follows obediently, fingers laced tightly with the fae’s. It’s quiet here, only the occasional siren can be heard in the distance. Through the alley, they step onto another block, still within industrial buildings, but the street is better lit.

They come to a stop at a street corner, where Yoongi had told the taxi to pick them up. He leans in and presses his lips lightly to Jimin’s temple.

“Are you cold?” he asks quietly.

Jimin shakes his head, but leans into Yoongi a little further, and Yoongi takes that as an invitation to wrap an arm around Jimin’s waist, pulling him close to his side.

“Is this okay?” Jimin asks.

Yoongi blows out a puff of air before he says, “Shouldn’t I be asking that?”

Jimin laughs, the sound ringing out through the still night air.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been kissed like that before,” he admits, his cheeks flaming. Yoongi feels like his insides are melting.

Instead of screaming like he wants to, Yoongi smiles, his fingers digging a bit into the soft part of Jimin’s waist where his hand is resting under the leather jacket.

“Likewise,” Yoongi says softly, before leaning in again to kiss Jimin once more.

They stand there for a long moment, wrapped up in each other’s arms and lips, until the sound of a car approaching breaks them apart. Yoongi pulls away, his hand reluctantly slipping from Jimin’s waist.

Yoongi steps up to the backdoor of the cab and pauses before he opens it. He turns to Jimin and asks, “Just for the sake of clear communication, when you asked me to take you home, did you mean for me to be a perfect gentleman and drop you off at your home? Or did you mean for me to be less-than-gentlemanly and bring you to my home?”

Jimin blinks at him and then bites his lower lip.

“And to be clear,” Yoongi says before Jimin can respond. “I am very in favor of option two. But can concede you’ve had a rough night and might just want to be alone in your own place.”

Time feels like it slows down as Yoongi watches Jimin’s face transform from a nervous pout to hold a full, toothy smile, eyes pressing into crescents. He didn’t think this plane of existence could contain a being so beautiful. Jimin reaches out and threads his fingers with Yoongi’s and says simply, “I don’t want you to be a gentleman.”

Yoongi nods slowly, processing the words, while Jimin takes a step back, allowing Yoongi to open the cab door. Jimin brushes past him, sliding onto the leather seat, keeping their fingers tangled together, gently pulling Yoongi to follow him into the backseat of the cab.

As soon as Yoongi gives his address to the driver, he half-expects Jimin to be all over him. Instead, Jimin shifts slightly and tilts his head to rest it on Yoongi’s shoulder. Yoongi feels a warmth spread through his chest as he glances down at Jimin, who is looking out his window at the city lights as they drive. The only sound in the car is the slight hum of the tires on the asphalt and Jimin’s breathing beside him. Yoongi finds himself looking over at his companion’s profile, admiring it from his peripheral vision. Looking back out the window of the car, Yoongi can detect the faint greys of pre-dawn light filtering over the city.

~

Jimin feels his apprehension grow as the car ride continues across the city. When the bigger skyscrapers and city buildings are in the rearview, he starts to wonder where exactly they are going. He regrets not paying more attention to the address Yoongi had given the driver. Was he about to be ax-murdered on the outskirts of Seoul? He realizes ever since showing up to the Friends Only, he’s been entirely too reckless. This might be coming back to bite him in the ass now.

The car slows as it pulls off a main thoroughfare into a winding cobblestone road meandering among older homes nestled into a hillside at the base of one of Seoul’s many mountains. The fading city lights give way to the twinkling stars as Jimin takes in the beauty around him. The early morning sky is a deep navy blue, the stars are pinpricks in the darkness, and the moon is a coy smile of white light.

Just as he’s about to ask where they are going, the car comes to a stop at the corner of a cluster of older homes. It’s a nice neighborhood. Quiet and tucked away.

After thanking the driver, Yoongi, who Jimin realizes is still holding his hand on his thigh, opens his door and pulls Jimin along behind him as he exits. He waits as Jimin unfolds himself through the door, before shutting the cab door behind him. Then without a word, he pulls Jimin along the small street towards more houses.

“Wait here first,” Yoongi whispers. He puts his free hand on Jimin’s shoulder and turns him gently, positioning him so he’s looking down the hill back towards the city.

The view is gorgeous, of course, but he’s not sure if he’s supposed to be seeing something in particular. So, he waits. His back is almost touching Yoongi’s back and he’s tempted to lean himself backwards into the fae. Instead he focuses on the feeling of heat filling the gap between their bodies and the warmth where their hands are still entwined, where Yoongi’s hand never left his shoulder.

Then, Jimin sees what they have been waiting for. As Jimin’s eyes are trained on the horizon, he catches a subtle change in the sky. He gasps softly as the hint of orange and pink paint the sky with delicate brushstrokes, illuminating the darkness. The hues blend together to create an otherworldly skyline, as if he is staring at a painting instead of a real view. He thinks Seoul has never looked more beautiful.

Yoongi leans forward into Jimin’s back, hooking his chin over Jimin’s shoulder, his hand still wrapped around Jimin’s. Both men stand in silence until it’s impossible to ignore the beauty of what they are witnessing—the sun’s rays slice through the darkness like a curtain of gold and silver being pulled aside to reveal a beautiful new day. The sky gradually lightens from deep colors to pastels.

With one last squeeze, Yoongi takes his hand from Jimin’s shoulder and pulls him towards the tall stone wall surrounding a house behind them.

If someone had asked Jimin yesterday what he thought Agust D’s dwelling place looks like, he would probably have said an upscale, modern apartment—maybe in Hannam the Hill or somewhere equally swanky. Definitely something Jimin would never dream of being able to afford on his measly dance choreographer’s salary.

Needless to say, the hanok in front of him, only visible once Yoongi pushes a metal door in a stone wall back, is not at all what he pictured. The outside of the building, while clearly clean and well kept, makes him feel like he’s been transported back in time. To get to the hanok, they first step through a traditional wooden moon gate, just inside the metal doorway. They are greeted by the sight of a stunning madang, a courtyard bordered by the wooden framework of the main house, which stands as a protective guardian of this sacred space.

Jimin takes in the scene with wide eyes, struck by an immense sense of calm that he hadn’t expected. He feels Yoongi’s presence behind him and for a moment, the two stand in complete stillness.

The surface underfoot is composed of carefully laid stone tiles, creating a smooth and even pathway leading from the moon gate to the heart of the madang. Along the edges of the path, patches of soft green moss, almost glowing in the dawn light, create a harmonious contrast against the sturdy stone. At the center of the madang is a small pond with a small leafless tree bending gracefully over the water. There is a fountain bubbling quietly, creating a tranquil atmosphere in the whole courtyard.

As they slowly walk further into the courtyard, Jimin trails his eyes across the potted plants and delicate stonework up to the hanok buildings. The house itself is a clean light grey—almost white—with dark hefty timber beams as the frame. The gently sloping roof is made of dark grey tiles, accentuated by the same dark wooden beams at the eaves.

Yoongi leads Jimin down the pathway to a door to the left of the hanok. He slides it open and they toe their shoes off at the step. The doorway leads them into an updated kitchen area. The kitchen is modern enough, with an island and state-of-the-art appliances, but still possesses touches of history, like the wooden beams supporting the ceiling.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Yoongi asks, going towards what looks like a mini-fridge built under the island counter.

“Holy shit, hyung,” Jimin finally manages to get out. “Does having a magic fairytale hanok come with being a fae?”

Yoongi barks out a laugh as he pulls out glass bottles of sparkling water from the fridge.

“I’m serious!” Jimin pouts. “I figured you probably had money, but what the fuck?”

Yoongi shrugs with a lop-sided smile, handing Jimin one of the bottles of water, and says, “What can I say? I like beautiful things?”

Jimin nods, taking a sip of his water, nose wrinkling at the bubbles. He says, “It is beautiful. Definitely beats my little studio apartment.”

For a few minutes, they fall into a silence, drinking their water. Jimin plays mindlessly with the paper label on his bottle. His eyes dart up to look at Yoongi’s face and he’s startled to see the fae is already looking at him. Jimin swallows and feels his face heating as the look Yoongi gives him sets him on fire.

Slowly, painfully slowly, Yoongi takes a step closer. His eyes don’t leave Jimin’s for a moment. Jimin’s heart races and he feels a shiver run down his spine at the intensity of Yoongi’s gaze. They move closer to each other, until they’re standing just a breath apart. Jimin is so tense with anticipation, he thinks he’s going to rip apart. His eyes focus on Yoongi’s lips and it takes him a moment to realize the fae is asking him a question.

“Do you want to see the rest of the house?” Yoongi asks.

Jimin blinks, then wrenches his eyes away from Yoongi’s lips to his eyes. “Show me the bedroom?”

Yoongi’s lips twitch into a small smile, as if he’s amused by Jimin’s straightforwardness. The next thing Jimin knows, his hand is engulfed by Yoongi’s and he’s being pulled down the open walkway of the hanok that connects each of the rooms until they come to another sliding door.

Yoongi doesn’t waste time opening it and pulling Jimin inside. The natural light, still dim with sunrise, filters through white billowy curtains allowing Jimin to see that the bedroom is just as stunning as the rest of the hanok. In the center of the room, against the back wall, is a raised platform holding a luxurious looking yo mattress. On either side of it are delicate wooden bedside tables with sleek lamps. Everything is creams and greys and accented with dark wood.

Yoongi closes the door and steps towards Jimin until they’re standing a breath apart. Jimin can feel the warmth radiating from Yoongi’s body and he swallows, trying to fight against the urge to close the distance between them. He thinks he might want to just drown himself in Yoongi. Why is he resisting? He doesn’t quite remember.

“Is this okay?” Yoongi asks as he reaches out a hand to cup Jimin’s face.

Jimin hums and nods faintly, leaning into Yoongi’s palm. He closes his eyes and just feels everything. His skin is on fire. Everywhere. He’s in flames. He holds onto some kind of restraint for only a moment longer and then he lets himself fall.

*~*

Yoongi feels Jimin’s lips on his before he even realizes what’s happening. He forgets everything except the way Jimin’s hands feel in his hair, the way their mouths fit together. He gasps into Jimin’s mouth, deepening the kiss, and pulls him closer until there’s no space left between them. Jimin moans softly as he melts into Yoongi, his hands sliding down from Yoongi’s hair to grip onto his hips. Yoongi’s body is on fire and all he wants is more, more, more.

They pull away from each other only for a moment, long enough for Jimin to shrug himself out of Yoongi’s leather jacket. It hits the floor with a soft ‘thunk,’ making Yoongi realize how quiet the room is. He thinks maybe they should stop, should slow down. However, Jimin doesn’t seem to have such reservations, leaning right back into the fae’s space as soon as the jacket is off.

“Hyung,” Jimin whispers into Yoongi’s ear.

Yoongi hums, not wanting to stop as he kisses across Jimin’s cheek down to his jawline.

“I need you closer.”

Yoongi feels his breath hitch as Jimin takes his turn and trails hot, wet kisses down the column of Yoongi’s neck. Almost without thought, Yoongi’s hands are sliding up under Jimin’s shirt, pressing into the soft skin of his torso. Then Jimin is pushing or pulling—Yoongi can’t tell—him back towards the bed, never breaking their kiss until they’re both tumbling down onto the luxurious mattress in a tangle of limbs.

Yoongi is pushed onto his back and Jimin straddles him, rocking his hips just enough to have Yoongi gasping and cursing under his breath. Yoongi’s hands grab at the hem of Jimin’s shirt, pushing up until he’s revealing more and more honey colored skin, then sitting up to reach Jimin’s shoulders, and then Jimin is helping him get it over his head. Without pause, Jimin is pulling Yoongi’s tee off before Yoongi falls back into the mattress again with a groan. Jimin follows him down until he’s pressed against him, chest to chest, kissing Yoongi’s face, neck, collarbones.

“Jimin-ah,” Yoongi breathes out, “Fuck.”

Then Jimin is back with his lips on Yoongi’s. He’s moving slower now, less fiery desperation, more savoring each touch that adds to the arousal pooling in Yoongi’s gut and threatening to explode out of every cell in his body. Jimin is toying with him, edging him with slow rocks of his hips, the fabric of their pants almost painful between them. Yoongi thinks he’s going to combust.

“Jimin-ah,” Yoongi says again between kisses.

Jimin hums in question, but doesn’t stop kissing another trail down Yoongi’s neck. He stops occasionally to nip at the sensitive skin or run his tongue over a spot. Yoongi isn’t sure when, but at some point his eyes shut and all his senses dedicate themselves to feeling the fire burning every place Jimin touches.

Then Jimin’s hips are still, but his hands are everywhere moving up and down Yoongi’s torso reverently, as if he’s touching something precious. Each caress is tantalizing yet gentle, as if Jimin is trying to commit the feel of Yoongi’s body to memory.

Yoongi reaches up to cup Jimin’s face and pulls him in for the most tender kiss they’ve shared so far. When he finally pulls away just enough that their breaths linger together in reverie.

“Tell me you want this,” Jimin whispers.

Yoongi is pretty sure the air has been sucked out of the room, but he manages to whisper back, “I want this.”

Jimin smiles against his lips as he ducks in for another kiss. Then he pulls back a fraction, watching Yoongi’s face and running a hand through Yoongi’s hair.

“Tell me you want me ,” Yoongi whispers, his lungs feeling constricted. He does not know where this vulnerability and insecurity is coming from, but he can’t stop it spilling out of him.

Jimin pulls back far enough to look into Yoongi’s eyes and says with a soft smile, “I want you , hyung.”

“Oh,” Yoongi says into a long exhale, the tightness in his chest reigniting the fire the tenderness had dampened.

“Tell me you want me, hyung,” Jimin echoes. “Without magic or spells.”

Yoongi’s hands tighten on Jimin’s hips where they had been resting. “I want you, Jimin-ah. I promise I will never use magic without your consent. I promise I can make you feel so good, you’ll never want another partner without a single symbol or spell.”

It’s Jimin’s turn to let out a long exhale and sigh, “Oh.”

Jimin pulls back just enough for Yoongi to get a good look at his face and the fire in his eyes. His lips are parted slightly, breathing shallowly as he focuses on undoing Yoongi’s pants, biting his bottom lip in concentration.

Yoongi trails his fingers down Jimin’s arms, admiring the flex of his biceps as he works Yoongi’s pants’ zipper down. Then, Jimin is scooting back and pushing the fabric away and off Yoongi’s hips with a gentle pull and a whisper of noise that might be appreciation or something else altogether.

Yoongi reaches up to cup Jimin’s face in both hands again and pulls him into another kiss. This one is slow and deep like they have all the time in the world, exploring each other with their tongues.

Jimin hums softly into Yoongi’s mouth before breaking away for a few seconds to whisper against his lips, “Hyung,” then sinking back into another kiss until their noses brush gently against each other when they part again.

Then Yoongi reaches for Jimin’s pants and helps him rid himself of them, the tight pants taking a bit of work to get off. They giggle at a first failed attempt before they finally join the floor with the rest of the forgotten clothes.

Once they are both naked, Yoongi pushes Jimin back into the mattress and takes a moment to appreciate the man in front of him. Then he trails kisses down Jimin’s neck and chest continuing lower still until he reaches Jimin’s waist. He pauses only for a moment before continuing to work his skin with his lips, tongue, and teeth, paying special attention to his hip bones before moving down to Jimin’s inner thighs. As soon as Yoongi’s hot breath ghosts across the sensitive skin of Jimin’s cock, Jimin bucks up with a gasp at the contact, arching his back in response while Yoongi moves even lower and starts tracing circles around the base of Jimin’s shaft with his tongue already swollen with its own want for attention.

Jimin lets out a low moan as Yoongi sucks gently on the tip, sending sparks of pleasure radiating through him from head to toe. Jimin’s hips buck involuntarily as he tangles one hand in Yoongi’s hair while running circles on pale skin with the other as Yoongi continues to work him slowly and deliberately.

“Fuck,” Jimin curses as Yoongi starts bobbing up and down on him.

“Fuck... hyung,” Jimin says again, voice cracking as Yoongi twists his way up the length and then back down with a wet sound. Jimin’s hips jerk and he groans. Yoongi’s tongue moves all around him as he sucks down Jimin’s entire length. Jimin groans, throwing his head back against the pillows.

“Hyung,” Jimin gasps, voice strained, as Yoongi sinks back down and starts bobbing up and down faster.

Jimin’s body shakes with pleasure as Yoongi tightens his grip on Jimin’s waist, bringing him in deeper. A moment later, he comes with a muffled cry into the sheets, covering Yoongi’s hand where it’s wrapped around him, pressed into the aftershocks of orgasm.

Yoongi slowly pulls himself up and collapses onto the bed beside Jimin. He drapes an arm over Jimin, pulling him closer and kissing his forehead tenderly. Jimin smiles blissfully before turning onto his side to face Yoongi.

Yoongi kisses Jimin softly on the lips before placing a slow gentle kiss just below his ear. His lips move down to Jimin’s neck and chest as his hands start tracing gentle circles along Jimin’s skin. Jimin melts into Yoongi’s touch, breathing heavily against him as Yoongi continues exploring every inch of him with both hands and lips, memorizing every curve and dip of skin.

When Yoongi feels Jimin’s skin begin to prickle in goosebumps against his touch he deepens the contact, twining one hand with Jimin’s and pulling their bodies together, very slowly, as their arousal begins to reignite. Jimin breathes out a whimper of sound and presses himself closer, nuzzling his face in the crook of Yoongi’s neck and shoulder.

“Hyung,” Jimin breathes out in what almost sounds like a whine.

“Hmm?” Yoongi hums, now kissing along Jimin’s collar bone.

“Please,” Jimin actually whines this time. “Hyung-”

Yoongi kisses Jimin’s mouth fully, breath mingling between them because really all he can think about is getting back inside of Jimin as soon as possible. But then he pulls away, slowly trailing kisses across Jimin’s cheek until he reaches his ear.

Yoongi kisses him one last time before pulling back again, taking a moment to reach over for the lube and condoms tucked into the nearest nightstand. He drops the condom on the mattress and snaps open the lube. He looks to Jimin’s face, waits until Jimin’s eager nods give him the signal to keep going.

Yoongi slicks up his fingers and reaches for Jimin, pressing in just barely. He pauses a moment, gazing down at Jimin to see if he’s still okay. Jimin simply nods but it becomes clear that he needs more as his hips begin to shift impatiently against the mattress. Yoongi presses in farther and Jimin gasps at the intrusion. Yoongi moves his other hand down to rest on Jimin’s hip, giving him something to hold onto while he eases his finger in slowly.

Jimin lets out a half-strangled moan as Yoongi presses his lips against Jimin’s. His tongue forages for the delicate sweet spots of Jimin’s mouth, sending sparks of pleasure running through his veins. Yoongi moves his hands over every inch of Jimin’s body, slowly readying him as their kiss deepens with each wave of passion cascading between them.

“Now, hyung,” Jimin croaks desperately. “I need you now.”

Then, in the blink of an eye, Jimin is grabbing the condom, ripping it open, and rolling it down Yoongi’s length. He pulls Yoongi down on top of him, as Yoongi works some extra lube on himself.

Jimin rocks his hips forward, pressing himself against Yoongi’s tip. Then, he wraps his arms around Yoongi’s back and pulls him in closer as he eases Yoongi in inch by perfect inch. They both let out loud moans at the contact, surrounded by the noises of pleasure of their contact.

Yoongi stays still for a few moments afraid he’s not going to last another moment like this. Everything is so hot. He slowly starts to move against Jimin with a delicate rocking of his hips. They’re moving together now, limbs entwined groins pressed together as he thrusts into Jimin over and over.

Jimin groans deep in his throat as Yoongi slides into him again and again, faster now as they move against each other in sync. Jimin plants his feet firmly on the mattress and stretches up to brace his hands on Yoongi’s shoulders. Allowing him to pull Yoongi even farther in until Yoongi is buried all the way inside in one complete fluid motion.

Jimin’s walls clamp around Yoongi in a tight constricting fit. He grunts and fucks Jimin hard, trying his best to make the other man see stars. Then he leans down and finds Jimin’s mouth, lips crashing together as they continue to move together in a frenzy of lust and passion.

Yoongi swallows down Jimin’s groans as he lifts his hips into each thrust. In another minute, Jimin arches beneath him as he comes again with a shudder, moaning out Yoongi’s name as he comes. Yoongi keeps moving until he reaches his own peak, coming undone at the seams as he fills the condom deep inside Jimin’s body.

The two of them collapse together on the bed breathing heavily. Before Yoongi lets himself drift off to sleep, he gets himself up to the bathroom to wash up and bring a wet cloth back to Jimin to tidy him up as well. By the time Yoongi is finished Jimin has started to drift off to sleep, so works quickly to clean everything up. He throws the cloth to the side and he climbs back into the bed, pulling the covers around them both and nuzzles against Jimin’s hair, inhaling deeply, and tangling his limbs around Jimin.

His mind drifts as he watches the white curtains flutter in the breeze through the bedroom window. He will never understand the fae who choose to stay in The Dreaming over here. Humans feel and love so intensely. Without these momentous moments, the vividness of human life, how can anyone appreciate the mundane? Yoongi can never imagine having anything but this, living any way but this, loving any way but this. And that is how he drifts off to sleep as the morning songbirds finish up their calls and day truly starts over Seoul.

*~*

Jimin opens his eyes to the sound of low-toned chimes. He is alone on the yo mattress, but he can feel where Yoongi had been lying next to him. The space is still warm, and when Jimin presses his fingers into it, he can even feel Yoongi’s lingering body heat. He slips from the bed and picks up the folded clothes, a simple t-shirt and joggers, that Yoongi had left for him. He slides them over his naked skin, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps. The fabric is soft and smells lightly of citrus, which makes Jimin smile as he heads to the bathroom to freshen up before heading out toward the madang.

Jimin pauses when he sees Yoongi standing at the moon gate with two tall people. Jimin stays back, not wanting to intrude in the tense conversation he can feel emanating from the group. The two people in front of Yoongi are wearing flowy silver robes, their blue hair braided and fastened up in intricate styles. They have sharp features, including long, pointed ears donned with silver rings. Their faces are neutral, but there’s an intense feeling radiating off them that Jimin can’t quite place.

The sight of the courtyard is all rather picturesque with the clearly otherworldly beings standing with Yoongi in front of the moon gate, pond and tree before them, bubbling waters creating a false sense of serenity.

“I really do think it’s in your best interest to accept our invitation, cousin,” one of the blue-haired people said.

“And I told you to fuck off,” growls Yoongi. “I am not accepting your invitation now, nor will I be accepting any in the future.”

Jimin thinks he should duck back inside and not eavesdrop on this conversation anymore, but is distracted then by the tinkling of a little bell. He looks down to see a small black cat rubbing along his shin and then winding around his legs.

“Oh, hello, pretty,” Jimin says brightly. “Where did you come from?”

“I said fucking leave and take that with you,” Yoongi says pointing straight at Jimin.

Jimin’s eyes go round and he feels a pang of fear at Yoongi’s harsh tone. Before he can fully process what’s happening, Yoongi is striding across the madang towards him.

“Jimin-ah,” Yoongi says, his tone surprisingly sweet considering the look of irritation on his face. “Why don’t you go to the kitchen and I’ll be there in a moment? I just need to kick out these unwanted house guests.”

Jimin nods dumbly and watches as Yoongi kicks towards the cat, who hisses and runs towards the two people still standing at the moon gate. The cat sits next to their feet, eyes narrowing at Yoongi.

“I do hope you take time to reconsider, cousin,” one of the people says. “You cannot simply run away from your responsibilities.”

“Watch me,” Yoongi says confidently. “I hope the door hits you on the way out.”

Then he whirls around to take Jimin’s hand and lead him towards the door to the kitchen. Once seated on a wooden barstool, Jimin watches as Yoongi pulls out a number of containers from the refrigerator. Then he watches as the fae begins to heat various dishes up and starts to set a variety of options out along the bar counter. Jimin waits patiently until he is done serving breakfast—or lunch, really, since it’s already afternoon— and they are well into tucking into their food to ask any of the burning questions on his mind.

“Who were those people? Fae?”

“They,” Yoongi says and waves his hand holding his chopsticks vaguely in front of himself as if trying to shoo away an annoying bug, “are the Sidhe. So, yes, they are fae. And fucking the worst kind, too.”

“And you were fighting with them?”

Yoongi coughs. “I wouldn’t say– no, not fighting exactly? More like strongly disagreeing with them? There has been a push to have me back at Court and I have zero intention of leaving this plane, maybe ever, so…they can keep pining away for me, I guess.”

Jimin picks at some of his kimchi, brow wrinkled in thought. After a moment, he asks, “Why don’t you think you’ll leave here?”

“The Dreaming,” Yoongi sighs, but a faint smile pulls at his lips, “is a very beautiful place. But it’s almost too beautiful. The Dreaming is dull. Lifeless. It’s like nothing ever happens there. Emotions, feelings, sensations are just so much more intense here in The Crossing, and the fae can experience that, but only here.”

Jimin sits with his mouth hanging open slightly as he processes this new information. He’s annoyed at himself for not paying attention more to all things related to fae. He doesn’t exactly want to give away how much he doesn’t know.

“They called you cousin,” Jimin finally says, hoping for a safe topic that doesn’t belie too much of his ignorance.

“Ah,” Yoongi says, nodding and swallowing down a spoonful of rice. “They call every other fae cousin, really. But in my case it’s actually true, since I’m half Sidhe.”

Jimin’s brow wrinkles further as he’s suddenly reminded of a forgotten school lesson. “I didn’t think Sidhe mingled outside of their own. In fact, I didn’t even know they came to this plane.”

“Well, my parents seem to be the exception that proves the rule, with my mother straying into a human’s bed,” Yoongi says with a twist of his lips. Jimin can’t tell if he’s displeased or amused. Maybe both. “But you’re right. Sidhe mostly only travel to The Crossing to retrieve fae and issue invitations to Court.”

“Oh,” Jimin says. “So, that’s what they were talking about? You being invited to Court? Like some kind of official summons?”

Yoongi laughs and gives Jimin an almost fond smile, and then leans forward, bringing a hand to his mouth, like he’s sharing a secret. “Doesn’t really matter. I’ve no intention of going. I like it here.”

Jimin feels his heart clench. He’s overcome with a desire to make sure he does what he can to stay in Yoongi’s orbit. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him. Yesterday, he was sure all fae were duplicitous, manipulative assholes. Today he’s entertaining thoughts of having the fae before him be something more than a one night stand.

Yoongi’s phone vibrates from the counter, where he apparently left it. He gets up to check, brow furrowed as he scrolls through what Jimin imagines to be many messages.

That reminds Jimin to check his own phone, shut off the night before. His friends are probably worried after his sudden departure last night. He feels a stab in his gut when he remembers why he left suddenly last night. In the light of day, in this beautiful hanok, in front of a fae that has done nothing but be honest and kind to him, Jimin feels a small pang of guilt for his reaction. Still, they should have told him from the beginning.

Still, Jimin decides to go find his phone and check his messages. Back in the bedroom, he sits on the edge of the mattress while his phone boots up. He waits for the messages to come. But there is only one. There is tightness in his chest, as he waits, hoping maybe he just didn’t have enough signal or something.

He feels sadness cascade over him as he clicks into the only message—from Jungkook—that simply reads, “I’m sorry hyung.” His finger hovers over the call button, but then he decides to wait. He’d call later, when he’s had more time to think.

“Shall I take you home?” Yoongi says. He’s standing in the open doorway, leaning on the frame. He’s a vision in the afternoon sunlight, all soft in cozy grey clothes, the green of the courtyard behind him.

Jimin takes a deep breath and buries the sadness, anger, and guilt to be unpacked and dealt with later. He pastes a cheeky smile on his face and says, “Only if I can get your number first, hyung.”

~

Yoongi wasn’t sure Jimin was actually going to text him back. Not after the absolute shitshow that was the Friends Only and then whatever it is they are calling his spending the night. No, he absolutely never expects to hear from the man again. And yet. And yet, Yoongi finds he cannot stop thinking about him.

If he didn’t know better, he might start worrying the man had spelled him in some way. If anything, he is starting to understand why all of his friends have been so protective of him. There’s some kind of magnetism to Park Jimin.

Yoongi isn’t even thinking about the sex—well, not thinking exclusively about the sex, maybe—but rather catches himself wondering what Jimin might be doing at any particular moment. While Yoongi is picking up lunch for Namjoon and himself, he wonders if Jimin is eating now, too. While Yoongi is washing his face and brushing his teeth before bed, he wonders if Jimin is already asleep. Stupid, cheesy shit like that that Yoongi would never admit to in a million years out loud.

That’s why, after a full week passes, when Yoongi was working late in his studio, he ignores the buzzing of his phone. This track is almost done, he’s just looking for the perfect sound to complete the texture he’s going for. He’s proud of himself, really, he’s gone almost a half day without thinking about Jimin—does thinking about not thinking about Jimin count as thinking about Jimin or—, hyperfocusing on this track instead. Sometimes he thanks the goddesses he was blessed with very human ADHD.

With a feeling of victory blooming in his chest, he finds the right gong sound he needs and slots it into the track. He plays the whole thing back with a faint smile on his face. Perfect. He can tell this is going to be a hit. Yoongi saves the file, renders it down to a wav file, and emails it to Namjoon and the other PD on the team. Then he pushes himself back from the desk, chair gliding smoothly across the wood floor of his studio. He leans back and stares up at the ceiling for a while before he starts to wonder what time it is.

Yoongi grabs his phone off his desk with a flourish, twirling his desk chair around in a circle. As he’s spinning, his phone lights up. 2:00am. Not bad. He definitely thought it was way later. Cool. Then he slams his feet into the ground, coming to a complete halt, as he taps on the text message notification and sees the sender is Jimin.

“Can we meet,” is all the message says. Yoongi feels a little coil of anxiety in his gut.

He texts back immediately a “sure thing, when is good” and stares at his own words in embarrassment debating whether he should be allowed access to any communication devices.

“Why are you awake?” comes the next text from Jimin.

Yoongi bites back a smile. He shoots back, “Why are YOU awake?”

“Can’t sleep,” Jimin sends back.

“Just finished work,” Yoongi replies.

“Hyung...it’s a Saturday-no, now it’s a Sunday morning,” Jimin writes.

Yoongi chuckles. “Gotta work when inspiration strikes.”

“So, can we meet?” Jimin writes after a few moments.

Yoongi chews on his bottom lip. He eyes the time, calculates how quickly he can get home and sleep, before writing back, “Sure, Bubbles and Brew 11am?”

“K,” is all Jimin responds with.

Yoongi debates the entire time he's packing up whether to write a good night message, but decides against it by the time he's flicking off his studio's lights. No need to make things weird. More weird, whatever.

~

Jimin almost bails on the whole “meet Yoongi and see about maybe seeing him again” plan four separate times before he finds himself standing in front of Bubbles and Brew a good fifteen minutes early. He hesitates outside the door, feeling his heart race in his chest. This is a bad idea, he thinks to himself. He’s already mad at the five apparent-fae in his life, he shouldn’t be inviting another in. And yet, here he is, sliding into a booth towards the back of the café, and pretending to read through the extensive menu.

“Hey there,” comes a deep, gravely voice and soft rustle of fabric as Yoongi settles into the booth across from Jimin.

The first thing Jimin thinks is “soft.” Yoongi’s hair is clearly freshly washed and dried, but then unstyled. He’s makeup free and wearing could only be described as one step above pajamas, but perhaps not actually meant to leave the house in, dark sweats and well-worn Epik High hoodie. Jimin is overwhelmed with the desire to fold himself into all that softness and maybe never leave.

Instead of launching himself into the fae, he manages to croak out a “hey” instead. Very smooth.

Thankfully a waitress comes by and takes their drink orders before the awkward stretches on for too long. But she’s gone all too quickly and Jimin is left tracing his eyes along the knots in the wood of the tabletop.

“You needed to see me?” Yoongi asks.

Jimin glances up and Yoongi is eyeing him curiously. He clears his throat and answers, “Yeah, I mean. Need might be too strong of a word. I wanted– no, yeah, yeah– I wanted to see you.”

Jimin can feel the unforgiving red blush burn across his face all the way up to his ears. Yeah, this is going incredibly well. He watches Yoongi’s face like watching a trainwreck. He can’t look away even though he knows this is all going to end in disaster. However, Yoongi surprises him. He smiles, one corner of his mouth quirking up higher than the other.

“I wanted to see you too,” he says softly, but confidently. Jimin’s heart skips a beat at the words, the warmth in Yoongi’s eyes sending a thrill through him.

The silence stretches between them as the waitress brings their drinks, an iced coffee for Yoongi and a strawberry bubble tea for Jimin. She sets them down and disappears without comment. The conversation starts off with Yoongi asking about Jimin’s work as a choreographer. Jimin, always eager to talk about his passion, explains the details of what he’s working on. He talks about the different movements he has and how they tell a story, getting more animated as he continues.

Jimin feels a warmth in his chest at the way Yoongi seems entranced by his words as if he’s never heard someone talk about dancing with such enthusiasm and admiration before.

Jimin then steers the conversation towards Yoongi and his new song he’s working on. He asks all kinds of questions leading Yoongi to open up about his process and what kind of music he likes to create.

Before either of them know it, two hours have gone by in what feels like no time at all. Jimin can’t believe how easily the conversation has been flowing between them. He hadn’t expected Yoongi to be so talkative and honest, or that they would have this much in common. He starts to think that maybe he’d been wrong about fae all along.

Maybe, just maybe, Jimin concedes that he's let a few bad fae influence his judgment of the whole. Yoongi has been nothing but kind, open, funny, protective. If anything, he reminds Jimin of his friends, who, turns out, are also fae—that thought has his stomach dropping. Jimin starts to think maybe he's the one that is going to need to apologize. Of course, there's the matter of them having lied to him. Perhaps lied by omission, but still lied. Maybe he's still a little angry and a lot hurt.

As the conversation dies down and their drinks are empty, Jimin can’t help but feel a sense of disappointment that it’s over.

“Can we do this again?” Jimin asks as they wave the waitress over to pay for their drinks.

Yoongi, busy using his phone to pay,—“hyung pays, don’t argue, Jimin-ah”—hums in agreement. Once the waitress has cleared their empty cups away and wished them a good rest of their day, Yoongi says with a blush to his cheeks but no hesitation in his voice, “How about dinner? Sometime this week?”

And, as if by magic, but not the bad kind, Jimin is sure, that is how Park Jimin, human, and Min Yoongi, fae, start dating. Or, at the very least, start meeting regularly for coffee and meals and blush-filled chats.

~

They’ve been seeing each other for a couple of months. No labels yet. Mostly they are just talking and sharing stories, listening to music and watching movies, doing a little bit of kissing. Okay, maybe a lot of kissing and occasionally a lot more than kissing. Yoongi doesn’t think he’s ever felt lighter. He might even have the clichéd spring in his step—nauseating.

He still has worries, like getting this album finished for the latest idol group debuting in a few weeks or how Jimin still hasn’t really talked to his friends. If he’s honest, both are keeping him up at night at this point.

Yoongi sees the impact of Jimin’s prolonged silence on the other fae. Hoseok, Taehyung, and Jungkook are especially despondent. However, none of them seem to want to make the first move. Hoseok keeps saying “Jimin needs his space” and Yoongi is about ready to lock them all in a room until they talk it out. Yoongi isn’t a meddler. He hates meddlers. But everyone is hurting and it’s stupid.

That’s why, when he gets the anonymous text message about another Friends Only, he lights up in excitement. Jimin, given the horrendous events of the last Friends Only, might be harder to convince to attend, but it’s the perfect place for everyone to meet up and hash things out once and for all.

As luck would have it, Yoongi is already picking up Jimin for lunch. He nervously twiddles with his phone as he sits in the driver’s seat of his car out front of the younger’s dance studio, waiting for him to come out. Yoongi knows he has to approach this conversation tactfully. Yes, tactfully.

He pulls out the small jewelry box from the glovebox and pops the lid open. A thin silver chain necklace with a pendant shaped like a graceful dragon made of interwoven lines whose body wound protectively around most of a green jade orb. He fingers at it anxiously, feeling the spells flutter and react to his touch.

Yoongi snaps the box shut as the passenger door opens and Jimin drops into the seat with a tired sigh.

“Long morning?” Yoongi asks.

Jimin stretches his neck, eyes closed in exhaustion. “It was good, but tiring. I’m so sore. What’s that?”

Jimin is eying the jewelry box in Yoongi’s hand.

“Ah– uh, this?” Yoongi stammers. He vaguely recalls about 30 seconds ago he was determined to be tactful.

“Yeah, that. What is it?” Jimin repeats, now pointing with his finger at the box.

Yoongi hands it over with a sheepish smile. “It’s for you.”

Jimin looks at him in surprise before opening the box and gasping. The dark silver dragon glitters in the sun.

“Before you put it on,” Yoongi starts.

Jimin freezes where he sits, hands still pinching at the clasp of the necklace.

“It’s uh– It’s spelled?” Yoongi says, though he sounds so unsure it comes out as a question.

Jimin drops the necklace into his lap. “What do you mean it’s spelled?”

Yoongi flounders, flapping his hands trying to assuage the other and gain back his composure. He’s not sure he’s successful on either count, judging by the angry glint in Jimin’s eyes now.

“I– okay, it’s warded. There are symbols of protection embedded in the chain, the pendant. I just thought,” Yoongi struggles to find the words. He glances at Jimin’s face and instead of seeing anger, all he sees is soft adoration and patience. Okay. “The wards will make it so no one can spell you without your explicit permission. And they cannot take the necklace off. Only you can. That way– that way, you can maybe feel a little bit safer. From us.”

His words trail off and end in an almost-whisper. He keeps his eyes firmly on Jimin’s hands, which are lightly brushing the silver chain of the necklace in his lap.

“It’s beautiful,” he whispers, running a finger over the jade. He links the necklace around his neck, pulling down the car’s visor and flipping open the mirror, admiring how the pendant looks against the dip between his collarbones.

Yoongi allows himself a small grin. “I’m glad you like it.”

“So,” Jimin says brightly as he pulls on his seatbelt. “Where are we going for lunch?”

~

Jimin can tell Yoongi is nervous. He watches as the older man picks at his noodles with his chopsticks, other hand drumming fingers on the tabletop. He’s like a ball of energy waiting to explode.

“Is something wrong, hyung?” Jimin finally asks. He’d finished his food several minutes ago, but Yoongi, eyes focused on his food, is still just pushing his meal around in his bowl.

The question seems to startle Yoongi. He looks up, surprise on his face, as he takes in the fact that he’s been zoning out and Jimin has already eaten.

“Right, yeah,” Yoongi says. “I’m fine. I did have something I wanted to ask though.”

Jimin feels a bit apprehensive and he plays with the pendant of his new necklace. He knows it’s strange to get such a nice gift, out of the blue, especially when they aren’t really a gift-giving couple. He mind whirls as he tries to guess what’s going on, but nothing he comes up with makes sense.

“I was kind of hoping you might come with me to the Friends Only tonight?” Yoongi finally asks, voice quiet.

“Oh.”

“I know– we didn’t really ever talk about the last one. And it wasn’t great, obviously, what happened. But we met? So, I guess that is good? And I don’t know, I thought it’d be nice to see– to go,” Yoongi finishes with a stutter.

Jimin eyes him for a moment, fingers still touching the dragon pendant. “I don’t know, hyung.”

“I– I admit that is maybe why I gave you the necklace,” Yoongi says, waving towards Jimin’s neckline. Jimin immediately drops his hand and pretends like he hasn’t been admiring the jewelry ever since he put it on in the car.

“If you wear that, then you’ll be protected from any fae at the Friend Only. We could just go for a couple hours. Maybe have a drink. I might be persuaded to dance,” Yoongi says. Jimin notices his definite wince when he suggests dancing. A smile erupts unbidden from Jimin’s lips.

“Okay, hyung,” Jimin says, voice teasing. “You win. We’ll go. But you have to do a battle.”

“Okay,” Yoongi says, matching Jimin’s smile.

“And dance with me,” Jimin adds.

Yoongi’s smile drops. He sits dejectedly for a minute, clearly pretending to weigh his options, but Jimin knows he’s already got him.

~

Yoongi fusses with the collar of the flannel shirt he decided to wear. He's standing in front of his bathroom mirror, assessing his look. Normally, he wouldn't care this much. But he's nervous. Not date-nervous, but more I've-set-my-friends-up-to-reconcile nervous. He's not stupid enough to think there's no possible way for this plan to backfire. In fact, his brain has been kindly supplying all the gruesome ways this could backfire for the entire afternoon, since dropping Jimin back off at work.

Before he knows it, he's knocking on Jimin's apartment door, shaking out the non-existent wrinkles in his flannel shirt that is hanging open. Quickly, Jimin opens the door, looking stunning in a black leather jacket—Yoongi's leather jacket that never found its way home again, which is perfectly fine, in Yoongi's opinion—and dark jeans.

"Hey," Jimin greets him, his eyes scanning over Yoongi’s outfit. "You look good."

"So do you," Yoongi greets back, and leans in to give Jimin a sweet kiss on the lips. He offers Jimin an elbow. "Shall we?"

"Yes, let's," Jimin says, twining his arm with Yoongi's.

They park several blocks away and walk to the warehouse.

The night is cool, but considerably warmer than it had been the last time there was a Friends Only. Jimin automatically wraps himself under Yoongi's arm in a way that leaves Yoongi entirely too pleased. Yoongi's hand finds its way to Jimin's waist underneath the leather jacket. Yoongi feels warm and comfortable. He feels happy, he realizes. This is what happiness feels like.

Jimin is mid-giggle at something Yoongi had said when a tall figure steps out in front of the two of them. Jimin immediately tenses and goes quiet and Yoongi tightens his arm around him protectively.

"Min Yoongi-ssi," the sylph says. He looks much the same as he did at the last Friends Only. The one he was banned from.

"I don't believe we've been introduced. Nor have I given you permission to use my name," Yoongi says coldly. "I am also under the impression you shouldn't be anywhere near Seoul. Or The Crossing, for that matter."

The sylph smirks and laughs. Cocky and stupid, Yoongi thinks. He leans over the both of them as he says, "I don't think the Sidhe's naming conventions apply in The Crossing, Min Yoongi-ssi. My name is Ah Minsu."

There's an awkward silence as Yoongi does not return the greeting.

"I wanted to apologize to you," Minsu continues. He's still looking at Yoongi. In fact, he hasn't looked Jimin's way once. "I didn't realize this little human was yours. I would have never presumed. Of course, humiliating me in front of half the fae in Seoul and getting me banned from the Friends Only, might be a bit too much, don't you think? All over some human?"

Yoongi bristles and he feels Jimin tense ever further into his side.

"I'd suggest you watch your words," Yoongi says tightly, hand unconsciously tightening on Jimin's waist.

Minsu's smile turns into a sneer. "I see. You're still playing at being king, even here in The Crossing. But that's fine, Min Yoongi-ssi. Let's not make this a scene. Enjoy your evening."

The sylph steps back, giving them a mocking bow, before slipping away into the darkness of the alley he had come from. Yoongi and Jimin stand there for a moment, neither of them saying anything.

"I-" Yoongi starts, his mind trying to catch up with what just happened. "We can go. I had no idea he was still here. I thought they'd banished him back to The Dreaming."

"No," Jimin says firmly. "No, I'm not going to let some asshole ruin our night. Let's go."

Yoongi watches Jimin's face and sees nothing but determination there. Still, he asks, "Are you-"

Jimin cuts him off with a glare before he finishes his sentence. Instead, still under Yoongi's arm, he steers them towards the dark, silent warehouse.

In Yoongi's list of "Things that Could Go Catastrophically Wrong with My Meddling," the sylph, Minsu, showing up had not actually made the cut. This is mostly due to Yoongi not having actually checked with Jin or Namjoon to make sure Minsu had been banned not just from the Friends Only, but from the plane entirely. Yoongi is mentally kicking himself for that oversight now.

"Yoongi-chi! Jimin-ah! You're here!" sing-songs a cheerful Jin as the two step into the din of the warehouse. Jin is all smiles and waves his hand off towards the dance floor. "The others are around! They'll be happy to see you."

Yoongi opens his mouth to reply, but Jin is already off, dipping back into the crowd. Yoongi glances over at Jimin to see the other looking rather shell-shocked. This whole plan was, in fact, an extremely terrible idea.

Yoongi leans into Jimin's ear to ask, "Are you okay? Maybe we should just go?"

Jimin shakes his head. "Let's dance."

Yoongi nods slowly and lets himself be pulled into the mass on the dance floor. The bass is pounding a moderate rhythm and the bodies writhing around him making him feel particularly on edge. But then Jimin's front is pressed up against his and everything else fades away. Rather than dancing, Yoongi feels he's doing everything to keep up with Jimin's movements, trying to match his gyrating hips and fluid body. He's entranced by the way Jimin moves, and how the leather jacket is open to reveal the white tee molded to his body, emphasizing every curve. He can feel the sweat starting to gather on their skin as they dance closer together. Jimin’s eyes are dark, intense, and unbelievably beautiful. Yoongi feels he’s falling into them.

They move together for what feels like hours until Jimin is winding them down and Yoongi is panting from the heat and intensity of it all. As they make their way off the dance floor, they're stopped by Hoseok and Jungkook.

"Hyung," Jungkook says nervously at Jimin. "Are you– Can I-"

Jungkook's forehead is wrinkled with frustration, his face set into a frown. Yoongi feels a bit sorry for him because he can see concern and anxiety in the way that Jungkook has one hand grasped around Hoseok's upper arm. And in fact, both fae look downcast and anxious.

"Hey, how about I go find V or whoever is working sign-ups tonight? You said you wanted me to battle, right?" Yoongi asks Jimin.

Jimin, looking nervous himself, nods gratefully. "Yeah, I'll meet you over there after the battle?"

"V is on duty tonight," Hoseok confirms with a nervous smile.

Yoongi nods and wants to say more to Jimin. He wants to remind Jimin to call if he needs anything. He wants to tell Jimin to stick with Hoseok and Jungkook until the battle. He wants to become the overprotective mother-hen. But he swallows all that down. Instead he says, "See you after the battle."

Jimin gives him a quick squeeze and then Yoongi pulls away and walks off in search of Jimin's soulmate. One glance back gives him a partial view through the crowd of Jimin standing in front of the other two, all three men tense and unsure. Yoongi hopes they work things out.

Yoongi finds V easily enough and is herded quickly to the pit. After arriving late to the party, the battles are just about to start and Yoongi is grateful for getting slotted in anyway.

The competition is more fierce this time. There are some real talents here that Yoongi has to respect, and he finds himself pushing his limits to keep up with them. It becomes a game of who can rap the fastest and come up with the best lyrics.

The crowd around him is alive, shouting out encouragement and screaming for the participants. The energy is electric as Yoongi focuses on his performance. All his worries about Jimin and his friends go away as he throws himself into the flow of words and beats. He's lost in the music and nothing else matters to him besides winning this competition.

When it all comes down to just him and one other rap battler, Yoongi knows he has to pull out all the stops if he wants to win this one. He puts everything he has left into his last few verses until finally emerging victoriously as the winner of the night.

He looks around the crowd for Jimin. Except he's not there. There's not a single familiar face in the crowd at all. Yoongi ignores the sensation of anxiety bubbling under his skin. Jimin probably got caught up talking and catching up with his friends. That must be it.

Still, when Namjoon and Jin make their way through the crowd to him, twin looks of worry etched into their faces, Yoongi feels his anxiety come back in full force.

"Yoongi," Jin is saying. "Yoongi, have you seen Jimin?"

"Not since the battle started," Yoongi says, trying to swallow down the panic. "He was with Seok-ah and Jungkook-ah."

"Apparently, he got upset and walked away from them," Namjoon says. "They thought he went looking for you, but if you haven't seen him-"

"He left," Yoongi concludes. For a moment, he's upset with Hoseok and Jungkook for saying something to upset Jimin. Then he's a little hurt Jimin would leave without coming to find him first. Then– "Wait. Wait, Joon-ah."

Yoongi can't say it out loud. His veins are filled with ice and the lump in his throat is strangling him. He can't breathe.

"Hyung?" Namjoon asks. He holds Yoongi's elbow, which Yoongi is infinitely grateful for because he's pretty sure he's going to pass out.

"Ah Minsu," Yoongi chokes out.

"That asshole sylph?" Jin says, confused.

"He was here," Yoongi is now sure he's going to throw up, rather than pass out. "He was here. Outside."

"What?!" Jin screeches. Without wasting more time, he's gone, pushing his way through the last of the crowd standing around the pit.

Namjoon stays, though, still practically holding Yoongi up. "It'll be okay, hyung. Hyung'll find him."

Yoongi nods mutely. He's pretty sure this is all his fault, somehow. He's not sure exactly where he went wrong, but he's pretty sure he fucked up big time. And now Jimin was in danger.

~

Jimin wipes a tear away from his cheek, angrily. He feels so embarrassed and stupid . His footsteps are the only noise in the otherwise quiet street that leads to the closest train station. His shoulders are hunched and his hands are in his jacket pockets—Yoongi’s jacket pockets—with his right hand holding on to his phone.

He toys with the idea of calling Yoongi. He should call Yoongi, really. But he’s not sure he’s ready to talk about everything yet. If what Hobi says is true, Yoongi is basically royalty , the heir to Sidhe throne or whatever they call the head seat at the Seelie Court. That, on top of the information Jungkook had given him about how Jungkook is some kind of imugi and basically imprinted as a guardian to Jimin for life, is just too much.

Instead of feeling betrayed like he had two months ago, Jimin just feels stupid for not knowing all of these things—for not asking—for never showing the slightest bit of interest in his friends’ lives. How anyone is still friends with him is beyond him. He’s been so selfish and cruel. Embarrassing. He wipes away another tear that was rolling down his face without permission.

He feels his phone vibrate and he pulls it out to see Yoongi is calling him. He hovers over the big red “reject call” button, but decides against it. He’s not going to run away from his problems anymore.

“Hey, hyung,” Jimin says. He’s glad his voice is only minimally shaky.

“Jimin-ah,” Yoongi breathes out his name in a sigh. Relief, Jimin thinks. “Where are you? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry I left without telling you,” Jimin says. “That was stupid of me.”

“You’re not stupid, Jimin-ah,” Yoongi replies easily. “Hyung was just worried.”

“Sorry,” Jimin says again. “I just, I needed some air and some space. I’m okay. I’m just heading to the train station. I’m just going to head home.”

There’s a pause on the line. Jimin looks around himself, along the poorly lit street, but he can see the light of the subway station about 3 blocks away.

“I can come get you,” Yoongi says quietly, hesitantly. “Just to take you home. So you don’t have to ride the train so late.”

“No, no, it’s okay, hyung,” Jimin says quickly, feeling guilty for his impulsive decision. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Text me tonight when you get home, Jimin-ah,” Yoongi says.

“Sure thing, hyung,” Jimin says and hangs up.

Jimin pockets his phone feeling decidedly guilty for causing so much worry. Worrying his friends. Worrying Yoongi.

“So cute,” a voice says with a slow clap.

Jimin freezes in his tracks as he sees Ah Minsu approach, sneering and arrogant. His fists clench in twin feelings of rage and fear as he feels the phone in his pocket, emotions bubbling up inside of him. He can feel a fire rising from within, his blood turning to acid as Ah Minsu stands like a snarky, immovable wall before him.

“What? No hello?” Minsu leers. “That’s very rude. Especially when I’m here to help you.”

Jimin’s frown deepens and he takes a step back, his eyes never leaving the ground. He glances around for an escape route but realizes that the street is dark, blackness falling everywhere. Was the street this dark a moment ago? He can make out a doorway to his right and the glow of the subway station sign 3 blocks away, feeling much further away than it had just a minute ago.

“Get to the point,” Jimin grits out as he turns his attention back to the sylph in front of him.

Minsu tuts. The smile that stretches his face has a shiver running up Jimin’s spine. “Well, somehow, the Court got wind that Min Yoongi-ssi has been fraternizing with humans. Could be bad for him. Could get him sent back to The Dreaming. Permanently.”

Jimin freezes at that, looking at the sylph’s face. This guy is an asshole and a liar, but the idea that Yoongi could be banned from coming here to Seoul—permanently has Jimin feeling panicked. Jimin cannot, will not, be the reason Yoongi loses the one place he’s said makes him feel alive. And if there’s even a grain of truth–

“However, there’s an easy way to get that cleared up. At Court. You just need to tell them that you’re consenting and whatever it is he’s done to you was with your permission,” Minsu says easily with a shrug. The smirk on his face shows much he’s enjoying watching Jimin’s discomfort grow.

“You want me to go to the Seelie Court? Is that even possible?” Jimin asks.

“Of course, it’s possible with an invitation,” Minsu says. “Luckily for you, I have a pretty decent standing within the Court myself. So I can issue you an invitation, no problem.”

Jimin eyes the fae in front of him. This could be a trick. It’s not like the sylph has done anything trustworthy at this point.

“What is in it for you?” Jimin asks.

Minsu laughs, amused. “You humans are so quick to think that we fae want something from your kind. Maybe I’m just doing a good deed. I heard about Min Yoongi-ssi being in trouble and decided I would help out.”

Jimin scoffs. “I don’t fucking believe you.”

“Well, what about your other friends? Jung Hoseok? Jeon Jungkook?” Minsu asks.

Jimin’s chest squeezes in panic. His face must betray his worry because Minsu is tutting again. Smirk growing into a satisfied grin.

“Just think, Min Yoongi-ssi’s mistake,” Minsu says, his face wrinkling a bit in disgust at the word ‘mistake,’ “could impact his whole circle of friends. They could all end up permanently banned.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Jimin says, head feeling heavy.

“Well, the fae take misdeeds in The Crossing very seriously. Prolonged fraternization is a very serious offense. But it can be cleared up so easily.”

Jimin cannot go anywhere with Minsu. That would be stupid. How can he trust anything this fae says?

“In fact, let me prove to you what I’m saying,” Minsu speaks again. “Let me introduce my good friend, the Sidhe.”

Jimin watches another tall person step out of the darkness to stand next to Minsu. They are in billowing robes of silver with dark blue hair in a fancy mass of braids on top of their head. They remind Jimin of the other two Sidhe who visited Yoongi’s hanok two months ago.

“My dear cousin,” the Sidhe says, bowing to Minsu, “is correct that Min Yoongi-ssi, as you know him, is being sought out by the Court.”

Jimin nods at this. He’s wishing, not for the first time, he knew more about the fae and the Court. After this is over, he’s going to invest in some books, maybe take a class, or maybe ask his friends for a crash course, if he can suck up his embarrassment.

“I would like to extend an invitation to you, Park Jimin-ssi,” the Sidhe says, voice laced with a soft accent. Jimin is surprised when they hold out a thin, burgundy card. Jimin steps forward to automatically take it with both hands. He sees what must be the Seelie Court seal and feels his face fall at the thought that this might be the truth.

Jimin looks at the card, unseeing, as he thinks about the potential consequences if all of his friends are permanently banned to The Dreaming. They would lose all the lives they have built here in Seoul. And it will be all Jimin’s fault.

“What do I have to do?” Jimin asks, squaring his shoulders.

“Easy, accept the invitation and just step through this door here,” Minsu smiles and gestures to the door in the building to their right. “We’ll just pop through and clear this up right away.”

“Will you accept my invitation, Park Jimin-ssi?” the Sidhe asks.

“Alright,” Jimin says. He’ll text Yoongi once he’s there, he thinks. Hopefully, this will all be over soon, once this misunderstanding is cleared up. He turns to face the Sidhe and says, “I accept your invitation.”

The Sidhe goes through the door first. From where Jimin is standing, nothing much happens. The Sidhe steps through to what looks like the door to an abandoned office, part of some industrial complex of some kind. Jimin figures it's like the warehouse for the Friends Only, spelled to look ordinary. Minsu is then gesturing him through before he can think much more on it. Without a glance backwards, Jimin steps through the dark doorway to the Seelie Court.

~

Dawn starts creeping over the horizon, spilling warm light into the hanok, when Yoongi really starts panicking. All of Yoongi’s texts go unanswered and his eventual calls go straight to voicemail. When his buzzing at Jimin’s apartment are only met with silence, Yoongi decides to call in the rest of their friend group.

“Jungkook-ah, have you heard from Jimin?” Yoongi asks while on speaker driving to a local coffee shop he knows Jimin sometimes goes to people-watch.

“Jimin hyung?” Jungkook asks. “What do you mean?”

“He isn’t answering his phone. I haven’t talked to him since he was walking to the train last night,” Yoongi says, feeling incredibly stupid for taking so long to realize Jimin might actually be missing.

“Hyung,” Jungkook sounds broken as he utters the word.

“I know, Kook-ah. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, hyung,” Jungkook says.

“Maybe,” Yoongi doesn’t feel like belaboring the point. This is definitely his fault though.

“I’ll call the others,” Jungkook says. “I’ll let you know if we hear from him.”

“Thanks, Jungkook,” Yoongi says, pulling into a parking space in front of the coffee shop.

Jimin isn’t at the coffee shop. None of the baristas have seen him today. Yoongi’s heart races as he leaves the coffee shop and heads back to his car. He tries calling Jimin again, praying to any god that might be listening this time it goes through.

It doesn’t.

He drives to Bubbles and Brew where they’d had their first kind-of-date. He drives to the movie theater, the fancy Japanese restaurant, the park by the Han River. Yoongi even tries the cat café where Jimin had confessed he's actually quite allergic to cats, but only after they had been in the café for 15 minutes.

Jimin isn’t anywhere.

“Let’s meet at your house, hyung,” Taehyung says over the phone. No one had better luck than Yoongi.

Namjoon arrives late to Yoongi’s hanok, his brow furrowed with worry. Yoongi can see him hesitating at the doorway before joining the others. Everyone else is gathered around Yoongi’s kitchen and dining area. Jin and Taehyung are sifting through their phones, trying to find any more contacts that might be able to help. Jungkook paces. Hoseok stares at the wall, unseeing, clearly lost in what is probably some kind of self-destructive spiral.

“Come in, Joon-ah,” Yoongi says, when the man doesn’t move.

Namjoon toes off his shoes and steps into the room. “Hyung, I’ve been conferring with some of my acquaintances who might know that sylph, Ah Minsu. From what I’ve gathered, he has been planning something. He’s been asking around about you. And about Hoseok and Jungkook. It doesn’t really make sense, but it can’t be good.”

Yoongi allows himself a moment to internally berate himself. The “should have” list is long. He should have taken care of that asshole from the beginning. He should have made sure he was actually banned. He should have made sure Jimin would be protected.

Just then, there is the low chime of someone calling at the door. Yoongi stands up quickly, slips outdoor shoes on at the step, and makes his way across the madang to the front gate. Anger flares in him as he sees the two Sidhe standing before him.

“Min Yoongi-ssi,” one of them says.

“Look, now isn’t a good time,” Yoongi starts.

“Ah, yes,” the other Sidhe says. “You might be worrying about that little human. Park Jimin-ssi.”

Yoongi looks sharply at the second Sidhe. “What do you know about Park Jimin?”

“It seems one of our cousins issued an invitation to Court and Park Jimin-ssi accepted,” the first Sidhe says.

“What the fuck?” Yoongi snarls out. “There is no way in this plane or any fucking other that Jimin would accept an invitation to the fucking Seelie Court willingly.”

“You know as well I do, cousin,” the second Sidhe says, “that invitations must be consented to. I can assure you, Park Jimin-ssi, willingly accepted our cousin’s invitation.”

“Bullshit,” Yoongi spits out. “That’s complete bullshit.”

“No matter,” the first Sidhe sniffs. “We’re here to issue you an invitation to Court, cousin.”

The Sidhe proffers a red invitation, holding it out for Yoongi to take. Yoongi angrily grabs the card with one hand and slams the metal door shut in the two Sidhes’ faces.

“Fuck,” Yoongi says to the door. “Fuck!”

“What happened, hyung?” Jungkook asks from the courtyard.

Yoongi turns to see that everyone is standing there by the pond, waiting for news.

“Jimin’s at Court,” Yoongi says flatly. He glances down at the burgundy card in his hand. His skin crawls at the sight of it. Wishes burning it would change reality. “He’s at fucking Court.”

The silence that hangs over the madang is palpable. No one moves, all eyes on Yoongi. Yoongi doesn't know for how long everything freezes in place—a minute? an hour? Then–

“Why would he be at Court, hyung?” Hoseok asks. His eyes are wide.

“Maybe he didn’t know you can say no to the invitation,” Jungkook says quietly. Yoongi’s heart breaks at how desolate Jungkook’s voice is.

Namjoon says, sounding as forlorn as Yoongi feels, “He didn’t know enough. We could have protected him better by telling him more. We should have done a better job preparing him.”

Jin’s face turns an angry red as he murmurs, “How could none of you have talked to Jimin about fae matters?”

“We all dragged him into this mess,” Taehyung says, almost to himself, his jaw clenching.

There’s another tense silence as everyone wrestles their own thoughts. Yoongi feels a wave of guilt wash over him as Jin’s words sink in. He had been so caught up in his own feelings for Jimin that he hadn’t even considered how unsafe it might be for him to be around the fae. He had let his own desires cloud his judgment, and now Jimin was paying the price.

“We couldn’t have foreseen this though,” Hoseok says gently.

The air suddenly seems heavy and charged with emotion as everyone eyes each other.

Namjoon’s jaw clenches tightly as he snarls, “It wasn’t me who didn’t talk to him for two months!”

“Why are you trying to pin this on me? I haven’t done anything wrong,” Hoseok says, his voice rising in pitch as he slams his arms against his chest.

“But you do see him every day, don’t you?” Namjoon snaps back.

“This isn’t an office! We’re dancing! All of us have different classes and assignments!” Hoseok yells. “Besides, any one of you could have just as easily called him. Phones exist, you know.”

“He needed better protection,” Taehyung says. Then he suddenly rounds on Jungkook. “Aren’t you supposed to be his Guardian? Where were you?”

Jungkook flinches as if Taehyung hit him and looks near tears at the accusation and looks down at the ground. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know where he was or that he was in danger. I should have been more vigilant.”

“It’s not just Jungkook’s fault,” Yoongi says, stepping forward to defend the maknae. “None of us were paying enough attention to Jimin’s safety. We were all too caught up in our own bullshit to think through the consequences.”

Hoseok slams his fist on the wooden porch railing. Yoongi watches as everyone starts screaming at one another, no one even listening to the others’ words anymore. Yoongi feels his temper flare as the argument spirals out of control. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. The anger fizzles out immediately, leaving anguish and fear in its wake.

“Enough!” Yoongi growls loudly, pulling the symbol for peace as he yells. The group falls silent immediately. Yoongi softens his tone as he says, “We can fight among ourselves later if we must, but right now we have to get Jimin back. Before something bad happens. Assuming we’re not too late.”

“It’s the Seelie Court, Yoongi-chi,” Jin’s tone is softer now, too. “He should be safe there.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook scoffs. “Just like he was safe at the Friends Only. Twice.”

“What the fuck,” Hoseok breathes out.

The silence is tense and awkward.

Yoongi nods his head in agreement, feeling sick at the memory of each misstep. He knows that right now, without proper support, Jimin is not safe anywhere near the fae, especially in the Seelie Court. “We need to act fast. Namjoon, can you gather any intel you can on Minsu’s plans?”

“Sure thing, hyung,” Namjoon says.

“The rest of you,” Yoongi says, turning to look at the other four fae. “Will you come with me to the Seelie Court?”

“Is that an invitation, hyung?” Hoseok asks, a hint of sass in his voice that helps break some of the tension.

“Yes, Jung Hoseok-ssi.” Yoongi pulls himself up straight in mock regality. “I am officially inviting you, along with Kim Seokjin-ssi, Kim Taehyung-ssi, and Jeon Jungkook-ssi, to accompany me to the Seelie Court.”

~

Jimin tries not to panic as he’s escorted by two fae guards to an isolated guest room deep in the bowels of the Seelie Court. He realizes quickly he’s not in the industrial building they entered in Seoul. He realizes that he’s probably not even in Seoul anymore. This Court must be somewhere else, some place else and that the door they walked through was just a portal.

The Seelie Court itself is like a large hanok, or multiple hanoks maybe, made of light colored wood. The structures are connected by courtyard gardens and delicate covered timber walkways. Bright white paper screens divide the outer courtyards from the inner buildings, which glisten in the sunlight with their polished wooden floors and intricately carved walls, which reflect back the light in beautiful patterns. Almost too beautiful. With each turn in the path, new halls open up, twisting away from Jimin so that he knows he’ll never find his way through at this rate.

The guest room itself is simple and clean. The sunlight that slants in through the paper-covered window paints soft, dancing shapes on the white walls. A low desk with a cushion for a seat lines one wall; in the other corner sits a low table with a comforter folded neatly at its foot. There is a yo mattress with a cover spread across it in the center of the floor.

As soon as he’s alone, he pulls out his phone to text Yoongi to tell him where he was. As he looks at the words “out of service” on his screen and feels the prickle of anxiety. He can’t contact Yoongi. No one knows he’s here. He’s on a different plane of existence and no one knows he’s left Seoul.

Jimin sits on the mattress, his back to the wall, waiting. There’s no sound except for his own breathing, which seems loud in all this silence. He expects to hear some sort of activity, but it was as if time has stopped entirely. Then, he realizes the light coming through the paper in the window never changes. Apparently, here at the Seelie Court, there is no sunrise or sunset. He loses all sense of time.

Not a single soul comes to greet him. The stark silence only adds to Jimin’s terror that grows with every passing moment. To keep himself from hyperventilating, Jimin’s fingers play with the jade orb around his neck and his mind wanders to memories of Yoongi, of his friends, of home.

Yoongi at the piano. Yoongi’s gummy smile. Yoongi smirking at some quip he’s made. Yoongi kissing Jimin.

He thinks of his friends, who he owes several large, prolonged apologies to. He pushed them away when he was prejudiced and scared. He kept them at arm’s length. He ran away every single moment that got rough.

He thinks of his job teaching dance and choreographing. He thinks of the life he’s built for himself in Seoul.

Jimin’s muscles tense at the sound of approaching footsteps, his heart pounding in trepidation. Suddenly two Sidhe stride into the room, their colorful robes and sashes glinting in the candlelight. With a sharp exhale, they simultaneously produce a basin filled with steaming water, along with several cloths and a comb.

One of the Sidhe gestures for Jimin to come towards the basin of steaming water. Jimin hesitates, feeling the Sidhe’s piercing gaze pierce him like needles as he steps closer to the basin. His heart thuds loudly in his chest and his feet feel like lead weights sinking into the carpet. Then the other Sidhe is tugging at his clubbing clothes, clearly indicating for him to take them off.

“Excuse me?” Jimin asks shakily, clutching at himself protectively.

The Sidhe make an impatient noise and move to help him remove his shirt.

“What are you doing?” Jimin shrills, trying to back up.

His resistance seems to make the Sidhe more insistent, as they pull at his shirt and pants. Jimin quakes in fear, his heart pounding against his ribcage. A thousand needles seem to pierce into his skin with every passing second as the two Sidhe wordlessly stare meaningfully at him. His mind scrambles for something to do, but he can do nothing but obey their unspoken command and strip himself of clothing piece by piece until all that remains is his underwear—which appears to satisfy the two fae in front of him. Jimin shivers and hunches his body up, covering himself with crossed arms and raised shoulders.

Once he’s naked, one of the Sidhe gestures for Jimin to wash himself in the basin, handing him a cloth to wash himself with. He’s quick to take it, to show them he can do it himself. Jimin’s hands quiver as they dip into the warm liquid, shaking. He struggles not to let his fear take over as he washes himself with the water and a cloth, feeling completely exposed and vulnerable beneath their watchful eyes. Every muscle in his body is clenched tightly, trying to keep composure but failing miserably. The Sidhe remain silent throughout, never once speaking or reacting to anything he does.

Once finished, they silently take away the basin and present him with a beautiful green robe of silk that fits him perfectly. One of the Sidhe takes up a comb and begins to work it through his hair, their long nails gently scraping against his scalp. The other Sidhe ties an intricate knot around his waist. Jimin stands as still as possible, feeling like part of this strange ritual where he will become the human sacrifice. With a nod, they turn and leave without another word.

In the same whirlwind fashion that they arrive, the Sidhe are gone again.

Tears fall then as he stands in the middle of the bedroom in strange clothes, in a different plane of existence , feeling utterly alone and violated. His hands run over the robes the Sidhe had dressed him in. He doesn’t even feel like himself anymore. He can’t tell if he’s losing his mind, if any of this is real. He takes deep breaths, trying to calm himself down, but the tears keep flowing down his face.

What had he been thinking, agreeing to come here? Jimin collapses onto the bed, too overwhelmed to process what has just happened and why. He had been foolish to trust Minsu—what had he been thinking? What possessed him to go along with their plan? He should have known better. He should have known it was a mistake, should have contacted Yoongi or anyone. His chest feels heavy with worry as he thinks of his current situation.

He looks around for something, anything, that might help him find a way out of this place. In desperation, he gets up and begins searching the room for any sort of exit or window. The door won’t budge. The window doesn’t open. As he does so, however, panic begins to take over him once again. What if there was no way out? What did they want with him?

Jimin slumps to the floor, his knees giving way beneath him. He buries his face in his hands and sobs uncontrollably. He can’t believe he’s so helpless and alone, stuck in a world he doesn’t understand. The tears start streaming down his cheeks and Jimin pulls his hands through his freshly combed hair. As his sobs echo through the room, a wave of sadness washes over him as he realizes just how far away home feels right now. The weight of his situation bears down on him like a crushing weight, threatening to suffocate him.

~

The Seelie Court has not changed at all in the years of Yoongi’s absence. He’s extremely irritated that the Sidhe have manipulated things and forced his hand so he’d have to show his face here again. As he pieced together the information they had to go with—the Sidhe’s increasingly backhanded ways of inviting Yoongi to Court, Minsu suddenly have the far too brilliant plan to bring Jimin here. No, this is the workings of the heads of Court.

The realization that this has all been a plot to get Yoongi back to Court came as a brief relief to Yoongi. It means they have no real intention of hurting Jimin. Yoongi can just show his face, fight whatever verbal sparring match the heads of Court have planned, and then take Jimin safely home. He holds onto this as he strides confidently into the Great Hall, flanked by Jungkook and Hoseok on his right and Jin and Taehyung on his left.

Yoongi only allows himself a brief glance at the room, unchanged and familiar as it is. The whole hall is bright, as if bathed in a perpetual morning light. There are plants everywhere, tucked into corners, hanging from the rafters. Chairs are scattered throughout, never in any practical arrangement for holding an audience at Court. But then again, they never really have had much need for holding audience.

While only a few of the scattered chairs are occupied by fae—many more are probably hidden away throughout the room, which is deceptively larger than it appears—, calmly sipping from tea cups or simply admiring the foliage about, Yoongi can see the entire heads of Court has been assembled. Twelve Sidhe, in their silver and blue robes, sit in a semi-circle on the raised dais at the front of the hall. It is towards this dais that Yoongi and his coterie walk to now.

As they approach the Sidhe, Yoongi can feel the air around him grow tense with each step. He can feel their eyes on him, measuring and assessing. He knows what they are doing—they are trying to intimidate him, to make him feel small and insignificant, the same trick they’ve been catching him in his whole life. However, he’s brought his own arsenal of tools for intimidation. Starting with his friends at his side, all dressed in their Seoul fashion—a clear rejection of Court protocol. He straightens his shoulders and holds his head up high as he steps to the appropriate distance from the dais. He’s pleased to see the flicker of uncertainty briefly flash in some of the Sidhe’s eyes.

“Well,” says the eldest of the Sidhe. “I’m glad to see you’ve finally decided to grace us with your presence.”

Yoongi feels a flash of anger course through him at the condescending tone. He takes a deep breath before speaking, keeping his voice even and controlled. He can hear his friends taking similarly deep breaths from behind him.

“I apologize for my tardiness,” he says, bowing his head slightly. “As you know, I had important matters, including my livelihood, to attend to in The Crossing.”

Another of the Sidhe snorts in disbelief. Yoongi feels his hands tense into fists at his side and he has to consciously relax them.

“Important matters indeed,” they say. “We’ve heard all about your dilly-dallying.”

“Dilly-dallying,” Yoongi can hear Hoseok mock the word under his breath.

Yoongi is about to open his mouth in retort, but another voice interrupts him. “Well, Min Yoongi-ssi, you came much quicker than I expected.”

Ah Minsu walks through the Great Hall to stand near Yoongi’s group, far away enough to avoid physical threat, but still near enough to the dais. The newcomer looks resplendent in golden robes with several layers. Everything flutters as he moves, as if he’s buoyed by his own little wind. Yoongi raises his eyebrow to the sylph.

“Cocky and stupid,” Jin mutters under his breath.

Yoongi huffs out a quick laugh, trying to bite back the angry smile threatening to ruin his composure in front of the Court.

“I’m rather surprised you’re here at all, Minsu-ssi,” Yoongi says. He can’t stop the smirk on his lips then. “I may use your name here, can I not? You seem to have no qualms about using mine.”

Minsu leers at him. “Why wouldn’t I be here? I am a representative for my clan. I have many dealings with Court. Plus, I wanted to come give my testimony in your case.”

“Dear cousin,” the eldest Sidhe speaks, looking at Minsu, “what do you mean by testimony?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Minsu asks, turning to face the heads of Court. Yoongi watches the sylph’s face become the facade of obedience and contrition. “Our cousin is making an attempt to keep a human in The Crossing as a pet .”

The Great Hall had been relatively quiet up until now, but upon Minsu’s words, whispers break out among the fae. Even some of the heads of the Court lean towards one another to remark on the allegations.

Before Yoongi can react, Taehyung is launching himself towards Minsu with a cry, “You bastard!”

As Taehyung surges forward, Yoongi reaches out to grab him, but misses. However, Jin is closer and successfully gets a hold of Taehyung in a strained back hug.

“Don’t you dare talk about Jimin like that!” Taehyung yells at Minsu, struggling against Jin’s hold on him, both their eyes ablaze with anger. Yoongi tries to put a placating hand on Taehyung’s shoulder, but Taehyung continues his struggle.

Yoongi doesn’t want them getting into a fight that could ruin their chances of getting Jimin out of here unharmed. Yoongi looks towards Minsu and sees the sylph is laughing. Yoongi thinks he looks a bit crazed. It’s nauseating.

“That is enough,” the eldest Sidhe says, voice echoing with magical amplification to fill the hall.

Taehyung huffs, but stills his struggle. He keeps his eyes narrowly trained on the sylph. Satisfied his friend isn’t going to do anything impulsive, Yoongi turns his gaze to Minsu again. The sylph shoots a smirk at Yoongi, who feels a muscle in his jaw tighten, but otherwise holds his tongue.

“Do you care to elaborate on your accusations, cousin?” one of the Sidhe on the dais asks. “While possibly distasteful, it is not explicitly illicit to have a relationship with a human. However, if the human is not consenting...”

The Sidhe lets their sentence trail off, letting everyone understand where the nuance in the laws lay. Yoongi uses all his willpower not to laugh aloud.

“You see,” Minsu says, still confident for reasons Yoongi cannot fathom, “I met the human at a gathering of humans and fae. I was immediately concerned with the way that Yoongi-ssi was treating this human in particular. He seemed far too interested, picking him out of the crowd intentionally. I could tell that the human was shocked and uncomfortable with Yoongi-ssi’s spell summoning. Yoongi-ssi did not notice, or did not care.”

Minsu pauses and shoots a glare at the rest of Yoongi’s friends for added effect. “The human definitely didn’t want to go with Yoongi-ssi. It took a lot of work, but I was finally able to find the human alone and convince him to get away from Yoongi-ssi. I did eventually decide it was better to bring him here to Court. It seemed like the only way.”

Yoongi watches as Minsu weaves his intricate lies, anger simmering in his gut.

“Knowing that Yoongi-ssi seems to have not had as proper of an upbringing as the rest of us, I figured it best to make sure he is taught a lesson here, at Court. I’m sure being raised in The Crossing has led to an incomplete education,” Minsu finishes with a triumphant smirk on his face.

Yoongi can hear the surprised gasps from his own group of friends. He can hear Hoseok’s incredulous laugh leak out before he can clamp a hand over his own mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Jin says, sounding incredulous, before the Sidhe on the dais can speak up. “Do you not actually know who he is?”

Jin waves a hand vaguely in Yoongi’s direction while he addresses Minsu. This time it is Taehyung that accidentally lets out a disbelieving laugh.

Minsu clearly has no fucking clue. This is better than Yoongi thought.

“Of course I know who he is,” Minsu replies and actually rolls his eyes. “He’s Min Yoongi-ssi of no clan, half-fae, from The Crossing.”

Yoongi can feel both Hoseok and Taehyung struggle to maintain composure and even Jin now looks like he’s about to laugh. Yoongi feels like he needs to reign this in and get Jimin so they can get out of here.

The eldest Sidhe clears their throat from the dais. Everyone sobers up a bit and turns their attention back to the heads of the Court.

“The matter of the human’s consent can be quickly ascertained,” one of the Sidhe says. They nod to a fae standing to the right of the dais and watch for a moment as the fae leaves though a sliding door. “However, given our cousin’s upbringing, I am certain we will find no wrongdoing.”

“What? That doesn’t make sense!” Minsu growls. His face grows red with anger as he tries to puzzle together everyone’s reactions to his accusations. He whirls on Yoongi. “Who the fuck are you?”

Yoongi raises his eyebrow at Minsu, but decides not to answer him. Instead, he turns back to the dais and asks, “Where is Jimin? I would like to see him.”

“Ah, he is being summoned now,” the eldest Sidhe says.

“What the fuck is going on? I was told if I brought the human here, Yoongi would get the justice he deserves,” Minsu is shouting now.

“I’m not sure who told you that, cousin,” another Sidhe on the dais says. “But, we are not in the habit of punishing those that have not actually committed crimes.”

“Yoongi is a low life! He fucking raps at clubs and who knows what else! How can any of you be defending him! Don’t even get me started on those pathetic excuses for fae he hangs out with!” Minsu seethes, clearly grasping.

Yoongi’s eyes narrow on the sylph. Someone can belittle his character all they want, but sure as fuck they are not going to come after his friends.

“First,” Yoongi starts, “you started this, asshole, spelling humans without their consent. I should have had you banished back to The Dreaming for good immediately. That was my mistake. I’ll be sure to rectify that today.”

Most of the Court raises their eyebrows at this revelation. More whispering erupts throughout the Great Hall. Minsu sputters.

“Second,” Yoongi continues with barely a pause, “my friends are all upstanding citizens. Half of them are esteemed members of this Court. Which you would know if you actually asked around. In fact, despite my long absence, it’s probably not hard to find out who I am just by asking. I suggest you do your actual homework before talking out your ass.”

Minsu is still sputtering, as if trying to find something to say but failing.

“Third,” Yoongi drops his voice low, tone that of steel, he raises his arm to point his index finger straight at the eldest Sidhe, “while I am no longer a member of this Court, that seat was once to be mine. Yes, I may have renounced my clan and have settled in The Crossing like many of our kind have, but I grew up in these very halls.”

Yoongi stalks slowly forward towards Minsu, who is looking satisfyingly terrified now. Yoongi feels as if he’s about to vibrate out of his skin as a rage that goes well beyond just the sylph standing before him burns through him. He punches a single finger into Minsu’s chest to emphasize his point.

“Insulting my upbringing is to insult to my parent,” Yoongi gestures again towards the eldest Sidhe, “and to insult the entire Seelie Court. Apologize to them.”

Minsu doesn’t even hesitate. He drops into a full bow, forehead pressed into the wooden floor.

“Forgive me, dear cousins,” Minsu murmurs into the wood.

“Now get out. I don’t want Jimin to have to see your face,” Yoongi says with finality.

Minsu quickly rises to his feet and trips over his own feet in his scramble for the door, skirting around Yoongi’s friends on his way out. He’s gone from Court in less than two minutes.

“Now,” Yoongi turns back to the heads of the Court. “Where is Jimin?”

“He should be here any moment,” the eldest Sidhe replies with a small smirk. How Minsu hadn’t seen the resemblance between the Sidhe and Yoongi is surely beyond everyone in the room.

Just then the door the fae had exited early slides open and the fae steps back through it. She looks nervous before she steps aside to let the person behind her through.

Yoongi’s heart sinks as he sees Jimin. He’s wearing grand green robes that make him look ethereal, but his pale complexion, the red splotches on his face, tousled hair, and swollen eyes are clear indications he’s been crying. He’s breathing hard, taking in gulps of air as he steps into the room. His eyes light up with hope as he and Yoongi make eye contact.

“What is the meaning of this?” Yoongi asks with a hardened tone. He’s itching to throw himself at Jimin, to run out of here, to burn the entire Court down as he goes. He swallows down his instincts and waits for the Sidhe to answer him.

At the same moment, Jungkook makes a broken whimper and races toward Jimin, Taehyung hot on his heels. Both fae immediately wrap themselves protectively around the human and usher him back over to their group.

There is clear confusion in the faces of the Sidhe as they watch the events unfold before them. Finally, the eldest Sidhe asks, “What is the meaning of what?”

~

Jimin’s ears have been filled with static ever since the fae came to collect him from his room. Again, no words were exchanged as the fae led him down twisting paths and confusing corridors. He realizes he hasn’t heard a spoken word aside from his own since Minsu’s rough “deal with the human” when he was left in this place. The silence and the terror have him choking on the scream building in his throat.

They finally stop in front of a simple white door. Before he can even take a breath, the fae is sliding it open and stepping inside, gesturing for him to follow.

Keeping his eyes firmly on the back of the fae in front of him, he follows into the room, which turns out to be a large hall filled with plants. He tempts a glance around, trying to get his bearings. There are a whole group of Sidhe, tall and intimidating with their ornately styled blue hair, on a platform in front of him. As he looks further into the hall, his knees almost give out in relief at the sight of a familiar group of people. Jimin’s eyes lock with Yoongi’s and Jimin releases an inaudible gasp.

Yoongi looks soft for the briefest of moments as he gazes at Jimin, eyes raking up and down Jimin’s frame, then his expression turns hard, angry. He faces back to the platform. His tone matches his expression when he asks, “What is the meaning of this?”

It’s so jarring to hear someone speak—especially with that tone of voice coming from Yoongi —after so long in silence. How long has he been here, in this timeless, soundless, lifeless place? How do the fae stop themselves from going mad here?

Jimin registers the despondent sound Jungkook makes just before he and Taehyung are barreling forward, wrapping their arms protectively around Jimin. Before he can even process what is happening, he’s surrounded by his friends. They all seem to form a barrier between him and the rest of the room.

He wants to embrace the relief of being with his friends again, with Yoongi. But he can’t let himself relax yet. His friends might still be in trouble. Yoongi might be in trouble. That’s, after all, why he came to this godforsaken place in the first place. With a start, he realizes Yoongi’s been talking this whole time, voice still sharp as steel, with the Sidhe on the platform.

Yoongi stands with his arms folded across his chest. He looks like he could spit acid at the Sidhe, who look back at him with creased brows. Their voices are quiet and calm. Jimin’s anxiety spirals from inside his little friend fortress.

“We have done nothin but treat the human with respect and hospitality,” one of the Sidhe says.

“Bullshit,” Yoongi growls. “Let’s wrap this up so we may leave and never come back.”

“But dear cousin–” another of the Sidhe starts.

“No,” Yoongi cuts them off. “I am not interested. I haven’t been interested in decades. I have a life in The Crossing, as is my right. I am not giving up my life for this bullshit. So take your Court and fuck off. You think you’re better than the Unseelie Court? You think you’re all noble? Did any one of you ask Jimin what he wanted or if he was even here of his own freewill?”

An eerie silence hangs over the hall.

Yoongi scoffs in disgust. Jimin can just see his profile through the shoulders of his friends. The fae is standing tall—commanding—and the anger rolling off of him is almost visible.

“What happened to consent, hm?” Yoongi sneers. “One of the most sacred values, is it not?”

“Cousin,” a Sidhe says, shifting a little on their feet, “it is true, perhaps, we were not as thorough as we should have been.”

Jimin can hear Jungkook and Taehyung both let out angry huffs of air, but they don’t move.

“Human, step forward,” the Sidhe in the center of the platform says.

His wall of friends around him are tense, hesitating to move until Yoongi tells them to let Jimin through.

Yoongi holds his hand out to Jimin, palm up. Jimin takes it readily and steps up next to the fae. Yoongi’s hand gives his a comforting squeeze. Jimin keeps his eyes trained on the platform in front of him, rather than making eye contact with any of the fae.

Jimin takes a few deep breaths, his hand still in Yoongi’s. He can tell the Sidhe are all watching them, feel the burning of their gaze on his skin. But as discomforting as their gaze is, he can also feel the familiar comfort of all of his friends at his back, close enough for their body heat to reach him.

The realization hits Jimin then. It was all a trick. A stupid one. Yoongi was never in danger until Jimin stupidly followed that asshole through that door. His friends were never in danger. This is their home, for fucks sake. Something settles inside his chest then, some of the fear melts away.

“Human,” the Sidhe says. “Did you consent to coming to Court?”

“I–” Jimin starts, thinking back. “I did. But I was told Yoongi hyung was in trouble. I was told I could help him if I came here.”

Yoongi makes a small choking noise, clearly upset, but Jimin keeps his eyes on the Sidhe’s feet.

“I see,” the Sidhe says. “Well, while you were clearly given false information, I’m afraid consent was still given.”

“What the fuck,” Hoseok says from behind Jimin.

And Jimin has had enough. He’s tired. He’s afraid, but less afraid now that his friends are here. Now that he knows the imagined threats are just that—imagined. Most importantly, though, he’s angry. So angry. Angry at Minsu. Angry at the Sidhe. He lifts his chin and makes eye contact with each Sidhe standing on the platform.

“However,” Jimin says loudly, making sure his voice carries, which has the added bonus of taking the tremor out of his tone. He silently gives thanks for that theater class he took in university. “I did not consent to being stripped naked, forced to wash in front of an audience. I did not consent to wearing unfamiliar clothes, have my own belongings taken away, and to sit in some empty room for who knows how long. No one asked me for my permission. No one has spoken a word to me at all.”

Jimin’s face burns red at the confession, not sure if it’s a product of him being embarrassed or angry, and he worries he sounds like he’s rambling. He darts his eyes to the side momentarily to see if he can see Yoongi’s reaction. Yoongi is staring at him, eyes burning fierce with what might be a mixture of anger and pride. Okay then.

“You know what, I might have given my consent to be here when I didn’t know what the fuck was actually going on,” Jimin continues, confidence blossoming in his chest. “But now I know.”

Jimin takes a deep breath and squeezes Yoongi’s hand tighter. Yoongi’s presence grounds him. He meets the Sidhe’s gaze head on, his voice growing stronger with each passing second.

“I did not come here to be humiliated and degraded. I did not come here to be treated like some plaything for you and your Court’s amusement. And I sure as hell did not come here to be used as leverage against someone I care about,” Jimin says, his voice menacing.

The tension in the room is palpable, waiting for the Sidhe to respond. Jimin fights the urge to fidget under their intense scrutiny, focusing on the weight of Yoongi’s hand in his.

“I see,” one of the Sidhe says finally, breaking the silence. “We apologize for any inconvenience.”

“Wow,” Jimin hears Taehyung breathe out, voice laced with sarcasm.

No one moves. Jimin has no intention of accepting their half-assed apology. Instead he says, lifting his chin higher in determination, “I am revoking my consent. I no longer wish to accept your invitation to this Court. I would like to go home. With Yoongi. And my friends. Now.”

The Sidhe seem speechless—a frozen tableau of blue fae with varying levels of shock on their faces standing before him on their platform.

“Let’s fucking go then,” Taehyung says, breaking the spell that seems to have fallen over the room.

Suddenly, Yoongi is turning, pushing Jimin into his friends’ arms. The group moves quickly, ushering Jimin down the length of the room and out a set of oversized doors. They are in a large circular room with doors all along the walls. Each has a small label over the top of the door frame, but the language must be fae, because Jimin can’t decipher it.

No one makes a move to stop them as Namjoon’s boyfriend opens the door they’ve moved in front of. Without any further ceremony, they all file through the door and end up in a room that looks suspiciously reminiscent of Yoongi’s hanok.

“That was really hot,” Taehyung breathes out.

Hoseok laughs, although it sounds more like relief.

Jungkook hasn’t let Jimin go yet, hand still coiled protectively around Jimin’s bicep. “You okay, hyung?”

Jimin nods and looks around at the faces standing around him, looking for one in particular.

When he doesn’t see who he’s looking for, he frantically asks, “Wait, where’s Yoongi?”

~

Yoongi waits until he’s sure everyone has made it through the portal before he turns his attention back to the Court and the Sidhe on the dais. He raises an eyebrow.

“Well, you invited me,” Yoongi says calmly. “I assume it wasn’t to swap chicken soup recipes.”

“Child,” the eldest Sidhe says.

Yoongi looks at his parent, standing regal in the center of the dais, and waits.

“I do not want you making the same mistakes as I did,” the Sidhe continues.

Yoongi clenches his jaw. There is an edge to his tone as he repeats, “Mistakes.”

“Yes, I did much when I was younger that I wish I had spared myself from. The Crossing provides much to distract, but that can be dangerous,” the Sidhe says.

“By that logic, I am one of your mistakes, since I am a product of your forays into The Crossing,” Yoongi says.

“I would not put it that way, Child,” the Sidhe says, the barest hint of sadness in their voice. “Humans feel much, it’s true. But their emotions are not stable. They do not understand longevity the way those of us of The Dreaming do.”

“Thank you for your advice. I promise I will not regret this choice. I cannot apologize for taking certain risks and living my life on my own terms,” Yoongi says. He almost pities the fae on the dais. They rarely leave the cozy blandness of the Seelie Court. They don’t realize what they are missing. What it feels like to be alive—or to truly love.

None of the Sidhe speak. Yoongi is happy to wait them out, letting the tension fill the room, an invisible cloud that makes it a little hard to breathe.

Yoongi is relieved when Namjoon walks up to the front of the room. He positions himself next to Yoongi, giving the fae a small nod. Yoongi feels the final coil of anxiety release.

“Alright, well, I’m leaving,” Yoongi says, dusting non-existent dust off his jeans, sounding almost tired, as if he’s had to put up with way too much bullshit for one day—which is true. And he means every word he says, he can already feel the dulling of his emotions the longer he stays. It’s time to go.

“You cannot just walk away from your responsibilities,” one of the Sidhe says.

“Ah, cousin,” Yoongi replies, allowing the sarcasm to drip through in his tone, “you are so correct. And I have many, many responsibilities and obligations waiting for me in The Crossing. So. If you’ll excuse me.”

He gives the eldest Sidhe a courtesy nod of his head and then he turns on his heel and marches out of the Great Hall. Namjoon keeps pace with him.

“That sylph is actually banished this time?” Yoongi asks when they are far enough away from the dais he feels comfortable to talk.

“Yes, hyung,” Namjoon says. “Turns out someone had, uh, mislaid the paperwork the first time. Apparently someone thought it would be a good idea to trick Minsu into bringing Jimin here in order to lure you to Court. I think they were trying to win the heads of Court’s favor. I’ve reported the fae responsible and made sure the paperwork was walked all the way through to the right office this time. Ah Minsu won’t be able to leave The Dreaming again.”

Yoongi nods. “Good. That’s good.”

~

Jimin is throwing himself into Yoongi’s arm the moment the fae makes it through the portal, the older grunting at the unexpected impact.

“I’m so sorry, hyung,” Jimin says into Yoongi’s neck. “I was so stupid.”

“It’s not stupid to care, Jimin-ah,” Yoongi murmurs, wrapping his arms more securely around Jimin’s back. “I should have been more open, too. I’m sorry.”

Jimin shakes his head, still buried in Yoongi’s neck.

Yoongi huffs a laugh. He turns his head so his nose is tucked into Jimin’s hair and he murmurs, “I think the most important thing is, if this ever happens again, you call me first, hm? Fae bullshit happens, call hyung. Deal?”

Jimin laughs wetly as he nods and tightens his hold. He thinks maybe it’ll be better if he can just stay here, like this, forever. Then he remembers that empty bedroom at the Seelie Court, where time didn’t seem to pass, and he changes his mind. Not forever, but for a long while, maybe.

~

Jimin is wiping the sweat off the back of his neck with a towel when Hoseok lets out a small gasp.

“Do you see the text?” his friend asks without looking up from his phone screen.

“I left my phone in my locker,” Jimin says with a shrug. He throws the towel in the laundry bin and starts zipping up his duffle.

“Friends Only tonight,” Hoseok says. “You coming?”

“Don’t think so,” Jimin says. “I’ve got plans.”

“Plans? What plans?” Hoseok asks, pretending to sound annoyed. Then he finally looks up from his phone screen to see the mischievous smile Jimin is giving him. “Oh, you know, what. Ew. TMI. Never mind. I do not want to know. Have fun. Wear a condom.”

Jimin is already pushing the door to the dance studio open, his duffle bag hanging from an elbow. “You too, hyung!”

~

Namjoon is knocking on the open door to his music studio. Yoongi vaguely wonders when he left it open. Maybe Namjoon used his emergency code for what is clearly not an emergency, judging by the smug look on his face.

“Oh, hyung,” Namjoon is saying, dimples showing from his smile.

“This should be good,” Yoongi mumbles, already turning back to his computer screen.

“There’s a Friends Only tonight,” Namjoon apparently doesn’t let Yoongi’s taciturn mood get him down. “You coming?”

“Absolutely not,” Yoongi says, refusing to look away from his work, resolutely clicking his mouse.

Namjoon just laughs as he walks away down the hall.

“Yah!” Yoongi yells. “Shut the door!”

~

Sometimes Jimin forgets he’s no longer at the Seelie Court. Usually, it’s brief, but that moment of panic when he thinks he’s back there—floating in that timeless place—is enough to prick his eyes with tears and send his heart thumping in his chest.

It’s easier though, here, in Seoul, to remind himself that everything is still real and time is passing. He can hear a car out on the road and a bird singing from Yoongi’s madang. He can smell fresh air and petrichor. He can taste the coffee that’s brewing across the way when Yoongi hands him a sturdy mug and the same coffee on Yoongi’s lips when they kiss. He can see the sun’s shadows on the walls of the hanok as it makes its way across the sky. He can feel—everything—the softness of sheets, the heat in the air as summer comes into full swing, the hard earned sweat when he’s working until he gets a choreo looking the way he wants. He’s here. He’s real. Time continues to march forward.

When he first confessed to Yoongi that he was still struggling, that sometimes he forgets where he is and the fear that accompanies that forgetfulness, Yoongi was heartbroken. But soon, the fae had set up speakers throughout the house, for ambient noise so there was never silence and clocks in every room of his— their —hanok.

“Hey, where are you?” Yoongi asks as they get ready for bed.

Jimin hums a question in response, pulling his shirt off before sliding between the sheets and comforter.

“You seem distant,” Yoongi says. He folds himself carefully under the comforter and lays on his side, curling into Jimin. “Everything okay?”

Jimin gives Yoongi a small smile, reaching out to take his hand. The weight of it is heavy, warm between them and helps Jimin know that his next words are nothing but the truth, “Just lost in thought, I guess. But yeah, I’m okay.”

Jimin leans forward to kiss Yoongi then, pouring all his tenderness and love into the press of their mouths together. His warm lips brush against the older man’s. He feels his heart thump in anticipation and longing as he slides his arms around Yoongi’s shoulders and pulls him close. He can feel the slow, steady beat of Yoongi’s heart—a strong rhythm that resonates through Jimin’s chest. There is nothing else in this moment but the two of them, enveloped in tenderness and love.