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jiminiesfavouritecolourisblue · 1 month

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Our Little Love part seven - OT7 Mafia/Yandere au

What’s that saying? One step forward two steps back? 👀 6K words containing: manipulation, toxic yandere men, non-consented acts of affection, lies, possessive behaviour, jealousy, allusion to crime and kidnapping.

“Little love,” Jin calls for you absentmindedly, frowning when you don’t look up from your book to answer him. It’s one you had read a million times before, maybe you didn’t hear him.

“Little love?” He tries again, looking confused as you let out a disgruntled sigh of annoyance.

He can see your jaw clench, something had pissed you off. Your foot became restless as you sat in the arm chair, it was only when Jimin cleared his throat obviously he remembered the terms and conditions you had enforced.

This time he lets out a big sigh, one of tested patience. He mumbles an apology before turning away, a bitter feeling creeping up his chest. Fuck, he resented the fact he couldn’t call you that anymore, it was like asking him not to breathe. Fuck fuck fuck, they needed to earn your forgiveness soon or this might actually kill them. Not that they ever underestimated you, but you really did know which weapons to pull to hurt them the most, and fuck did he have to admit they deserved it. Didn’t mean he had to like any of it.

Jimin follows him out, a quick glance back at you to see if you were paying any concern but of course not. Since the day you announced the break you’d been keeping your distance, Jimin had complained about it childishly with tantrum tears in his eyes but you had patiently explained you needed the space to clear your head.

Jimin scoffs at the memory, feeling sour about it still. The pout he wears gives away his thoughts when they both find Yoongi in the kitchen.

“Little love giving you a hard time?” he says almost amused.

It’s Jin’s turn to scoff dramatically, ears burning so red, Yoongi swears there’s steam.

“We can’t call her that anymore,” he complains, sulking.

Yoongi smiles a little, not because he truly found his hyung’s pain entertaining, but because he understood the pain.

“It’s a difficult situation,” Yoongi agrees, “but the alternative would have been so much worse.”

Jimin and Jin stare silently at him, their gazes aggressive as if they wanted to hit the male but they didn’t because he was right. The worst alternative wasn’t expecting you to leave, they all knew they would never let that happen, but if you had become a ghost of yourself, if they had broken you so badly there was nothing left to rebuild, then what would be left of you?

“When did you become so considerate?” Jimin scoffs, rolling his eyes. He didn’t like any of it, he didn’t care if you were right and they were wrong, you had taken away their most prized and valuable possession, you. He couldn’t help the internal tantrums as if someone had taken away his favourite toy. Call him childish, call him whatever the hell you wanted, he hated this situation, and he couldn’t hide it.

They apologised, and apologised, and apologised, and you still gave them the cruellest punishment you could think of.

“You’re still thinking with anger,” Yoongi acknowledges, knowing when Jimin cooled down from this he would probably be the one with the most regret and remorse, what he didn’t know is Jimin was clinging to his resentment with all his might, because once that gave way he would have so much to answer for.

—

Men would pay money to see Jung Hoseok hesitate, but that was exactly what he was doing now. Another book in your hand (you were reading a bit too much lately, he didn’t like it, it was as if you knew you couldn’t leave physically so you were doing so mentally), and he was stalling himself with interrupting you.

Your rejection cut holes into him, and that’s what he was afraid of when approaching you today. When he was younger he used to be afraid of everything, but after indulging in the horrors of survival and the syndicate, nothing terrified him any more, or so he thought before his heart belonged to you.

“Litt-” he catches himself before he says it too loud, clearing his throat quietly hoping you didn’t hear him. “Y/n?”

He sounds more confident, his more serious persona going up as if that would protect him here. He knew he needed it, any sane person after experiencing his pleasure and pain games would run at the sight of him, and a part of him was getting ready to catch you if you did.

You look at him and it has him crumbling. Something in his chest physically hurts him so bad he thinks he needs to go see a specialist, one glance from you and he’s ready to beg on his knees again for your forgiveness. The distance between you, although you were here in front of him, killed him. It felt eerily similar to what it did when you left, and it confused his brain and body so much.

He had to remind himself every day, you were still here, you still loved them, this was just temporary.

“I-I wasjus- I was just heading to the b-basment,” forget money, men would lay down their lives to see Jung Hoseok stutter and stumble over his words.

You frown in question when he doesn’t continue, but stares at you expectantly, until he realises he hadn’t explained what he wanted.

“For a workout!” He rectifies himself quickly before taking a breath to calm himself, “I wondered if you wanted to join me?”

He mentally pats himself on the back quickly for sounding more put together, but then his nerves start to shake again when you don’t respond immediately. You contemplate it, for too long in his eyes, stretching out the pause until you have the man sweating. Who needs a work out, just piss your girlfriend off and try to spend time with her while she's still mad.

“Yeah, okay,” you nod, finally putting down your book (he should get Jimin to burn them all). “I’ll go get changed.”

The relief and joy that floods Hobi almost makes him pass out, a genuine smile he hasn’t felt on his own face for days bursts through. This was a step in the right direction, you didn’t hate him or you would’ve shut him down. With the amount of hope in his system, he was getting giddy.

—

You wanted some time alone this evening, without them lingering around you, with poor attempts of covering their intentions with busying themselves. As if you couldn’t see Jimin’s imploring stare as he walked past you from the corner of your eyes. Or the way Jin would walk towards you, hesitate and then walk away.

You didn’t say they couldn’t talk to you, you were just on a break. Part of you knows you should seek them out and start civil conversation but that part also knew once you opened the door they would come barging through. An inch would turn into a mile and you would be back where you started.

So now you were busying yourself with the world’s worst chore, just to escape and breathe for a second, laundry. You were sorting through the load at a snail’s pace, knowing when you were done you’d have to endure them again. You’re so embedded in your own thoughts you don’t feel another presence join you.

Arms wrap around you, making you still. His figure almost engulfs you from behind, his nose already finding purchase on your neck as he buries himself against you. You try not to sigh, you were sick of hearing the sound yourself but it was always one of patience.

You understood how hard it was for them to accept your decision for a ‘break’, but all you wanted was some respect for it. And this broke your no touching rule.

“Tae let go,” you say without an ounce of emotion, continuing sorting out the laundry in front of you.

His only reaction to your words is the opposite of course, holding you tighter against him making your heart skip too many beats to count. Your skin sizzled with something akin to longing, a fire he only seemed to ignite when his breath hit your neck.

You don’t give in. You throw the item of clothing in your hand down, both hands on the edge of the basket as you still, standing statue as he tries his hardest to work through your defences. You don’t respond when he nuzzles his nose against where he’s buried, or to the rumble of his chest when he breathes you in deeply. His eyes are closed, you know they are, he’s relishing the moment all he can before you take it away.

He doesn’t feel you respond the way he wants you to, he wants you to melt against him and the urge is so strong but somehow you resist. He whines, the sound so soft near your ears you almost miss it. He tries holding you tighter still, his thumb stroking soft circles on your skin, trying to tempt you to break your resolve. Gentle, almost whisper like kisses are placed on your shoulder as he finally breaks away.

“Are you done?” You say almost coldly as he steps back, picking back up another item of clothing.

You hear him sniff but you don’t let it move you.

“Heaven, please,” he begs, a fist in your top clutching onto you.

That’s when you turn to face him. If he expects to see any softness in your gaze he’s sorely mistaken, it’s not a glare you’re giving him but it’s close enough that it burns. You don’t even flinch when you see tears in his eyes.

“I asked you not to touch me,” you state quietly but your words are firm. “Or that if you did, you asked first.”

He looks down, partly in shame, partly in grief. You can’t stand to see the sight, it makes your heart ache, so you walk away.

—

“Y/n?” Jungkook asks for your attention, biting his lips in worry. “Can I ask you about the book you’re reading?”

The others in the room feel an overwhelming sense of envy when you smile at the maknae. Jimin’s jaw goes slack as you scoot over to let Jungkook sit beside you. Envy was a dangerous thing, how he wanted to pluck the youngest of them out of the seat and take his place, but he hadn’t calmed his emotions down enough yet to approach you properly, and he knew if he did he’d ruin whatever rebuilding the others had done. No, he had to be patient with himself and withdraw, even if that meant physically. He was playing cards with Yoongi and Seokjin, but he places his cards down and leaves.

Jin’s pout overtakes his face when he turns away from the sight of Jungkook grinning while you talk animatedly, putting down a card without thinking and letting Yoongi take the win this round. Yoongi didn’t even notice, his gaze goes soft at the way you laugh at a teasing comment Jungkook made, a sound he hasn’t heard in what felt like forever. The sound even makes the corners of Jin’s pout pull up.

The youngest of the group honestly thought he was in paradise, he didn’t even care about the book he just wanted to hear you talk without reservation. His focus was on the way your eyes lit up, the genuine smile on your face, how does he try to make this moment last forever? He pays attention to every word you utter, asking the right question to keep you going, even making a joke here and there and feeling so pleased with himself when you laugh.

How did the relationship regress back so far that he felt like this was the start of it, like he was still pursuing you to give him a chance, like he had to work up the courage to ask you out all over again. The answer of course was in their mistakes, the thought dampens his mood but he pushes it away. He didn’t know when he would get another moment like this, he had to soak it all in and cherish it before it was over.

—

Your defences go up when you spot Jimin bringing Taehyung to you, the shorter male holding his hand guiding your bear like boyfriend in front of you. You look at them both expectantly, wondering what the theatrics were for. Taehyung sniffles, his face hanging low, his red hoodie pulled down as far as he can get it to hide himself.

“Taehyung has something he wants to say Heaven- I mean angel- I mean Y/n,” he corrects himself repeatedly with a shake of his head, cheeks burning in slight embarrassment at the blunder, but he wouldn’t apologise for it even it that made him a hypocrite for what he was making Taehyung do.

He pushes his friend gently, encouraging him to speak.

“Tae?” you say gently, remembering how harshly you spoke to him the other day.

Apparently that was all it took for the man to break down into tears in front of you, falling to his knees as he bawled. Your jaw drops in shock at the action, but you’re more surprised at the fact he holds himself back from launching into you for comfort.

You can see how hard it is to do so, he’s hugging himself, but his nails dig into the fabric of his clothes. He still doesn’t look at you, his gaze on the floor. You give him a second to compose himself, the sobs turning into little hiccups as he wipes his face with his sleeve.

When he looks at you it's your turn to grip the armrests of the chair with all your might, those glassy eyes beg you for love and it takes everything not to smother him in your embrace. But that would undo all the work you’ve been doing, you had to talk it out first and then maybe if this was resolved you could reward him with physical affection, just a little.

“I-I’m sorry,” he says through a hoarse voice, the sound only breaking your resolve further. “About the other day, I s-should’ve asked first.”

He tries to take a deep breath in but it’s shaky, for some reason what he wants to say next breaks him out into more tears. He covers his face as he cries, Jimin rubbing his back providing him with the comfort you couldn’t give just yet.

“Doyouhateme?”

The muffled question breaks your heart, Jimin can see it on your face and it has him fighting down a smirk. He may have played a hand at manipulating the situation, convincing Taehyung this was the best way to get back into your good books.

“Tae no,” you breathe, eyes watering but you blink back the tears. You didn’t want to show them any weakness anymore. “I don’t hate you.”

You sigh, eyes to the ceiling, as if begging for control over yourself as you try really hard to not give in to the feeling of wanting to crawl into his lap and hold him.

“I just really needed some space that day,” you explain, “and you caught me at a bad time.”

That wipes away Jimin’s elation, all this talk about space and distance, it already felt like you were living on Mars. How much space did you want? In his opinion there had been too much space, that was the problem, or were you forgetting the long agonising months of your absence?

Taehyung nods, thankfully retaining your attention away from Jimin who couldn’t hide his thoughts from his face.

—

You can’t sleep, tossing and turning from your side to your back and then to your side again. Were you fighting a losing battle? Were you being unfair in asking them to change? You remember cases of forgotten wives refusing to leave their no good husbands, the amount of inane times you heard the cries of ‘I can get him to change’... had you become one of those women? Then of course came the others, the women who knew they could not work miracles on their partners and gave up. Some left, some stayed, and you remember watching them all in the years of your career, arrogantly thinking it would never be you, no man would ever trap you like this. There was a joke in there somewhere, one man certainly didn’t, but seven did.

The knock on the door thankfully interrupts your endless circle of pity, a meek Jungkook peeking around as he opens the door. Something about the scene felt familiar but the shoe was on the other foot. He was waiting for permission to come in, you don’t know why the sight made you smile, made you warm.

If anyone was proof that they were trying for you it was Jungkook, Yoongi had kept his distance out of respect for your rules, you know he only did so because he couldn’t help himself if he got too close. Jimin was similar although, you could see he was keeping his distance mentally, angry with you and your conditions. It would pass, you were sure, or at least you hoped.

Jungkook was the only one that accepted everything without complaint, and you knew it wasn’t easy. You were so grateful to him for it, for respecting your boundaries sincerely, for giving you hope that this relationship could be salvaged.

He almost trips over himself when you pull the covers back wordlessly, inviting him in, the stumble of his legs as he races towards you makes you giggle. He climbs in without hesitation, about to reach out for you but he stops himself, eyes looking up at you, wanting to ask you out loud but too afraid to.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him quietly, as if talking loudly would break the peace you felt with him there, that you’d second guess yourself.

Arms you’ve longed for wrap around your waist, pulling you towards him. You hold him back gently, not letting yourself get lost in him the way you wanted. In the darkness, your gazes meet, talking loudly in a way filled the silence.

“I’ve missed you,” he breathes out hard, unable to hold it in any longer.

“I’ve missed you too,” you admit.

He bites his lips to refrain from saying anything else, to break the illusion that everything was okay.

“I used to think I understood your darkness,” you murmur, stroking his hair out of his face.

He pulls you closer, burying his head against your chest, the youngest didn’t like how that sentence was going and part of him didn’t want to hear the rest.

“But I don’t think I ever did,” you confess in a whisper, starting to ramble. “I don’t get it Kookie, why me? This obsession, I thought I felt it the same as you, I thought you guys understood me too.”

You let out a shaky breath, trying to keep up with your thoughts when you felt the hands of sleep trying to catch you.

“Maybe I was just trying to excuse my own darkness,” you sigh, almost in defeat. “Or maybe I just fed yours too much.”

“You gave us your love,” he mumbles against your skin, eyes closed as he breathes in your scent. “Your acceptance, you didn’t feed our darkness baby, you just didn’t see the extent of it.”

—

The silence is suffocating. Yoongi normally appreciates it but in this situation it was unsettling. They’re all in the living room, some pretending to do their own thing, but no one was paying any attention to anything other than you. Yoongi and Namjoon did so blatantly, Yoongi sitting on the couch away from you but his stare is nowhere else. This didn’t break the rules, you didn’t tell him he couldn’t soak you in with his eyes whenever he wanted.

The others were also very obvious with their glances towards you, Jin was dusting the same spot of the living room over and over. Hoseok flipping through the tv channels with Jungkook sitting beside him, the maknae biting his lips in worry with every peek he took, a habit he hadn’t had since he was a teenager. Taehyung and Jimin uncharacteristically played chess but all the pieces were in the wrong places, arbitrarily moving them just to keep appearances so you didn’t call them out.

And Namjoon… the man was staring daggers into your form. Elbow on his thigh, leaning forward, his chin on his thumb, his finger on his face tapping away on his cheekbone impatiently. He was supposed to be going over the papers in his lap, but they were being scrunched in his other hand. Yoongi thought he looked like a bomb about to explode, and he wasn’t wrong.

“That’s it!” Namjoon almost growls as he slams his file down, standing from his seat while everyone stares in shock at his outburst.

He walks towards you, and you meet his glare but refuse to move from the comfort and safety of the tub chair, you don’t even close your book.

“This ‘break’ is over,” he snarls, gestating with his hands trying to find a conduit for his anger. “Do you understand, little love?”

You look up at him with eyes simmering a fire he only ignited, meeting his glare head on.

“I decide when this break is over,” you say calmly, refusing to fight him at his level.

“No.”

“No?” Your brows scrunch in disbelief and anger, there goes your plan to remain calm. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

You throw your book back into the seat as you rise to meet him eye to eye, although he’s still looking down at you.

“I mean…” he breathes gruffly, grazing his hand with yours at your side. “No.”

“You can’t b-“

Your voice is smothered by his lips, his soft touch turning into an iron grip as he pulls you closer, devouring you like a man starved and in his eyes that’s exactly what he was. You push him away, but he doesn’t allow for any space between you.

Even when you’re banging your fist against his chest, unable to breathe, he doesn’t budge. You’re at his mercy, only when he decides he’s had enough (for now), does he pull away.

You look dishevelled almost, breathing hard, your eyes glistening with tears. The sight shouldn’t arouse him but it does.

You have the audacity to childishly wipe his kiss away with the back of your hand, a tough swipe that does nothing to erase the force he handled you with. He chuckles, the sound makes your ears burn, feeling the warmth of shame colour them in.

The others stare with the jaws wide open, fear settling in that this was taking too many steps in the wrong direction. It takes everything not to call you back when you storm away, it takes everything not to follow.

No one says a word, but they all glare accusingly at their leader except Taehyung, who only looks down in shame.

—

“Where do you think you’re going?” Yoongi asks gruffly, sleep still in his voice.

“Out.” You respond bluntly, avoiding his gaze.

“I asked where,” he pushes when you pull Taehyung’s hoodie over your head. You were drowning in the fabric, and he pretended the sight didn’t make him ache for you. The same way you were trying so hard not to let his sleepy state bring down your defences, no matter how cute he looked in the shorts and grey top.

“What does it look like Yoongi,” your head was spinning with too many thoughts and you needed to clear it. “For a run.”

“I’ll come with you,” he says it like an offer but it’s not, you know it’s not.

“No,” you refuse simply, finally meeting his stare. “Send one of your men to keep an eye on me, it's what you did before anyway.”

He’s quiet, observing you for a moment. You hated it when he did that, it was like he could see inside of you and yet, despite that, you felt like he couldn’t understand anything he saw. You break eye contact first, putting on your trainers while he continues to stare. Why couldn’t you read him the same, how could he still get under your skin with his silence even after all this time?

“I’ll send Jungkook,” he says as you open the door. “He’ll keep his distance.”

He doesn’t take the slam as you leave personally, he knows you just need to vent your frustrations, but because you were so isolated- sorry, because they isolated you, you had no one to vent to, no one who was objective to talk to. Physically stretching your mind would maybe do you some good.

“Did you seriously let her go out unsupervised?” Namjoon seethes as he approaches Yoongi, quick to dial one of their men regardless of what nefarious time of the morning it was. The first call goes to voicemail.

Yoongi sighs, he was on his way back to bed, guess not.

“She deserves our trust,” he replies. “And I was about to send Jungkook.”

“It’s not about trust,” Namjoon bites back, another call unanswered, “it’s about safety, or are you forgetting our enemies hunt our weaknesses.”

“Our enemies know if they touch her they’ve signed their own death certificate, no one would dare cross us now, not with the amount of blood we’ve shed,” Yoongi groans in aggravation. “Not to mention you’ve bought out the police Namjoon.”

“But not every policeman, or Captain, or are you forgetting what we did to him?”

“You gave him a warning, he’ll behave,” Yoongi states, ready to leave the conversation but he can’t help himself with what he says next. After Namjoon’s actions last night, he was feeling a little vengeful, even if he didn’t completely mean his words. “We should’ve left him unharmed, we knew she didn’t want us to hurt him.”

The shock in Namjoon’s eyes flashes for a second before they compose themselves to a stare. He puts his phone back in his pocket, maybe Jungkook was the best one to go, you didn’t seem to punish him as harshly as the others.

The silence between the men turns the air cold, their gazes stoic but speaking volumes. Namjoon wouldn’t stand for mutiny or disloyalty, he especially didn’t stand for anyone questioning his decisions.

“He hurt her,” he explains himself patiently, “he wants to take her away from us.”

Yoongi scoffs, a humourless grin on his face as he stares back in ridicule at their leader.

“We hurt her,” he states, eyes blank of emotion, “where’s our bullet to the knees.”

—

If you were being honest with yourself, you hated running, you hated the way each breath burned as it filled your lungs, how each limb could feel like lead, but the pain was better than the thoughts you were trying to clear.

You remember at the police academy, Suho and Kai used to run circles around you, but somewhere along the way your competitiveness got the better of you, and you trained harder than them both. It used to annoy you to hell that they were physically much stronger than you, but those days were some of the best. The three of you were so close, each other’s confidants when things went sour, the two you’d hang out with when a case went wrong. Now who did you have to confide in?

Maybe it’s your conscious or unconscious thoughts making your legs move in a particular direction, but you don’t realise where you’re headed until you see the sign above the door. The breakfast place… where everything went to shit a third time.

You barely glance inside as you run past but the sight of someone familiar makes you double take. Think of the devil and he appears?

His eyes catch yours when you stop in your tracks, he’s sitting at a table alone and the sight of him brings back that day like a breath after being underwater for so long. An apology is at the tip of your tongue, your eyes start to water, you know you have to keep running, if any of them finds you here with him, he’d be dead. You’re about to turn away when he waves at you, a simple smile that didn’t meet his eyes sent your way as he watches the realisation hit you.

His hand was covered in thick bandages, and your stare doesn’t leave them. There’s no thought in your mind as your legs move you into the building, ignoring the waiter's greeting as you walk towards your old Captain with dread.

He shifts in his seat, letting you see the bandages on his leg, around his knee, the crutches resting on the seat next to him. Your eyes are wide with shock before your gaze turns into one of mournful rage. Tears start forming in your eyes as you shake.

The sense of betrayal that overwhelms you has you reaching a hand for the table, gripping the edge tight to steady yourself.

They lied.

They looked you in the eyes and lied. All of them, including Jungkook. You don’t let yourself sob, not when a fire burns any attachment you felt towards them to dust.

You move your gaze from his injuries to his face, his stare never having left you.

“Arrest them,” your voice is hoarse but without a morsel of regret, anger paving the way forward now, filling the loss you felt deep inside of you.

They must’ve thought you were fucking stupid, they must’ve laughed behind your back, humoring you with their acts of trying to change. Fuck, you were a fool, they played you again and again and you just took it every fucking time. There was never going to be any change, and you refused to be their prisoner any longer.

“I’ll be your witness,” you say it with conviction, although a part of you grieves. “I’ll give you all the evidence you need, just send them away.”

Suho doesn’t say a word, and that makes it all so much worse. You can feel something creeping around you, shadows of them that have latched onto you, crawling all over your skin. You wanted rid of this dark energy, you wanted out.

You don’t break his stare, not for a second, you can tell he’s deep in thought, contemplating your resolve, and if he saw a hint of uncertainty in you he would do no such thing. Why would he risk it? They hurt him, they could hurt him again.

He reaches for his phone, and you take a premature breath of relief.

“Make the call,” he commands, handing the device to you.

—

When Yoongi dragged Jungkook out of bed this morning, the maknae had begrudgingly crawled out of the house. His body ran on autopilot when he left to find you, eyes half open, yawning in the morning air. His hoodie pushes his hair to fall in his face but he’s too tired to drag the fabric back.

It wouldn’t take long to find you, he could run circles around you if he wanted but the thought of maybe spending some time with you alone made his legs pick up the pace, a goofy grin on his face as he thought about it.

Yes you were probably mad about Namjoon’s actions yesterday, not that Jungkook blamed him all that much, it was hard to stay away from you, but he was starting to understand your perspective a little more. Especially after the last time you pulled away, and he couldn’t let that happen again, he wouldn’t survive it another time. He wouldn’t blame you if you gave him the cold shoulder, he just hopes you don’t punish him because of Namjoon, deflecting your anger wherever it did damage.

He’d calm you down, he’s sure of it. He’d tell you that what their big bad boss did was wrong and he was on your side, he’d tell you that he loved you and respected you, and it didn’t matter how long you took to forgive them he was sure the relationship would heal.

He’s so lost in thought he doesn’t realise how far he’s travelled, it’s only when there’s still no sight of you his grin begins to fade. He should’ve caught up to you by now, this was the route you normally take, and you knew better than to go another way.

What if… no. You wouldn’t dare leave again, you wouldn’t. Jungkook breaks into a sprint, running every route he can think of, not stopping for a moment even when his lungs and legs burn. He’s looking round like a mad man, but he can’t find you. What if something happened? What if someone got to you or hurt you? Memories flash in his mind to long, long ago when that was almost the case. What if?

Shit. A hand to his pocket tells him he’s left his phone, he couldn’t contact the others to join him. His best decision was to get back to the house asap. Jin would still have the tracker on your phone, they would find you, it was all going to be fine.

The fear that seized his heart was not fooled by such idealistic thoughts, his eyes had seen the true brutality of the world, sometimes caused by his own hands, and now his mind played a myriad of images of his little love in all the situations of pain he caused others. He always wondered if karma would catch him one day, he never thought it would take you.

—

He slams the door open so hard it struggles to stay on the hinges.

“I CAN’T FIND HER!” He yells into the open space of the home with all the air in his lungs.

It doesn’t take long for the hoard to assemble.

“What do you mean you can’t find her?” Jin yells back, reaching for his phone to track you without prompt.

Jungkook doesn’t miss the way Namjoon glares at Yoongi, the shorter man ignoring him.

“She’s probably taken another route,” he says calmly.

“You better hope that’s all,” Namjoon says through gritted teeth.

“What if someone’s got her?” Jimin panics.

“No,” Hoseok shuts that idea down, “everyone knows there is nowhere in Seoul to hide from us.”

“There’s always one idiot that’s willing to try, or have you forgotten the last time someone tried to take her?” Taehyung says heatedly.

“And we know how that ended,” Hoseok growls back.

The bickering among themselves grows in volume, so loud that they almost miss what Jin says.

“What?” It’s Yoongi that dares to ask him to repeat himself, the drumming in his ears drowning the words. He must’ve misheard…

“She’s at the police station,” there’s no mistaking it this time. Jin looks solemnly at Namjoon while all their heads spiral.

“She’s not gone there of her own will,” Yoongi shakes his head in denial, “they’ve arrested her or something.”

Namjoon says eerily quiet, his breathing hard, his jaw clenched.

“Namjoon we own the police,” Hoseok pushes, “make a fucking call see why she’s there.”

“Fuck making a call! I’m going over there,” Jungkook announces, turning back to the front door, but the sight of a police van pulling up at their mansion makes him stop in his tracks.

“Are they dropping her home,” Jimin asks stupidly, unable to comprehend why else they would be there.

The older four men look at eachother knowingly.

“Should we run?” Jin asks, making Taehyung and Jimin whip their heads to stare at him incredulously.

“Why would we run?” Namjoon breaks his silence, “they’ll take us right to her.”

As if on queue a smoke grenade rolls into the room, blasting off within seconds, covering the air. Namjoon almost laughs, they sent the fucking swat team, how ridiculous when they could’ve settled this like gentlemen.

Bodies swarm in, yelling commands and they all fall to their knees as instructed. On any other day, if you were home, these men wouldn’t make it through the door, but Namjoon was right, they were a one way ticket to finding you.

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magini0 · 1 month

Text

Kimset (IV)

Pairing: ot6 x Jungkook | Jungkook x Everyone

Genre: Witch AU, Soulmate AU, Ex's to Lovers, Angst With a Happy Ending

Summary: Jungkook has until the next Witching Moon to develop a cure for his chronic illness. With his race against time, he really doesn’t have the nerve to be constantly pestered by his old coven mates—whom he had left behind after a mission gone wrong. Back as a famous healer and sponsored by a renowned magical society, Jungkook is ready to do what it takes to survive. Now, if only his former coven would back off and stop being so damn persistent in making up for their old mistakes…

Word Count: 13k

Also accessible on ao3 => Here Previous Chapter => Here Next Chapter => Coming Soon

There was a strange, nauseating race to Taehyung's heartbeat as he walked down the hall. His feet cascaded down the tiled floor; his loud footsteps echoed tauntingly throughout the empty corridor illuminated by the afternoon sun. The shadows cast the window's silhouettes against the floor. His palms were strangely sweaty, restless as he switched through a cycle of clenching and unclenching his hands before he'd fiddle with his clothes for the umpteenth time, trying to catch a glimpse of himself in the window's reflective surface as he walked, combing through his hair.

He followed the numbers on each door, trying to find the one that belonged to Jungkook. B013, right? He was nervous because, of course, he was. Their last conversation—if you could even call it that—had hardly even grazed the top of the iceberg that was their relationship. To be entirely fair, Taehyung strongly doubted that this conversation would go any differently. But unlike his hyungs, he just couldn't bring himself to give Jungkook space. He just couldn't.

Not when it's been literal years since he's spent more than a fleeting moment with Jungkook, not when he had yet to fully take him in. His hair had grown out, Taehyung recalled. The still black, natural hair was cut into a styled fringe. Hair a little longer, bangs stopping a little over his cheeks with a slight curl to the end swaying from the face. The sides of his hair were still styled, covering the tips of his ears. A row of piercings lined one of his ears, along with his brow and bottom lip. His chest puffed with a momentary sense of pride as he had noticed them during their last encounter, and reluctantly wandered back to a place where he watched Jungkook marvel through a jewelry shop's showcase window—lamenting the fact that his parents would never let him tarnish his image through body modifications.

Taehyung scoffed at the momentary reminder of Jungkook's atrocious set of parents. But there Jungkook had stood— his little bunny, sprouting piercing like it was no one's business. Because it wasn't, and Taehyung couldn't help but feel an assortment of pride and happiness that Jungkook had found that independence for himself.

Having Jungkook before him terminated any and all of his thoughts, rendering him to nothing but a blubbering stupored twat—while simultaneously promoting such a heaviness to take hold of him. The kind of short, fleeting questions one could sense in the pit of their stomachs—sinking. What had Jungkook been like during his first piercing?

Taehyung recalled in that vague moment by the jewelry shop window how he had promised Jungkook that when the witch turned eighteen, he'd sneak him out to get his ears pierced. A fleeting smile twitched across his face as he walked, his hand lifting to subconsciously brush against his earlobe. About a month after making that promise, Teahyung had snuck out of the academy and purchased a set of earrings, small silver stars hanging from a delicate chain, and a little clear glass diamond in the star's centers. It hadn't been much, and usually Taehyung wasn't such a fan of something so delicate. But his bun was discovering stargazing with Yoongi at the time—something that had totally not made him jealous—and seemed to be enjoying it. Taehyung had blown most, if not all, of his summer wages on that set.

Because Jungkook getting his ears pierced had been so much more than just getting to buy some new jewelry. It was more than just an act of spontaneous defiance. It was a call for independence, a step towards individuality that Jungkook's parents refused to permit otherwise. Taehyung had understood that—he still does.

Taehyung glanced outside, but his gaze was unfocused—did Jungkook need to hold someone's hand? Did his face scrunch up the way it always does, eyes squeezed shut, and nose crunched in that adorable way? Taehyung had missed it. That moment he had reserved for them—he had missed it all. The sense of loss that realization accompanied was unbearable.

He couldn't help but wonder if Jungkook ever got those tattoos he had wanted, too. Of course, he wouldn't go on and ask something so personal. His bun might literally shank him for it.

But he still felt unsettled and frustrated by their last meeting. He had wanted to say more, but just being able to see Jungkook again—before him, living, breathing, alive; vaporized any and every thought of his because Jungkook was finally there—he was okay.

Jungkook had been angry— rightly fucking so, he might add. Emotional, frustrated, hurt. It killed him. Their eyes had locked, and suddenly he was speechless. There stood his baby, his stupid, naive bunny—crying, and he wasn't able to do anything about it.

Ultimately, he was one of the six reasons those eyes were shedding tears in the first place. In that moment, it didn't matter how long Taehyung had prowled the streets of Korea looking for those same pair of eyes, how he scanned over the crowds to try and recognize that familiar head of tussled, unkempt hair, because Jungkook was there, crying because of him.

Walking further down the hall, Taehyung didn't expect this conversation to go any better. Realistically, he was just psyching himself up to be yelled at, berated, and metaphorically thrown around as Jungkook vented six years of hate onto him. But Taehyung didn't mind because it was Jungkook's voice doing it. He didn't mind those heated, fiery gazes because it was Jungkook's chocolate eyes pointing them.

Because even for a moment—he got to exist in the same space as Jungkook.

And maybe, just maybe, after Jungkook got to say everything he needed or wanted to, Taehyung would be able to say he was sorry. He was really starting to hate that word—sorry. as if the depths of his remorse, the sheer level of guilt, regret, and sorrow could ever be narrowed down to five abysmal letters.

Because he was so much more than just sorry. He cursed every day that had passed for the last six years—2,190 damned days, give or take a few. He hexed every watery blink, the haunting quiver of his sweet voice, the balling of his fist and shaking of his hand. For every minute, Jungkook was out there, thinking for even a second he hadn't been out there looking for him.

Gaze following the labels against each the door, he felt the numbers nearing Jungkooks. The door was slightly ajar, and through it, Taehyung could hear the familiar voice of his soulmate.

"But we fell in love."

"Despite all odds—fuck, we grew to love each other above all else."

"So—"

"So when three of our parents demanded a trial."

"We agreed."

"Because—"

"Because we thought we'd be proving them wrong."

"We lost everything."

"Or, at least—I had lost everything."

Taehyung wasn't much of a crier—that was Jimin's job, and by the Gods, he hated those tears, too. So why—Why were his eyes suddenly so watery? The hair around him felt heavy, cold, and stale.

He had half a mind to burst into the laboratory, stand before Jungkook, and proclaim that he was still here. That Jungkook still had him and that he was so, so fucking sorry. That there wouldn't be a day that would pass now where he wouldn't be there to hold his hand. Because Taehyung loved him.

He hasn't stopped. The abrasive, explosive anger within a single night could never diminish even an ounce of the care he held for Jungkook. Because when they had first met, before it was him and Jimin, or Hoseok or Yoongi or Jin and Namjoon— it had been Jungkook. Despite having cared for all of them, Taehyung loved him first.

He still does.

But what should he say—now? When your soulmate stands before you, tone filled with such grief and desolation at the sheer recollection of you, of what you had and what you were.

Taehyung didn't consider himself a coward—no, he was a true hothead who felt first and thought second. So he had practiced his confessions with Jimin, over and over, deep into the starry nights and bear ceilings. But his tongue felt heavy, and suddenly, all the words he had prepped felt inadequate.

Taehyung had never been good with words. He couldn't string together poetic confessions like Namjoon or Jimin, lay out his soul like Hoseok, or make himself as clear and vulnerable as Jin and Yoongi. He was just well—unsure. He chose to act; when someone bothered Jungkook, he'd bash the perpetrator's head against a locker. If the headmaster went off again, he'd put a hex on the seams of his clothes.

Jungkook deserved more than that. Not someone who immediately set out on a tyrannical war path, promising vengeance for every tear spilled because his baby bunny was upset and someone was paying for it. He deserved someone who didn't become completely overwhelmed with fury the moment he shed a tear, someone who would do more than just stand still with his head bowed low while being scolded. No, it had been six cursed years. Taehyung was going to show that he had changed, that he could—and would find the right words for him. He might not be as flowery or delicate—but they'd be his.

"How'd it go?"

Jimin hurriedly asked before Taehyung even managed to close the front door. Taehyung, still feeling like a brooding cloud had formed over him, didn't utter a word as he meticulously took off his coat. He dusted it off despite only having walked to and from the science building before hanging it up. He stepped out of his shoes and put them neatly on the shoe rack, sliding into his slippers shortly after—to put it concisely, he was stalling.

Jimin frowned. It didn't take a genius to decipher the pensive mood looming through Taehyung's aura. Jimin would've gone with Taehyung to hopefully talk with Jungkook, but not only did the witch ignore his little note on the breakfast tray from earlier this week, but it also would have overwhelmed Jungkook. Neither of them wanted that—they just wanted to talk, to see him.

Taehyung had finally looked up, eyes locking briefly with his own. His own breath caught briefly stuck in his throat at the pitiful sight. Taehyung's hair was disheveled, no doubt from his fidgety hands constantly combing through it. The rim of his eyes were a bit bloodshot, and trailing down his gaze to Taehyung's cheeks they appeared just a bit too red. Jimin bit the inside of his cheek, a poor attempt to keep his scolding at bay. He knew Taehyung handled his emotions differently and that whenever the witch was ever brought to tears, he'd wipe them away with such incredulous vigor till his cheeks turned raw.

The sight was strikingly familiar. It barely felt like any time at all since Taehyung appeared like that in front of his door. Gods—it had been so late into the night that it became early. But Taehyung hadn't stopped; hadn't slept either— none of them had. The witch's cheeks had been sunken in ever so slightly, and the darkness underneath his eyes had completely altered Taehyung's otherwise healthy complexion. Taehyung had been out looking for Jungkook again.

Jimin might never forget that night when he opened his door for Taehyung. How, during that night since Jungkook's disappearance, Taehyung had cried. Cried—a loose term for what had happened. Sobbed seemed more appropriate, the type that made one's legs feel weak, made it hard to breathe, and left you with a sore throat. It was the sound of someone losing hope.

Taehyung never stopped looking—none of them had. But after the first few months, Taehyung's near-daily outings turned more sporadic. But they still visited Hangawoondae annually, still holding onto the fickle hope of spotting their bunny window shopping again.

"Let's go talk in my room, hm?" Jimin suggested, carefully reaching out and taking a hold of Taehyung's cold hand. Walking past the living room still felt surreal to him, seeing Hoseok lounging while switching through the channels playing across the TV, elbow resting on the armrest and cheek squished against the palm of his propped-up hand. Jin was moving about in the kitchen, preparing a honey pastry with a ruminating look. The sweet dessert had been Jungkook's favorite, a fact that had gone unnoticed by no one.

Nothing had been the same since Jungkook left. Being able to see some of his old hyungs and share a communal space with them again felt strange. He had missed it.

Walking past the open space and down the hall, he ignored the twisting pang of emotion he felt by passing Jungkook's closed door. Whether Jungkook was there or not, that pale white door remained closed. He couldn't really blame him, especially after their last confrontation—Jimin understood.

Gently nudging Taehyung into his (their) room, he gently closed the door.

The enchantment wasn't necessarily very noticeable, the spells back boning loosely marked onto the inside of the doorframe. But walking through the door, a lingering sense of magic brushed against one's skin for a moment—not by much, but enough for anyone to be aware that the room they were entering was very much manipulated by an outside force.

Gone was the dreary interior of a basic apartment bedroom, replaced by something more to Jimin's tastes, to his needs. The space was larger, with a wide circular window casting nearly the entirety of the room in natural light. Creams and soft colors scattered about, from blankets to pillows, frames, and wardrobes. A queen-sized bed covered in far too many throws and pillows. There wasn't a color out of place; everything followed a similar pallet. It would've looked stale if it weren't for Jimin's artistic eye, dotting little spots of complementary colors here and there, the occasional green plant from Namjoon giving the space a little liveliness.

A picture frame of him and Taehyung rested on his bedside table, and a group photo of everyone during their third Solar dance in the academy hung against the wall.

Jimin was aware of his contribution to their split. He had been so scared, hurt, frightened, and angry at the time. He had his reasons during that night; the time he spent in the Deep with the others was too long. The mission had been immoral from the start—who would do that to a bunch of teenagers?

But still, he had never managed to actually get rid of any of their shared photos. He still had their old photo albums hiding underneath his bed; the one hanging against the wall was simply his favorite. Glancing at it now, their naive and smiling faces. His eyes lingered against Jungkook's young form; they had been holding hands. Jimin— Jimin couldn't bear to look at it.

Yeontan was snoozing in his little dog bed, the hyper dog oblivious to the occurring drama. Hana, Jimin's white snake familiar, remained sunbathing by the window sill. Her sharp, snake-like eyes opened as the two witches entered the room. She remained silent, but she didn't need to say much to show her disapproval.

Taehyung plopped himself down at the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his thighs while he dropped his head in his hands. Seeing Taehyung so depleted unsettled Jimin to the core, his pace slightly hurried as he sat down beside him.

"It didn't go well, huh?" Jimin hummed, beginning to rub gently at Taehyungs hunched over back. There was a silence that followed, a pause as Taehyung breathed, focusing solely on the rhythmic pattern of Jimin's soothing hand.

"It didn't go at all," Taehyung muttered, voice hoarse.

Ah.

Jimin sighed, shoulders dropping as the little flicker of hope he had built dimmed. Taehyung had cried, when exactly he wasn't sure, most likely on the way back to the apartments.

"Hyung…" Taehyung strained, the small plea halting Jimin's actions and line of thought at the sheer—grief? That Taehyung's tone carried. It broke his heart more than it already was.

"Oh, oh honey, come here." He ushered, pulling Taehyung into his arms. A tight hold, reassuring in the sense of telling Taehyung that he was there, that I'd be okay, and that he's got him. So Taehyung fell. Small sounds, muffled by the wool of his sweater, soon became louder. More unkempt, earnest.

"Hyung—hyung… he, he sounded—" Taehyung choked and sniffled as he tried pulling himself together. "He sounded so sad."

Jimin shut his eyes, inhaling sharply. None of them had been spared from Jungkook's distraught gaze, from the disappointment and anguish encapsulated within those familiar eyes. They had deserved it. That much was clear, but still. Seeing it, hearing it, Jimin had wanted to drop to his knees. Bind his soul—more than it was already bound—to Jungkook and his own lifelong pursuit towards redemption.

"Like—like the thought of us was something to grieve over." Taehyung's wavering voice cracked, prompting Jimin's own eyes to begin watering.

Because that was his bunny, they were talking about. His companion from day one was that sweet, shy, silly mess he had bumped into in elementary school. The boy with the kindest eyes and most amazing abilities, his little prince, "Eomma says I can't be friends with nulls, Minie." How Jungkook never became like his parents was a true wonder, but he didn't. Not when they snuck off campus during recess or when they took turns pushing each other on the swings. Jungkook had always had a heart of gold, even when he was scared and riddled with insecurities; "Jungkookie, see this red string here? It means we'll be friends forever, forever and ever! Nothin' will change that, my eomma says we're lucky. So let's be lucky, k'ay? It's our lucky ribbon."

Glancing down at his pinky, Jimin lingers on the five vibrant, red knots around his finger. The sixth, pale and washed out, only remained visible for a few inches before fading out into the air. But Jimin knows it’s still there—now more than ever.

"We—we have to fix this hyung."

Jimin nodded, gaze fixed and determined as he cupped Taehyung's cheeks. Using his thumbs to gently swipe away the offending tears, he looked into the scared eyes of his lover. The past week had been an utter cluster-fuck of emotions, a cruel combination of pure elation, utter grief, and guilt, and now fear. Because what if Jungkook never forgave them? It was possible. Despite how the singular thought tore at his heart, it was reasonable, too.

They could lose him again.

No.

No, Jimin wouldn't let that happen. He couldn't. Jungkook might never love them again, might never trust nor care for them. But he'd be there. In Jimin's life, in Taehyungs.

"We will."

Taehyung looked into his eyes, all too vulnerable and teary. Looking towards him for guidance, and Jimin felt all too misplaced. This was Namjoon's job, or Jin's, maybe even Hoseok's, when the situation called for it. They were all too adept at taking control, leading. But for tonight, he'd take Taehyung's hand and hopefully lead him towards a brighter future.

"We found each other again. That's all we need." He mused, voice hushed and soft as he leaned down and pressed a kiss against Taehyung's furrowed brow.

"We'll have forever to get it right."

Jungkook tucked his hands into his pockets as he walked, the warm coat doing little to keep the chill away. Mornings were always chilly around this time of year, just as autumn began to creep around. Jungkook couldn't really tell when his body was being affected by the outside temperatures anymore, considering how his limbs were gradually growing colder each week; breezes like these didn't really bother him anymore. A loud, exaggerated yawn pulled him from his thoughts. Glancing to his side, he smiled at Yugyeom's bundled-up form. A thick, knitted scarf hung around his neck, chin nestled securely in the warm material. The witch had never been much of a morning person—neither was he honestly, but nowadays he couldn't get more than five hours of consecutive sleep.

Originally, Jungkook intended to stop by for only a day, fix his Halmoni up, and hop onto the next available train. But having Yugyeom here somewhat derailed his original, concise plan. With Yugyeom by his side, he couldn't help but want to show his friend everything he'd been up to and what he'd built for himself since leaving. Perhaps he was a little biased towards Jung-so, considering how the little witch had somehow nestled itself into his heart during their sessions.

Iseul had stopped by the bookstore this morning, only there to briefly return a book she had borrowed. They didn't usually rent out books, but Chae-won had as much of a bleeding heart as he did, trying to support Iseul and Jung-so as much as she could. Which is how Jungkook ended up offering another tutoring session. Considering that it was a weekend and wouldn't conflict with the kids' schedule, Iseul readily agreed.

"Since when do you like tutoring so much?"

Yugyeom's voice had cut through the comfortable silence, tone a little fussy from being wrangled out of bed before ten.

Shrugging, Jungkook tried recounting exactly when he had grown to like teaching so much. He had grown up with all kinds of tutors; attending a school was mainly used by his parents as a form of socialization, a little something required by law, a hassle. If the teachings could be affordable by mainstream magicals, then they simply weren't good enough for his parents. Resulting in his rigorous schedule of six hours of public schooling only to come back home to be tutored privately; he only ever saw his parents for mealtimes.

A blessing, really.

Jungkooks upbringing was rigorous, strict, disciplined, and—well, lonely.

Amongst missed birthdays and solitary dinners, Jungkook could account for two people who made his otherwise desolate childhood bearable. Jimin, a bundle of confident sunshine he met in elementary school, and Soo Choi. A middle-aged witch who began tutoring Jungkook long before he presented, before he could even materialize his mana enough to actually do something. But where his parents lacked, shrouded in the depths of their prejudice, there was the kindness of Soo Choi. A person Jungkook deems responsible for preventing him from becoming a replica of his parents, teaching him about magicals with an openness he hadn't found or seen before.

Jungkook found himself wanting to be, in the presence of Jung-so and other uneducated children, someone that Soo Choi had been to him. A place of education, unbiasedness, and kindness. A person who taught magic, who could make all things mana, spells, and changes less scary, more natural.

Letting out a small hum, he glanced at Yugyeom. "Probably because of Mrs. Choi."

Nodding, Yugyeom smiled. It was a fond smile, followed by a warm gaze Jungkook couldn't stand to look at for longer than needed. Yugyeom chuckled, cheeky bastard, clearly amused with Jungkook's flusteredness.

"What?" Jungkook muttered, not enjoying the giggling at his expense.

"Oh nothin.'" Yugyeom snickered, the witch still clearly amused. "Although I'd love to see you teach, I don't really get why I'm here. You know how I did back in school."

Jungkook nodded. Yugyeom had never been someone who let others or work stress him out. Jungkook still couldn't get over how Yugyeom had actually managed to pass their history class; considering how often he slept during those times, must've been witchcraft—considering it now, it probably was.

"Remember Jung-so, the kid I told you about?" Yugyeom nodded, recalling one of their first catch-up sessions in the lab during inquiry day.

"Well, he's the kid I'm tutoring now. He just recently presented as a witch, and his mom Isuel isn't a magical. The Dads out of the picture, and you know I can't perform magic. I was hoping you could show off a little, being able to see someone manifest some mana, meet someone who was a gifted witch too, might help ease Jung-so into things a little better." Jungkook explained, looking ahead as he watched the little cafe come into view. Cars passed them on the street, the clouded sky making the surroundings appear dull.

Jungkook might not be able to relate personally to the struggles of gifted witches, but he was aware that they existed. Young children overwhelmed with their new abilities, uncertain how to proceed and finding the concept of magic unnerving. Jung-so was like that, a gifted witch originating from a mundane household. Unsure what being a witch meant, what that made him.

Jimin had been like Jung-so.

And he had helped him back then, too.

"God, you're such a softy." Yugyeom huffed, smile fond as he playfully nudged Jungkook's arm as they walked.

The cafe carried its usual warmth, a welcomed contrast to the otherwise freshness of the morning. Jungkook had only been away for about two weeks now, but seeing the familiar, cream-toned walls made him feel a little nostalgic. Jungkook could never recall a single day when the cafe wasn't filled, couples laughing, the occasional office worker chatting on the phone, the consistent calling of names. Despite the sheer number of customers, the place never felt rushed or hectic, something Jungkook ought to give the staff the most credit for.

"Jungkook! I was beginning to think you switched cafes on us!" Han chuckled, making him flush a little. He hadn't come here that often, only every other day—and for tutoring, of course. Yugyeom, as if sensing his embarrassment, elbows him in the arm with a chuckle.

"Hi Han, I actually left for my seventh trial, I'm only here to visit my Halmoni." Jungkook explained, receiving a simple nod from the barista. "I could've sworn I saw little Jung-so in the back; two hot chocolates then?" Han mused, but before Jungkook could agree, Yugyeom budged in.

"And a coffee, please!"

Han wrote down the order while he paid, Yugyeom waiting by the counter as Jungkook went to greet Jung-so. The thought of the little kid being on his own for too long unnerved him, even though he trusted the cafe—and Han, who always kept a watchful eye over the kid—he didn't exactly trust others.

Jung-so was sitting in one of the corner booths, slightly hunched over a book as he waited. Legs kicking out idly underneath him, he was the restless sort. But he wasn't crying this time, so Jungkook considered that a win.

"Hey, kiddo, miss me?" He mused, prompting Jung-so to look up. The kid smiled, all crescent-eyed and flashing dimples, completely unaware of how it tugged on his heartstrings. Jungkook didn't expect it, nor did he expect the boy to hurriedly hop out of the booth and crush him in a hug, small arms wrapped around his waist and head nuzzled into his lower stomach.

Chuckling, Jungkook crouched down and pulled the boy into his arms before picking him up and spinning them in a short circle. It strained his already sore arms, but Jung-so was laughing, and that's all he needed. Lowering him back down, he couldn't really suppress his own smile. "You make it seem like I was gone for forever," he teased before ruffling Jung-so's already messy hair.

"You were." Jung-so huffed, sliding back into the booth. Jungkook followed, sliding in beside the boy. It was their usual spot, formed in a little semi-circle against one of the cafe's corners.

"God, you two even look alike. Jungkook-ah, you sure your dad isn't keeping a secret from you?" Yugyeom chimed in, holding three drinks in a little carrier carton as he walked over and set it down. Glancing at the labels, he distributed the drinks accordingly. Jung-so shied away a little, glancing at Jungkook apprehensively.

Jungkook laughed at the joke, rolling his eyes at the thought. He wouldn't mind it, having a brother and all. But Jung-so and he had already formed that kind of bond; they didn't need to be blood-related. “Jung-so, this is Yugyeom. He's a good friend of mine!"

Yugyeom bent down so he was at eye level with the kid, holding out his hand and shaking it eagerly when Jung-so held out for a hand-shake. "Good to finally meet you, little man! I'm Jungkook's friend—well, more like his bestie. Now, someone's told me you presented as a witch. How exciting!"

Jung-so nodded, a little more shyly but less reserved than before. Jungkook smiled, ushering them back to sit at the booth. He nudged the hot chocolate towards the kid, smiling at the polite thank you he got in return.

"Jung-so, I brought Yugyeom here because he's a witch too." Jungkook explained, watching the kid's face light up. That was good, really good, actually. It was important for him to help Jung-so develop a good relationship with all things pertaining to magic and witches; it's a community that he could fall back on in the future.

"Mhm, I sure am!" Yugyeom mused, smiling gently.

One of the things Jungkook always admired about Yugyeom was how quickly the witch adapted to different people. This wasn't necessarily surprising, considering that Yugyeom was an empath.

"I’m also a gifted witch!"

Jung-so nodded, staring at Yugyeom for a second, then two, then three before turning to Jungkook:

"Whats a gifted witch?" He asked.

Jungkook chuckled, watching Yugyeom blink a little as he recovered.

"Well, magicals are categorized into two parties. For witches, it's between gifted and born witches. So, if both your parents are witches and you exhibit magical traits you're a born witch." He explained, before pointing to himself. "Take me as an example, I'm a born witch. I come from a long line of powerful witches."

He paused, waiting for Jung-so to nod before continuing. "Gifted witches—" he continued, pointing at Yugyeom. "Like Yugyeom over here, are like you. Who don't necessarily have witching parents or grandparents. Sometimes, your great-great-great grandma was a witch and was able to harvest mana. Just enough to collect traces but not enough to use it. If she had mana, then her kid would likely inherit some too but remain dormant." Jungkook explained, grabbing a pen and paper and jotting down a simple family tree while he talked.

"If there isn't enough mana in the body, it'll remain dormant. So it can easily pass through generations unnoticed, but it'll eventually accumulate and present itself through another generation."

"Like me?" Jung-so mumbled.

Jungkook nodded, "Mhm, like you and Yugyeom. Somewhere down the line, which can span across centuries. One of your ancestors began accumulating mana."

"I know it can be a little startling, suddenly finding out you're a witch and all. Trust me, kiddo, I've been there." Yugyeom reassured, smiling kindly. Jung-so nodded, although it was obvious he still felt unsure.

"Wanna see a magic trick?" Yugyeom piped up, no doubt sensing the slight dread through Jung-so's aura. He grabbed his cup of coffee, peeling back the lid and watching the steam rise through the air. Yugyeom kept focus, beginning to slightly twirl his index finger. Suddenly, through the cloud of steam, two silhouettes emerged. Dancing a small waltz around the cup, going higher and further into the air.

Jungkook watched, smile crooked and unrefined as Jung-so's eyes widened with a natural curiosity.

"What's important," he began, sipping at his own drink. Is that you remember that magic is only scary if you don't understand it—I know it's hard too. I mean, we witches carry extraordinary talents. To the untrained eye, that can be frightening."

Slowly, as the steam began fading into the air, the two dancing silhouettes followed. It was a pretty trick; Jungkook had to give Yugyeom that. Although it looked fairly simple, it wasn't necessarily easy. They had both learned how to manipulate matter during their third year. Solids were much easier to mold than gas, especially when it came to such refined forms as a couple dancing, a realistic waltz at that.

"But gifted witches are called gifted because—well, that's just it. Magic is a gift, something special." Jungkook smiled, gently patting Jung-so on the head. He wondered vaguely what kind of witch he was himself. Without magic, it was hard to carry the title without carrying what made him that. For the first time since cutting off his own mana, for sacrificing his own gift in exchange for a little more time. Did he feel like he had actually lost something.

It was all just survival back then. He was competent enough not to need magic on a day-to-day basis. But seeing Yugyeom, the flying books within Veil's library, the familiars, the conscious shears and watering cans in the gardens, the constellations he'd cast onto his ceilings—it was all gone. Jungkook had given it all up. All for the sake of a few more days, months; he wasn't really sure.

Seeing Jung-so discover the wonders of magic and how pretty it could really be, he wanted the kid to love it, to adore the craft as much as he did. He hoped that if all else failed and he truly did pass away, he'd be remembered for everything he loved because there was so much he cherished about this world.

But he still had time. Eleven more months, that's all he needed.

"Hyung, I thought witches weren't allowed to perform in public?"

Yugyeom began cackling, slapping his knee as Jungkook glared at him. "Oh hun, trust me. That's technically true, but you won't find a single person actually adhering to that rule!" This time, Jungkook reached over and nudged Yugyeom's arm.

"Yah! You're giving the kid bad ideas—Jung-so, don't listen to Yugs here. Follow the rules please."

"Easy for you to say! Hmm, shall we talk about what you were like growing up, Kookie?"

Jungkook narrowed his eyes, daring Yugyeom to continue. Which he did: "So, our Jungkookie here was actually quite the delinquent—"

"Lies and slander! Jung-so, avoid eye contact and cover your ears!"

Jung-so laughed, "I already know! Hyungs Halmoni told me about it. Said you were a little riff-raff back in the days!"

Jungkook gaped. Covering his heart as if he'd been shot, mouth open and eyes wide. "My Halmoni? My sweet—" Yugyeom's laughter interrupted his little spiel.

"Aish, I grow to love that woman more by the day." Yugyeom heaved, wiping away his tears. It took them a few more minutes to calm down before Jung-so went on with his endless supply of questions.

What was allowed, what wasn't. Chatting about their own experiences with presenting, cracking jokes here and there. Jungkook looked on as Yugyeom pulled Jung-so further out of his shell, the sight warming his heart.

"Hyung, why does Yugyeom have more strings on his fingers than I do?"

Jungkook paused, his eyes pulling together as he lowered his now empty cup. He glanced up, briefly meeting Yugyeom's surprised expression. "You—" he cleared his throat before sitting up. "You can see Yugyeoms soul strings?"

Now it was Jung-so's turn to look confused, tilting his head. "Of course, most people have them. But Yugyeom has six, and I only have four."

Jungkook nodded, it wasn't necessarily unheard of for people to be able to see soul strings. It was just a level of insight that most people did not share, it was rare of sorts.

"Ah, Jung-so, being able to see soul strings isn't common." He avoided the word normal, the last thing he wanted to do here is make Jung-so feel like he was unusual. Too many neglected witches went through that feeling, and he couldn't help but want to shield the boy from it.

"It isn't?" Jung-so mumbled hesitantly.

"It's not bad!" Yugyeom hurriedly chimed in, unable to bear the sight of Jung-so deflating. It would've made him feel smug at how quickly he got wrapped around the kid's finger, but he wasn't any better off.

"Witches can have affinities. Things they're really good at naturally, like unlocking special abilities that others can't. For example, I'm a green witch. It's an encompassing term for someone who has affinities towards nature—all things living. Some people have water affinities or light affinities." He went on, gesturing with his hand before pointing at Yugyeom.

"Affinities don't have to be elemental or physical; for instance, Yugyeom over here has empath affinities. He can decipher auras and emotions far better than the regular witch." Yugyeom smiled, making a little heart with his pointed and thumb.

"So what does that make me?" Jung-so asked, still sounding tentative.

The two older witches shared a brief glance, "Being able to see soul strings is most common amongst seers, hun." Yugyeom explained gently.

"What's a seer?"

"Someone who can glance into the future, who can look into people more than the average person." Jungkook tended to stay away from seers, mostly from his own eerie encounters. There's something about getting a hollow look from a stranger that just feels unsettling; he just didn't like it.

"So, I'll be able to tell the future?" Jung-so went on, sounding more excited.

Sighing, Jungkook hated having to burst the kids idyllic bubble. "Not exactly, Seers can't really control their affinities. Glancing into the future comes in short visions that you can't control—" Rising his hand, he hushed Jung-so before continuing.

"I know that sounds a little scary, but that's why magicals like you go to a special school. You'll find out what affinities you carry there, and the system will cater to your needs." Jung-so nodded, mulling over the new information.

"So no one else can glance into the future?"

Yugyeom sighed, a fond kind of sigh. It didn't surprise Jungkook, the kid never ran out of questions. Of course he wouldn't, this was all new and scary for him. Right now, he was just focusing on laying down the fundamentals for Jung-so so that when he finally transferred to a proper school or academy, he wouldn't feel too far out in the deep end. It felt like his responsibility.

"Well, yes and no." Yugyeom chimed in.

Jungkook rolled his eyes, continuing to elaborate. "Most magic can be learned. It's just different when you have an affinity for a certain subject. For example, some people can learn the art of future telling with tools like tarot cards and other mediums. But it will never compare to what seers are able to do. Someone with a water affinity cannot be compared to someone who focuses on spells manipulating liquids. You can study spell mastery all your life and still be different from a grimoire witch." Jungkook wished he'd have some glasses; he could push them up right now and look all proper. If his past self could see him now—he'd probably be stunned. After all, how could he have gone from a spray-painting delinquent to an eloquently educated tutor?

It would've satisfied his parents; somehow, that thought made him sick.

"Yeah! It's kinda like comparing a fish with a swimmer! You can learn how to swim, but you ain't nothin' like a fish." Sighing, Jungkook couldn't help but laugh.

"Eloquently put, Yugs."

"I'm a natural."

Walking from the cafe, Jung-so held Jungkook's sleeve as they walked. Jungkook walked closest to the road, the kid in the middle and Yugyeom to the left. It was cute how the kid felt too "grown" to hold his hand and instead opted for his sleeve.

They had spent another half an hour chatting, going over what they had already talked about and wrapping up any lingering questions.

"Hyung?"

"Hm?"

"What can't I see your soul strings?"

Pausing, Jungkook looked down at his pinky. The six red knots rested heavily against the skin, and yet, somehow, they remained as feathery as always.

"Do you not have soulmates?" Jung-so sounded sad; why was he sad?

A small chuckle pushed past his lips, mostly to usher away the grave expression taking hold on Jung-sos otherwise soft features. "I have soulmates; six actually. You're so young; don't expect your affinity to show up clearly all the time. It's unreliable so early on, you won't be able to see everyone's soul strings."

Jung-so pouted, nodding his head as they walked. It was still afternoon, and although Jungkook wouldn't have minded spending the entirety of his free day teaching Jung-so, the kid needed a break, and so did Yugyeom, who had been rather eager this morning to walk around Busan for a bit.

"Hyung?"

"Hmm?"

"How come we even have soulmates?"

Yugyeom smiled. It was such an innocent question. It was clear why Jungkook had taken to such a kid, and although Yugyeom didn't know what Jungkook was like throughout his childhood himself, he could see some similarities.

"It's a long story. It dates so far back that it's more myth than fact, really." Jungkook hummed. It didn't feel right to explain the gushy tale about soulmates. Even if he tried remaining natural, a quick glance between him and Yugyeom made his discomfort clear.

"Have you ever heard of The Three Fates?" Yugyeom asked, taking the lead here.

"No, were they the first soulmates?"

Yugyeom shook his head, glancing down at his own tied-up pinky. "No, they weren't. The Three Fates were Goddesses in Greek mythology; together, they controlled the destiny of both gods and humans. One Goddess works as the spinner, determining a person's birth. The second was the allotter: she measured the length of a person's life. The third was the unturnable: she was responsible for cutting one's string with her shears." Yugyeom explained dutifully, not short on the theatrics as he acted out, spinning some thread before stretching it out and finally snipping it.

"Okay, but what does that have to do with soulmates?" Jung-so asked, lowering his hand to hold onto Jungkooks hand properly.

"Well, back then, everyone only had one string, their own. The strings connecting us to our soulmates now are still the same as back then, an extension of our own souls—the same ones The Three Fates would've woven and cut for us," Jungkook explained. It felt easier when he was just stating supposed facts.

"Exactly! So, one day, Atropos The Unturnable ventured to earth. They say she met a kind stranger on her path, one who was hospitable and genuine, who offered her water and bread from their bag and shelter for the night." They crossed the street, nearing the convenience store.

"To reward their kindness, Atropos bestowed upon the traveler a favor should the time come." Yugyeom finished, ignoring the teasing look he got from Jungkook.

"All it took was some water and bread?" Jung-so exaggerated, making them laugh. "Hospitality was very important back then," Jungkook reminded.

"Anyways, the traveler disappeared. Years later, he came back to Atropos ready to exchange their favor." It was a well-known myth, considering that soulmates were the topic and all.

"What was it? Did they ask for a soulmate?"

If Jungkook had a penny for every question Jung-so asked—he wouldn't be rich, but he'd have quite a few pennies at this point.

"No, the traveler had a lover. Sickened and weak, the traveler sought out Atropos. Realizing that their lover's string would soon be cut, they begged the Goddess to pardon their dying mate."

Jungkook could relate to that desperation. Although he was assured of his capabilities, that finding a cure couldn't be impossible, that nagging urgency and despair with each passing month; Jungkook knew he wasn't above begging. Hells, he'd probably kneel in front of a goddess too if it meant he could stick around for a bit longer.

"Atropos could not simply grant someone pardon however; and instead offered the traveler a compromise. She'd cut both their strings and tie them together, binding their souls and saving their beloved." Jungkook felt like Yugyeom was a natural storyteller. He had heard the same tale several times before while growing up. Still, Yugyeom treated it like a performance, capturing both his and Jung-so's attention while he talked.

"But Gods aren't exactly well…the fairest. By binding the two mortal souls together, they were bound. If one perished, the other would as well." Jungkook knew gods still existed to this day, but they were rare. Demigods were really the only ones still spotted every once and again, from what he understood was that they preferred to lay low. Blend in. But boredom breeds a need for entertainment, no matter the costs.

"Which is why it's called soulmates!" Yugyeom finished, clapping his hands together. "Soul because the souls are tied together, and mate, referring to one's beloved!" Jung-so smiled, walking through the convenience store's doors.

"So if one of my soulmates dies, I die?"

Jungkook chuckled, letting go of the kid's hands before ruffling his hair. Grinning at the cute huff and pouty expression he got in return. "No kiddo, it's just an old myth. You'll be fine."

"Hyung, how come I've never met your soulmates before?" Jung-so pouted, jutting out his tongue. Just as dramatic as Yugyeom, he remarked silently.

"Well, they don't live here." He hummed, keeping his tone soft and leveled. He didn't want to think about it, about them. All these stories of love, sacrifices, loss, and happy endings were tying his stomach into a knot.

Jungkook had loved.

He had sacrificed.

And he had lost.

So, where was his happy ending?

"Jung-so, listen to me for a moment." He breathed, kneeling down as he grabbed both of the kid's hands. "Soulmates can be wonderful. But they are just people, too. What matters most is how they treat you. Your happy ending does not lie in the hands of another, do you hear me? You deserve to be treated with kindness, respect, and love." He smiled, giving Jung-so’s hands a small squeeze before letting go. He tapped his nose, smiling gently. "Don't ever let someone tell you otherwise, got it?"

Jung-so nodded, but his lips tugged downwards for a moment before he pushed to hug Jungkooks waist.

"Hyung, you'll come and visit me often, right?"

Jungkook wasn't too sure. He'd be busy, more than he already was with his inquiry. Time was ticking, and he still hadn't found a solid lead yet. He needed to work more, research more, study more, the list went on. He didn't have time to visit as often as he was, even if he wanted to. He couldn't promise Jung-so those frequent lessons anymore.

"Hey, don't sound so sad. I'll come whenever I can, okay? If you ever need me, your eomma has my number. You can talk to me whenever you want and whenever you need something." Jung-so nodded, but he looked more upset than before. Jungkook knew that Jung-so could read between the lines, that this would be a longer goodbye than before.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Leaving the convenience store after dropping Jung-so off felt disheartening. It was always rough leaving the kid, especially when there was still so much to cover. Would Jung-so be okay?

"I think the biggest lie you ever tried selling was the concept of you being an asshole." Yugyeom suddenly chimed in, breaking the silence. "You're a real sweetheart, Jungkook. You might not realize it yourself, but you always go the extra mile for people. Teach the lessons no one had taught you; that's admirable, Kookie."

Awe.

Jungkook flushed, he wasn't really used to such praises. It meant so much more coming from Yugyeom; it felt genuine. What should he say to that?

"A twat maybe, but definitely not an asshole." Yugyeom remarked cheerily, clearly teasing as he grinned mischievously at Jungkook.

"Yugyeom!"

Laughter filled the air, the sun beginning to peek through the parting clouds. "Come on now Kooks, let's go shopping now!"

Turns out that going shopping with Yugyeom was hard.

The day had stretched on seamlessly as the two had stopped to eat lunch in a nook-in-the-wall restaurant, the type that was clearly run by an elderly married couple. The woman taking the orders before shouting them towards the back, a man skillfully preparing all forty-two dishes himself. At this point Jungkook had already taken Yugyeom to a few malls, splurging a little on his friends wardrobe, not without a little struggle of course and much to his own chagrin had been forced to try on countless items as well.

Jungkook should have called it quits after eating; he had already felt a little rusty this morning. Joints hurting just a little more than usual, his head feeling just a little more foggy and tighter. He could tell from experience that today should have been a resting, lay-low kind of day. It was a kind of foresight one only really got through overestimating oneself, but Yugyeom hadn't been in Busan before. Maybe, just maybe, he wanted to show his friend his little part of the world.

The pretty side. Away from all the melancholy shrouding him.

Which is why Jungkook couldn't help but add another stop to their sight-seeing trip. "One of the best places to go for magicals in cities like Busan are markets like the Laminel Market." He explained, pushing past a metal gate. A little flash of heat prickled against his skin, a tell-tale sight of passing through a magical barrier.

"Yeah, I haven't seen as many magicals in the city as I do in the suburbs." Yugyeom said, closing his eyes briefly as he walked past the barrier.

"I mean, it's a lot harder to navigate a city with large wings or horns," Jungkook added, which got a shrug from Yugyeom before the witch paused and took in the sights of the market.

Laminel was bustling with an array of magicals twisting and wandering around the lined stalls. Stalls and tents, crafted from materials ranging from spider silk to moonbeams, lined the meandering cobblestone paths. A symphony of otherworldly languages made the market hectic, but compared to other markets, that was rather normal. The air was filled with enticing aromas, whether from a wild assortment of herbs, teas, or other mystical treats from food vendors.

Markets like these were the place to go if one needed any and all things magical; vendors, who themselves could be vampires, shifters, faeries, or witches, sell everything from cursed artifacts and ancient tomes to rare ingredients and flunky talismans.

“Wow,” Yugyeom stammered. Eyes flicking over the surroundings as he walked through the market with Jungkook. The overarching sky was cast in a perpetual starry sky, a neat trick to make the bazaar more accessible to the nocturnally inclined. A pair of witches question and ogle a selection of simmering potions. Across the market, a dragon in human form haggles over a piece of meteorite.

Further down, a group of mischievous pixies flit around selling maps to "hidden realms" to non-magicals. To the side, a faerie musician plays a peppy melody on a lute, captivating a crowd of diverse magicals.

It was busy. It was hectic and so so magical.

Strings of fairy-lights hang from stall to stall, people conversing happily as they walked by. It was natural, a safe space for everyone who entered. Although humans were the most likely to get scammed in a place like this, they weren't necessarily unwelcomed as long as they behaved.

"It's pretty, isn't it?" Jungkook teased, smiling at Yugyeom's slightly awestruck expression. The sheer auras must be a little overwhelming for the empath, but there was always a level of comfort when being surrounded by one's own kind like this. Being in a city like Busan left little room to properly indulge in all things magical; bazaars like this always seemed to refill that depleting battery.

"It's so lively. I heard about the city markets, but I didn't think they'd be like this." Yugyeom vaguely gestured to all around him, eyes lingering on the jewelry stalls.

"I get Halmonis tea from here, and I'm friends with the vendor."

"Let me guess, the vendor's an oldie?"

Jungkook passed, tilting his head as he glanced at Yugyeom. "How'd you know?"

Yugyeom laughed, shaking his head incredulously at Jungkook's obliviousness. "Seriously! You're found fodder for them! A well mannered, polite little witchy boy who needs some affection."

Jungkook paused, huffing as he looked away. They walked for a moment longer, his arms crossed over his chest as he pouted. "I'm not little…"

Walking through the market was hectic, especially since Yugyeom felt the need to stop at every second stall they passed. But there was a sweetness to watching his friend converse so freely with others, laughing with vendors, trying a multitude of rings and necklaces. The occasional hat, shall, or other nicknack wasn't spared either. It felt strangely normal to be here with Yugyeom, and it still gave Jungkook a bit of whiplash to think they had only just reunited two weeks ago. It felt like they had never parted. A part of him understood why leaving Yugyeom had been a necessity and why he did it. But he also wished he never had; Yugyeom ushered away loneliness within him he hadn't even been aware he had.

A sudden sharp throb against his forehead made him hesitate, his smile turning into a poorly concealed grimace as he let this new onslaught pierce against his skull. Jungkook knew he'd get a headache today, and most of his symptoms were accompanied by headaches. Like a headband far too tight, the pressure increasing throughout the day.

His heart squeezed painfully like a small dull contraction, leaving his chest sore. He lifted his hand, gently rubbing small circles into his chest. His little episodes were bearable, but with each passing week, they were bordering on downright painful. But Jungkook managed; he was used to this, and he had been warned about this. He knew that if he were to glance at his wrist now, those hauntingly familiar black veins would mar his skin again like an unwanted tattoo. Instinctively, he pulled the sleeves of his black puffer jacket down further.

"Jungkook—"

The earlier comfort in the market was gone, an unpleasant shiver running down his spine like the shadowy ghost of a hand. It was too loud, too busy, too hectic—

"Jungkook?"

His gaze snapped back to Yugyeom, blinking once, twice—again until he could focus back on who was in front of him.

“Jungkook, are you okay?” Yugyeom asked, skeptical gaze wandering across his tense frame.

No.

No, he felt awful.

"Yeah, I'm good. Got a little lost in thought there, I'm still trying to find proper source material for my research y'know?" Word vomiting wasn't exactly a fair way to avoid confrontation, but Jungkook didn't have it in him to properly lie and make an excuse for himself.

"Thornvine is good and all, but its potency decreases after introducing it to air." Jungkook paused, ignoring the confused expression from Yugyeom. "Of course, we could put it into an airtight container but the nitrogen, oxygen, and argon would still find a way to interact with the medicinal herb whenever used."

"Jungkook—"

"Thornvine is a purifier, but it detoxifies the entire body. Considering that the mana is what is actually corrupted, would the thornvine root potentially strain the remaining body?"

"Jungkook!!"

Jungkook paused, mouth shutting with a small snap as Yugyeom moved in front of him. "Breath, okay?" Stable, unwavering eyes met his, and Jungkook found himself unable to do anything but breathe. Yugyeom had a very stern voice if he needed it.

"We were talking about rings, when did you get to thornvine roots again? Jungkook-ah, I find your work ethic admirable and I understand— the pressure you're under. But balance is important, yeah?" Yugyeom explained, clear and direct. Jungkook nodded, exhaling slowly as he calmed down. He'd rather get scolded than have his friend worried, Yugyeom was enjoying the market after all. He didn't want to be the one to cut that time short.

"Okay, sorry." He breathed, sporting a weak smile.

Yugyeom stared at him a little longer, clearly still skeptical about something, before letting it go with a sigh. Jungkook grabbed his hand, giving it a small apologetic squeeze. "Let's go to that tea stall now, okay? They give out free samples."

Nodding, Yugyeom let him lead them through the crowds. Jia ran the stall with her sister, the two elderly fairies had a larger space compared to the others; small foldable chairs and desks littering the front for anybody wanting a cup of tea in person.

"Ah! Jungkookies back! Bora look—look !" Jia rushed, Bora—her sister—grabbed the dangling pair of glasses around her neck and quickly put them on. Clapping her hands together in joy, "and finally with some company too! Whose this, your boyfriend?"

Jungkook laughed, shaking his head as Yugyeom snickered. “No no, this is Yugyeom. An old friend of mine."

"Oh, how lovely. Sit sit! I'll make some tea." Jia ushered, waving them over to sit down. Jia was a very peppy woman, always adorned in far too many layers and patterns. A smaller but larger framed woman whose writs were always covered in large chunky jewelry. Bora was the opposite, a very tall and lean woman who wore monotone colors. Behind each of their backs were small fairy wings. Although Bora was more direct and brutally honest than Jia, both of them were sweethearts.

They both sat down after some thorough questioning, each being given a steaming cup of tea to enjoy as they talked. Jia and Bora both busy with other customers.

"Alright," Yugyeom announced as he set his cup down once he noticed Jungkook's thoughts straying again.

"Thornvine root loses its potency after exposing it to the air, right?" Jungkook was a little surprised by the change of topic, feeling a little bashful at his poor concealment. His head still ached, and his inflamed ribcage was begging for a warm heating pad at the moment.

"Yeah, it's complicated to prepare but durable. I can't use it if it loses its effectiveness during consumption either." He explained, thornvine root was the best herb he had found for his condition. "My theory is simple so far, thornvine is a strong antioxidant. It has long-lasting purifying qualities." He waited for Yugyeom's nod before continuing.

"If my mana is the subject of corruption, introducing a purifying agent could control or reduce the levels of toxicity." Jungkook wanted a cure—something to rid himself of this disease. But he was running out of time, and being able to develop a cure that would reduce his condition from fatal to chronic, then he considered that a momentary win.

"We could put a spell on it? A type of concealment spell to keep the air away." Yugyeom suggested, glancing at his teacup absentmindedly.

Jungkook shook his head, sighing sadly. "In theory, but no. If you put a spell on a consumable item, you'll also be consuming a small amount of mana. That could potentially develop into a catalyst for the condition."

Yugyeom nodded, frown deepening. Jungkook had gone through all of this before, developing a theory only to be proven wrong. The defeat grew worse the further on he went when hope was snatched out of his fingertips yet again. It breeds a hopelessness he'd like to spare Yugyeom from.

"Oh honey, you need to find yourself an azurelbloom!" Jia suddenly popped up beside Yugyeom, making the witch jump a little as he hurriedly grabbed his nearly spilt teacup.

Jungkooks brows furrowed, trying to recall the herb Jia was describing. "I've never heard of an azurelbloom before."

Jia hummed, gently tapping Yugeums head in a silent apology for spooking the boy. "The azurelbloom is very old, one of the few truly sentient flowers left on the planet. It was said—" Jia began, lowering her voice into a whisper to make the story sound more interesting. She pulled out a chair, inviting herself to sit down at the table with them.

"The flower was said to be used by the Gods."

Gods?

"Aish, don't believe any of that nonsense Jungkook." Bora muttered, dismissing the idea with her hand as he sat down at the last remaining chair, spooking Yugyeom once more. It made Jungkook stifle a snicker, the two sisters could be quite—sporadic.

"What?! The azurelbloom existed!” Jia argued, crossing her arms.

"Perhaps 500 years ago. You're feeding the kid a legend Jia, what Jungkook really needs to do is go find the Nereids." Bora objected, pushing up her narrow glasses.

"Nereids, as in, the water nymphs?" Yugyeom asked, still recovering from getting jumpscared—twice.

Bora nodded, waving around the closed fan she always carried with her. "Nereids pulled all kinds of things into the water with them if they were fond enough. They are masters at preservation; if they desired a daisy one day, they'd preserve it to never touch the depths of their springs. If they're able to keep air in, it's only fair to assume they'd be able to keep air out, too."

Jungkook nodded, finding a way to preserve the thornvine roots was his biggest obstacle at the moment. Perhaps if the Nereids showed him how, he'd be able to finally begin creating proper prototypes.

"That all said and good, but don't nymphs have an aversion to men?" Jia asked, frowning at the thought. "You're sending the boy out into danger!"

Bora scoffed at the accusation, "as if setting him out to hunt down an ancient, cognizant flower is any better."

"Well, it's better then—"

Jungkooks head pulsed, his fingers trembling underneath the table. He had a lot to think about, and yet, there was so little time. But he had a new lead, and that's all he needed.

Now, how the hell was he going to find a Nereid?

Come on…

A little more…

So close—

Jungkook gasped as the library's ladder began to slide to the left. He was leaning off towards the side, trying to reach a book on Ancient Greek folklore, or more specifically, nymphs. Unlike most magicals, who could simply summon the book down from the shelves where the library's encyclopedia stood on the podium, Jungkook—for several reasons—could not.

Perhaps he should have just climbed back down and shifted the ladder a little to the right, but it had been a long day, and he was still partially recovering from his trip to his Halmoni. So, he had been lazy and was now going to suffer the consequences of tasting the old carpeted flooring as the ladder continued to slide.

Closing his eyes, Jungkook briefly expected the impact to come as he inevitably lost his footing on the ladder as it stretched his form out. Gasping quietly—this was still a library, after all—Jungkook braced himself only to feel tingly?

Eyes snapping open, Jungkook shuddered as he shortly levitated in the air before being carefully lowered down. His feet touched the floor slowly, but the adrenaline still made him stumble. His savior's magic linger against his skin, like a subtle warm or fading caress.

But Jungkook could recognize that magic from anywhere, and he didn't even need to wonder who had saved him before turning around greeting Namjoon's worried expression.

"Did you hurt yourself, Jungkook-ah?"

Perhaps Jungkook would never get used to the sight of his old soulmates again. The library was a loose term for what Veils had to offer; it was more like a grand and ancient archive. Long, stretching bookshelves required sliding landers just to be able to access the top sections of the bookshelves. The middle of the library had long, heavy mahogany desks available for the students. However, small, shorter desks were also littered around along with comfortable seating for anyone simply trying to read.

Natural light seemed to flood the library, too. Windows lined the walls, filling the otherwise academic architecture with warmth. Namjoon stood before one of these windows, the light peeking around his silhouette and embracing his form. Jungkook hadn't taken the time to properly look over Namjoon, he had briefly glanced over him when moving in and during their last argument, but now Namjoon was before him and—and he looked beautiful.

Yeah, Jungkook would surely never get used to the sight.

There was a new sense of maturity in Namjoon's appearance, from the way his posture was straight yet still carried a certain mellowness. His face and features are now sharper and more defined. Six years had been a long time; somewhere along the way, all of them had gone from boys to adults. Of course, things would have changed. Jungkook just hadn't noticed it before, the intensity in Namjoons changed gaze.

His style alone had changed too; back in the academy, Namjoon had never strayed from the required uniform, but on holidays, the mandatory dress code wasn't enforced; Namjoon had still chosen to dress in rather formal, business-casual attire at most. Jungkook recalled, rather fondly, how Seokjin and Jimin had dedicated nearly an entire day to pepping up Namjoons wardrobe. They had hunkered down in Jimins and Taehyung's shared room, clothes spewn half-hazardously across the floor, across chairs and their beds, Namjoon forced to parade in front of the full-length mirror like a personal manikin as they tried discovering Namjoons preferences together. Hopefully to stray from his interrogation-like style and more of a casual academic style. Their day hadn't been the most productive, but they did discover that Namjoon enjoyed certain styles over others. Jungkook had enjoyed that day, simply goofing off with his Hyungs and forcing his usually put-together Hyung in various styles and outfits. Having watched Namjoon be out of his element for once had quite the bonding factor for him, especially since Namjoon had struggled so immensely with showing his vulnerabilities. Vaguely, Jungkook couldn't help but wonder how much that has changed.

Even now, Namjoon wore a soft set of grayish-brown suit pants—some habits never die, it seems—tied at the waist with a black leather belt that matched the black turtleneck that hugged his body. A loose, large-sleeved gray cardigan ties the outfit neatly together. Namjoon appeared soft but still put together enough that Jungkook assumed would make Namjoon feel comfortable.

How could Namjoon simply look so effortless? It irritated him, mostly because he got caught staring. Who could blame him? He hadn't seen Namjoon in nearly six years; somehow, his eyes were still trying to catch up with the fact that Namjoon was real , that he was in front of him. Besides that, what frustrated him more was that within the past week, he had been asked the same question twice already by both Hoseok, Yoongi and now Namjoon as well.

Jungkook had hoped silently that they could all just go their separate ways after their argument. At least they could all just pretend to hate each other, right? Hating them was easy. Even if Jungkook's feelings stretched far beyond just hate, what was going on was far more complex than just simply being sad or angry. Hating them was the only way it didn't hurt.

Finally snapping out of his embarrassing stupor, Jungkook nodded. "Yep, just fine. Thanks." He murmured, looking around him to spot the book he had nearly taken the fall for lying on the floor. Bending down, he picked it up quickly. He wanted to leave. Lest he take a look into Namjoons all too familiar eyes. It was like taking a look at one's past while simultaneously glancing at one's own unachievable, daunting future. A world consisting entirely of what-ifs and had-beens.

It scared Jungkook how much he was still able to hurt for these people. For him.

"Well, anyways, I'll be going—"

Namjoon quickly stepped in front of him, stopping Jungkook from escaping the situation. Brows now furrowed in irritation, Jungkook took a step back. The string connecting them tugged lightly, almost unwilling to let him escape their unwelcome proximity.

"Namjoon, move."

"No, please—" Namjoon exhaled, brushing his hair back with his hand nervously. He glanced around before finally locking eyes with Jungkook. It nearly took the sickly witches breath away, they hadn't been that close before, Jungkook hadn't seen those sincere eyes since— since then.

It hurt.

“I’m sorry, Jungkook.” Namjoon began, frowning deeply. "For everything. Gods have mercy; there aren't enough ways for me to apologize to you for all that's happened. But also for our last argument, emotions were strung high and I—" Namjoon inhaled sharply, his exhale a little shaky. "You had every right to react the way you did, telling you to calm down was inappropriate of me. I spoke out of turn, and I'm sorry for that."

Ever the diplomat, Kim Namjoon. Jungkook thought bitterly. However, an apology was better than none, Namjoon's reaction had been out of turn, no matter how diplomatically refined his apology came across. Jungkook stood silently between the narrow aisle of bookshelves, staring at the man he had loved endlessly six years ago as he let his apology dangle heavily in the air. But Namjoon was right, there weren't enough apologies in the world for his anguish to subside.

Namjoons apology came too late.

The silence between them made Namjoon nearly sink in on himself, the older witches hand hesitated as it briefly lifted to reach out for Jungkook, halting mid air before dropping limply to his side. Eventually, it balled up.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Jungkook." Namjoons usually relaxed voice sounded wobbly, unsteady as the pleading witch swallowed.

And just like a dormant dragon, Jungkooks anger sprung back to life. Mostly because the sheer vulnerability within Namjoon's tone unsettled him, and another because the string connecting both him and Namjoon tugged weakly on his finger. He still wasn't used to that feeling; no, their bonds had remained devoid of any and all motion during the past years; feeling it move rattled him. There was something about seeing a shine to Namjoons's eyes that also irritated him. Why was Namjoon close to crying?—he had no right.

Jungkook had been the one hurt here.

The silence hanging between them was uncomfortable, nearly sparking from its intensity. None of them spoke, and with a resounding sigh, Jungkook's shoulders sank.

"I'm not sure what you want me to say, Namjoon-sii." Perhaps that was the most level-headed Jungkook could be at this moment, but there was a certain defeat in his tone.

"I can't say that everythings fine, that you are forgiven, that I don't hate you. None of that's true—" Namjoons remorseful gaze never left his, when had been the last time they had looked into each other's eyes? "—and you know that."

Again, the library's silence grew louder in its stillness. Namjoon seemed to be mulling over his own words, before he nodded. “I know that, Jungkook-ah. I'm not asking for your forgiveness," there was a pause, and Namjoon seemed to understand that asking for Jungkook's forgiveness was beyond him. That— that was something he wasn't allowed or able to request.

"All I'm asking for is a chance—"

"No." Jungkook cut him off, he wanted none of it.

"Please, just to talk." Namjoon continued, a level of desperation as he pleaded. "Jungkook, I haven't seen you in six years. Please, I know I'm in no place to make requests from you—"

"So don't."

Namjoon heaved a sigh, combing his hair back. "I've missed you."

Gods, what would Jungkook give to never hear Namjoon say that again. Such simple words, wrapping around his throat like a noose.

But Namjoon continued, his own draconic eyes mirroring the desolation and fear that this could be their last time talking. "Please, Jungkook. Let's talk—we need to—to talk."

Jungkook closed his eyes, inhaled sharply, and counted to ten until he opened them again. Keeping the wateriness at bay was futile, and he watched as Namjoon's hands itched to wipe his tears away. The elder stayed still, good.

With a deep breath, tone cold and filled with a pained contempt, he spoke, perhaps a final time with Namjoon:

"You didn't just walk out of a room that day, Kim Namjoon."

"You walked out on me."

There was a finality to Jungkooks tone, a bit unrecognizable to his own ears. But it needed to be said, Namjoon needed to hear it as much as he needed to say it.

"The moment you walked out that fucking door. You relinquished everything you had on me. You have no rights to my life anymore. So don't—" Jungkooks voice quivered, forcing the sickly witch to swallow down his rising emotions. "—don't ask me to talk with you, especially when we have nothing to say to each other."

Jungkook's hand tightened around the spine of the borrowed book, taking a few steps back.

"Not anymore," he murmured, giving a slight bow with a politeness associated with strangers. "Goodbye, Namjoon-sii." He whispered, holding onto a faulty sense of closure as he walked away.

The sharp sound of a book slamming shut, followed closely by an elongated sigh, broke the silence surrounding the laboratory. Glancing out the window, the sun had set hours ago; leaving the sky generously decorated by the stars. Yugyeom had left the lab hours ago, not without the firm prompting of the Im coven threatening to send over some of its members to collect Yugyeom personally (which they had); it had been cute. It comforted Jungkook how well-matched Yugyeom and the Im coven were. He glanced briefly at the empty food container on his desk, a gift from Jaebeom since Jungkook had made a habit of getting take-out since he didn't want to spend any more time in his shared apartment than necessary.

Originally, he had only accepted the meal under the guise that the coven had simply made too much for dinner last night, but this being the fifth day in a row, he was beginning to have some doubts.

It had been—what? Six days since Yugyeom and he had returned from Busan? It took nearly the entire train ride back to persuade him to tone down his fussing, and even now, Yugyeom focused more on his meals than ever. Apparently, he hadn't been all that subtle at the market.

Nearly every morning, Yugyeom would come in with a hot drink in his hand, usually a type of tea and a little snack. The teas, always kept warm by simple magic, contained some type of health benefit. Youngjae began joining them during the mornings, explaining a little more about each current selection. Jungkook later found out that Youngjae was the one actually making and brewing the tea specifically for Jungkook's health, each day selecting something different. One day, it had been a brew specific for his metabolism, another for his muscles or heart, and something generic and basic. Occasionally—and thanks to much discussion—the Ims would only bring him food for lunch every once in a while. Now that he was receiving food nearly every night for dinner, also accepting a clearly homemade meal for lunch just felt like too much. Too leeching.

So on the rare occasion where Jungkook allowed himself to be manhandled off towards lunch, he'd eat with Yugyeom and usually some of his other coven members. Depending on who had time at the moment, Yugyeom rarely ate alone. Jaebeom was the head of the coven, prompting him to be significantly more busy than the younger members. But Jungkook managed to spend nearly most of his week with the Ims, and it was—it was nice. Mark and Jackson made him laugh more times than he could count; Youngjae was easy to fall into conversations with, especially regarding his growing herb garden. Jinyoung had traveled a lot before finding his soulmates, and Jungkook loved hearing about the man's adventures. Jaebeom gave off a sense of authority that Jungkook generally avoided, but as the days flew by, Jaebeom grew softer and more doting. BamBam, as it turns out, is as much of a brat as Yugyeom, roping Jungkook into whatever they had planned for the day.

Glancing at the fresh bouquet of flowers in the corner by the windowsill, he couldn't help but wonder which of the Ims was responsible for replacing and filling the empty vase every two to three days. At first, Jungkook found the gesture cute for Yugyeom, if only the flowers hadn't been on his side of the lab each time.

The flowers didn't come from Youngjae's garden, so he could only assume it was another form of encouragement from the coven.

Spending time with the Ims felt natural and easy. Despite all their poorly concealed fussing, no one looked at him with those solemn expressions he absolutely loathed. Besides the teas, the inconspicuous push of vegetables, broths, and not-so-subtle additions of meats to his plate, he was treated like a person—not a tragedy but a friend.

It meant a lot to him.

A soft, subtle knocking disrupted his poor attempts at getting anything done. Glancing away from the flowers, he knew he'd have to revisit the topic of nymphs and nereids at a later date, most likely tomorrow.

The lab door opened before Jungkook could get up, glancing around to see if Yugyeom had forgotten his coat or phone again.

"What did you forget this time, Yugs?" Jungkook hummed sarcastically, turning to look at the door before halting. His amused smile slipped, taking in the sight of Jimin holding a large bouquet of flowers. A delicate assortment of purple hyacinths, tulips, sunflowers, and white lilies separated by the occasional green leaf or branch.

The bouquet was beautiful, as were the last few he'd received. They would've been even more beautiful if he hadn't just realized they had been coming from Jimin.

Jimin looked shocked, as if he wasn't expecting Jungkook to still be in the lab. Which was wild, considering that it was his laboratory. His eyes were wide, staring back at Jungkook in a slight stupor. He wore a white puffer jacket that was zipped up all the way, a gray scarf tucked snuggly around his neck. His cheeks and nose were dusted a light pink from the cold, the hand holding the bouquet a cold pinkish as well.

Jungkook seemed to snap out of his surprise first, clearing his throat as he mimicked his nonchalance. "What are you doing here?"

He sounded calm and insouciant. Jimins' presence bothered him, and so did the newfound knowledge that the bouquet of flowers he always spent time admiring each morning was from him. But it was well past midnight, and Jungkook had woken up early that morning to head to the library—his interaction with Namjoon still heavy on his shoulders. Working just helped in that regard, with each word he read and every page he studied. Devoting himself to what truly mattered helped sway the focus back to where it should be; his cure.

As if snapping out of a trance, Jimin perked up before tumbling over his words. "What?—OH, yes—yeah, I just umm… came here to replace the—uh, flowers." Jimin looked sheepish, which was rare considering that hardly anything made Jimin flush back in the day. At least, they hadn't been able to. Jimin had been open to, well— most things. Besides little embarrassing hiccups around strangers, hardly anything could deter Jimin's unwavering confidence back in the day.

Did—

Did Jimin consider him a stranger?

Somehow, between all the bitterness and sorrow he felt when looking at Jimin, the thought of being reduced to a simple stranger bothered him. Not when they had known each other for longer than they hadn't. Not when Jimin had meant everything to him.

"Ah," for a moment Jungkook wished he could string together an actual intellectual sentence. But it was hard to think around any of his old coven members, there was something about their mere presence that overwhelmed him with emotions. Clearing his throat, he glanced away bashfully as Jimin's gaze softened on him—fondly?

"I wasn't aware you were the one leaving those." Jimins lip quirked upwards at his words, the witch rolling on his feet before Jungkook let him in with a stunted nod. He walked over to the vase, carefully taking out the resting flowers. Besides a few petals here and there, the bouquet never managed to look withered before Jimin supposedly replaced it. He tended to them with a level of care that borderlined on affection, and Jungkook couldn't handle the thought of any of them, including Jimin, being affectionate with him.

"Yeah, I had wanted to talk to you after you got settled in. But when I got to your lab, you weren't there." Jimin explained, his voice composed and warm. He took the new bundle of flowers, removing its rapping carefully before summoning a quick set of pruning scissors and beginning to prep the ends. Jungkook sat still, unable to process the normality of Jimin's behavior.

Maybe Jungkook was just really tired. He still hadn't fully recovered from his episode in the market, or maybe he just hadn't slept enough. But having Jimin in his laboratory felt strange, and so did his warm, gentle tone. It was just so Jimin.

It had been years. Nothing about the man before him should still feel familiar.

"I just noticed how dull everything looked, y'know?" Jimin went on, skillfully beginning to arrange the set of flowers he bought into the vase.

"This is a laboratory, not a gallery, Jimin-ah." Jungkook retorted, crossing his arms.

Jimin laughed, lightheartedly and airily. Like the gentle music Jimin's laughter had always been, even with how soft and quiet it was now, it eased Jungkook's tense shoulders. After all these years, Jungkook still found himself so weak for Jimin.

A weakness he couldn't—shouldn't allow. This was about himself, his protection, his self-preservation, and yet, he couldn't bring himself to usher Jimin out of his sanctuary. He only lowered his head, picking at the soft fabric of his sweater.

"I just—" Jimin paused, hand trailing over the stem of a white Lilie. "Remembered how you used to like picking flowers every spring; the seasons are changing and all, but I thought you'd like a little color in here regardless." Sighing quietly, Jimin stepped back to admire his work. The flowers were arranged beautifully, even if Jungkook didn't want to admit it.

A silence stretched between them, lingering lonesomely. "This room gets a lot of light. So I thought sunflowers would look quite good in here." Jimin mused, glancing around Jungkook's filled work desk curiously.

He should've asked Jimin to leave the moment he entered. But Jungkook was at a wits end for tonight, between too much work and little sleep, spending the better part of a day trying to figure out a way to get occasionally man-eating goddesses to help him out.

It can't be that hard, right?

Jungkook kept his gaze on the flower arrangement, there was something ironic about the sight of sunflowers without any sun to bask in. Jimin had a light affinity, a literal, breathing, sun.

"You shouldn't be here this late, Jungkook-ah, it's not healthy—"

"You were like the sun." Jungkook croaked, projecting a silence against the room. Faintly, one could hear the soft calling of crickets outside despite the laboratory being on the upper floors.

His eyes lingered on a sunflower protruding from the arrangement, a strange sense of melancholy erupting within him. Jungkook was exhausted, there just wasn't any room for anger tonight. Looking at Jimin, all Jungkook felt was a bittersweetness that edged more on sorrow than anger.

"You were my sun." Had his voice always sounded so fragile? There was a lump in his throat forcing him to swallow.

"And—"

"—and when you left ."

Jungkook looked up, his absent gaze finding Jimin's rueful ones. His old soulmate's waterline glistened, a wetness threatening to spill over if Jungkook went on.

"You took the sunlight with you."

Just because a witch had an affinity didn't mean they had to share a personality with their abilities. Necromancers didn't have to be edgy and downright creepy, nor did seers have to be reserved and wise, but Jimin— Jimin was like a ray of sunshine.

When they had met Hoseok for the first time, it had been like two stars colliding. Erupting to create a light so warm, so gentle that they had all been drawn to it.

"I—I spent years in that darkness, not able to see where I'm going, where I'm heading, it was all just empty." How many times, prompted by the jinge of the bookstores bells, had Jungkook wished he'd see Jimin's familiar face?

"So when I finally—Finally managed to light a candle, you show up." He didn't mean to sound so grim, but their reality was; in fact, far from perfect. It had always been the two of them, like Bonnie and Clyde or Robin Hood and Marian. Until it suddenly wasn't.

"And I don't care, I don't care that your presence promises me sunlight."

"Jungkook-ah—" Jimins voice quivered, sounding watery. "Can I just please—"

"Because when you took it the first time, you also took my sense of security within you."

Had he been too dependent on Jimin? Of course not; they had been soulmates, after all.

"When you left, you made it look easy —"

Jimin had always shone so beautifully; if he had been the sun, then Yoongi would've been the moon. Only now did Jungkook realize that in all his life he had never been anything more than a mere sunflower.

"—like, like it was easy to leave me."

Autumn was approaching; Jungkook hadn't noticed it before, the subtle chill joining the breeze brushing past him. The leaves were beginning to change colours, greens migrating into different shades of yellows and oranges. The park's gravelly path wasn't littered with foliage yet, but occasionally, a leaf would separate from its twig and dance through the air before landing on damp grass.

It was early. Early enough in the morning, that the park was still a tranquil haven, cloaked in the soft hues of dawn. The trees stretch out the shadows of the rising sun, its golden hue forcing the dewdrop-covered leaves to practically sparkle as the warming light peaked through branches. The air still had a certain bite to it, a crisp that usually faded throughout the later mornings, currently carrying the sweet fragrance of dew-kissed grass and blossoming flowers.

Jungkook wasn't usually an early bird; he was late to rise and even later to rest. But it had been Yugyeom's suggestion for Jungkook to indulge in other things outside the laboratory, which is why he was here now. Caring a small bag Yugyeom had gifted him consisted of nothing besides a small sketchbook and pencil. It was an old hobby of his—to draw. Quite frankly, he had ceased all of his hobbies after his diagnosis. It felt bittersweet; Jungkook hadn't really realized just how much he had given up that day.

Jungkook consistently trod the delicate line between elation and guilt. Throughout his years of study, he carefully avoided any and all thoughts of his inevitable death. He could—He couldn't accept it. Every action he took, every chapter, every essay, every paper he read was done with an innate sense of dedication—of urgency.

He wasn't going to die.

The grass, still dappled with the glistening remnants of the night's dew, crunched underneath Jungkook's boots as he wandered off the path and towards an empty bench looking out onto the lake. A sense of renewal pervades the air, and the stillness carries a promise of unknown possibilities. Mallards still stayed floating on the water's rippling surface, heads tucked on their backs and against their wings. The birds nesting amongst the surrounding trees had gradually begun to sing, soft chirps and boisterous calls echoing through the rustling leaves. It was almost as if the park itself was awakening with the day, ready to unfold its wonders for those fortunate enough to witness its early morning beauty.

Jungkook almost found it amusing how Yugyeom's exuberance rekindled his own. How, in his steel-fortified focus, he hadn't recognized the depths of his own isolation. Along the way, toeing between different kinds of grief and sorrow, he had somehow convinced himself that companionship was unnecessary. Now, he had someone holding his hand again. Looking out onto the lake, Jungkook watched as the first ducks began awakening, beginning to prune their feathers before he glanced at the small beige tote bag Yugyeom had handed to him.

It felt surreal—how things were beginning to change. Jungkooks own echelon was beginning to form, and watching the ducks cluster together as they awoke made Jungkook oddly happy. He had his Halmoni, now Yugyeom and Balam, and he was even becoming evermore familiar with the Im coven from their frequent visits to his shared laboratory.

With every passing day, Jungkook felt his head slowly emerge from the water he felt himself sinking into. He had always boasted about his ability to move forward after his verdict, but comparing his current now and his previous then.

Had he ever really moved forward?

His eyes caught onto the still resting form of a swan, the bird's long neck laid across its back and eyes closed as it drifted across the lake. He couldn't help but wonder lazily, what was the saying—Swans mate for a lifetime? Moving to grab the tote bag, Jungkook grabbed the small sketchbook and pencil, perching the notebook on his lap before beginning to sketch the idyllic swan. He was rusty, no doubt from his six-year gap, but he quickly familiarized himself with the nostalgic peace sketching gave him.

But the reposed silence didn't last long, the sound of someone sitting down beside him had Jungkook tensing. The slight edges of annoyance filling his aura, as a quick glance around gave way to several empty benches. Glancing to his side, Jungkooks breath caught in his throat as he looked at Taehyung.

The witch wore a long, gray-textured wool coat that reached a little past his knee. A large, red and dark gray chequered scarf draped over the back of his neck, leaving his neck exposed. Jungkook wanted to scoff, partially because wearing the scarf was pointless like that, and to resist the urge to wrap it around Taehyung's neck properly himself. The hell was up with him?

The witch also wore a pair of auburn brown pants that matched well with his white sweatshirt. Taehyung's entire outfit gave off a clean but simple look, matching well with the growing autumn colours. Taehyung had yet to look at Jungkook, eyes instead gazing forward and observing the same picturesque scenery Jungkook had been soaking up all morning. Most specifically, Taehyung seemed to be watching the rising swan.

Jungkook hated it. He found it abhorrent how his hands itched to fix the witch's scarf, how he couldn't keep his eyes from marveling at the stark change between his Taehyung and this Taehyung. However, he figured the worst part of all—was how beautiful Taehyung still was.

Jungkook was no longer looking at a rough-looking delinquent with smokey eyeliner and overly moussed hair, and neither was he breathing in the smell of old leather or subtle spray paint. No, the Taehyung beside him was entirely different. He smelt of subtle cologne and wore no make-up at all, adorning a well-picked-out outfit for autumn that complemented his stature entirely too much. Taehyung, when did you change?

"The others told me not to talk to you." Taehyung began, and somehow Jungkook couldn't help but connect the opposing witches' aura to their surroundings; somehow Taehyung carried the same nippy frost the freshening air did.

"But I don't care," Taehyung added, and despite the clear disregard towards his own wishes—he found Taehyung's disobedience comical, familiar. "Jimin told me about what you said to him."

Ah, Jungkook had almost forgotten just how close they all were with one another. Jungkook had accepted the fact that his path would never align with his soulmates again—he came to terms with that. But that night, all of them had split up. Jungkook had remained unaware that while he trotted around the world like a pariah, they had been wandering together.

Jungkook inhaled, his shaky breath coming out quivery as it clouded against the fresh morning air. There was no way that that realization would ever not hurt him.

"He looked for you."

Taehyung hadn't looked at him as he spoke, but it carried a curtness he was familiar with. There was a subtle, pensive sweetness to the familiarity; that despite the physical changes, Taehyung would always remain Taehyung. It took Jungkook a moment to catch onto exactly what he had said, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion before realization dawned on him.

Briefly, the scene of Taehyung entering the auditorium and jogging towards Jimin's brooding figure during Yugyeom's presentation flashed through him. The sight of Jimin's turbulent thoughts vanishing, practically melting under Taehyung's doting affections. They were so close to one another. Bonded.

"What?" Jungkook piped, looking out at the grooming swan. It was ironic to be surrounded by so much ataraxia and yet remain utterly troubled.

Jungkook watched as Taehyung's blank expression cracked, the facade quivering as he whispered, "We—well, we looked for you."

This time, it was Jungkook's turn to avoid eye contact because—what was he supposed to do with that information? Give Taehyung a participation sticker? A part of him wanted the other witch to stop this conversation entirely because, despite his efforts, his unbridled hate and contempt for everything regarding soulmates—Jungkook still bled for them. With every word, with every encounter, his heart would begin to weep all over again. Taehyung's words hurt, an ache entirely different from anything that could've been caused by insulting him. It was a deep, visceral kind of throbbing.

"We searched for years," Taehyung whispered, and perhaps if the park wasn't nearly as serene and empty as it was, Jungkook would've lost the softness of them to the wind.

A moment passed, Taehyungs gaze lowering to the ground as his expression contorted into one of mild frustration. Jungkook vaguely remembers a similar reaction to a conversation they had long ago, where Taehyung confided in him and complained about his inability to properly express himself. Jungkook couldn't help but wonder if those words still applied today.

"There wasn't—" Taehyung paused, inhaling as his tongue flicked to wet his lips. "There wasn't a pebble we left unturned Jungkook." Please, Jungkook thought pleadingly, please don't say my name like that.

As if the world depended on Jungkook believing him.

"Jimin hyung," Taehyung began again, "Jimin even went to your parents." The witch let out a dry, bitter-sounding chuckle that was more spiteful than anything else. Jungkook instantly understood, his own surprise at the information wearing off. His parents were huge, bigoted classists who were pretty prejudiced against gifted witches—those who weren't born into a witching bloodline—opposed to their superiorly born witches.

Jimin was a gifted witch, as in he hadn't actually developed his abilities until the MCA classified him as a magical. There wasn't necessarily any difference between the abilities of a born witch and gifted witch, but prejudices still existed nonetheless. Jungkook never cared for any of that bullshit. But to imagine Jimin, a man who has always been viewed as inferior by his parents, knocking on their door and asking about his whereabouts stirred his mixed emotions even more.

"You could imagine how well that went." Taehyung cursed, hands scrunching up. "The old hag tore him apart—rightfully so, but Jimin only ever repeated his question."

A small flock of ducks flew down towards the lake, circling it once before slowly lowering into the waving water with energetic wingstrokes. They squeaked and squawked, playfully circling each other as they occasionally ducked for food. Gradually, people began entering the park too. The lonesome jogger or dog walker following the path outlining the body of water.

"So I went to find Jimin, and together we began combing through Hangawoondae together." Taehyungs expression never truly changed as he recounted what occurred after Jungkook left. His fists were hidden in his coat pockets, but Jungkook could tell that he was cycling through a restrained pattern of clenching and unclenching his fists.

"But together, we couldn't find you either." Somehow, Taehyung still managed to tone his words with a level of despair that made Jungkook wonder if he was still missing. "So we went to find Namjoon and Jin."

Jungkook knew he shouldn't be indulging Taehyung like this—he should've left. But another part of him wanted to know , he wanted to know what they did when he left. The first weeks on his own were gruesome, a collaboration between being cold, hungry, and lonely. When all Jungkook had was an empty park bench to lay on for the night, his gaze cast up into the desolate starry sky. Wondering vacantly where they were, whether or not anyone was out there looking for him.

Jungkook knew that despite all the supposed hate and disassociation he had prided himself on, he never lost a certain hope throughout the beginning. With every jingle of the front entrance bells at his Halmoni's store, Jungkook had hoped to see a familiar face. But that day never came, and those hopes died after the third year had passed.

So Jungkook remained seated, his pale hands resting on his knees, fingertips dusted a light pink from the cold. Though the temperature hardly bothered him, his body didn't really heat up anymore. His mana too preoccupied at keeping himself stable to waste energy on heat.

"Namjoon and Jin went and found your Grandparents—fuck, we even tracked down your Uncle," Taehyung muttered. Jungkook frowned; he had cut all ties with his family when he left. There wasn't one member worse than the other, and they were all just dreadful. But to hear they had managed to track down his salacious, estranged Uncle? That must've come from Namjoon's connections.

"Hoseok and Yoongi had apparently already searched for you on their own," Taehyung said that strangely—spitefully? And here Jungkook thought they were all lovey-dovey with one another. He had to stifle a snarky remark, but despite all that could've changed with Taehyung, they were still so much alike. And Jungkook knew that if he interjected now, Taehyung might close up and leave.

"Not even Yugyeom knew where you were." Taehyung pushed through, and unlike the seething stare Jimin had centered around his best friend only a week ago, Taehyung had managed a look of anguish instead.

Jungkook didn't know where to place that information, the thought of them looking for him. But then why hadn't they just cast a spell? A tracer. Hells, they could've just followed the red soul string connecting them if they had wanted to. It wasn't and never had been impossible to find him.

Taehyung twisted to face him, steely, determined eyes nearly taking his breath away. "I'm not saying this to guilt you, Jungkook. I just—I want you to know. Know that there wasn't a day you were out there where I wasn't looking for you." There was an unyielding tone to Taehyung's words as if daring Jungkook to disagree.

"Years we searched the media for any sign of your apprenticeship. But nothing, you were just—gone." Taehyung went on, an almost reminiscing look casting over his gaze.

Distantly, birds sang, chatting and flitting through the air. Taehyung sighed, scrunching up his face before meeting Jungkooks. "We fucked up!—more than just that—we royally screwed up everything good in our lives."

Jungkook felt a bubble of protest stuck in his throat because that couldn't be true. It just couldn't. They fucked up, yes. But Jungkook hadn't been that quintessential to their coven; they had moved on without him. How far would they have gone still if he hadn't shown up on orientation day?

As if sensing his straying thoughts, Taehyung reached over and grabbed one of his icy hands. Weakly, Jungkook could still make out the now unfamiliar tingles the touch of a soulmate provided. "Jungkook-ah," Taehyung called out softly.

"Jungkook, you don't have to forgive us." When had Taehyung garnered the ability to look so vulnerable? Where had the turbulent man of his youth gone? It nearly pained him to look up at Taehyung to meet his soft, pleading features for longer than he already had.

"Losing you," he began again, looking out onto the lake briefly as the swan swam closer to them before subsequently passing them by. "Was the greatest mistake I ever made."

The handing holding his squeezed, and Jungkook wasn't sure whether or not he wanted to pull away or not. "I'll be the first to admit it. One year is what I get with you," and for a second Jungkook's heart sank before he realized that the Veils program only lasted so long.

Suddenly, Taehyung's warm eyes were back on him. "But don't think that I—we won't spend every minute of it trying to make up for those mistakes."

A silence stretched between them as Jungkook searched Taehyungs face for any integrity, or perhaps anything to promote the opposite. Softly, Taehyung began to chuckle. Letting go of Jungkook's warmed hand to comb his hair back, breathing deeply to relieve the phantom pressure that had settled over the older witch. "Big words, huh?" He mused, trying to lighten the mood.

"I'll prove it to you, I—"

"Why didn't you just follow our bond?" Jungkook interrupted stubbornly as he looked up at Taehyung. But the pure confusion that met him somewhat derailed him. Taehyung's eyebrows had pulled together as the other now searched his face for signs.

"What?" The unease settling in his gut made him feel antsy; why did Taehyung look so confused?

"Jungkook," Taehyung's voice cut through the tension between them.

"Your soul-string faded away after you left."

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maelstrom-of-emotions · 8 months

Text

Candle Queen | OT7

The streets of an idol life were always pulsating with the undercurrent of frenzied chaos.

Each one of them treaded on a path adorned with the broken fragments of forgotten childhood whimsies, all of them crushed beneath the weight of merciless expectations. Promises, once made in innocent naivety were now shackles around their wrists, while their dreams lay scattered like shattered glass, glinting with lost hope.

It was a realm that bore witness to the relentless pursuit of perfection, where the very air crackled with the unyielding pressure of expectations and the relentless demands of the industry.

It was a place that haunted the hundreds of people that dared to walk upon it, filling their days with insecurities that turned into stalking shadows that danced like ravenous predators, waiting to devour you whole.

And yet, it was the very place where Jungkook found himself competing.

Time slipped through his fingers like sand in this unreal existence, his days devoured by a relentless cycle of rehearsals, performances, and endless obligations dictated by the company. From the first light of dawn to the darkest hours of the night, his schedule was a ceaseless marathon, leaving little room for respite or reflection.

Each passing day etched its mark, as though determined to remind him of his demanding life. The reflection that stared back at him from the mirror unveiled a weariness that transcended physical exhaustion.

As the relentless cycle of his idol existence consumed his days and nights, the darkness under his eyes seemed to expand as ink spilled across a blank canvas. It was honestly hilarious how despite being quite literally exhausted sleep continued to evade him the same way the other members of the team avoided him.

He wasn't naïve. He was aware that the grueling weeks of preparation leading up to a comeback and the relentless demands imposed by their management for an unimaginable level of progress had undoubtedly taken its toll on everyone involved. Under the circumstances, it was natural that they felt frustrated.

It was just that, the frustration of his Hyungs came with consequences. Unsavory consequences.

Consequences that took shape in the form of the mounting tension between his Hyungs.

It wasn't a spectacle fit for the media's grand narratives, devoid of earthquakes or explosive confrontations that shook the very foundations of the earth. Instead, it resembled a slow, insidious decay—a creeping death that infiltrated their relationships, spreading like an unstoppable virus.

The festering strain and unspoken resentments seeped into the air, poisoning the once-thriving garden of their relationship. Despite Jungkook's best attempts to contain and control it, it grew like an invasive weed, entwining its roots deep within their interactions. It continued to grow until Jungkook woke up one day to find an infestation of icy indifference and unspoken grievances.

And it continued to grow, festering between the punctuated silence between stilted conversations and the fake smiles that seemed to take permanent residence on their youthful faces.

As time wore on, the minutes turned into hours, the hours turned into minutes, the minutes turned to days—the buds of anger began to bloom, their petals tainted with disappointment and hurt. The once bright color of their relationship faded, replaced by the somber hues of resentment and apathy.

The weight of their collective silence grew heavier with each passing day, suffocating the hope that things would mend themselves. The relentless growth of indifference and grievances left him feeling small and insignificant, a lone figure scrutinized by six different pairs of eyes, each one as hollow as the abandoned buildings that surrounded his childhood home.

The weed of indifference continued to thrive its roots intertwined too deeply to be severed.

There was only one thing left to do now, it seemed.

✩★✩

Jungkook was aware that being the maknae of a world-famous K-Pop group was rewarding.

He loved how he could use his supposed 'marshmallow cheeks' and 'wide-doe eyes' and 'baby angel personality' (compliments courtesy of Jimin and Taehyung's battle to 'out-compliment' each other) to charm them into doing what he wanted, whether that being getting lamb skewer for the umpteenth time, stuffing his face with yet another bowl of jjamppong, watching Iron Man for the 753rd time in a row, painting their nails hideous colors, or just simply convincing Taehyung to play piano tiles with him—his tactics never, ever failed.

Despite knowing that they could say no to his pout anytime, he would never force them to do anything they didn't like after all, they never looked even an iota annoyed about it, something that never failed to make Jungkook feel like there were a thousand hummingbirds flapping in his stomach

There was also the fact that being the youngest of the group made him be viewed as a baby in their eyes, something they never failed to remind him of. Starting with Jimin's comment of Jungkook being their 'emotionally constipated baby' it continued in the (frankly obvious) way that they treated him and moved over to the myriad of pet names that he was now dubbed as.

The genuine fondness and adoration his Hyungs showered upon him filled him with an exuberance that made him want to leap in the air like an animated bunny rabbit, jumping to unimaginable heights, the sheer joy that radiated from just being with them made him feel as if he could traverse the entire world in a single exhilarating sprint.

They seemed to rub off on him, with their eccentricities gradually seeping into his being, as evidenced by his newfound love of dramatic gestures and overall sappiness.

At times, he felt an overwhelming urge to burst forth into a dazzling display of stardust, scattering himself into a million shimmering particles like a dying star, just to mirror a quarter of the grandiosity and theatricality that Taehyung and Jimin effortlessly emanated.

The comfort that he felt with them was like sinking into a cloud of whipped cream, where worries melted away like sugar crystals on a spoon, leaving only a sweet residue of tranquility.

Being in their embrace was like a warm, cozy blanket on a frosty winter's night, seeping into his bones like melted butter on a steaming stack of pancakes. It was as if the universe had crafted a custom-fitted armchair that enveloped him with the tenderness of a thousand marshmallow hugs.

It was a shame that it didn't always last.

Life weaves its intricate tapestry, an ever-turning music box that winds the melodies of frustration and anger. It tightens the spring within, like a coiled serpent ready to strike, radiating an intensity that threatens to set the world ablaze.

In the midst of this symphony of emotions, Jungkook finds himself all too familiar with the dance of anger. He becomes a relentless worker, a human whirlwind caught in the storm, desperately seeking solace in the depths of exhaustion. It is a delicate balancing act, like walking on a tightrope suspended between weariness and the precipice of unraveling.

He seeks refuge in the embrace of sleep, a sanctuary where the chaotic tempest can be temporarily hushed. He yearns to find respite before the fragile threads that hold him together start to fray. It is a peculiar safety net, a bittersweet habit that clings to him like a worn security blanket. Though he is aware of its unhealthy grip, the allure of familiarity makes change seem like a distant, unattainable dream.

He's gotten used to it.

His Hyungs however, not so much.

Those days the apartment is filled with fiery debates and heated exchanges, where words collide like clashing thunderstorms—and Jungkook hates it.

He despises the brewing tempests that often erupt between his beloved Hyungs. Their heated exchanges create a stifling atmosphere, a suffocating fog that settles over.

His Hyungs know this and know that he hates conflict of any kind (courtesy of Hoseok finding him shedding silent tears in the bathroom after a particularly nasty one).

They had all agreed that witnessing the maknae of the group with flushed cheeks and tear-filled eyes was a disheartening sight, and as such Protocol 368 was formed.

Protocol 368 stated that it was essential for one of the calmer Hyungs to stay with Jungkook and keep him out of the aim of fire until the situation calmed down.

It was strictly followed, like some kind of golden contract, however, like most contracts, there was a fine print. The protocol was only followed in the worst of fights, which thankfully were rare and far between. There was no bunker or barrier when there were small arguments. There was nothing you could do but wait for it to blow over.

But small arguments escalated into large arguments, and there was no barrier to hide behind if everybody became irritated.

So, what else can Jungkook do but become an unwilling martyr in the face of looming conflict, silently bearing the brunt of their frustrations? It stings, stepping into the line of fire, and absorbing the piercing arrows of anger before they can hit their mark. Even though his heart aches as his own voice is swallowed by the tempest, replaced by the resounding echoes of his Hyungs' grievances.

It's easier to bear the pain of their disappointment and anguish rather than witness the rage that they unleash on each other. He would rather be the canvas upon which their anger is painted, absorbing their frustrations like an unyielding sponge

It's probably unhealthy, but his aversion to confrontation is born out of profound love for his Hyungs. He dreads the discord that seeps into their interactions, knowing all too well the potential for irreparable damage. Like a skilled tightrope walker, he treads carefully, navigating the treacherous terrain of their emotions, seeking to diffuse tension with gentle words and conciliatory gestures.

He becomes an empathetic observer, attuned to the smallest nuances in their expressions, the subtle shifts in their body language. In his quest to keep the peace, he becomes a master at reading the turbulent seas of their emotions, adept at steering the conversation away from treacherous reefs and hidden pitfalls.

It's worth it after all, when the boiling hot magma of frustration simmers and cools down, and he's once again wrapped in their loving embrace.

For being the maknae, despite what people thought, wasn't just about being the youngest; it was about being the heart that beats at the center of their unity.

And as everybody knows, in order to stay alive, the heart can't stop.

✩★✩

It starts, as with most things in his life, with Taehyung.

Tuesday unfolds, a somber sequel to the faded memory of Monday's existence. The colorless remnants of the previous day hang limp in the fringes of Jungkook's mind, washed away and left to dry, like discarded laundry.

The bitter chill of existence claws at his weary bones, seeping through the layers of his tattered coat. But amidst the frigid void that surrounded him, there was one feeble attempt at warmth—a flimsy cardboard coffee cup clasped tightly in his grasp. Its thin walls provided a fragile barrier against the numbing cold, a meager shield against the harsh realities of the world.

Wired headphones hung from his ears, spilling fragments of music into the air, their rhythm had blended seamlessly with the background hum of a bustling metropolis.

It's then that he notices Taehyung, his hyung, standing there against the wall.

There's an unmistakable scowl etched upon Taehyung's face as he engrosses himself in whatever captivates his attention on his phone. It's a formidable expression, one that could strike fear into anyone who dares to cross his path. Yet, Jungkook finds himself irresistibly drawn to that sight—the intensity in Taehyung's gaze, the way his eyebrows furrow ever so slightly.

It's been far too long since Jungkook has had a chance to truly see Taehyung, not just stolen glimpses in the midst of their demanding schedules or fleeting moments snatched during their rushed lunch breaks. The rare luxury of a week off has finally graced their lives, allowing them a temporary respite from their hectic routines. But amidst this apparent blessing, there's a bittersweet truth that tugs at Jungkook's heart.

While it's true that they all have this precious time to themselves, it also means they'll be confined to their respective rooms, isolated in their own private spaces. It's a necessary arrangement, of course, considering the demands of their profession and the need for rest. Jungkook himself is an introvert, needing solitude and silence to recharge, but it does become a little lonely.

With a single room to call his own, the solitude can become palpable, like an ache that settles deep within his bones. The absence of his boyfriends, the laughter, and warmth they share, leaves him longing for their company. But it's Taehyung, in particular, who leaves a void in his heart. The vibrant and magnetic energy that Taehyung radiates is like a lifeline to Jungkook, an anchor that grounds him amidst the chaos of their lives.

"Morning, Tae," Jungkook greets with a hopeful smile, the anticipation of Taehyung's warm embrace already igniting a flicker of comfort within him. It's their morning ritual, a small yet significant moment that reminds Jungkook he is not alone; a familiar embrace that usually precedes their morning walk. Though Jungkook has already taken his own solitary stroll earlier when he went to get his coffee, he finds solace in the presence of his hyungs, especially with Taehyung.

But Taehyung looks at him for a fleeting moment, pausing before emitting a noncommittal grunt and returning his attention to his phone. The lack of physical comfort weighs on Jungkook's heart, but he soldiers on, yearning for even a simple hug or a warm handshake.

"Nice weather we're having, huh?" Jungkook ventures further, attempting to initiate a conversation, hoping to bridge the gap that has formed between them. (A gap that he had never known existed until this moment.) Yet, Taehyung merely casts a quick glance out the window before delivering his response in a monotonous voice, "It's foggy."

Jungkook lets out a nervous chuckle, his attempt at levity met with Taehyung's resolute return to his phone's captivating screen. Undeterred, he persists, like a stubborn child. He's craving a connection, even if it's just through conversation.

"So, do you want to—"

"I'm going for a walk," Taehyung abruptly interrupts, his voice cutting through Jungkook's words like a sharp blade, leaving a sting of rejection in its wake. Without further ado, Taehyung pushes himself off the wall and strides toward the door, a sense of urgency in his steps.

"Oh, um, I can come with you if you want," Jungkook offers, the yearning in his voice embarrassingly palpable, desperately hoping against hope for an attempt to salvage their morning routine, to reestablish their connection.

"That's the last thing I need right now," Taehyung retorts, his words dripping with a hint of frustration and agitation. With that final declaration, he leaves, the door closing behind him with a resounding click. He leaves Jungkook standing there, his heart sinking with each receding footstep.

Suddenly as Jungkook clings to the coffee cup, its heat seeping through the creases of his calloused hands, it becomes more than a vessel for caffeine. It was a lifeline, a flickering ember of comfort in a desolate landscape.

(It seemed to be the only thing that carried a hint of solace, a temporary respite from the bone-chilling solitude that seemed to pervade every corner of his existence.)

It was silly really, possibly naive, that he was finding sanctuary in a simple coffee cup, but it felt like a fleeting refuge from the biting winds of indifference that gnawed on his bones these days. He couldn't help but believe the whispered promises that its fragile heat emanated.

After all, wasn't adulthood just pretending that the tantalizing taste of hope's delicate sugar crystals could wash out the taste of bitter reality?

He can do this.

He can't bear this.

It's stupid and utterly ridiculous, he's aware of it, fully cognizant of his won foolishness and sentimentality over such a trivial matter. But therein lies the crux, doesn't it? It doesn't feel small in the slightest.

It's a fucking paradox, really, how Jungkook finds himself shattered by a single dismissive remark (yes, it may be brief, but it's still a rejection, isn't it?). Taehyung is renowned among them as the frigid ice prince, a fortress of stone and indifference—despite all of them, especially Jungkook, knowing he's nothing short of an endearing puppy. Taehyung could have easily said something worse, could have unleashed a torrent of harsher words, could have sliced through the very core of Jungkook's being.

Honestly, he should be happy that it was just a mere curt response.

Yet, it pierces his heart like a thousand needles.

Because Taehyung, oh Taehyung, the embodiment of sweetness, compassion, warmth, and effervescence, the one who treated him to steaming bowls of comforting jjamppong, the one who cradled him in his arms during moments of tears, the one who stayed awake till the early hours watching k-dramas with him, the one who engaged in countless rounds of piano tiles, their laughter intertwining like a harmonious melody, the one who gazed at him as though Jungkook himself had birthed the moon and stars, the person who locked eyes with him and countered his disbelief by saying, "You didn't? Are you certain? The stars seem like your handiwork, delicate and luminous. It's only natural for beauty to create beauty. It's science!"—that very same Taehyung, who bared his emotions so openly that Jungkook could taste their intensity, had regarded him with a chilling mask of detachment.

The dichotomy is striking. Taehyung, the radiant sun that warmed his days, now appears distant and unyielding, a frigid moon casting its icy glow upon their once vibrant connection. It's a bitter pill to swallow, this sudden shift in dynamics, like sipping on a cup of scalding coffee only to find it has turned cold and bitter.

The irony hangs heavy in the air, mocking him mercilessly. The person he longs to confide in, to share his innermost thoughts and fears, is the very person who seems to have vanished from his grasp.

Jungkook knows he shouldn't let it affect him. After all, it was just a simple request, a mere invitation to spend time together. But the weight of that rejection presses against his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs, leaving him suffocating in a pool of self-doubt. He finds himself questioning every shared moment, every laughter-filled memory, wondering if it meant as much to Taehyung as it did to him.

He wants to laugh at himself or wring his own neck (both the options seem appealing). Here he is, a writer who pens heartfelt lyrics for moments like these, left grappling with the emptiness of words unspoken. It's as if the pages of their relationship have suddenly turned blank, devoid of the warmth and color that once filled them.

He replays their interactions in his mind, seeking solace in the echoes of Taehyung's past expressions of affection. The memory of his touch, the sound of his laughter, the gentle whispers of encouragement—they all feel distant now, like fading echoes in a cavernous chamber.

The morbid curiosity gnaws at his soul. What would it feel like if he were to disappear from Taehyung's life? Would there be a void, an ache, a longing? Or would his absence be merely a blip on the vast canvas of Taehyung's existence?

It's an unsettling thought, one that dances on the edge of Jungkook's consciousness, laced with a bittersweet desire for validation. He yearns to be missed, to have his absence noticed and mourned. It's a peculiar yearning, perhaps even a tad morose, but it's all he can feel right now.

He knows the futility of such ruminations. It's fucking stupid, honestly, life is complex, he knows this, and relationships are ever-shifting landscapes. In it, people come and go, leaving imprints on hearts before inevitably drifting away. If this happens to him one day, then, well, he'll just have to accept it, but thinking about these situations because of a mere sentence, that's pathetic.

He grapples with the inner turmoil, frustration bubbling within him like a simmering cauldron. It's a battle between reason and emotion, a clash of conflicting thoughts that threatens to consume him whole.

Rationality tells him to brush it off, to let it slide like water off a duck's back. After all, life is a tapestry of intricate connections, constantly weaving and unraveling, and he knows he cannot cling to every strand.

Yet, a nagging voice persists, taunting him with doubts and insecurities. It whispers that perhaps there's more to this seemingly insignificant incident, that he's missing some deeper meaning lurking beneath the surface. But he pushes it away, frustrated at his own overthinking.

Taehyung's frustration is understandable, he tells himself. People need space, time to reflect and recharge. It's only natural that Taehyung would want a breather from the ties that binds them all. But a treacherous part of his mind interjects, questioning why Taehyung didn't seek the same distance from Jin or Jimin last night. The inconsistency stings, fueling his internal turmoil.

Tomorrow, he reassures himself, they'll be back to their usual banter and laughter. It will be as if this incident never occurred, as if the brief rupture in their connection was nothing more than a figment of his imagination. Tomorrow holds the promise of normalcy, of a return to the familiar rhythm they've always known.

But the present feels heavy, laden with uncertainty. Tomorrow seems like an eternity away, and he wonders if he can withstand the weight of these swirling emotions until then.

He has to, he reminds himself, sooner or later the passing of time will heal the wounds of this fleeting discord. In this grand tapestry of their lives, this momentary blip will be but a speck, a fragment soon to be lost in the vast expanse of shared memories.

He hopes that what happens.

He's been doing a lot of hoping lately.

✩★✩

The kitchen felt cavernous, the silence punctuated only by the ticking of the clock on the wall. Jungkook sat perched on the cold countertop like an anxious bird for what felt like an eternity. He finally succumbed to the realization that his intense stare wouldn't magically summon Taehyung home any faster.

Sighing heavily, he decided it was time to take a shower, hoping that the water would wash away not only the physical grime but also the weight of his insecurities. However, as the warm droplets cascaded over him, he couldn't shake off the heaviness in his heart. In his favorite pair of pajamas, he still felt the sting of patheticness, like a wounded bird unable to find solace.

Craving the warmth of a comforting embrace, he reached for the next best thing - a hoodie. But as he rummaged through his own collection, each hoodie seemed lackluster, unable to provide the sense of security he desperately sought. So, he turned to his hyungs, specifically Jimin, whose clothes always seemed to exude comfort and familiarity.

Jimin's wardrobe was an expansive assortment of cozy garments, but it was the fluffy white hoodie adorned with baby bunnies stitched in a golden thread that caught his eye. It held memories of Jimin's playful gestures, insisting that the hoodie looked better on Jungkook than himself. There was a lingering question about where Jimin acquired these oversized pieces that swallowed him whole, but Jungkook had learned not to probe further after a misguided attempt led to Jimin taking offense and puffing out his cheeks like a pufferfish. Ever since then, he felt that it was best to let the topic rest in peace.

Just as he was about to slip into the hoodie, enveloping himself in its comforting embrace, the door burst open, and Jimin stormed in, a disgruntled expression etched across his usually angelic face. The stark contrast between his usual radiance and the stormy aura he exuded now caught Jungkook off guard, causing him to flinch instinctively. Jimin's eyes held a chilling emptiness that pierced through the air, much like Taehyung's indifferent expression from earlier.

"Oh," Jimin's voice dripped with deadened emotion, sending shivers down Jungkook's spine. "You're here."

Jungkook, feeling like a deer caught in headlights, nodded awkwardly, desperately attempting to ease the tension that hung heavy in the room. "Um, yeah. I can leave if you want?"

Jimin rubbed his temples as if trying to alleviate a mounting headache. "No, it's fine," he muttered, though his tone betrayed his inner struggle. "It's fine. I was just...is that my hoodie?"

Jungkook stumbled over his words, his attempts at explanation faltering. "Erm, yes?"

A suffocating silence filled the room, pregnant with unspoken frustration and tension. Jimin's voice emerged, slow and measured, carrying the weight of irrational anger. "Jungkook-ah," and Jungkook flinched again, Jimin never called him by his name, it was always a nickname, "Why do you have my hoodie?"

Jungkook stumbled over his words, desperately seeking an explanation. "I just, um, really like wearing it so, I thought, well, um, that you wouldn't mind?"

Once again, the room fell into a suffocating silence, the weight of Jimin's unspoken frustration threatening to crush Jungkook's already fragile state. And then, with a burst of unrestrained anger, Jimin snatched the hoodie from his grasp, his words cutting through the air like a serrated blade. "It's my fucking hoodie! Just because you're unsatisfied with your own fucking clothes, does not mean you get to steal mine! If you think we're just going to roll over and take it because you're the 'golden maknae' or whatever, then clearly, we've been praising you unnecessarily! Just because we treat you like a baby, does not mean that you are one."

The air grew thick with tension, the room becoming an echo chamber of silence punctuated only by Jimin's labored breaths. Jungkook felt small and defeated, his voice quivered, a whisper barely audible amidst the weight of the moment. "Sorry."

He wanted to say so much more, wanted to plead that it was just a hoodie and that he didn't mean anything by it, but the words remained lodged in his throat. He felt the prickling sting of tears that threatened to spill from his eyes, but he held them back, refusing to let them be a testament to his weakness.

Jimin's exasperated sigh filled the room, a dismissive response to Jungkook's apology. "Just wear your own clothes next time. It's not that hard, Jesus."

"Okay," Jungkook managed to choke out, his voice tinged with a blend of defeat and unshed tears. The words felt like a feeble surrender, to war that had already long begun.

Jimin, already halfway out the door, harrumphed, and stomped away with heavier steps than necessary, his departing footsteps echoing through the empty space. Jungkook was left alone once again. The silence enveloped him, drowning out the sound of his racing thoughts. Tears welled in his eyes, his spirit bruised and his heart heavy with the ache of hurt and confusion welling up inside him.

Jimin had never shown such resentment before. He had always encouraged Jungkook to wear his clothes, finding joy in seeing the younger member swathed in his fabric. This sudden outburst, this rejection, cut deep, leaving Jungkook questioning his own worth.

For the second time that day, he stood there, shoulders slumped, feeling the heavy burden of regret settling upon him like a suffocating blanket.

He stood there for a while, hoping and praying for a tomorrow that seemed like it would never come.

✩★✩

An hour later, Jungkook found himself perched on the edge of his bed, his gaze fixed on the barren expanse of the wall before him.

The passing of time blurred, the moments blending into a haze of confusion and distress. He couldn't recall the hurried escape from Jimin and Taehyung's room, nor the frantic retreat into the solace of his own space. All that remained was the numbness that settled over him like a suffocating fog.

The motivation and hope that he had tried so hard to build had dissipated, vanishing into thin air the moment Jimin had looked at him with that blank stare. The internal struggle between unleashing his pent-up screams into the forgiving fabric of his pillow or surrendering to the torrents of tears, waged war within him. He understood that his hyungs were grappling with their own frustrations, burdened by the stress of their demanding schedules and the relentless pressures of the upcoming comeback.

He had known what he was getting himself into and had known that it might be a struggle to connect with them, it was logical that there would a rift.

Yet, despite his rationalizations, the bitter pill was difficult to swallow. The echoes of their hurtful remarks reverberated within the walls of his mind, relentless and unforgiving. What tormented him the most was the painful awareness that he held the key to ease the turmoil churning within his gut. He knew the antidote to his insecurities, the remedy to wash away the world's falsehoods and the unnecessary vitriol that had been hurled at him.

He craved the comforting presence of one of his hyungs—a soothing balm to heal his wounded soul. It mattered not whether it was Jimin or Jin, just someone to envelop him in their embrace, reassuring him of his worth and love, dismissing the biting words as mere manifestations of misplaced anger and frustration. The specifics didn't matter—time, place, or action—what he yearned for was the warmth of their touch.

The longing seemed elusive, like a childish dream, an unattainable oasis in the vast desert of his despair. Who was to say that they wouldn't be exasperated with him as well? If Taehyung, who had never exhibited an ounce of annoyance even when Jungkook accidentally tore one of his cherished silk shirts, had dismissed him from their daily morning walks, or if Jimin, the epitome of a fallen angel, had scolded him for donning a hoodie that he himself had pleaded and coerced Jungkook to wear...

If the workload had driven Jimin to explode over a mere hoodie, a garment that Jimin was always so eager, that he had once resorted to hiding Junkook's clothes in order to have the younger clad in his own clothes, then what hope did Jungkook have with Jin and Yoongi?

The thought of their possible resentment weighed on Jungkook's already weary soul, leaving him adrift in a sea of uncertainty, fearful of seeking the solace he so desperately craved.

But, he could do this. He could endure this day in the confines of his room; he could immerse himself in video games (to distract from the void left by Taehyung's absence). He could watch videos, laugh at their content (and try to ignore the absence of Jimin's animated commentary). He could even attempt to find respite in a brief nap (even without the comforting presence of his hyungs).

After all, he was Jeon Jungkook, the renowned golden maknae, the one who had left home and ventured into the world at the tender age of thirteen. He was the master of silent footsteps, treading delicately on dead leaves without a whisper. He was the one who had adorned Jin's face with sharpie-drawn whiskers and had gotten away with a hair ruffle and a fond mutter of "Brat." He was the one who possessed the uncanny ability to convince Yoongi to indulge in lamb skewers time and time again, defying the odds. He could even discuss Jimin's small hands without facing the wrath of those very hands.

He could do this. He repeated the mantra in his mind, mustering all the strength and self-assurance he could summon. He had faced challenges before and emerged victorious. He was Jeon Jungkook, after all.

He could absolutely do this.

✩★✩

He lasted fifteen minutes.

Fifteen minutes was all he could endure before succumbing to the irresistible pull of his hyungs. He cursed his own weakness, berating himself for lacking the self-control to stay away.

It felt as if he were morphing into some sort of magnetic force, relentlessly drawn towards them. This was absurd. Perhaps his older brother had a point when he claimed Jungkook lacked a sense of self-preservation. After all, if he possessed one, he wouldn't find himself standing in front of Joon-Hyung and Jin-Hyung's door, hesitantly knocking as if entering a haunted house straight out of a horror movie.

He really needed to stop watching horror movies, he felt like an oblivious protagonist, making stupid mistakes that were obvious to the audience. Receiving no response to his timid knocks, Jungkook cautiously pushed the door open, revealing an empty room. A sigh escaped his lips, a mix of frustration and relief flooding through him simultaneously.

Whilst it was a good thing that they were not present, as it saved him from a potential confrontation or rejection, it also meant he wouldn't be able to go to them for comfort. And since he didn't know which mood they were in, he didn't know if he had to avoid them or not.

Deciding that he'd wait for either of them to come back, he flopped onto Joon-Hyung's ridiculously spacious bed, the cool touch of freshly laundered sheets sending ripples of bliss down his spine. For a second, every worry and burden melted away as the soft fabric cradled him in a cocoon of serenity, creating a haven where tranquility and relaxation danced an elegant waltz.

His gaze wandered idly around the room, and a book resting on the nearby bean bag caught his attention. Its deep blue leather cover, adorned with a golden hummingbird pattern, intrigued him. The gold embossed title on the front read 'Wanderlust' in elegant cursive.

"Wanderlust," he whispered to himself, savoring the word. Curiosity piqued, he reached for it and delicately turned it over to read the blurb on the back.

The description painted a vivid picture of a world where the ocean's caress met the shore with gentle tides and time seemed suspended in a mesmerizing stillness. Secrets whispered in the soft breeze, carried by seabirds gliding overhead, while hummingbirds, suspended in mid-air, became guardians of fleeting moments. It promised a tale of love, loss, and resilience, where emotions ebbed and flowed like the sea, accompanied by the delicate grace of the hovering hummingbirds.

Intrigued by the ethereal beauty and profound themes that the pages promised, Jungkook thought he might be able to find solace. Perhaps he didn't need to burden his hyungs for comfort after all.

However, as fate would have it, his attempt at finding solace was short-lived. Just as he delved into the captivating world of the book, Namjoon burst through the door with the same abruptness as Jimin had in the morning. The sense of déjà vu was not lost on him. Startled, Jungkook looked up at Namjoon, his expression sheepish, desperately trying to maintain composure in the face of the older member's inscrutable gaze.

"Jungkook?" Namjoon's voice carried a mixture of wariness and surprise.

"Um, hello, hyung," Jungkook replied, his voice tinged with a hint of nervousness, avoiding eye contact as he fought against the urge to crumble under the weight of Namjoon's unreadable expression.

"What are you doing here?" Namjoon's question hung in the air, leaving Jungkook feeling like an intruder in his own home. The constant sense of being unwelcome among his hyungs was starting to gnaw at him, leaving him with a lingering ache in his heart.

Before he could reply though, Namjoon's brows furrowed with a mix of frustration and confusion as he noticed the book in Jungkook's hands. "Jungkook, why are you reading my book without asking?" he questioned, his tone sharper than expected. The abrupt shift in Namjoon's demeanor struck Jungkook like an unexpected gust of wind, leaving him momentarily breathless and at a loss for words.

"Hyung, I'm sorry. I didn't realize it would bother you," Jungkook replied, his voice tinged with genuine surprise. Namjoon had never objected to him borrowing or reading his books before. They had spent countless lazy afternoons and late-night conversations about the stories that they had read. Namjoon was always proud whenever Jungkook read a book, and wouldn't stop beaming. So, the change in Namjoon's reaction puzzled Jungkook, leaving him feeling disoriented and hurt.

"Jungkook," he started, his words alight with impatience that crackled in the air. "I was reading that book."

Not for the first time today, Jungkook felt like a lone sailor navigating unfamiliar waters, feeling adrift and wounded. "Oh," Jungkook finally managed to reply, his words a fragile thread in the face of a brewing storm. "I'm sorry, maybe you'd like to read together?"

"I'd rather not read it with you," Namjoon responded curtly, his words laced with a hint of frustration. "You're too distracting, and I need to focus."

The words hit Jungkook like a sharp blow to the chest. He felt a lump forming in his throat as the hurt washed over him. Was he truly such a burden, even when it came to something as simple as reading together? The rejection, cold and biting, seeped into his bones, his eyes brimming with unspoken hurt.

Feeling a mix of sorrow and confusion, Jungkook looked down, avoiding Namjoon's gaze. He was about to place the book back on the bean bag when Namjoon abruptly grabbed two other books from the shelf and thrust them into Jungkook's hands.

"Here, take these," Namjoon said, his voice lacking the usual warmth and affection. "Since you seem so eager to read, go find your own space. These should keep you occupied."

Jungkook blinked, feeling a wave of irony washing over him as he read the titles of the books in his hands. "A World Apart" and "Dreaming of Tomorrow." The contrast between the titles and the current situation struck him like a cruel joke. It felt as though fate itself reveled in a cruel jest, brandishing a mirror that reflected the growing chasm and dwindling connection that surrounded him.

Without another word, Namjoon gently but firmly pushed Jungkook out of the room, closing the door behind him with a decisive click. Standing alone in the hallway, Jungkook clutched the books to his chest, feeling their weight pressing against his ribcage, a metaphorical burden to match the one that weighed upon his heart.

And for the third time that day, Jungkook listened to the sound of receding footsteps. Each step felt like a chain on his heart, until it stopped, suggesting that his hyung had flopped on his bed.

The third time's a charm, yeah, right. The person who had made that phrase had clearly never done their research. ✩★✩

It seemed that each attempt to mend the fractures in his relationships had only deepened the wounds.

As he stared at the wall before him, its neutral surface offered no solace, no answers to the questions that echoed in his troubled mind. The painted facade seemed to mock him, its smoothness was reminiscent of the ease with which others moved through life, unburdened by the weight of their mistakes.

Jungkook couldn't help but wonder if he was destined to be forever trapped in a cycle of missteps and disappointments. The memory of each rejection was etched into the very fibers of his being like indelible ink staining his soul.

If he had any remnants of motivation left, they were now mere embers, on the brink of being extinguished. Every stumble he made left behind the bitter residue of missed opportunities and shattered expectations. The mere thought of trying again seemed like a Herculean task. Perhaps he should get out of the house for a bit, the walk he had taken for coffee had calmed him before meeting Taehyung had set off the domino chain of disaster. It would be better, at least that way he wouldn't bother anyone.

He had donned his jacket and was just about to go and grab his hat when he heard singing. Despite his resolutions, he ended up going to check it out. There were many things that he was expecting but a beaming Jin had not been one of them (or had been on the list of possibilities at all).

If this was any other day, then he would not have even batted an eyelash, but after the hurricane that was today, it seemed like a rarity to see someone content, let alone actually radiating with happiness.

"Ah, Junkook-ah," Jin beamed at him, looking like he could rival the sun. He kissed Jungkook softly on the forehead. "Care to join me?"

He wanted to say no. That he was planning on going for a walk. Because wouldn't it be better to leave before he fucked something else up again? But this was the first form of comfort since this morning, no month. Their schedules had been so hectic that they'd barely gotten to see each other. Was it really so wrong to want to let it last?

Jungkook nodded, his heart fluttering when Jin beamed at him again. Determined to prove himself, Jungkook donned an apron. Soon, the aroma of sizzling spices filled the air, teasing the senses with promises of a delectable feast.

Jin, the master chef of the group, orchestrated the culinary symphony with precise movements, his graceful hands gliding effortlessly over the stove, transforming raw ingredients into culinary works of art.

He stood beside Jin, trying to mimic his graceful motions, but his enthusiasm sometimes outpaced his finesse. As he reached for a delicate glass measuring cup, his fingers fumbled, and with an unfortunate twist of fate, it slipped from his grasp and shattered into a thousand glittering shards on the kitchen floor.

Time seemed to halt as Jin's eyes widened in disbelief, the color draining from his face. The shattered fragments lay scattered across the cold tiles, mirroring the fractured state of Jungkook's life, a tangible reminder of his inadequacy. Jin's frustration bubbled up like an erupting volcano, his voice a sharp blade cutting through the air.

"Jungkook, how could you be so careless?" Jin's tone was laced with a mixture of disappointment and exasperation, his words landing on Jungkook's ears like bitter shards of glass. "Seriously, you're supposed to be the 'golden maknae' or whatever, but you can't handle a bloody measuring cup? Are you fucking kidding me?" The weight of Jin's scolding pressed heavily on his chest, squeezing out any remnants of self-assurance he had mustered.

It was as if Jungkook had once again inadvertently stirred a tempest in a teapot, unleashing Jin's wrath with a single misstep. The kitchen, once a sanctuary of hope (hope that he might not ruin this, hope that he's not fucking things up, hope that he can prove something, anything), now resembled a battlefield strewn with broken dreams. Jungkook's heart sank, feeling as fragile as the shards of the shattered glass beneath his feet.

Jin's piercing gaze held a mixture of hurt and frustration, his disappointment casting a long shadow over their connection. The crackling tension between them was palpable, as if an invisible barrier had formed, separating them like oil and vinegar.

The shards of the broken utensil seemed to reflect his shattered confidence, leaving him questioning his worth and place among his talented hyungs. As he glanced down at the fragments, he couldn't help but see himself reflected in them – broken, flawed, and desperately yearning for redemption.

"Go," Jin's made each syllable hang in the air, heavy with the weight of their implications. "Just go, I don't care where, just go."

"Jin-hyung—"Jungkook started, his voice shaky, only to get cut off.

"Just go, before you break something else again." Jin's tone held no room for argument.

Jungkook's shoulders slumped, burdened by the weight of his own disappointment in himself. He felt small and insignificant, like a fragile porcelain figurine teetering on the edge of a precipice, one wrong move away from shattering completely. When he removed the apron with trembling fingers his eyes dropped to the broken glass at his feet, his gaze avoiding Jin's piercing stare. He couldn't bear to witness the disappointment etched on his Hyung's face, couldn't bear to see the shattered image of himself reflected in Jin's eyes.

For the fourth time that day, he wanted to turn back time, to rewind the clock and rewrite this unfortunate chapter, like he did his songs. And with regret consuming his thoughts, he flew out the door not even bothering to grab his cap.

✩★✩

As Jungkook stepped out into the cool evening air, a whirlwind of emotions churned within him. The weight of today hung heavy on his shoulders, pressing him down like an invisible burden. Each step he took felt like an escape, yet it also felt like a surrender to his own perceived inadequacies.

The world outside seemed to mirror his inner turmoil. The once familiar streets, bathed in the golden hues of twilight, now appeared foreign and distant. Every passerby, every sound seemed to fade into the background as Jungkook's mind was consumed by his own self-critical thoughts.

His footsteps carried him aimlessly, as if he were a solitary wanderer in a vast and unforgiving world. The cityscape stretched out before him, its towering buildings and bustling streets serving as a stark reminder of the magnitude of his mistakes. It was as if the world itself had turned its back on him, mirroring the rejection he had experienced throughout.

A gust of wind swept through the deserted alleyway, causing Jungkook's hair to ruffle and his clothes to cling to his frame. It felt as if the elements themselves were mocking him, whispering reminders of his shortcomings with each passing breeze. The once vibrant city now seemed muted, its lights dimmed and its vibrancy drained, mirroring the gloom that had settled within his heart.

As he walked, the city's symphony played on. Horns blared, voices murmured, and footsteps echoed, but they all blended into a dissonant cacophony that drowned out the melody of life. Jungkook's mind was a whirlwind of regrets and self-doubt, each thought swirling like a tempest in his troubled soul.

He found himself in a park, its once cheerful atmosphere transformed into a melancholic backdrop for his shattered spirits. The trees, their branches reaching towards the darkening sky, seemed to mirror his own longing for a warmth of any kind. The leaves rustled mournfully, as if whispering secrets of sorrow and regret.

Finding a secluded bench, Jungkook sank down onto its weathered surface, his body aching with exhaustion. His gaze drifted upward, tracing the stars that dotted the night sky, distant and unattainable. He felt like a solitary figure, lost amidst the vast expanse of the universe, searching for a sense of belonging and forgiveness.

In that moment, as the world continued its relentless march around him, Jungkook was left with the bitter taste of rejection on his tongue. His heart ached, aching for understanding and acceptance, longing for the healing touch of compassion. And as tears welled up in his eyes, he couldn't help but wonder if there was a path back to the warmth and belonging he so desperately craved.

✩★✩

Jungkook stared blankly as Hoseok's brows furrowed in frustration, his usual patience stretched thin like an overworked elastic band.

He didn't know why he had come to the studio, couldn't even remember when he had got here. He remembered swearing to himself, after the work was finally done that he wouldn't be back until the holidays were over, and yet, here he stood on the freshly waxed floors of the studio desperately trying not to cry for what felt like the millionth time today.

He just wanted to do something that wouldn't backfire on him, something productive that didn't make him feel worthless and stupid, it just so happened that Hobi-hyung was there. It was supposed to be a fun dance practice, a test of the new choreography, something Jungkook normally had no problems with, and yet...

The steps seemed to blur together, each movement a fleeting glimpse he struggled to capture. The rhythm became a mischievous ghost, slipping through his fingertips as he stumbled through the intricate footwork.

With each faltered step, anticipation for the coming storm coursed through his veins like a wild current. And with each mistake, Jungkook's confidence waned, like a flickering flame on the verge of extinguishment. He fought to keep up, his muscles straining and his mind whirling, but the elusive grace he sought seemed just beyond his reach. It was as if he danced on a tightrope, the ground below threatening to crumble with every misplaced beat.

Hoseok's frustration bubbled to the surface like a simmering volcano, his voice sharp and clipped as he corrected Jungkook's errors. The words stung, piercing through the already fragile armor of his self-esteem. He felt like an amateur painter, splattering paint onto a canvas, his once-vibrant colors now muddled and indistinct.

"Jungkook, get it together!" Hoseok's voice echoed through the studio, the disappointment in his tone a dissonant chord that reverberated within Jungkook's chest. The words hung in the air like heavy curtains, suffocating him in a stifling silence. He stood frozen, his heart aching with a sense of inadequacy that seemed to seep through his skin and into his very bones.

The atmosphere grew suffocating as if the air itself had turned against him, leaving him gasping for breath. Hoseok's patience seemed to have vanished along with Junkook's self-esteem because he didn't even bother to say anything, he didn't even have to, for the door that slammed shut before Jungkook could even open his mouth, spoke for him.

He gazed at his reflection in the mirror, searching for a trace of the dancer he once was. His reflection stared back, eyes filled with unshed tears and the shattered fragments of a wounded spirit. The silence enveloped him like a heavy fog, seeping into his pores and eroding his self-belief. His body sank to the floor, the cold surface offering a chilling reminder of his immense failures and shortcomings.

Dimly, in the back of his mind, he wondered if the problem wasn't the stress of their schedules but just him being a colossal failure.

✩★✩

As Jungkook made his way down the corridor, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of apology, he approached the studio door where he assumed Hoseok would be. He hadn't gotten a chance to properly apologize to the others, this was a chance to start.

But when the door cracked open, the light of the hallway spilled into the dimly lit room, casting long shadows across the expanse of the studio. Jungkook's eyes, filled with remorse and determination, scanned the room for Hoseok's familiar figure, Instead, however, it was Yoongi's silhouette that caught his attention.

The air in the room crackled with anticipation, as if every atom in the room held its breath, waiting for Yoongi's genius to manifest.

Jungkook's heart felt as though it would jump out of his throat. He had intended to slip by unnoticed, a fleeting specter passing through the realm of Yoongi's inspiration. But fate had other plans, and in an ill-timed twist of events, his foot grazed a stray cable, sending it spiraling to the ground with a resounding clatter.

The noise shattered the delicate bubble of Yoongi's concentration, jolting him from the ethereal realm of his creative process. His brows furrowed, frustration etching lines upon his forehead, as he turned to face the intruder who dared to disrupt his sacred space. His eyes, usually adorned with a glimmer of mischief, now held a glint of irritation that pierced Jungkook's heart like a thousand tiny needles.

"Can't you see I'm working?" Yoongi's voice cut through the air, sharp as a scalpel, dissecting Jungkook's sense of self-worth with surgical precision. The weight of his words settled upon Jungkook's shoulders, heavy and suffocating, as he struggled to find a response.

"Why can't you be more careful? You're not a child, Jungkook-ah, stop acting like one," Yoongi's voice was as sharp as a winter wind, piercing Jungkook with its icy bite. The weight of his words settled upon Jungkook's shoulders, a burden he had unknowingly stumbled into.

The room suddenly felt smaller, the once inviting space now charged with an unspoken tension. Jungkook's gaze dropped to the floor, avoiding the piercing stare that seemed to penetrate his very soul. He felt like an intruder in his own skin, an unwelcome guest in Yoongi's heart.

Yoongi's words reverberated through the studio, echoing in the hollows of Jungkook's mind. The weight of his own pathetic thoughtlessness bore down on him, pressing upon his chest like a heavy boulder. He wanted to apologize, to offer some semblance of understanding, but his words caught in his throat, suffocated by the weight of his guilt.

As Yoongi's frustration lingered in the air, a sense of unworthiness wrapped its icy tendrils around Jungkook's heart. Doubt seeped into his every pore, poisoning his already shattered confidence like venom. It was hilarious really, how broken things (like him), could be broken further. He yearned for acceptance; he wanted to apologize, to beg and plead for a place within Yoomgi's heart, for a place within all their hearts, but instead, he was left feeling like an intruder, an unwelcome distraction.

With a heavy sigh, Yoongi turned away, dismissing Jungkook with a wave of his hand. The gesture, seemingly small, carried the weight of rejection, leaving Jungkook feeling like an inconsequential pebble washed ashore amidst an ocean of talent. The studio's once warm and inviting embrace turned cold and distant, as if the walls themselves whispered their disapproval.

Jungkook stepped out into the hallway, the sound of the closing door a final punctuation mark on their encounter. The world outside appeared muted, its colors dulled in comparison to the vibrant emotions that swirled within him.

In the silence that followed, his mind became a minefield of castrophobic thoughts. He replayed the encounter over and over, dissecting every word and gesture, searching for a glimpse of something, anything that proved he hadn't fucked it all up. Once again, the guilt coiled around his heart like a constrictor, squeezing tighter with each passing moment.

He wandered through the corridors, his footsteps a hollow echo of his inner turmoil. Each familiar sight seemed foreign, estranged from the comfort it once provided. The world around him felt like an empty canvas, devoid of color and meaning, a stark contrast to the vibrant hues of Yoongi's creative sanctuary.

He felt akin to a forsaken voyager marooned upon a solitary vessel amidst the vast expanse of the ocean, his pleas for aid swallowed by the relentless depths. His voice, a feeble cry, lingered in the desolate air, knowing all too well that the formidable force of the unforgiving ocean would consume every semblance of sound, leaving him helpless and unheard.

As the world blurred, the weight of his guilt grew heavier, threatening to consume him entirely. The voices of doubt whispered in his ears, eroding his self-belief with their toxic tongues.

"Jungkook-ah?" Hoseok's voice pierced through the heavy silence, reaching Jungkook's ears like a lifeline in the midst of a storm. Startled, Jungkook turned to face his hyung, his tear-stained face a canvas of anguish and vulnerability. Hoseok's eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and worry etched across his features like a fleeting brushstroke.

At that moment, time stood still, the air thick with unspoken emotions hanging between them. The raw intensity of Jungkook's tears glistened in the dim light, tracing delicate pathways down his flushed cheeks, each drop carrying the weight of his shattered self-esteem.

Hoseok's voice softened, a gentle caress in the midst of chaos. "Kookie, why are you crying?" His words danced on the edge of understanding, a delicate thread connecting them. A thread, Jungkook knew, that would snap any moment now.

As attempted to form a coherent response, the dam within him broke, unleashing a torrential downpour of pent-up emotions. His tears flowed freely, giving in to the overwhelming sense of inadequacy that had consumed him whole. The weight of his mistakes bore down upon him, threatening to crush him beneath its relentless pressure.

"Baby," Hoseok's voice enveloped Jungkook, wrapping around him like a comforting embrace. The endearment, a cherished reminder of their bond, seeped into his wounded soul, tugging at the strings of a heart long starved for warmth. It was a bittersweet reminder of the love he could never reach, could never have; a love that lay dormant beneath the layers of frustration and disappointment.

The tears that stained Jungkook's face seemed to intensify, his sobs echoing through the room, mingling with the heartbeat of his pain. The weight of his failures and worthlessness threatened to consume him entirely, urging him to flee, to escape the clutches of his own mistakes.

"I'm sorry," Jungkook managed to utter, his voice trembling with remorse and regret. The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken complexities, a plea for forgiveness wrapped in the fragility of his wounded pride. The ache in his chest propelled him forward, his feet carrying him away before he could witness the aftermath of what would surely be devastation.

With each hurried step he took, Jungkook's tears merged with the cool air, his breath hitching in his chest as he attempted to find stability in movement. The world around him blurred, distorted by the haze of his own shattered self-image. In his hasty retreat, he left behind a void, an absence that mirrored the ache within his own heart.

But even as he fled, one thing remained resolute within his trembling core—a flicker of hope. Hope that his hyungs would understand, could see beyond his mistakes and witness the sincerity in his tears, hope that he could get their forgiveness no matter how fleeting it would be, and hope that he could escape the circling vultures of his own failures.

And as he disappeared into the distance, like a patch of the night, the echoes of his apologies lingered in the empty corridors.

✩★✩

"Is this the guardian for Mr. Jeon? I'm sorry to tell you there's been an accident."

The moment seemed to unfurl similar to a haunting melody played on a broken piano, its melancholic notes reverberating through the white walls of the hospital.

The atmosphere was perpetually shrouded in a gloom that seeped into Taehyung's bones, leaving him feeling as though he were trapped in a sepia-toned world devoid of vibrancy. The colors of his life were muted, like a faded painting that had lost its luster over time. The once-bright tapestry of youthful innocence was tarnished, replaced by a palette of gray, symbolizing the absence of warmth, laughter, and unconditional love.

His heart felt like a fractured prism, fragmented and starved of the kaleidoscope of emotions that should have colored his formative years. He felt like a wilted flower, yearning for sunlight amidst the frigid depths of winter.

If this was any other situation, his hyungs would have called him dramatic, that he was simply having an overreaction. But it wasn't a normal situation, it felt as though he was submerged in a frigid winter, where icicles dangled from branches, coating leaves, and swaying grass, stopping all sources of movement. The type where the glass beneath your fingertips is chilled to the bone, colder than ice, sending a shiver down your spine and a shard of ice into your heart.

And why shouldn't it feel that way, when the sun of their universe had set, but this time for forever? When their sky and earth had vanished never to be touched by the sands of time again?

Taehyung finally let himself think of the earth-shattering thought that hung above his head like one of those pianos in cartoons. It was a painful thought, one that shredded his heart into multiple pieces of cloth.

Jungkook was dead.

✩★✩

Jungkook often stood at the intersection of his past and present, all of them knew this.

Their maknae often stood at the crossroad of his young life, the weight of a lifetime's worth of disappointment pressing upon his small shoulders.

Whenever he thought about Jungkook's family, his thoughts painted a vivid picture of a fractured family, where love was but a distant whisper carried away by the winds of neglect. The shadows of his childhood loomed large, casting an ominous veil over his relationship with his parents, though none of them had tried to pry.

Jungkook talks about it sometimes, and whenever he does, it feels as if all the warmth that they had sustained had been discarded to make room for the bitter frost that leaves their fingertips numb no matter how much they blew on them.

Jungkook had told them how most of the time the silence in his old home was suffocating, how the air had always hung heavy with unspoken words, stifled emotions that dared not be expressed. He had told them, about how most of their interactions were mere transactions, devoid of warmth or connection, their gazes constantly passing over each other as if in search of something they could never quite find.

The one thing that had stayed with them forever, haunting their hearts till this day and probably would till the end of time, was the small confession that Jungkook had made during one of their soulful moping sessions, was how Jungkook had said that the perfect way to avoid conflict was to play dead, stay silent and wait for the bear to stop playing with you.

It had been something that gnawed on their minds till this very day, and they had promised Jungkook, that he'd never have to act that way with them. But they had broken that promise, and it was only now when Taehyung looked back at it all, that he saw how Jungkook's behavior fit with it all, play dead and wait for the final blow.

But he had never thought, never in a million years, that Jungkook's playing dead would turn into Jungkook actually being dead.

It was weird, honestly, how, he seemed to remember everything with painful accuracy and yet, everything felt blurred at the same time. He could remember the panic that had surged their veins like an electric shock at the news, their hearts pounding in unison like a macabre symphony of fear and sorrow.

Jin's hands trembled as he tried to dial Jungkook's number, his eyes pleading with the universe for some kind of miracle. But the phone rang endlessly, echoing the void in their hearts. Taehyung's eyes glistened with tears as he snatched Jin's phone, muttering desperate apologies under his breath for the cruel words they had spoken to Jungkook earlier that day.

The hospital corridors buzzed with tense energy, like a hive of restless bees. Time seemed to slow down, stretching each passing moment into an agonizing eternity. The hyungs' footsteps echoed against the sterile walls, their hearts pounding in sync with the rapid beeping of machines, a dissonant symphony of anxiety and dread.

As they approached the hospital room, the scent of antiseptic assaulted their senses, mingling with the heaviness of despair. The door creaked open, revealing a somber scene bathed in the harsh glow of fluorescent lights. The air in the room hung thick with unspoken apologies, their words stifled by the weight of guilt.

The hospital staff were painfully gentle as they let them to the body, Jungkook's body, covered by a white sheet.

He had felt as though a lightning bolt had hit him when he had seen the 'morgue' written in bold letters above the door. It wasn't a room he had ever expected to be in. Hadn't even thought of it in his worst nightmare, and yet, here he was.

And there, on the cold hospital bed, lay a figure wrapped in white sheets, a haunting stillness engulfing the room. It felt as if time itself had frozen, leaving them suspended in a moment of devastating truth. The room felt too small, too suffocating, as they gathered around, their breaths shallow and hearts shattered.

Taehyung's hands trembled as he reached out, fingers trembling with a mix of trepidation and longing, hesitating to peel back the layers that concealed the face they all knew so well. Each member seemed to share a silent plea, silently praying for a miracle that seemed as elusive as grasping stardust in the palm of their hands.

"It could be someone else," Namjoon whispered, grasping at any sliver of hope.

With trembling hands, Taehyung lifted the edge of the sheet, revealing an arm adorned with familiar tattoos. Jimin's breath hitched, and he choked back a sob, while Yoongi's eyes squeezed shut, unwilling to see the undeniable truth.

Taehyung understood him, he didn't want to see Jungkook their beloved maknae, lifeless either. He didn't want to see his young face frozen in an eternal slumber, a mocking parody of Sleeping Beauty, he carefully tucked the arm under the white sheet. He didn't need to see anything else, and he doubted the other members wanted to, either.

The thought seemed to crash into him like a whirlwind, desperate to shatter him. Jungkook, his baby, his bunny, his dongsaeng, his only dongsaeng, the one who shared food with Taehyung without batting an eye, the one who cuddled up to him like a baby koala, the one he had kissed so many times, the one he had sworn to protect, was gone.

How could he be gone? Taehyung still had so much to teach him, and so many places to take him, he still had to apologize for today, and any other time he might have broken Jungkook's heart. This couldn't be the end it couldn't.

"It's okay, Taehyung," Hoseok gently unraveled the fist that he had made. It would've been reassuring if Hobi didn't sound to be on the brink of tears, himself. "It's going to be okay."

"No," Taehyung shook his head burrowing himself in Hoseok's chest. "It's not going to be okay, it's never gonna be okay. He's gone, hyung." It felt like revealing an ugly secret like it would shatter the world if even one syllable was spoken. But it was true, wasn't it?

They were never gonna be okay, and the only one who could make them feel okay was gone.

✩★✩

The room was cloaked in heavy silence, punctuated only by the faint sound of their cries and racing heartbeats. Grief consumed them, dragging them down into a whirlpool of despair.

The room stood as a bleak chamber of sorrow, its walls closing in around him like a vise. The floor beneath him felt frigid, an icy reflection of the desolation that gripped his heart.

Taehyung's body felt heavy as if anchored to the ground by the weight of his remorse. He didn't dare look up, his gaze fixated on the bleak expanse before him. Darkness engulfed his vision, mirroring the despair that consumed his soul, casting long shadows that danced mockingly across the room.

He had never known pain so profound, so all-encompassing, that it threatened to swallow him whole. The ache in his chest radiated with a burning intensity, a relentless reminder of the fact that Jungkook was gone and that he was never coming back. The thought of facing an eternity without his presence, without seeing that bunnny smile, sent shivers down Taehyung's spine.

Jungkook was an ethereal being (had been, had been, had been, he's not there anymore), a celestial being draped in an aura of unblemished purity (had been, had been, had been, he won't come back). Taehyung's heart twisted with an overwhelming mixture of reverence and self-condemnation. Taehyung had been lucky, that with all his flaws and shortcomings, he had been able to stand in the presence of divine grace.

The thought of his own damnation loomed like a specter, a haunting presence that whispered wicked taunts into the recesses of his mind. Each breath he took felt like a pact with the devil himself, a damning admission of guilt for the pain he had inflicted upon the one he cherished most. The flames of self-loathing licked at his consciousness, scorching his spirit with searing regret.

He yearned for a reprieve, a chance to gaze upon Jungkook's smile once more, even if it meant facing eternal damnation. The torment of separation was a fire that consumed him from within, leaving him hollow, a mere shell of his former self. Death seemed a tempting escape, a desperate plea to bridge the divide between their souls, even if it meant surrendering his own.

He didn't realize what he was doing until the ghostly glow of the phone hit his eyes. His trembling fingers hovered over his phone, the device a lifeline connecting him to a glimmer of hope. With a mix of desperation and resignation, he pressed the familiar digits of Jungkook's number, his thumb tapping against the screen like a dancer's swift pirouette. He was desperate for one final connection, one last flicker of life.

As the phone rang, Taehyung's breath hitched in his throat, anticipation and anxiety warring within him. Each passing second felt like an eternity, stretching time itself into a taut thread ready to snap. The other members held their breath, mirroring Taehyung's own unsteady inhalations.

And then, a click, a connection made across the vast expanse of cellular signals and invisible waves. Taehyung's heart lurched in his chest, his hand clenching the phone as he brought it closer to his ear. He braced himself for the sound of Jungkooks voice telling him to leave a message, he just wanted to hear his voice, the voice that had brought solace and laughter to countless moments.

But what he expected was not what he heard. It was not the clipped tone of Jungkook's voice, telling him that 'he would get back to you later' and to 'please leave a meassage' or 'text me if it's urgent.' Instead, it was the unmistakable warmth of Jungkook's voice, the same voice that let out a shaky 'hello.'

The room around Taehyung blurred into a hazy backdrop as his focus narrowed solely on the sound emanating from the phone. It was a symphony of emotions—shock, joy, and a torrent of unspoken words caught in his throat. His grip on the phone tightened, knuckles turning white as he struggled to comprehend the impossible reality unfolding before him.

Jungkook's voice, tinged with a mix of confusion and concern, cut through the static of Taehyung's stunned silence. It was a lifeline thrown to a drowning man, a lifeline that Taehyung grasped with fervent desperation. The words spilled from his lips in a torrent, a mixture of relief, gratitude, and a fervent need to understand what had just transpired.

"Jungkook?" Taehyung's voice was barely a whisper, disbelief mingled with hope.

"Yeah, hey, Tae. Where are you guys? I came home and the house was empty. Things looked knocked over. I tried calling Jin-hyung, seeing as he had left a missed call, but he didn't pick up. Is he okay? Are you guys okay? Is everything okay?" Yeah, that was Jungkook's voice alright, Jungkook's living, breathing, soft voice.

A choked laugh escaped Taehyung's lips, tears streaming down his face. "Yeah, yeah, Jungkook, we're okay, but are you okay?"

"Uh, yeah," his maknae sounded super confused. "Of course, I'm okay, why wouldn't I be?"

"Oh, thank god you're okay, Kookie. We thought—"

But Taehyung's words were cut off by the sound of sobs and laughter mixed together, as all six hyungs huddled together, clinging to each other like a lifeline. Jungkook was okay, and that's all that mattered at the moment.

"We'll be right home, okay, Jungkookie?"

"Uh, okay."

There was only one job left to do, spoil their maknae.

✩★✩

When they got home, breaking multiple traffic rules and nearly crashing along the way, Jungkook was sitting on the kitchen counter which was filled with packages.

The atmosphere in the room crackled with a whirlwind of emotions, each member of the group carrying the weight of their own guilt and remorse. Taehyung's gaze remained fixed on Jungkook, searching every inch of his being for any sign of harm. His eyes danced across the contours of Jungkook's face, his worry etched deeply into every line.

The silence hung heavy in the air, suffocating in its intensity. They stood together, a tableau of fractured souls, grappling with the realization of their own cruelty. The memory of tearful confessions in the car ride to the hospital and mumbled apologies resurfaced, haunting his conscience. It was a bitter reminder of the pain they had inflicted upon Jungkook, a pain they now desperately longed to ease.

The desire to shield Jungkook from further harm surged within Taehyung, an instinctual need to cocoon him within the sanctuary of his own ribcage. The thought of protecting him from the world, from their own harsh words, tugged at Taehyung's heartstrings.

Jungkook's gaze flitted among them, his button nose scrunching in a mix of confusion, hesitation, and an enigmatic emotion Taehyung couldn't quite decipher. Before anyone could find the words to express their jumbled emotions, Jungkook abruptly thrust gift boxes into their arms, a sudden flurry of motion that disrupted the tense stillness.

The brand names emblazoned on the packages—Dior, Chanel, and others—caught Taehyung's attention, but he quickly pushed aside those thoughts, choosing instead to focus on the young man before him.

Taehyung's mind went momentarily static as he peered into the box Jungkook had pressed into his hands. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes landed on the exquisite Chanel jacket nestled within. The realization washed over him like a crashing wave, a flood of understanding that pierced through the fog of shared sorrow.

Confusion clouded their expressions, and questions lingered unspoken in the air. Namjoon frowned, clutching a bottle of Dior cologne, while Hoseok trembled as he held a delicate Cartier bangle. Taehyung's voice trembled as he dared to ask the question that hung heavy in the room, "Jungkook, what is all this?"

Jungkook's perplexed gaze met theirs, his confusion mirroring their own. His response was sincere as if he truly believed he was the one at fault. "It's an apology gift for all of you, hyungs. If you don't like it, I'm sorry, I just... I didn't know any other way to apologize."

Taehyung was right. He wishes he wasn't.

A choked sob punctuated the tension, drawing their attention to Jimin, whose tear-streaked face contorted with a mixture of fury and despair. The plaid-patterned cashmere scarf he clenched in his fist carried a weight that surpassed its physical presence. The rage in Jimin's expression multiplied, his anguish threatening to overflow.

"Oh," Jungkook's gasp of realization filled the room, his eyes widening, and Taehyung thought that he had finally understood, but then: "Sorry, did I get the wrong scarf?" he breathed, his horror palpable. "I can get you the right one, please don't be upset..."

Jimin's cheeks flushed with anger, his frustration mounting. "You're not supposed to be buying us things, you adorable idiot!" he exclaimed, his voice teetering on the edge of desperation. "It's not about the scarf, Jungkook. Fuck the scarf!"

Jungkook's tears flowed freely now, his expression crumpling in a way that tore at Taehyung's heart. The weight of his self-perceived failures crushed him, and Taehyung instinctively moved closer, attempting to gently wipe away the tears that cascaded down Jungkook's cheeks.

"I was so sure that it was the right one," Jungkook whimpered, his voice laced with anguish. "I can't do anything right..."

Namjoon's voice cut through the turmoil, his eyes red-rimmed and filled with solemnity. "No, Jungkook, Jungkookie, Kookie, it's us who should be apologizing. You didn't do anything wrong, baby."

"But..." Jungkook's protest hovered on the tip of his tongue, and Taehyung has never hated his maknae's stubbornness more. But before Jungkook could utter another word, Yoongi spoke up.

"We thought you were dead," Yoongi's words reverberated through the room, heavy with the weight of their shared anguish. The truth hung in the air, seeping into their consciousness like a cruel awakening.

Jungkook's eyes widened in disbelief, his voice barely a whisper. "Dead? Why on earth would you think that I was dead?"

Jimin's voice cracked with emotion, his words choked and fragmented. "We received a call about a Jeon in a car accident, and we rushed to the hospital, to the morgue... We thought...we believed... we thought we lost you."

A shiver of realization seemed to run through Jungkook, through a realization of what, Taehyung didn't know. When Jungkook spoke again, his composure was eerily calm. "You thought I was dead," his voice holding a mix of resignation and disbelief.

Each member nodded solemnly, their eyes glistening with unshed tears. Taehyung, finding his voice, spoke up, the words laden with the weight of their collective sorrow. "Do you know how we felt when we thought you were gone? We were heartbroken, Jungkookie, plain and simple. Shattered. And what hurt, even more, was the thought that you might have left this world believing we hated you."

There was silence for a moment, and then another, and then there was a sob. Jimin seemed to have lost hold of his tears. He ran up to Jungkook and held him tightly, Jungkook still wasn't saying anything he just looked at Jimin blankly.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you," Jimin said, his small hands cupping Jungkook's cheeks. "You didn't deserve that. Next time you want something from my closet you just take it okay? If I do something like that again, feel free to punch me."

"Jimin..." Jungkook started, only to get cut off again.

"Same with me," Taehyung said, surprised by the firmness in his own voice. "If something like that ever happens, ignore me for a week, change the wifi password, tear one of my shirts, and yell at me, you didn't deserve that."

"Taehyung..." Jungkook said, his voice a mere whisper.

"Same with me," Hoseok said, his voice thick with emotion.

"I'll kill myself before I hurt you again," Jin said, his eye streaming with tears.

"I'm sorry for what I said baby," Yoongi walked towards Jungkook and ran a hand through his hair. "I want you to know that we want you here, I want you here, and that you deserve the entire solar system, and I'm sorry you got less. We'd be crazy without you, and I want you to know that we're gonna make it up to you."

"You don't have to do that..." Jungkook started, only to get cut off.

"No, we do, You, Jeon Jungkook are the entire reason we work. Do you really think any of us could function without your kisses or hugs? You're the literal glue keeping us together, sweetheart, never doubt your worth. You deserve the title of the golden maknae because you are brilliant, you're talented, smart, funny, adorable, and unashamedly yourself. You left home at such an early age and you braved it, and we are so proud of you. You're a living miracle."

"That he is," Taehyung said fondly. "He's literally the only one that can wake you up when you sleep without getting smacked."

"I'm not that bad," Yoongi grumbled, sending Taehyung a look.

"You're right," Jimin said, nodding his head solemnly. "You're worse."

"Traitors," Yoongi murmured, sending a glare at the other members who were snickering. He then turned back to Jungkook, his expression full of love. "We're so sorry, Jungkookie, we love you."

That seemed to be the breaking point for Jungkook and he burst into tears, for what (thanks to them) would probably be the umpteenth time today, but now, he would be safe in his arms.

✩★✩

The soft glow of dimmed lamplight embraced the room, casting gentle shadows upon their faces as they huddled together on Namjoon's bed. They had a silent fight on who would sleep next to their maknae, and Jimin and Taehyung teamed up and won, and now they lay arms protectively curled around him. The air was thick with a mixture of relief, regret, and tender love. Jungkook felt the comforting embrace of sleep beckon to him, but before he could fall asleep, he asked the question that niggled at the back of his mind.

"What about the gifts?" He wasn't sure what they would do with them, his eyes searching each of their faces for an answer.

A chorus of soft laughter filled the room, and Jungkook looked around in bewilderment. "What?"

Hoseok's gaze met his, warm and understanding. "You can have all of them," he replied without hesitation, a gentle smile gracing his lips.

Confusion furrowed Jungkook's brow, his mind struggling to grasp the meaning behind the words. "But they're for you," he protested, his voice tinged with genuine confusion.

"And now, we give them to you," Namjoon chimed in, his dimples creasing his cheeks.

Jungkook's lips parted in disbelief, his eyes widening. "But... there's like 59 of them! I can't possibly accept that much."

Taehyung chuckled, playfully ruffling Jungkook's hair. "You're right; you can't have just 59. We'll get you 47 more," he said with a mischievous grin, causing Jungkook to let out a surprised laugh.

Yoongi joined in, his gummy smile lighting up his face. "Nah, forty-seven isn't enough, we'll buy the entire store for you," he added, looking fond.

Jungkook's eyes widened in mock disbelief. "The entire store? Seriously, Hyung?"

Jin nodded, a fond smile curving his lips. "Absolutely. We want to make sure you have everything you could ever want or need."

Hoseok chimed in, his eyes sparkling with joy. "And once we're done with that, we'll take you to that restaurant you always rave about."

"Hyung," he murmured, a mixture of fondness and exasperation lacing his voice.

"Yes?" Came the chorus of innocent replies.

Jungkook let out an amused sigh, realizing he was thoroughly outmatched by their stubbornness. "You guys are impossible," he said, his heart swelling with warmth.

Taehyung leaned in, his voice soft and tender. "We love you, Jungkookie. We're sorry for being so harsh today. We never want you to doubt how much you mean to us."

Jungkook's eyes softened, tears shimmering on his lashes. "I love you all too," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "And I'm sorry for making you worry."

Jimin pulled him into a tight hug, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "No more apologies, okay? Besides ours, of course."

And so, beneath the gentle moonlight that filtered through the curtains, he couldn't help but think, that yeah, time did heal all wounds.

˗ˏˋthe end 'ˎ˗

Lmao, this was a wild ride. I forgot how angsty this was. If you'd like to read this fic on another platform, I've got you covered:

Read this fic on: AO3, Wattpad, and Twitter.

Let me know what you think!

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bumblebwii · 9 months

Text

BTS X THE WALKING DEAD C3

Jungkook centric! Please read the previous two parts before this one aha :)

6K word count

Summary:

He was left alone for a while, he fell asleep quickly, discarded bits of twine close by to kill off any threats. His dreams were plagued by his parents, by Jimin, by all of those awful kids at school and Jungkook felt weak in his dreams for a while, cowering away from their attacks in the corner, until his tears solidified into a weapon and his sadness solidified into anger and he used it to fuel his thirst for blood, picking them off one by one in a little game of hide and seek. Jungkook won.

CONTENT WARNINGS

depictions of murder, cannibalism, blood, gore, bad people, bad parents and trauma.

Jungkook let out a gentle breath, a long exhale that barely made a noise as he used it to carry away the day’s intensity. Corrupt bosses meant that the company was beginning to crumble and sink, they didn’t care for the little people and that was the first fault in the company’s structure. The company was on its knees and going under; it would take Jungkook down with it if he didn’t get out soon. He was turning twenty two, his birthday was sneaking up on him like a horror movie plot line and he could not help but feel overwhelmed by it.

The first year of university had been just as bad as his high school friends had prophesied it would be, as bad as Jimin had warned him about, but it had been fun, and had brought him to an oasis in a desert that was shaped like a twenty-three year old Min Yoongi. The boy who had pulled Jungkook out of the lifeless cycle he was sticking himself in. The door of the small house jammed as Jungkook tried to push it open, like it usually did, and Jungkook groaned as he barged it with his shoulder to get it open. His house was a little house share situation, there were six of them in the three bedroom house, two in each room; it was how he and Yoongi got together, they shared the same room and grew inseparable. Their other flatmates were like ghosts and they barely saw each other; it was ideal for the young couple.

Yoongi was standing at the stove, cooking something that smelled divine and Jungkook could not hold back the smile that spread over his face. “Hi.” Yoongi smiled, stirring something happily, “dinner’s nearly done I’ve just-,” Jungkook shuffled over and wrapped his arms around Yoongi’s waist and let his head rest against Yoongi’s shoulders, it was a back hug sent from heaven after the day from hell that Jungkook had gone through. Yoongi patted Jungkook’s hands lovingly, letting the younger boy simply rest there for a second, “I’ve missed you too. Now, go wash up and get comfy then I’ll bring dinner up to our room, okay?” Jungkook nodded, detaching himself from Yoongi before dragging his body up for a shower. Getting into his pyjamas had always been Jungkook’s favourite part of the day.

Yoongi came in with their food just as Jungkook was changing and whistled playfully over Jungkook’s half naked, damp appearance and Jungkook stuck his tongue out, “please, I look like a zombie. Work was dreadful and I’m either gonna quit tomorrow or just hold off until I get another job.”

“If this is what zombies are gonna look like then I can’t wait for the apocalypse. If you need to quit then quit, we’ll be alright. I’m working and I can always take on a few more shifts until you can find another job. My parents are happy to help us with shopping money too.” Yoongi reassured him, setting out the food along the floor, they could not afford a little table, then again, the house was too small to fit one, even if they could afford one. “You’re too young to worry about stuff like this, honey. You’ll be grey by twenty seven.”

“I think I’d look sexy with grey hair. At least I’d not have to worry about buying bleach if I wanted to go pink again.”

Yoongi chucked to himself and took a bite of food, watching as Jungkook shimmied on a pair of pyjama bottoms. Life was stressful but it was dinners spent with the love of his life after an awful day that made Jungkook’s heart feel fully content. Jungkook wanted to spend the rest of his life doing this, eating and laughing with Yoongi, watching some sci-fi comedy on their shared laptop, or scrolling through social media and laughing at the memes that shaped the pair’s humour.

Yoongi was a great cook, although that was to be expected of a culinary student who dreamed of opening his own restaurant. Jungkook supported him all the way, Yoongi’s restaurant would be out of this world. Yoongi was teaching Jungkook to cook, ever patient and caring. He was like that only for Jungkook though, because from talking with Yoongi’s peers, the older boy gives Gordon Ramsey a run for his money. Darling-boy Yoongi with his soft smile and benevolent habits was a terrifying man in the kitchen, he ran a tight ship and had a commanding aura. One that he threw in the bin when it came to Jungkook and he helped Jungkook with anything; piano, cooking, building, budgeting, all of it rolled with gentle chuckles and careful, wonderful hands.

Their food had long been finished, crusted onto the plates before Jungkook huffed out a little squeeze of air and took them into the kitchen to be washed. It was no surprise when Yoongi trailed after Jungkook with a small blurt of information about the show and actors they were watching. It was a little habit of Yoongi’s to know the who, what, where and when’s of films and series and Jungkook could listen to the man talk for hours, which Yoongi often did, little tangents here and there about whatever thoughts Yoongi had cropped up mid sentence. Yoongi could be a whirlwind when he felt comfortable enough with you; a little goofball and Jungkook’s beaming ray of sunshine.

Love felt good to Jungkook, like sitting on the world’s comfiest settee after being on your feet for hours, like submerging yourself in a pool of perfectly cold water on those humid summer days. Yoongi had quickly become an important cog in Jungkook’s life, he had crept in and captured Jungkook’s innocent heart in a short span of half a year and Yoongi had pulled Jungkook up into feeling like a functional member of society after a lifetime of feeling like an outcast in his own home.

“Jimin-ah called me earlier, Jungkook.” Yoongi said softly, a wary tone sewing itself into Yoongi’s voice. Jungkook and Jimin had a weird relationship to say the least. Jungkook both loved and hated his older brother for being the only person before Yoongi to actually give half a shit about Jungkook, but Jungkook also hated Jimin for being the poster child for everything in their parent’s eyes and unintentionally being the reason for all of Jungkook’s anguish. Jimin was the sweetest person alive, so full of love and grace and all things lovely, always had been, he had been graced with perfect features, perfect nature, perfect everything. That’s something their parent’s would rub in like some lemon and salt concoction onto a gaping wound as they pointed out all of the features Jungkook still needed to grow into or change; the nature he needed to alter. It drove Jungkook crazy.

Jungkook nodded gently and smiled tightly, “oh.” He took a sip of his drink and Yoongi let out a slow sigh.

“He was asking all about you.” Yoongi and Jimin were close friends, quickly forming a bond that Jungkook was both endeared and apprehensive about. They would talk often, much more often than Jungkook and Jimin would. “He misses you, Jk. He wants you to call at some point so that you can decide when to have that coffee with him like you promised.”

“Ugh, he never forgets anything. That was an empty promise. I don’t even like coffee.” Jungkook huffed into his glass like he did not want Yoongi to hear and scold him.

“He loves you. You forget that.” Yoongi said lightly with a disapproving shake of his head, “so call him and go buy a smoothie instead. Anyway, he called to tell you that your parents are coming tomorrow at noon and they’re taking us to lunch.”

Jungkook chugged the rest of his drink and groaned loudly. There was no escaping his parents grilling him half to death tomorrow at lunch. Jimin most definitely will be there too, gleaming and innocently stomping Jungkook into the asphalt. “I honestly think that being shot in the leg would be far less painful than sitting around a dinner table with my family.”

—

When Jungkook awoke, it was to the feeling of cold metal against his chest and a dead feeling in his limbs, “fuck.” He mumbled, voice clogged with sleep.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would have said that was attractive.” Taehyung sighed, pinching Jungkook’s face in between his fingers and thumb, moving Jungkook’s face side to side and checking Jungkook’s pupil reaction. “I remember you that day. You saved me. Us. Thank you.” Taehyung said, “it’s a shame you turned out like this. We could’ve been great friends, your brother is the greatest.”

It was a knee-jerk reaction to let out an annoyed snarl of a sound, old cauterised wounds reopening at the remark about the two brothers, a constant thorn in Jungkook’s childhood of everyone preferring Jimin to him, of their parents asking Jungkook why he could not be more like their oldest son.

“Hit a nerve, did we?” Taehyung laughed softly, “Yoongi’s told me all about your little childhood trauma and as someone who took a great liking to neurology, I can’t help but see why you’re the way that you are.” Taehyung had a sweetness about him, but it was boxed away and hidden away beneath a mound of post-apocalyptic ice-heartedness. “Jimin wants to see you.” Taehyung said and cut some of the twine to free Jungkook up a little bit, pulling him into a wheelchair. “You can try to run, but I’ll put a bullet in your other leg and leave it there.” He offered as he pushed Jungkook out of the cell and into another one, They were on a top floor, the stairs not too far away, Jungkook’s leg was in agony, he chose to hold off on the running, it was in his best interest to stay in the wheelchair for now. He’ll run when he’s more healed and better equipped.

Jimin’s cell was glowing with the light of a yellow-bulb lamp and Jungkook scoffed quietly, typical, it was alive with gentle murmurs and his older brother’s light laughter. “Googie!” Jimin smiled, leaning out of his bed to hug Jungkook, swatting away Namjoon’s worrying hands before engulfing Jungkook in a tight hug. “You’re okay!” There were tears in his voice and Jungkook tried not to shove the other brother away, he tried to collect the good memories together just so he didn’t cause more harm than good; Jungkook took a deep breath.

“Jimin.” Jungkook patted his back. When Jimin pulled away from the hug, he held Jungkook’s face in his hands and inspected him closely. Jungkook found it infuriating how light and baby-faced Jimin still looked. The apocalypse had taken no physical toll on his older brother, he was still as gorgeous and perfect as ever and their parents would be proud, boastful. The apocalypse had not been so kind to Jungkook, who developed scars and sharper, uninviting features; his skin wrinkled in certain places and in the quick reflections he caught of himself, Jungkook looked old, older than he truly was. Thankfully though, no grey hair.

“Thirty four looks good on you little bro!” Jimin smiled, it was odd, as if they weren’t surviving an apocalypse, as if Jungkook had immigrated somewhere far for a few years. As if Jungkook had not nearly killed Jimin and felt no remorse in doing so.

“Does it?” Jungkook asked, eyebrow raised, “I would say thirty eight looks good on you, but I’d be a liar. You look half dead. Or maybe a quarter dead would be more fitting considering our current society.” Jungkook shrugged, half a dead laugh edging at his lips.

“Oh, come on, he looks fine, even you can see that!” Taehyung huffed, pushing all of Jungkook’s buttons, “couldn’t even tell you almost died, Jimin.” Taehyung lightly hit Jungkook’s shoulder and Jungkook glared up at him. “You should compliment your brother, it's the least you could do. He looks far better than you do and we only took the bullet from your leg.”

Jimin mumbled something that Jungkook did not bother to listen to and he pushed himself up off the wheelchair, he was much taller than Taehyung, who honestly was so beautiful Jungkook felt bad for cursing him mentally. Taehyung looked tired and prematurely aged by his profession, but he managed to pull it off and look like he had never faced a day of trauma in his life. Jungkook hated it, hated him. Everyone in the cell rose to alert at Jungkook standing, ready to shoot to kill, but Jungkook rolled his eyes and limped away, ignoring whatever they were saying to him and he shut the door to his cell and laid on the top bunk.

Jungkook awoke naturally to an unnatural atmosphere. It was silent, deadly so. He got down from the top bunk clumsily on the count of his damaged thigh and observed the open cell door and wondered if this was a test where he would be shot the moment he dared darken the threshold with his feet. He stared at it for a while until the sound of quiet cries stole his attention, Jimin was in floods of tears, tied to the bed much like Jungkook had been and the older one of the pair looked at Jungkook with wide, pleading eyes.

“You’re awake! Untie me.” Jungkook stayed unmoving and he continued to watch his brother. He could kill him. “Please, Jungkook. This is important! They went to go and talk with these people who we’ve been having trouble with and it’s gone quiet. I need to go.” Jungkook nodded once and walked towards his older brother, who watched him with a hopeful gleam, puppy-dog eyes that lured most people in and tricked them into giving Jimin all that he demanded. Not Jungkook.

He leaned in closer to Jimin and placed one final kiss to the forehead. It was a venture that soothed the inner part of himself that rejoiced in his brother’s survival, it entertained the scattered part of himself that he was tricking his brother and kissing him goodbye to either let him starve or become some other fucked up person’s toy for a while, it lessened his sane-self’s unwillingness to procrastinate death and made him want to live more alongside his only living friend and brother.

“Fuck it.” Jungkook huffed and ran over the threshold. Still not dead. Jimin was smarter than to make a ruckus, there were outsiders here and shouting would only lead them to where he is incapacitated. Jungkook took a little stroll through the block, taking his weapons back. Guns. Knife. Bat. Crossbow. The crossbow had been a little treat for himself from one of the rooms and it hung over his shoulders and across his chest like it was some festival bag.

Walking up to what used to be some sort of communal room, Jungkook did not anticipate hearing familiar voices, assuming everyone would be dead. He approached silently and waited in the dark doorway, unseen, unheard, armed. It was a circular room with two floors, donut-shaped top floor that allowed a circle of dim light in the centre bottom floor and almost pitch shadows, perfect shadows for hiding, around the edge beneath the flooring of the top floor. He watched on as Namjoon, Hoseok and Yoongi tried to bargain the survival of Seokjin and Taehyung, who had been grabbed by two ugly, beer-bellied men looking to get their dicks sucked and blood thirst quenched. Jungkook ate these kinds of people; did not even bother in hearing them out. What surprised Jungkook, however, were the two girls and a nimble looking boy sneaking around the shadows, knives ready to attack the three in the middle, unseen, unheard. Fun. A level playing field.

This little band of six were his to kill and his only. Jungkook was a possessive man. Sue him.

Jungkook took a calculated step into the shadows, the smallest girl, early twenties, was closest and henceforth, Jungkook’s first victim. He had perfected silent killings, the apocalypse called for silence and Jungkook steeled himself to be at her almighty, beaconing call. He grabbed her quickly and pushed the knife into the base of her jaw below the ear and pulled quickly across before jabbing it into the base of her skull so that she did not turn, then he lowered her to the floor with ease, despite the hot blood that cascaded over his hands. Jungkook missed that feeling, someone else’s blood coating his hand, another last breath stolen by his god-awful presence.

The boy was next, running right into Jungkook’s little trap and finding himself slaughtered like the first girl, bleeding and dead on the floor, Jungkook loved the sight of blood, loved the feeling of stepping in the viscous, sticky liquid, but right now, Jungkook had to avoid it because sticky boots were noisy and Jungkook needed to stay unheard. The third girl was unaware of the fate of her companions, so did not bat an eyelid when someone stood behind her as she readied herself to attack, motioning something that must have meant something to the dead ones. Her attack would never happen though as Jungkook beat her to it, acting quickly and uncaring, he cut her throat and her brain stem and dropped her to the floor.

Whoever these men were, they were foolish. It was three of them, slow and fat and they stunk of rancid body odour. Jungkook hated body odour. He hated people like this, who did things without poise and common sense. What Jungkook hated the most, however, was the bargaining, the talking, dragging this whole thing out by its old, wrinkly balls; these were the creeps that had been causing their little group of six problems? Pathetic. Kill first, think later. Realistically, Jungkook knew there could possibly be more than the sorry saps that just so happened to be present and dying today and that their deaths could cause some reality tv drama Jungkook was too disconnected to truly care about, but if Jungkook was going to exploit and farm these people for his own greedy benefit, then he wanted them to at least go down with a little bit of a fight and preparation. Jungkook wanted it to be fun; so he’d guide them, teach them how to have apocalyptic brains, rather than diplomatic brains, herd them right into their own pens and then the moment it all clicks together for them, it’s too late. Just the thought of it makes Jungkook’s fucked little mind feel some kind of satisfaction.

“It doesn’t have to be like this, we can work together. There’s safety in numbers.” Namjoon spoke loudly and Jungkook held everything he possibly could in just to keep himself from gagging. Idiot. There was so much potential for serious danger in bigger numbers. Plus, it was such a cliche move, the peaceful, rough around the edges leader just trying to restart the world one little piece at a time.

Jungkook raised his crossbow, new and shiny; something he could experiment with quietly and took aim at the man standing with Seokjin in his arms, the tall surgeon had been forced awkwardly to his knees and held by the head against the man’s protruding stomach, his filthy, stained hand against Seokjin’s mouth and Jungkook dreaded knowing what it smelled like. Shit, probably.

The release of the crossbow whistled with a satisfying speed and lodged itself into the inner corner of the man’s right eye and through the back of his nose’s bridge and out the other side of his temple. “Nice.” Jungkook smiled to himself before turning the crossbow to the other man holding a very alarmed Taehyung and released the arrow, this one jammed into the hinge of the man’s jaw and disappeared into his head somewhere. The two surgeons let out screams of horror and Jungkook rolled his eyes. You’re welcome.

Namjoon and Hoseok jumped forward and grabbed for them to return to safety, looking around for whoever had killed the two oafs. Jungkook slung the crossbow back over his shoulder with a huff and watched for a moment as the final remaining pig of a man - an insult to pigs, Jungkook thought - looked around for the attacker and called for the three, very dead, hidden ones to come out. It was pathetic really, sad and pathetic to watch him grasp at nothing. They were standing right by the northern end of the light area

“Show yourself! Who are you?” Namjoon spat and Jungkook turned his glare to the leader. Idiot.

“All this diplomatic talking shit is gonna get you killed, dickhead.” Jungkook said harshly. “Whilst you were trading peace talks, this fucker had three toddlers getting ready to rock your shit and that’s only fun when I’m the one doing the rocking. Trust me.” Jungkook walked silently so that he was in the shadows right behind the guy. “What happened to the guy who shot me before actually checking for bites?” Jungkook laughed, cocking his gun, “what, my brother let you get your dick wet and you change your morals for killing his little brother?” Jungkook almost laughed at the feeling of the gun almost against the guy’s head. He was slipping, quickly.

“Jk-ah that’s-,” Yoongi started but was cut off by the oaf grabbing his hair and holding Yoongi right beside his head. There was something inside of Jungkook’s head that appeared like the conscience did in cartoons, screaming and begging for Jungkook to save the only man that had always made sure to keep Jungkook safe and loved, that part made Jungkook angry and defensive over Yoongi and someone grabbing at his first and only love. There was another angry voice in Jungkook’s head that reminded him that this was the end of the world, their old lives no longer mattered, Yoongi no longer mattered; Jungkook wanted to kill him anyway, get revenge for being abandoned in that alleyway after risking his life to save them.

Jungkook watched in annoyance as the man stumbled and fumbled for safety with a feisty Yoongi fighting to get out of his arms.

“I got your brother. Kill me and I’ll kill him. I just want the pretty doctors. They’re useful in more than one way.” He was waving a knife around, threatening the wrong side of the shadows.

“That’s not my brother, that’s my husband. Grabbing him is worse than my brother. I need the doctors. You can’t have them.” Jungkook took silent steps toward the man, gun in hand and murder on his mind, and he pulled the trigger without a second thought. The man’s head threw itself in the direction of the bullet and his brain matter painted Yoongi and his body slumped like a sack of potatoes. The gunshot made Jungkook’s ears ring as the sound of it bounced around the room in awful echos and Yoongi catapulted himself out of the dead-man’s grip and towards Hoseok, who pulled Yoongi in with a worried kiss to the top of his head; something about it did not sit right in Jungkook’s stomach, but the adrenaline of the killing was still pumping through him and he could not concentrate on it for too long. Too many voices ringing in his head.

Jungkook’s tongue poked the sides of his cheek and he grabbed at the ankles of the dead man in front of him, pulling him along the floor so that Jungkook could begin to prepare their meat to use. He needed food and lots of it after the ordeal of the past few days. There was a big pool of blood spilling out from the men with arrows in their head and Jungkook only smiled to himself as he pulled the arrows free and watched as the blood splashed at his feet. He stomped his foot lightly in the puddle like a child and then purposefully stomped it on a dry patch, leaning down to messily write ‘Jeon Jungkook. Still not dead.’ Beside his boot print in the semi-warm liquid with his finger. He grabbed at another one of the men and began pulling them toward the open space, a chopping line, with shallow huffs.

“What’re you doing? We put the dead bodies outside.” Seokjin said quietly, shaken up by what had happened and probably half deafened by the gunshot.

“You shouldn’t have killed them. I had it handled.” Namjoon spat, turning to glare at Jungkook, who dropped the body to laugh heartily at Namjoon.

“Handled. Sure. Not how I would have put it, but if that’s what helps you sleep at night.” Jungkook moved onto the next one, huffing, “I just saved your behinds.” Once he had successfully moved all six bodies into the open space and stripped them of their clothes, he took the large axe that one of the dead had dropped and Jungkook twirled it in his hands; he took a moment to admire the blade.

“They were kids!” Namjoon yelled at Jungkook, “how do you have no remorse - no, how the fuck do you kill with no question, it’s-, what are you doing?!” The leader startled as Jungkook brought the axe into position and brought it down onto a shoulder joint with a thunk; someone to the left gagged at the pop of the joint as Jungkook grabbed the limp hand and twisted it with a ruthless pull and it jaggedly came away at the opening.

“Dismembering a body, what does it look like I’m doing?” Jungkook scoffed, bringing the axe down again on the other shoulder joint before he picked the large arm up, the tendons and strings of muscle and veins reached out in a ghostly attempt to pull the limb back together. “Oh, gross.” Jungkook laughed boyishly and it was accompanied by someone retching loudly and vomit splashing onto the floor. “As for those ‘kids’ you speak of, Namjoon-ssi, they were gonna get you before you could talk your way out of it and you would have had no idea about it. We’re at the end of the world, wake up. Kill or be killed; there’s nothing to think about.”

Blood kissed at Jungkook’s cheeks and the surrounding area as he started hacking at more limbs. They shot at him first, how could they be high and mighty about compassion and letting people live. Jeongguk scoffed to himself, pulling more and more limbs into a little pile. He was willing to share, there was a lot of meat here; a lot of organs to burn and bones to whittle at.

Yoongi straightened himself out from his vomiting, each of them somewhat transfixed in horror and unable to look away. “Jungkook-ah, why are you- why, just why?”

It was a loaded question and Jungkook thought for a moment, he was a ticking time bomb and deadly, but he refused to be stupid or walked over. “Gotta survive somehow. I told you all, I’ve had to figure out the best uses for bodies.” Jungkook said slowly, bringing the axe down onto a blood stained neck “It was sunshine and rainbows for you lot, being in a group from the beginning, you’re all in it for each other. Outsiders, as you can see, have ulterior motives. Dangerous.” Everyone listened closely, silently horrified and getting semi-answers they’ve all wanted to ask, “You have to go insane to stay sane, but when someone’s ‘sane’ is a superiority complex, the normal people have to get the upper hand if you want to survive, which naturally - Taehyung will vouch for this with his brain stuff - humans have survival instincts that go haywire in dire situations.”

Jungkook leaned down to pick up the head of the person, looking at it for a moment in it’s greying, ugly glory, half open eyes and blueish lips, hollow cheeks from lack of food and deep, deep bags.

“Survival instincts of other people, animals, viruses and plants will be the reason you die in an apocalypse. That and lack of resources. People are deadly.”

“Are you deadly?” Hoseok dared ask. “You must be to make it this far alone.”

“Yah, Jung Hoseok, are you missing the part where he just silently assassinated six people and is now dismembering their corpses?!” Seokjin snapped, glaring up at Hoseok from where he was sprawled on the floor, “obviously he’s deadly.”

“Are you a threat?” Namjoon challenged, arms crossed and eyes flickering over the dead bodies, to Yoongi, then back to Jungkook. Yoongi looked several ways devastated, a little green in colour and he was doing all he could to not look at Jungkook.

“Push my buttons like you did last night with that bullet wound and I might be.” Jungkook shrugged, the head still in his hand, blood dripping from the slice quickly into a large puddle at Jungkook’s feet, “so much blood in such a tiny person.” He marvelled softly, before throwing the head toward Taehyung who squealed in surprise, “a brain for you to look at and poke.” Jungkook laughed heartily, the sound only growing when Taehyung picked the head up and kicked it away from himself like a football.

“So you-,”

“Do you know how hard it is to survive alone?” Jungkook asked, mood switching quickly and the others seemed to notice the darkness in his voice because even Seokjin sat up to look at him. “Forget the walkers and the adults being dangers to your very existence, but to be that hungry, that alone, to see literal children die or fight or beg for food you could never give them?” Jungkook glared at Namjoon, the direct cause of his anguish, “do you know how soul destroying it is to put a six year old out of their misery? Or to ignore their cries to help them because you can barely keep yourself alive, adding another the mix is asking for something bad to happen.”

Jungkook looked over at Yoongi, who had begun crying, mumbling that he couldn’t stomach listening to more. He needed to hear more.

“You said to me, Yoongi, I’d understand if I’d been through what you guys had, so you’re gonna understand what I’ve had to go through and then I can hear what you’ve had to fucking go through.” Jungkook hissed, “because I am not going to be this nasty little villain for surviving; I will not let any of you sit there and pity me or look down on me just because I’ve had to change because all six of you left me for dead.”

“I went back!” Yoongi hollered, crying and shaking, “I went back! It took all five of them to pull me away from you. You were so fucking still and covered in blood and we thought you were bitten and-,”

“I already told you, I don’t want to fucking hear it! Too little too late.” Jungkook shouted back, axe pointed toward Yoongi, “not a force on earth would have pulled me away from you! I certainly wouldn’t have just left you to fucking turn!”

“And you think I was in any fit state to put a knife in your head or let one of them do it?! I loved you more than life itself, you were the only thing that ever pulled me through life, especially after my parents died!” Yoongi slammed his hand on the table in frustration, “you still had a pulse and I had plans to come and rescue you but you had gone when I got there!”

Jungkook turned away from Yoongi, “whatever. It doesn’t matter anymore, the damage has already been done.”

Jungkook heard the clunk of Yoongi’s boots along the floor, away from him, “stop blaming me for leaving when you left first. Playing the hero when you were nothing but an idiot who had no idea what the new world was. Seriously, what did you expect Namjoon to do after you ran head first into a hoard of zombies, Jungkook?!”

Jungkook brought the axe down hard onto the hip joint, slicing it clean off with a shout of fury. “You’re supposed to check! You were supposed to see if I was okay before shooting me! You were supposed to pull me out of the fucking rubble and wait to see if I was coming to! I saved your lives and you tried to kill me.” Jungkook swung the axe down again, “there were two fucking doctors present!” Jungkook shouted, throwing the axe down to use his bat to smash the skulls of the dead, watching them cave in like rotten pumpkins, taking in deep lungfuls of the stench their blood and brains gave off. He took one last swing before he steeled his emotions and threw his bat down and stretched. “Hoseok-ssi.” Jungkook said quietly, “take these and put them wherever you store your food, I’ll finish sorting the rest out.” He pointed at the limbs to his left.

“F-food?” Hoseok asked, leaning down to grab the limbs.

“Yes, food. Gotta eat something.” Jungkook frowned, “Seokjin-ssi. Go and get a bucket or something to put the organs in. Taehyung. Do what you want with the heads, look at the brain and try to find a cure, throw them away, use them for football, I don’t really give a shit.” Jungkook puffed out a little bit of air. “Namjoon-ssi, Yoongi-ssi, take their bags and clothes and sort through them into what’s needed and what can be burned or thrown.”

Nobody really gave any objections, but everyone moved with slow and confused movements, unsure if Jungkook was serious or not. “Food.” Hoseok said disgruntled and visibly disgusted. “They’re humans.” He was talking to himself, subtly addressing Jungkook but attempting to avoid confrontation.

“Like I said, flying solo is hard. Gotta eat whatever you can get your hands on.” Jungkook shrugged, examining what he had cut off. “I’d much rather eat cake or a salad but it’s tough shit. There’s a lot of you, surely food is hard to share sufficiently?” Jungkook turned to a pale looking Namjoon.

“We adapt.”

“That’s…” Jungkook scratched his stomach, his shirt coming up over his hand. “So you’re all used to eating like... snakes?”

“That’s not what I said. We adapt. Took the ‘sane’ route and went hunting animals, not people. That’s twisted.”

“Oh so you’re used to eating snakes, not like them.” Jungkook laughed to himself and lugged up a torso, “more for me I guess. Where do I store this? Show me.”

Hoseok nodded and scurried out in front. Jungkook thought fleetingly that he should probably mention that Jimin was freaking out and probably tearing his stitching but he chose not to say anything. They’d find him eventually.

Hoseok was talking about something rather animatedly; Jungkook had never paid attention to what he was saying, he did not care enough but he thought that had their paths crossed in their lives before, the pair would have been inseparable. Hoseok gave off that sort of energy. Jungkook hated it. Nobody should be like that through the end of the world.

Jungkook stopped walking as he stood beside a door that read ‘infirmary’ on a faded sign and then underneath, in some kind of paint, read ‘dead inside’ and he huffed out an eye roll and turned to Hoseok, who was still blabbering on. “Aye, has anyone looked behind the relatable door?”

“Oh, uh, no. We looked through the windows on the outside and it’s like sardines in there. Seems like everyone went to the doctor with the flu.” Hoseok motioned horizontally across his neck with a flattened hand and a grimace, “Seokjin hyung said that any medical stuff in there will be redundant because it’s all infected with blood and gunk and stuff, so we all voted to save our resources and leave it.”

“How stupid.” Jungkook scoffed. Medical supplies were vital, even if it was just one small thing, it was needed.

“Come off your high horse. We’ve raided about fourteen different pharmacies and everyone’s medicine cabinet. Your brother remembers his way around.” Jungkook side eyed Hoseok, who was readjusting the limbs in his arms. There was a switch in his demeanour, like the atmosphere around him had fallen from soft shades of purple to the separated elements of pink, red and blue. “There’s also more than one infirmary in places like this, we’re not completely hopeless. You forget that we’ve also had to do shit to survive. It’s not been some kind of peaceful journey, don’t forget that. We know danger when we see it and we are not afraid to do what it takes to stay safe.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Guess we shall have to wait and see.” Hoseok huffed and came to a stop in front of an old freezer. He heaved it open and stood proudly before the open space and that switch had been tampered with again, “jajang!” He cheered sweetly, “a solar powered freezer, courtesy of Namjoon’s sexy brain. Wanna know how he did it?” The man looked as hopeful and excited as Jungkook get about shutting him down and the fact made Jungkook mentally laugh; he remained stoic and silent as he regarded Hoseok.

“No. I’d rather stick my own fingers in my bullet wound again.” Jungkook neatly placed his meat pieces in there and then turned away so that he could fetch the remaining pieces.

He entered the canteen area again, Hoseok stropily following behind. “What the fuck are you all on?! My Jungkookie wouldn’t do that!” Jimin’s frustrated voice echoed through the room and Namjoon’s deeper, calmer yet stressed voice followed.

“Hey, calm down, you’re gonna pull your stitches. He can explain.” Namjoon pointed to Jungkook, who looked between them both and shrugged.

“Probably could but I don’t want to so I won’t.” Jungkook shrugged and heaved up some more body pieces, there was a twinge of pain in his leg but he did his best to not address it. No weaknesses. “Did you get me a bucket, Seokjin? They burn better when they’re fresh.”

“Told you, Minnie. Your little bro is a few tools short of a whole toolbox.” Taehyung muttered to Jimin and Jungkook halted in his movements, dropping the body parts like they were hot and he turned to Taehyung with a nasty glare.

“You’re really getting on my last fucking nerve.” Taehyung looked unphased, entertained if anything, he was doing this on purpose; Taehyung would be the crack in the floor of Jungkook’s plans. Taehyung was a neurologist, he knew all the ways he could manipulate someone’s brain. Jungkook would have to take their trust in him first. “I’m trying to help you, I just saved you, I’m not trying to make enemies with any of you.” Jungkook lied, pointing an accusing finger at Taehyung, “but you’re really testing my patience, Taehyung. Stop running to my brother like some child trying to ‘tell on me’ it’s pathetic.”

“Koo, lets just ca-,”

Jungkook turned his glare to Jimin and his brother went quiet. “Tell me to calm down Jimin, I dare you.”

“Hey, one of those kids had an Iphone in their bag! It works and everything! Oh, JK, they even have your favourite song!” Yoongi cheered, walking into the tense atmosphere obliviously, the beginning trill of a song Jungkook had only dreamed of hearing again and he soothed instantly. Yoongi was semi-cleaner, no more smatterings of brain.

Hoseok burst into small twinklings of laughter, “you listened to Mang?”

“Seokie, he had the biggest crush on this guy and he had never even seen whoever it is-, was-, whatever.” Yoongi chuckled and cuddled up to Hoseok, showing him the phone. There was that twist in Jungkook’s heart again at seeing Yoongi so close, so soft with someone else, but he ignored it and huffed his way over to the body parts and lugged them back up and limped away.

“Go back to bed, Jimin. Stop following me.”

“Jeon Jungkook.” Jimin was firm and tearful. It was just them in the hallway. “You’re different. Where’s my Jungkook? There’s no spark in your eyes anymore.”

Jungkook huffed and stopped for a minute, “I’m sorry that not everyone can be as untouchable as you. Get over it. People change, life goes on.”

“But this is a scary change. You’re the thing they fear. Tread carefully because they shoot to kill and I can’t lose you twice.”

#bts angst #bts fic #bts seokjin #bts hosoek #bts zombie au #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #yoonkook #jungkook centric #villain jungkook #is he a villain or is he just trying to survive???#bts x twd #jungkook #bts yoongi #bts taehyung #bts jimin #bts namjoon #bts horror au #chapter 3

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lilprincegoo · 1 year

Text

In a Field of Asphodels by Seemylia

ot7

Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Panic Attacks, Sickness, Suppressants overdose, Misunderstandings, Miscommunication, Anxiety, Smut Eventually, Unintentional Medication Overdose, Fluff

49.3k words

rating: E

Jeongguk loves his boyfriends so much. He would do anything for them. Including leaving them and denying his own biology if he has to. —— —and Jeongguk couldn't stop the hot guilt from pooling in his stomach. That was his fault. He didn't know why exactly, if it was because he lost track of time, didn't text, if it was because of something else— but it was his fault. It had to be. "I'm sorry, I didn't notice—" he started, only to be interrupted— Oh.

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btsgreyvibes · 2 years

Text

I would like to discuss Magic AU/mythical creature AU ft mermaid Jungkook. Soooo have some ramblings and ideas about mermaid Jungkook and some ot7 vibes ❤️

Bts has the unique issues of all being very rare, powerful, etc.

Seokjin is a dragon

Yoongi is phoenix

Hoseok is a kitsune

Namjoon is a vampire

Jimin is a witch

Taehyung is a werewolf

Jungkook is mermaid

Mermaids are rare and everything about them is otherworldly.

Most mermaids rarely venture too far from ocean depths due to how vulnerable they become. No one is even sure how many mermaids are out there due to the reclusive behavior.

Mermaid tears are pearls and worth a lot of money. Scales can be used in potions or crushed up in healing salves. Blood can add an extra layer of defense when added to curses.

Mermaids are pretty fucking terrifying but only in water. They're comparable to snakes with tails that are all muscle, powerful and quick.

They're not violent creatures but they're notorious for wrapping their tails around someone and drowning them, or using their tails for bone breaking hits when aggravated. Their scales are hard to cut or damage and once they get you in the water it's over.

On land they're pretty weak compared to the other creatures.

They can see well in the dark since they have to be able to see in deep and murky waters.

They've got small, sharp teeth. Nothing at all really when compared to some of the other mythical creatures but more than enough to take the scales off fish and get the meat between small bones or help defend themselves.

They tend to run cold, which is good while in deep waters but they can get cold easily on land.

Small amounts of water don't force a shift, it's based more on physical and emotional state. However sometimes water can make scales pop up where it hits skin. For example, standing out in the rain won't force a shift but scales will form on the legs. A full shift would only happen if it was desired or the mermaid was too exhausted to keep it from happening.

Switching back and forth takes time and energy.

Tails have to be let out occasionally or they dry out. Tails that aren't released or able to be in water every few days will becomes very painful. The scales crack and dry out, the muscles get stiff and tight, the skin under the scales will get infected and bleed. It can cause fever, weight loss, depression, infection, etc. Mermaids that don't take care of their tails properly run the risk of becoming emotionally or physically exhausted quicker and shifting unwillingly in an unsafe place or somewhere undesirable.

Mermaids are one of the magical species most often taken and sold as pets or worse.

~ Mermaid Jungkook ~

Jungkook is beautiful even before they get to see him shifted. Even before they knew what he was.

He keeps it pretty private, they didn't even know until everything he wanted them to know.

His tail is beautiful, strong and honestly bigger than they had imagined. It's a mix of watercolors in dark green and deep blues that make them think of old paintings of the the sea. There are brushings of gold dust here and there, some of the scales even completely golden.

Most scales are on his tail but sometimes they form on his pulse points when he's in unfamiliar waters or anxious. The best though is when they get him to blush when he's got his tail out, pink and peach scales blooming on his cheeks before disappearing right after as he darts under the water.

Seokjin is very clear that all of the pearls from Jungkook's tears are his. He's actually pretty vicious about making sure he gets them all, smoke curling out of his mouth and sharp teeth peaking out if he thinks someone is trying to take one. Tears are important to mermaids, almost like a part of themselves. Jungkook cries a lot but that doesn't make the tears any less special and knowing Seokjin has them all tucked away is a huge comfort.

Hoseok tucks Jungkook under his arm when he starts showing signs of getting chilled. He loves to nuzzle the mermaid until he's warm and his muscles have relaxed again. If they're somewhere with room than Hoseok will let his tails out and keep Jungkook wrapped up in them. He hates getting his fur wet but sometimes Jungkook gets out of the water and Hoseok can't say no to him, using his tails to help dry off the scales until it's warm skin again.

Taehyung is the one most likely to get into the water with Jungkook, human or shifted, to get out any extra energy. Werewolves and mermaids are both heavy influenced by the moon so some nights Taehyung will go back and forth between running the forest and avoiding Jungkook's splashes when he gets close enough. They always end up exhausted and curled up somewhere together by the time the sun rises.

Jimin learns to spell any water to salt water. While Jungkook can swim in fresh water or very briefly splash around in some chemical treated waters, salt water is best. Jungkook loves to get Jimin in the water with him, strong tail holding both of them up while Jimin clings to Jungkook as he darts around. He also charms one of Jungkook's earrings to let them know if it's been too long since he's shifted.

Namjoon indulges Jungkook when he gets the urge to swim at night, none of them comfortable with their youngest going out alone. He gets used to the careful poking that wakes him up and big eyes pleading with him for just a few minutes please hyung? He likes the way the water looks in the dark and how quiet Jungkook can be when he wants, soundless through the water. It's their time and as soon as Jungkook is done he'll settle in Namjoon's lap still soaking wet and practically purr in affection.

Yoongi likes to help with his scales, making sure they're all healthy and strong. He soothes any broken ones or painful spots from where Jungkook wasn't able to shift for awhile. In return, Jungkook loves to comb through Yoongi's feather, carefully preening them and just running his hands through them. He's warm in a way that's different than Hoseok, more of a soothing warmth than an active heat but Jungkook loves to curl up with him too.

Mermaids have lots of accomodations they need to be healthy and flourish. The others never give him any reason to feel guilty but he knows that sometimes it causes a lot of inconvenience. It becomes nonegotiable though after they found him curled up in a too small shower crying and tail a painful mess where laid limply across the floor. It was a combination of Jungkook keep quiet too long on what he needs and most people not being knowledgeable on what mermaids need to thrive. It's not a mistake they make again.

He always makes sure to cry his prettiest tears for Seokjin, happy tears always shine the brightest and he drops them right in Seokjin's lap. If he sheds one of his gold scales and it's in good shape he gives it to him as well. They're all kept in a small box and still smell like salt when Seokjin carefully goes through them to make sure they're all there.

Every lost scale, that's not gold because those are Seokjin's, goes to Jimin. Mermaid scales are rare and powerful when in the hands of the right witch, a great base for potions or ground up to be mixed into healing salve. Mermaid blood is also incredibly rare but Jimin doesn't like to keep that on hand, occasionally though Jungkook can save some and give it to him though. Jimin would never ask for any of it but he's always grateful and makes to let Jungkook know where everything went and what it was used for.

Namjoon is endless with his questions and Jungkook likes to sit down and answer everything he can. Every magical creature has blood that tastes slightly different, can provide different things when a vampire drinks it but mermaid blood is one of the sweeter ones. Jungkook is always happy to bare his neck or wrist when Namjoon gets a little too pale.

Jungkook doesn't have any siren blood in him but he's more than happy to help Hoseok lure in people for his tricks. Mermaids aren't usually associated with malicious behavior or elaborate tricks but Hoseok's tails burn a little hotter everytime he gets Jungkook to join in and that alone is worth it. Hoseok nips at him with big, sharp fangs and Jungkook playfuly returns it with the small, sharp teeth of a mermaid. He lets the fox soothe over the mark with his tongue in warm swipes, the faintest taste of blood passed between them when they kiss.

Taehyung is a great hunter when shifted and loves a good chase but Jungkook likes to spoil him by tossing fish to him when he can. Taehyung howls happily each time, shape teeth cracking through meat and bone easily. Werewolves are big on scent and mermaids aren't necessarily as in tune to itbut Jungkook has a good nose and is more than happy to indulge the wolf in cozy scent marking sessions that smell like earth and sea.

Yoongi has periods of times where he sleeps for days. The modern phoenix doesn't burn to ash anymore, most just need a period of time where they can basically hibernate and recover without going through the whole process of rebirth. Jungkook likes to sleep with him, his own instincts getting sleepy in the dark, cool room Yoongi uses for those days. The sea has deep, dark, cool places where less energy used is best and Jungkook doesn't need to sleep for days the same way Yoongi does but it's nice. Yoongi loves to wake up with someone, happy trills as he nudges Jungkook awake next to him, occasionally the phoenix letting his wings out to cover them up like their own world.

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kookjinnies · 1 year

Note

do you have recs for other seokjin bias blogs (but ot7 ofc)? sry if you've answered this, i'm new :')

hello bff i hope you enjoy your stay here!! beloved sky / @jung-koook has recommended some seokjin centric blogs here. also @kimseokjin-archive is a seokjin focused blog (like a twt hourly account maybe?) so you can follow that for all your seokjin needs (thanks for running this @94ishlove ily inge)

i don’t really wanna tag some blogs and leave out anyone so feel free to go through my following list. they are all lovely kind people <3 have fun here on tumblr bff

#hi if you really want some seokjin centric blogs feel free to send me a message #i would love to have another friend to gush and cry over seokjin <3 #gonna keep my following list open until i remember to close it so i hope you get to read this <3333 #anon #asks

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nako-doodles · 2 years

Note

BTS really stands for: Blease takecareofour Seokjinnie

you cant see me but i literally teared up over these 6 penguins taking care of their delicate cold adverse vampire prince handwarmer fairy

#theyre so sweet pls this arc is already my favourite this is all i want whenever i browse the kim seokjin/everyone jin-centric tag on ao3 #ans #shirley gets played handseomly

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nomimits7 · 1 month

Text

~Happy~

In a world where Auras can be seen, Yoongi lives a peaceful life as a broke, young adult. He attends Uni just so he can get into an internship to escape his current life. What he doesn't know is that six others are looking for him. They want him. They need him and they will have him. Forming a rainbow would give them all the power they could dream of.

Coming soon ~

#nomimits7 #bts member x member #Yoongi-centric #jeon jungkook #jung hoseok #kim namjoon #kim taehyung #min yoongi #kim seokjin #park jimin #bts #nomimits stuff

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witchygoogie · 9 months

Text

T(h)orn

Namjoon was in love. And terrified. But so in love. But so terrified.

— Or Namjoon has a bad day, a really bad day, but he also has his boyfriends and yeah. They're in love.

12.1k words

A namjinkook one shot to read on ao3.

#ao3 fanfic #ao3 #bangtan fic #bangtanfic #btsfic #rpf #one shot #smut #namjinkook #namjinkook fic #namjoon fic #namjoon centric #jungkook fic #seokjin fic #seemy fics

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magini0 · 6 months

Text

Kimset - (II)

Pairing: ot6 x Jungkook | Jungkook x Everyone

Genre: Witch AU, Soulmate AU, Ex's to Lovers, Angst With a Happy Ending

Word Count: 16k

Also accessible on ao3 => Here Previous Chapter => Here Next Chapter => Here

The sound of clapping filled the room like an encouraging symphony, the student at the podium trying—yet failing—to hide their smile at the favorable response to their inquiry. Kim Yugyeom, a face Jungkook hadn't intended to see again in his life. Yet again, he hadn't intended to see any familiar faces when attending this university. A thought he didn't want to dwell on; he had barely managed to push the subject away this morning. He had gotten dressed and rushed off to present his inquiry to his fellow students and the MCA association currently present.

After all, your inquiry had to be approved before you could actually start. The university's board of education and the MCA would then score your presentation; the higher the score, the larger your funding pool would be. How exactly the scores were determined was yet to be defined; publicly, it was described as a completely unbiased procedure and criteria; however, it was clear that even in the magical world, influences could come from anywhere.

Corruption was truly the only one unbiased. It affects everyone.

The sound of heavy auditorium doors opening shifted his attention from Yugyeom's presentation. The aspiring witch's inquiry consisted of finding a caladrius and further studying the bird's supposed healing properties. Jungkook barely knew anything about mythical beasts; he had never been very good with animals nor very interested. But he did know that caladrius were rare and practically extinct. That was why the university board was so approving of the inquiry, considering that if Yugyeom's mission was successful, it would benefit the university itself.

But all that seemed to simmer into a lingering thought when his eyes locked onto the sight of a sitting, silently brooding Jimin, arms folded over his chest as he observed Yugyeom's presentation. Even to the untrained eye, the blonde witch appeared tense. Shoulders pull back slightly more than what was considered casual, mouth etched into a slight frown. Jungkook hadn't meant to stare; he wasn't a part of Jimin's life anymore. The thought was supposed to console him, but in reality, it only fueled the sinister ache inside his chest.

Jungkook hadn't actually gotten a look at any of his old hyungs this morning, having gotten dressed and heading for a quick escape out the front door. He didn't want to face them. Perhaps it was the naive hope he clung to that he could simply avoid them for the remainder of the year.

But even at the sight of Jimin simply sitting in the auditorium, Jungkook realized that his ambitions were rather hopeless. Like a moth to a flame, he couldn't keep his gaze focused. How could he? Look away from something— someone he had hoped to see for the past six years.

"Jimin!" Taehyung's hushed voice called out, light and happy.

The brunette sneaks up behind Jimin's brooding form, snaking his arms around his neck and pressing a few gentle kisses against the other's cheek. Jungkook watched, with an untold heaviness, as Taehyung trailed around Jimin's seat—the witch was sitting at the end of an aisle—before plopping himself in the still vacant seat beside the blonde. And Jungkook's gaze lingered with an untold masochism as Jimin's unhappiness melted away. The earlier locked jaw pushed out an exhale, the previous frown turned into a smile, and those chilling eyes took on an expression entirely too fond.

Jimin leaned forward, cupping Taehyung's cheek and pressing their lips together. It wasn't an all-too-sensual kiss, considering that neither of the two witches could push down their smiles long enough to kiss properly. But it hurt.

It hurt so much.

But the worst part was that it still hurt to be hurting.

As Jungkook sat down aisles ahead of them, partially to remove the temptation to further damage himself by glancing back, the world around him grew distant. The loud, projecting voice of Yugyeom drowned out the applause that would follow a particularly enthused statement. It was all gone, distant. Although present, Jungkook wasn't really there.

He was somewhere else entirely, a place with rhythmic ballads, self-playing violins and cellos as witches danced tangos and waltzes. He recalled the night vividly, their first festival at the academy, celebrating the Veilweaver's Moon in all its glory. But Jungkook didn't remember the night over some planet in the sky—no, he had gotten something most precious that night. That night, he had his first kiss.

He had felt so jealous.

Jealousy.

An adjective with different meanings, but in this case, it could be defined as feeling fiercely protective or vigilant of one's rights or possessions. Only Jungkook didn't have a right over what he was jealous of; after all, he didn't own Jimin.

The witch was his own person, and Jimin had always been like a bird prancing in the wind. Free. It hadn't bothered him before, quite the opposite; in all of Jungkook's coolly constructed and scheduled childhood, Jimins adventurous nature was like a breath of fresh air. He had adored it. But watching as Jimin, his sweet Park Jimin, dance with another oddly stung. The rational part inside Jungkook pleaded for an audience inside himself, trying to explain that Hoseok was Jimin's soulmate. They all were soulmates; it was unreasonable to feel how he felt.

But that didn't change the fact that he felt it. He felt greatly, wave upon wave crashing against each other like tsunamis pushing against his heart—his soul. Seeing Jimin laughing, eyes creasing, and teeth on display. Nose occasionally scrunching up, his own giggles distracting him enough to misplace a step or two within the dance. Jimin looked so gosh damn happy.

Those smiles used to belong to him.

The sight was too much; it fueled the insecurities inside himself like gasoline thrown into a bonfire. It provided a speaker to that voice inside his head that insisted he wasn't enough. Jimin was like the sun, warm and giving. And Jungkook felt himself become inadequate to be basking in its soft glow.

It was why he had left the event in the first place; the academy's ballroom had seemed so endless when everyone had come together to decorate it. Marble tiles stretched out, meter-long windows reached for the curved ceiling, and a chandelier reflected light off of its glass embellishments and jewelry. It had been beautiful. It still was.

Only now, the room felt suffocating. His own jealousy wrapped around his throat, body, and soul before it squeezed. Everything felt inconsequential; the classical music sounded distant, washed out as if underwater. The chatter surrounding him drowned alongside the music, nearly mimicking a language he chose not to understand. All he could focus on was them. Hoseok and Jimin.

They looked perfect together. Hoseok was similar to Jimin in ways Jungkook could never be. A realization that made the phantom noose around his throat tighter, unyielding in its pursuit to torture him further. Although Jungkook barely bothered with any of his other soulmates, from the little interactions he had shared with Hoseok, the older male carried a similar chipperness to Jimins. Once, during breakfast, Hoseok had reduced Jimin to a pile of wheezing laughter, the kind that hardly made any noise at all.

Jungkook was rarely ever that funny.

But it wasn't until the halls began whispering about how Jimin and Hoseok were the perfect couple, how the soulmates were so clearly made for each other, that birthed the intensity of his envy. At first, he made nothing of those words; they were idle chit-chat students murmured to pass their time with senseless gossip. No one knew Jimin the way he did.

But seeing them dance, Hoseok's hand tauntingly resting against Jimin's waist. Laughing so beautifully, a thought—realization—skipped across his mind.

Those students had been right.

"Kookie?"

Jungkook sniffled, shoulders hitching up as the voice seemed to protrude his little moment of solace. He had left the party nearly twenty minutes ago; instead, he sought asylum in the academy's library. Aisles were replaced by extended bookshelves, reaching so high up to the ceiling a sliding ladder was against each shelf. They weren't used often, mainly by first years who hadn't learned the proper spell yet to simply pull the needed book towards oneself. There was a second floor that took the shape of an O, leaving a gap in the middle to peer down at the stretching wooden desks available to students. Narrow but long windows decorated the west side of the room, and small cushioned ledges made the window sills most desirable.

The sun rose in the east and set in the west, casting the library in an orange hue that made everything look golden. Jungkook sat against the windowsill, legs pulled against his chest and back leaning against the wall that separated this window from the next. He had watched the sun die against the horizon, replacing the warm sky with something cold and encompassing.

A small thread of irritation lit inside him; the night had gone horrible; no, the week had been an accumulation of utterly shitty events. So why? Why couldn't he at least be left to sulk in peace?

The entire week, Jimin had been distracted with the others, helping Namjoon with his cultivation, Jin with cooking duty—It wasn't even Jimin's scheduled date to help—and herding the griffin babies together with Hoseok. For an entire week, Jimin had spent time with the others instead of him. Even Taehyung, their rudest covenmate, was teaching Jimin how to spray paint. Or Yoongi, who had offered to tutor Jimin in herbology. Jimin hated herbology, but all of a sudden, he was its biggest fan.

It's only been a month since the two of them came to the academy, thirty days since the six red strings knotted to his finger found their destinations. He hated it.

Hated that he hadn't been bunked with Jimin and instead got Taehyung, a rude riff-raff wannabe who had cussed him out for placing his suitcase on 'his side of the room' only thirty minutes into their introduction. To put it simply, he vehemently disliked the edgy artist. He was irascible and unpredictable, a potential danger to Jimin, if not only a bad influence. His other soulmates were more bearable, but he wasn't really interested. He had Jimin; the two were a team. Not a group or a party—it was them against the world. No one else.

But Jimin was so eager in his utterly loving nature. It wasn't even surprising to Jungkook how quickly the rest of them fell for the bundled-up sunlight that was his hyung. Who wouldn't fall in love with Jimin?

He knew he did. He had loved him instantly.

A bundle of nerves had taken place inside his chest like all the strings inside his soul became knocked. A painful tug erupted within him whenever he saw Jimin smile for one of them—the same way he used to smile for Jungkook

"You should be at the party, hyung." He murmured, voice hoarse in a way that made him cringe. He didn't need prying eyes against his crying figure. His own gaze was still cast out the window, taking in the colors of the sky as if he'd never see the sunset again. Perhaps not meeting Jimin's gaze right now was his own weak attempt at preserving his already bruised pride.

"I would," Jimins voice trailed off as his footsteps approached the window. Slowly, Jimin's figure sat down beside him. Immaturely, Jungkook refused to look at him. Sniffles still occasionally betrayed him, prompting him to wipe at his wet cheeks rather irritably with his pulled-up sleeve. "But my soulmate isn't there." Jimin finished.

"One." Jungkook muttered bitterly.

"What?"

"One of your soulmates wasn't there." He clarified, his own jealous bitterness sinking into his tone. Tainting it with his anger. "You seemed to be having fun; who knows—maybe Namjoon stopped dancing with Seokjin? Or maybe Taehyung's free. You seemed to be all for bad boys lately."

Jungkook felt guilt spread through him at the sound of Jimin's sharp intake of air, the silence between them adding invisible weight to his chest and shoulders. He felt foolish and immature for his feelings. It wasn't Jimin's fault for wanting to spend time with his very own soulmates; it was normal. Good even. Jimin shouldn't fall victim to his envy.

If only he could tell his feelings that.

"Oh Kookie…" A hand rested on his arm, thumb rubbing softly against his uniform. Still unable to meet Jimin's gaze, the irrational fear of finding a look akin to pity kept his gaze outside. Where the night choked out the colors in the sky, stars began to peek through, and the moon began to show.

It wasn't until he was pulled into a hug, arms wrapped around him in familiarity, that forced his defenses to lower. Because this was his Jimin, his sweet little sunlight. And unlike the sky, Jungkook would keep its light blazing within the sky for an eternity.

That night, Jungkook's lips had pressed against Jimins for the first time. He had savored the taste and feeling of those lips against his in an empty, closed-off library. It was simple, sweet, and innocent. A type of kiss that, with Jungkook's inexperienced eagerness, left their teeth hitting against each other's, resulting in some breathless giggles. Jimin's hands had cupped his cheeks, pacing Jungkook gently as the two soulmates grew closer. This was simply one of the many firsts Jungkook would give to Jimin.

Watching the sunset filled Jungkook with an irrational sensation, a collaboration between fear and dread. Jimin was like the sun, but what if he, too, would set in Jungkook's world? What if one day, his world would become just as dark and obsolete as the night sky.

The sound of clapping bid Kim Yugyeom goodbye, the witch-polished smile somehow seeming unfamiliar to Jungkook; he had always known Yugyeom as a completely genuine person, seeing him plaster on something so fake threatened his nose to scrunch up in distaste. Jungkook didn't know Yugyeom anymore.

With a quick glance around, anybody could practically sense the anxieties and tensions in the air. The constant rustling of clothes being tugged and rearranged, legs bouncing up and down rhythmically, the sheer restlessness nearly seeping into the other magicals auras. Everyone was nervous, well, almost everyone.

Walking up to the podium himself was, admittedly, a little nerve-wracking. Jungkook wasn't shy; the thought of strangers silently evaluating him didn't really bother him. What irked him was the knowledge that they would be watching too. An observant gaze lingering against his skin, something that would've left a trail of goosebumps across his skin in a welcomed way, now became all too unwelcomed .

A strange sense of urgency lingered inside him, bubbling like an overflowing cauldron as he walked up the small steps. He wasn't sure if it was his pride or hurt ego at their presence, but Jungkook wanted to show off. He was feeling petty. A part of him so desperately wanted to shove it into their faces that he was doing good without them. That he had and was successful after their separation. However, a nagging little voice inside his head wasn't necessarily certain which party he was trying to convince. Them or himself?

Clearing his throat, he finally stepped up to the podium. Head held high, something Balam drilled into him before reaching the auditorium, posture straight and confident. A polite, practiced smile tugged at his lips. Jungkook knew that the university sought him out specifically due to his achievements during his apprenticeship; if successful, Jungkook could bring the establishment glory.

“Hello, I am Jeon Jungkook.” He introduced himself politely, with a small bow to his introduction. This was standard procedure; not many witches actually strived to complete the seventh level; it was an extracurricular in the magical world—one with benefits he was more than eager to reap. Glancing around the room, the smell of wood and carpet filled his senses. The auditorium was clearly as old as the university itself, large and glorious as it took on a circular shape. Instead of a flat ceiling, a large dome covered the structure. Before the stage, three rows of seats stretched to the back of the room, only separated by two narrow aisles lined with an extravagant red carpet. Its high, vaulted ceilings are adorned with intricate frescoes, and towering columns line the periphery between the windows, further creating a sense of grandeur. Rich, polished dark wood paneling and plush velvet drapes added warmth to the sophisticated space. Again, the fact that this university reminded Jungkook more of a castle was a theory evermore confirmed the longer he observed.

Candles floated above their heads, no doubt there to provide everlasting light. Something entirely unnecessary at the moment due to the walls of the auditorium bearing long, narrow windows that kissed the edges of the dome ceiling. Natural morning light flooded the space. It felt oddly bright, silently waking even the still drowsy students. The sky was a clear, untainted blue. Making the small glimpses outside even more captivating, the nature surrounding the university was just as mesmerizing as its interior.

"Throughout my apprenticeship, I studied Astrobiomedicine under the guidance of Kwang-sun with the pseudonym JJK." He paused, swallowing down the temptation of his lips to turn crooked—a smirk begging to contort his practiced feature and reveal how much he reveled in the small gasps and murmurs within the room. Ah, he had nearly forgotten how famous JJK had gotten.

"Throughout that time, I have managed to leave a more positive footprint on our community. With supported inquiries, guidance, and dedication, I was able to develop aid and cures in the Astrobiomedicine field." A smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes as the small dopamine of praise washed out. A strange—no, familiar feeling began blooming inside his gut. As if Balam could feel it herself, she nudged her head against his leg. In her cold stare, she encouraged him to go on.

"One of my first achievements under Kwang-suns guidance was by making witching flu medicine more available for everyone; this was done by replacing newt syrup—we all know how arduous it is to get a hold of that—" A light-hearted joke escaped him, a desperate attempt to have the audiences own amused chuckles lift his own spirits. Save him from his own gnawing thoughts. It didn't work. "With the widely available thistle." He concluded, smiling politely at the clapping that interrupted his presentation.

A traitorous thought escaped him. Were they impressed?

"Throughout my second year under Kwang-sun, I modified the pre-existing medicine for Draemori Flux with a specifically cultivated flower found on the peaks of Mount Chelopee, previously endangered and now being reintroduced into our ecosystems. Successfully extending the life expectancy of those diagnosed for approximately twenty years." Another wave of clapping finished his sentence for him, the strange feeling inside his gut and chest growing nauseating.

"During my last year, I worked with Kwang-sun and my team to develop a cure for Faerune Fever, a disease we are most aware of that is fast, rapid, and deadly." A small whooping noise followed by, again, intruding applause made Jungkook pause. The voice of the praising noise sounded familiar, but Jungkook suddenly didn't want to boast anymore. He felt uncomfortable, and the smile he should be wearing felt like the hardest thing to maintain at the moment.

"Throughout my apprenticeship, I wanted to remain as true to myself as I could be. One of my goals has been, and always will be, to give back to my community." The sinking feeling inside his gut grew claws, howling and hissing inside himself as it clung to his heart painfully. "Therefore, as my inquiry for my seventh level, I have taken it upon myself to develop a cure for Nexus Entropy."

Encouraging clapping fills the room as Jungkook ends his presentation, bowing politely as he exits off the podium. The eager looks, the chattering about selflessness, and the fond look surrounding him make Jungkook sick. Without a word, Jungkook leaves the suddenly suffocating atmosphere the acceptance of his inquiry brought him. Breathing unevenly as he wanders outside, seeking asylum on a nearby bench.

Closing his eyes and gulping down his growing emotions, Jungkook focused on leveling the overwhelming amounts of emotions he felt. They weren't strange; he had grown used to them, but perhaps he was surprised by their frequency since arriving at the university.

The sight of the school board and MCA holding up a small paddle with the heavy, glowing numbers of a bold ten burned themselves into his mind. A ten. The highest score one could get. He had gotten full funding. And yet, Jungkook sat on a wonky park bench, trying to even his breathing. Slowly, the monster inside his gut reveals itself.

Guilt.

It swallowed him whole because he was the only one who knew. Jungkook had never been selfless. He had never done anything purely from the goodness of his heart.

Jungkook was doing this for himself.

"Do you know who I'll be sharing the laboratory with?" Judging by the sun and the lack of students roaming the halls, it must've been around lunchtime. The sun was high in the sky, merciless as always, forcing the lounging students in the courtyard to seek shelter underneath the inviting shade of the trees planted around the grounds. It looked peaceful, nothing but idle chatter and a still-warm breeze delicately shifting strands of hair. Perhaps if Jungkook wasn't feeling so cowardly, he would've gone and searched for Yugyeom, taken that time to catch up with his old friend—a strict understatement considering how inseparable they were during their academy years— yeah, Yugyeom had been his best friend.

But after they returned from the Deep before graduation and split up, Jungkook had sought refuge in Yugyeom's arms. A few days had passed, and Jungkook had made up his mind to leave everything behind. Although Yugyeom knew the most, Jungkook left him behind, too. With a hug and a vague, I'll be alright , was all Yugyeom had for the past six years. As if the earlier guilt didn't gnaw holes into his constitution already, the endless uncertainty regarding his relationship with his old friend tormented him regardless. Yugyeom would have moved on, too.

Before attending the university, Jungkook was aware of how much had changed. None of them were kids anymore; he wasn't an innocent, naive first-year who read about happy endings anymore or, the sixteen-year-old with immense temperament issues, or even the seventeen-year-old who felt nothing but love and devotion regarding his coven. Glancing around himself, now more than ever, Jungkook could see the past six years, from immature teenagers to the adults that now sauntered the halls looking to fulfill a great witches purpose.

"Why do I even waste my breath talking when you aren't even listening? Honestly, it's like talking to a wall sometimes." The sharp tone of Balam's chiding tugged Jungkook back into the present, the sound of his footsteps echoing lonesomely amongst the halls. Balam, as elegant as always, didn't even make a peep.

“What?—Ah, sorry Balam.” Pulling his gaze from the windows, he glanced at the disapproving look from Balam before shifting entirely against the opposing wall. Closed, wooden doors, each labeled with a letter and number indicating which laboratory one would find behind it.

"Tsk, if you're going to ask someone something, at least have the common courtesy to listen for their answer." Balam paused; she had a small habit of doing that between scoldings, perhaps to give whoever was on the receiving end to actually absorb the lecture. "Like I was saying, I don't know who you're going to be sharing the space with."

"But why do we even need to share a laboratory with someone? It could invite all kinds of trouble, like accidental contamination—or they could just be distracting and—"

"Will you stop? You'll drive yourself crazy in the first week alone at this rate. Every laboratory is shared between two people, partly because of convenience but mostly for socialization." Balam finished, a tone filled with finalization that didn't leave Jungkook any room to argue. It's not like he had any.

"Ah, here we are. Room B013 that'll be your laboratory." Balam stated, tail swaying casually as she watched Jungkook nod before opening the door. The sight was pause-worthy, at least for the young witch who stood stunned by the doorframe. Balam walked idly between his legs, a smugness to her gaze as he sauntered inside and hopped onto one of the black marble counters. Beginning to groom herself dutifully.

The laboratory was a large space, a silent worry of Jungkooks deminishing as the space could easily fit two magicals. The walls were a creamy white, contrasting with the deep mahogany of the windowsill and framing. Two large, ceiling-reaching windows gave the space a good amount of natural light. For the actual workspace, there were long rectangular islands made out of a marbled black stone. Material like that could withstand certain chemicals; no doubt why the university chose such a heavy surface in the first place.

To each side of the room, hugging some free space against the walls, was a display case. Walking over and opening the case, Jungkook marveled at the sheer amount of vials, cylinders, and other equipment waiting to be used. Looking around, he didn't mind the slight unevenness of the floorboards. The university was old, and although he was sure certain spells kept it maintained, age was something irreversible.

The space was open, not as homely as other aspects of the castle, but this was a laboratory. It wasn't supposed to be overly decorated or warm, places like these never were. But Jungkook found himself comfortable, which was rather important considering how many hours he'd be spending within this room. He should get to work.

Setting his bag down on an empty chair, Jungkook began familiarizing himself. Grabbing an empty notebook and taking inventory of what was available already, having found a section of dried-out herbs on a shelf on the south side of the room. It was important to note what he already had and what he needed to order, although there were rare oddities he would need to cultivate himself. He had sent Balam off a few minutes ago to check the greenhouses for thornvine—a plant that would only grow in October—making it important for him to know in case he needed to cultivate some of his own.

"I should've known you'd be in here."

Spinning around on his heels, Jungkook sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of his old friend, Kim Yugyeom. Now that he wasn't mentally preparing himself to present in front of an audience, Jungkook silently looked over the way Yugyeom, after all this time, hadn't really changed appearance-wise. Still, the same straight black hair parted to the side and loose, comfortable clothing. The only noticeable difference was that Yugyeom wore light, natural-looking makeup. Small dabbles of highlighter and eyeshadow extenuating his already soft features.

What do you say to someone you left behind?

Although the sight of Yugyeom warmed his heart, feeding it with a bittersweet nostalgia that threatened to tug a crooked smile across his lips. Sweet because he and Yugyeom were like two peas in a pod, they understood each other. Unlike Seokjin or Namjoon, Yugyeom never tried fixing Jungkook. Not because he wasn't worried or approved of Jungkook's delinquent tendencies but because Yugyeom had faith in Jungkook. Because, unlike anyone, Yugyeom understood where the aggressive behavior came from. Yugyeom knew that one day, Jungkook would move on. So on days when Jungkook would hide out from his Hyungs after having gotten into another lone fight, lord knows how fussy they all could get, lip busted and bruises forming above his cheekbone, Yugyeom would let him in and simply listen. He wouldn't touch or coddle, ask a hundred-and-one questions, scold or reprimand him—no, Yugyeom would continue playing on his computer, waiting for Jungkook to talk if he wanted to.

Jungkook hadn't wanted to for a while.

He would sit by the window, beanbag, or bed, and simply exist for some time. Waiting for Yugyeom's accepting personna to break, for the other to finally realize he wasn't going to get some juicy gossip from Jungkook and move on. Only Yugyeom never did. Not when Hoseok came knocking on his dorm door, asking about him, and Yugyeom convincingly lying about his whereabouts. Covering for him over and over again. So one day, sitting on Yugyeom's bed, back leaning against the white wall the bed frame was pushed against, knees to his chest, and fingers idly picking at some of the scabs covering his knuckles. Jungkook talked, and Yugyeom had listened.

So, how do you talk to someone you left behind six years ago? Fully expecting and accepting, never to see them again?

"What, not gonna say 'Hi' or anything?" Yugyeom's mused lips curved upwards in a kind smile. A smile so strikingly familiar, that Jungkook felt practically unworthy to be basking in its warmth. Just moments ago, Jungkook was reminiscing about how everything in his life had changed without him, and there stood Yugyeom, again , standing utterly unchanged before him. Still, the same buoy that kept Jungkook afloat all those years ago.

The prompt got Jungkook out of his momentary stupor, hurriedly fumbling over his words as he tried narrowing them down to just one sentence. Thousands of questions plagued him all at once, wanting to know so much while simultaneously apologizing for even more. Fortunately, Yugyeom seemed to have mercy on him once more, filling the room with a genuine laugh at Jungkook's fumbling.

"What? You can't be surprised to see me; you presented your inquiry right after mine, after all." Again, Yugyeom carried a smile that reminded Jungkook of the Cheshire cats, only less mischievous and more amused. And Yugyeom's question wasn't wrong; he wasn't surprised by his presence but by the fact that Yugyeom was actually talking to him. Yugyeom should be mad at him; he'd have every right to , he thought deprecatingly.

"Well, I just didn't think you'd, well," Jungkook paused, gesturing with his hand, "come find me." He concluded, sigh heavy on his tongue.

Yugyeom's smile dwindled at his words, the sight reminding him of nyctinasty, a rhythm that allowed plants to open and close depending on the time of day. Although his words were unorganized, watching them have such a horrid effect on Yugyeom made them feel terrible. Without much hesitation, Yugyeom walked over slowly, methodical in his steps before pulling Jungkook's still-tense body into a hug. They stood like that for a moment, Yugyeom's arms wrapped around Jungkook, a type of hug that felt just so encompassing, warm, and protective. Yugyeom was hugging him like he used to. Jungkook's arms worked on their own, wrapping tightly around his old pillar in life, hand carefully clutching the knitted material of Yugyeom's warm, marbled-looking sweater. His head disappeared into the crook of his neck, mostly to keep Yugyeom from seeing the watery shine to his eyes, inhaling the subtle scent of citrus still clinging to his friend. A perfume oil Jungkook had gifted Yugyeom for his seventeenth birthday.

A comfortable, emotional silence spread throughout the room. Distantly, one could hear a bird chirping, singing softly to itself as it landed in its nest, tucked against the outside windowsill along the left window. Sunlight shone through the windows, its light subtly spreading heat wherever it touched Jungkook's body. The two simply held each other, wordlessly making up for lost time.

"It's really good to see you again, Jungkook," Yugyeom murmured into his shoulder, and even without seeing the other's face, Jungkook knew he wasn't the only one choking on his feelings.

Jungkook wasn't exactly sure how long they stood like that, either party unwilling to release the other. Perhaps, in a silent fear of losing the other for another six years— or maybe even forever. They didn't say anything; however, the room never ceased to actually quiet, whether that was for the birds singing or occasional students passing down the hall or the pure liveliness of the castle itself that kept the room from ever really feeling silent.

It nearly forced an ironic chuckle to escape Jungkook as he recalled one of the first things that had pulled him towards Yugyeom in the first place. No matter what, the quiet had never felt uncomfortable. Maybe that's Yugyeom's true specialty. Jungkook mused to himself, hands subconsciously tightening their ghostly hold on his friend.

But just like any moment, this one had to leave them too. Jungkook struggled between saying too much and simultaneously not enough, apologies prancing at the tip of his tongue. But he also wasn't sorry. For leaving them, for distancing himself after they left him. However, in his pursuit to feel nothing, Jungkook accidentally lost what he still had.

"I'm sorry." A croaked, emotional voice broke the silence.

Yugyeom chuckled, but Jungkook could hear the heart behind it. Somehow, Yugyeom had grown emotional too. But it wasn't anger like Jungkook had expected, nor resentment or aloofness. Perhaps it was because Jungkook found none of that—that Yugyeom still looked and embraced him with all of his flaws, that really broke the nonchalant facade Jungkook tried so desperately to maintain.

"I don't know for what in the world you could be sorry for, Jungkook." Yugyeom mused, a delicate sing-song voice that made his words just sound so easy. So simple.

Maybe Jungkook simply was just a masochist, someone in strict denial that his actions would go unpunished. Because in an instant, Jungkook didn't hesitate to remind him. "For leaving you, for not contacting you, for disappearing for the past six fucking years—"

The discouraging tutting noise from Yugyeom quickly shushed Jungkook's feeble attempts at self-sabotage. The older male pulled away from their hug, instead cupping both of Jungkook's cheeks and forcing the spiraling witch to gaze back at him. “Jungkook, I understand . You needed to get out, to leave and collect yourself. At your own pace, in a place of your choosing." Yugyeom reminded, as if the barebone intentions had escaped Jungkook in the midst of all this chaos.

"I knew that one day we'd see each other again. And when that day happened, I told myself that I'd greet you like the friend you always were." Yugyeom's voice shifted from serious to one lighter in tone, filled with fondness. "And here we are, nothing but old friends getting to spend time together once more. I'm really happy to see you again, Jungkook; you've been up to quite a lot, haven't you?" Yugyeom teased, letting his words wash over Jungkook as if his unconditional affection was only a mist against Jungkook's skin and not a complete and all-consuming wave crashing against his fridged heart.

Jungkook hadn't even realized it himself, when exactly his heart had grown so brisk and glacial . Uncaring and detached from his past. But being with Yugyeom again, in an occasional silence that never once felt overbearing, melting at the sheer love that still endlessly poured from the other. Jungkook felt himself slowly thawing, begrudgingly accepting that Yugyeom was something of his past he didn't want to let go.

"I know I let you pace our conversations yourself, but I am dying to know what you've been up to. Besides being a famous physician and all—which I'll get to later, don't think I'll let that one go." Yugyeom began, pulling away from Jungkook and instead hopping onto one of the working surfaces in the laboratory. Dangling his feet carelessly.

Jungkook smiled at the shift in tone and Yugyeom's tendency towards the dramatics. Jungkook found himself sitting beside his best friend, talking about the past six years. About how he had met his Halmoni, about the rather—abrupt adoption into Chae-wons family. Helping out in the bookstore, dealing with angry customers and dodging flying books, even tutoring. A fond tone edged his words as he described Jung-so and how Jungkook looked forward to seeing the little witch grow.

Along those lines, Jungkook skipped his diagnosis. Not necessarily intentionally, but mostly due to the fact that he couldn't bring himself to ruin the fond smile that had etched itself onto Yugyeom's lips.

"What I don't understand is why you went with medicine, like—you hated herbology, biology, any of that stuff. You hated it because your parents forced you into it; the Jungkook I knew cared more about which colored paints to pair with which because apparently there's this entire color theory thing—" Jungkook couldn't help but laugh at Yugyeom sidetracked rambling. The chuckles got him a huff from the other and a playful nudge against his shoulder. "Anyways, what I'm saying is, why Astrobiomedicine?"

Ah.

Jungkook hummed, acknowledging the question as he tried to formulate his words. Eyes suddenly glued to the floor, legs swaying before stopping altogether. The truth was unwelcoming, cold, and bitter; the reality sunk into one's skin like poison. If Jungkook could, he would spare Yugyeom of it. The inevitable truth is that Jungkook would die sooner rather than later.

"A year after I left, after we graduated and went our separate ways." He began, "I started feeling ill. My magic, well, it grew weak. I couldn't feel it like I used to, had to focus more when I needed to pull on it, and eventually it began hurting when I did." Jungkook vaguely recalled the nights spent trying not to hyperventilate when his undiagnosed symptoms would appear. How he would gently palm and rub on his chest to try and soothe the ache away, trying to convince himself it was lingering soreness from an earlier activity. But it wasn't until the shadows appeared that Jungkook sought help.

A pregnant pause, a shaky breath, and Jungkook continued. Eyes clouded as he talked, body present but mind far away, recalling in vivid, gruesome detail what he had gone through. "The pain—the pain, it got so bad eventually, like someone was sucking the mana out of me like I could feel my magic die inside of me. Felt my body go absolutely haywire, trying to mend itself. Using what little mana I had available to subconsciously attempt to restore myself. But using magic made it worse, and the pain intensified. It wasn't—it wasn't until I started coughing blood that I went to see a healer."

Jungkook hadn't realized how weak his voice had gotten or how Yugyeom had pulled him close and into his side. Rubbing small circles into his back like little incantations meant to soothe him. Jungkook hesitated because he didn't want to say it. Saying it made it feel so real . It invited the fear he tried so hard to suppress to consume him, body and soul.

"I was diagnosed with Nexus Entropy."

Yugyeom didn't have to say anything. That quiet, quivering breath spoke volumes.

"How—" Yugyeom visibly struggled to ask; the sight plunged Jungkook's heart from its roots. He didn't want to make Yugyeom say it; to ask him that question, everyone eventually narrowed his condition down to.

"How much longer do you have?"

"By the end of the year—" Jungkook couldn't meet Yugyeom's gaze but reluctantly looked into his best friend's eyes. He could see the teary reflectiveness threatening Yugyeom, and all it needed was the catalyst Jungkook was about to provide.

"By the end of the year, I'll be dead."

Jungkook had until the next Witching Moon to figure out a cure, or else JJK would have been a prodigy.

The sound of the front door unlocking and Jungkooks shuffling inside filled the space, a long, exhausted sigh escaping him as he removed his jacket and hung it onto the nearly filled coat rack. Sliding off his shoes and slipping into a comfortable set of slippers, glancing at the remaining ones. It was always easy to tell who was and wasn't currently home simply based on the amount of house-slippers left. Two pairs were still there, which unfortunately meant for Jungkook—one-third of the coven was present. With everything that had happened today, presenting his inquiry, reconnecting with Yugyeom, talking about his diagnosis, Jungkook felt drained. Emotionally and physically, he had nothing left to give. It was worse enough that his supposed safe space wasn't a place he could recharge in either, quite the opposite actually; Jungkook had rarely ever felt such dread .

He was good at distracting himself, diverting all his attention and energies to certain subjects or jobs to the point that nothing else was able to occupy him. Somehow, Jungkook had even managed to push the topic of his exes away, too. Beside his feet, Balam yawned and stretched out her front paws, arching her back in a dramatic gesture. The sight made Jungkook slightly guilty; unlike all the other familiars who had been allowed to rest alongside their witches throughout the day, she had opted to stick by his side. Today was supposed to be easy.

"Balam, why don't you head to my room already? I'll just go and eat some dinner first." He suggested, glancing at the Siamese cat spirit beside him. She looked skeptical, and he wasn't exactly sure what persuaded her: the thought of sleep, Jungkook entering his dormitory space instead of hiding, or perhaps Balam was able to decipher the fact that Jungkook wanted some space. Either way, Balam nodded and sauntered her way down the hall and into his room.

Jungkook walked alongside her until they reached the living room, momentarily getting paused by a small pomeranian with mixed-colored fur circling his legs excitedly. Jungkook had been a little surprised to see the dog until he quickly recalled that this must be one of the other familiars. In Jungkook's rush during the previous night to escape the others' prodding stares or simple presence, he had failed to notice the company of any other familiar besides Balam. A part of himself wanted to be a bit immature; the need to nudge the dog away with his foot and move on nearly made his leg tingle. But the other familiars weren't responsible for their witches' actions; it wasn't fair to let his frustrations out on the spirits.

With a tired smile, he kneeled down before the hyper dog. It's tail wagging wildly, sniffling at Jungkook's outstretched hand. “Hello, I’m Jungkook.” He introduced, amusement twisting his drained expression into a more genuine one. Talking to the familiar was apparently like opening Pandora's box.

"Hello Jungkook, I'm Yeontan! But I go by all kinds of names, like Tannie, or if you wanna be really formal with me, you could call me Kim Yeontan. But I don't really like it when people call me that—So Yeontan, or maybe Tannie? No, I'll go with Yeontan. Call me Yeontan!" The pomeranian spirit babbled, his tiny tongue slightly hanging from his mouth. A small, quiet panting accompanied Yeontan's excitement.

But before Jungkook could even utter a word in response, the admittedly cute pomeranian shot back instantly. "I've heard a lot about you; I mean—he won't shut up about you. I wasn't listening very much, but soulmates! Isn't that romantic? It's very romantic, oh gosh, it's kinda like candy. We should go get some candy—"

"Yeontan!" The sharp, scolding voice from Seokjin contained the chipper dog; the other witch must've come from the kitchen if the amusing, pink with white polka-dotted apron didn't speak for itself. Yeontan listened, pausing his train of thought and remaining seated in his spot—well, trying to felt more accurate. The little dog shifted on its feet, swaying between the left and right front paws, tail swishing hazardously against the floorboards. The thought that this might be Seokjin's familiar flashed through Jungkook, but it was rather odd, considering how different the two were based on his outdated knowledge. Soekjin was an earth witch, different from a green witch like Jungkook—who dealt more with energy—earth witches could literally manipulate the ground around them. Although it was stereotypical to assume all earth witches were low maintenance, Seokjin did carry himself with a very grounded nature. At least, that's what Jungkook remembered.

"Why don't you tell the others that dinner is going to be ready soon?" Seokjin suggested in a soft tone, but a quick glance at his expression gave the hyper pomeranian the idea that his suggestion wasn't debatable at all. But the dog didn't seem deterred by the command, excitedly nodding its head and trotting down the hall. The soft patter of the familiars paws and nails tapping against the floor gradually disappeared into another room.

But with the sudden absence of the overzealous spirit, Jungkook so desperately wanted him to return. He didn't want to be alone with Seokjin, not with any of them, actually. The pause between them stretched, and unlike his earlier interactions with Yugyeom, the quiet between them was heavy against his shoulders.

"Uh, is Yeontan your—"

"What? Oh, no." Seokjin chuckled; the sound was happy, even if he looked a little relieved. "No, that familiar belongs to Taehyung."

Taehyung?

The thought of the old academy Taehyung, more delinquent than student. The witch who would bite and bark at the slightest hint of coddling, who complained about anything slightly outside of his apparent agenda. Who was too cool for bright colors and cutesy stuff, being paired up with a small, hyperactive, easily enthused fluff ball? Unwillingly, the thought made Jungkook's lip curve upwards.

However, it did remind Jungkook about the sheer amount of time he had missed. Recalling the soft colors Taehyung was dressed in last night, the way his style had changed from rough-and-rugged to a well-put-together, although easy-going, student. Exactly how much had Jungkook missed from Taehyung's growth? The small, vague smile that had crossed his expression disappeared. A cruel, intimate feeling of being robbed slowly took shape inside himself. Growing vicious, more dominating the longer he thought about it—

"Come, I made Bibimbap." Seokjin successfully interrupted Jungkook's spiraling, even if it was just for a moment. The older witch spun on his heels, walking back into the open kitchen. The space overall was very open, besides the two corridors that led off to the bedrooms and bathrooms. The kitchen was off to the far left, raised a step from the rest on a wooden platform that expanded to the dinner table. The only thing that mildly mimicked a wall between the kitchen and dining room was a long marble island. Then, the floor lowered a step or two and made room for the living room. Two couches rested on the now carpeted floor in an L formation around a coffee table. The space was wide and open, with potted plants and large windows, making the space oddly homey but exclusive. Again, another reminder of how loaded the university was.

The seducing scent of Bibimap wafted through the space; glancing at the counter, he noted the already prepared namul and signature gochujang paste being set off to the side on the counter; the meat still seemed to be sizzling inside the pan. Which is what Seokjin had hurriedly returned to, back now turned to Jungkook as the elder stirred the cooking meat. Bowls of white rice, another with eggs and other dishes to serve as toppings filled the space. It kept Seokjin distracted, allowing Jungkook to lean against the island counter. Arms crossed over his chest, gaze painfully observing the sight of Seokjin cooking.

Jungkook distantly recalled how when he released the glimmerkins in beastology—the study of magical beasts—he had gotten detention and a date with the Headmaster, where he was promptly trialed without having gotten to eat dinner. Originally, Jungkook did it purely to prank the new first years, glimmerkins were ghastly little beasts who caused chaos wherever they went. What hadn't been part of the plan was for the glimmerkins to team up on one first year in particular and hang them from the ceilings chandelier. Or splash an entire group with blue eldertwine ink, an ink that was derived from a wilted twine root and was completely waterproof—subsequently staining both faces and uniforms. Or for the glimmerkins getting into the bestiary pens and releasing the Nixalopes and Gryphalos.

Yeah, Jungkook truly learned the extent of how mischievous glimmerkins were that day. But despite the scolding he had gotten from both the dean and Headmaster, along with his hyungs, Seokjin still loathed the idea of Jungkook going to bed hungry. Which is what had led them to sneak into the kitchens after curfew; Seokjin easily navigated the space, considering how often he volunteered to work cooking duty and made Jungkook a serving of bibimbap.

Returning to the present, Jungkook fought the bitter feeling of wonder as he watched Seokjin cook. The taunting, daunting curiosity of what if. What if Seokjin was making bibimbap because it had been Jungkook's favourite?

Jungkook had to stifle both a scoff and grimace. Since he had reunited with the others, he was uncertain which emotion he felt more. Blinding, engulfing anger, or all-consuming sorrow. As if Seokjin could feel Jungkook's burning gaze against his back, the elder attempting to fill the silence with idle chatter.

"Yeontan and Taehyung seemed to be really close already; I wouldn't be surprised if the two actually formed a proper spirit bond. Though, my familiar is a real cutie too; they're—"

"Is this what we're doing now?" Jungkook interrupted with a badly hidden snarl, distaste and frustration evident in his tone. "Pretend like nothing happened?" anger . The pendulum dancing between hurt and anger stilled for a moment, and like those cheap magnetic knock-offs human kids would get to try and predict the feature; Jungkook's internal pendulum stopped spinning over his anger. The kindling had been lit earlier, and now Jungkook had a fire inside himself itching to burn.

"Bunny—"

"Oh please, spare me the informality, Seokjin-sii." He watched as Seokjin inhaled at the formal address, and a sadistic satisfaction watched over himself at the twisted expression it earned him when the elder turned off the stove and turned to him. Untying the apron, folding it before setting it onto an empty space along the counter. Seokjin, like always, seemed to be taking his time formulating a response.

"What was the plan here, huh? Act like nothing happened? Like I just went on a dainty little vacation, and now we can all go back to playing family again?" Distantly, Jungkook could hear chatter down the corridor halt. The others, although he was uncertain on who , had become aware of the confrontation currently occurring. Of course, in an open space like this, there wasn't much room for privacy besides in their own separate rooms and the two bathrooms. Good, let them hear. Jungkook thought bitterly.

"Although, it seems you guys already did that. How long did it take for you all to get back together? A week ? A month ?" Jungkook's voice was mocking, and although he knew he'd feel remorseful for letting his own anger singe other people, a part of him wanted them to hurt, even if their pain was insignificantly narrowed compared to his.

"We're not together." Namjoon's voice injected, walking up to Seokjin and standing only a meter or two away. Body leaned against the sink, arms crossed, as he calmly looked at Jungkook. It was those signature, composed expressions that really irritated Jungkook. Because he was feeling it all at the moment, and before him, one of the six causes to all this turmoil and mess, was a man who had the gall to look so unphased?

"Namjoons right, we aren't all together like we used to be," Jimin added, standing by the dining room table with Taehyung. Although, Jimin's expression contorted into one of—remorse? Sadness? Jungkook didn't linger on it.

"I don't give a flying fuck who you've all decided to fuck or not; my point is that you don't get to address me so casually anymore. We aren't friends; I'm not your bunny ," A sharp glance towards Seokjin, "Or your Kookie , I'm your roommate. Don't call me out for dinner, or lunch, or any other domestic little spiel." Venom laced Jungkook's tone, and he could feel his own magic simmer and boil underneath his skin. He could feel it pulse, submerging some parts into his aura, subconsciously signifying how absolutely volatile Jungkook felt at the moment. He could see the witches in the room react, inhaling sharply or quiveringly. What infuriated him more was that Seokjin or Jimin didn't even have the nerve to meet his gaze.

After all, Jungkook's anger and pain were the product of their betrayal.

A sudden but hesitant tug on his finger pulled Jungkook's fury away from Namjoon and Seokjin. One of the red strings tied to his pinky tugged once again until he met Jimin's remorseful gaze. The blonde's eyes were teary, lip seemingly bitten raw, and hands a little restless with nerves. It was clear, but Jimin had a contorted expression that the witch was holding back tears.

"Jungkook, please , I–" Jimin's quivering, raw voice was cut off by Taehyhung.

"We're sorry. I’m sorry, Jungkook.”

It wasn't enough; two words would never make up for how Jungkook was hurting. How he had been left behind , how the unwanted jealousy coursed through him in dangerous, turbulent waves. Threatening to take what little restraint, what morality, he had left under with it. It wasn't fair ; it wasn't fair that even if they didn't have all of each other, they still had some parts of each other.

Had they honestly expected him to stay and keep contact after everything that had happened? The mere thought made a cold, bitter scoff escape him. Expression twisted into a small sneer, Jimin lowered his gaze at Jungkook's response, suddenly seeming all too interested in the shiny, laminated floorboards. Taehyung, always the prideful one, did not divert his gaze. But the brunette's expression was filled with remorse, a glassiness to his eyes that threatened to make Jungkook feel guilty.

But the longer the silence filled the room, the less wind there was to fan Jungkook's flames. Slowly, he loosened his hands. Not having noticed exactly when he had balled them into fists. His nails have dug into his skin, leaving red, slightly irritated crescents indented into his palm. The pain, although as cynical as it was, grounded him. Inhaling, the sound of sucking breath into his lungs, only to eventually let out a vulnerable breath filled the otherwise barren room.

Jungkook's eyes flickered over to Namjoon; the older witch had his arms crossed over his chest. But unlike Seokjin, who also had his arms crossed, Namjoon looked like he was shielding himself while Seokjin was practically hugging himself. It was the sight of Seokjin's glistening cheeks, reddened eyes as the oldest cried unabashedly, that somehow derailed Jungkook from his tyrannical warpath. Because why was Seokjin crying? After all, it was them who hurt him . The only person currently allowed to cry was Jungkook.

“Jungkook, Bun, Kookie—”

"Jungkook." Jungkook's tone was sharp in its reprimand, but the sound of his old nicknames from any of their lips felt like salt in the wounds he already carried. He hated it, hated how vulnerable Seokjin sounded, how much sorrow and sheer regret was tainting his aura.

The sound of Seokjin sucking in his breath, gulping audibly as the elder clearly tried to swallow the choked sound of a sob down. Grimacing and contorting his face to control the wobble of his lips, the sight was enough to make Jimin's muffled sniffling more auditable, too. The sight and sounds somehow managed to irritate Jungkook further, the threads tied around his pinky tugging uselessly. The souls inside themselves weakly calling out for reconciliation.

But Jungkook wasn't going to reconcile.

Eventually, in the suffocating atmosphere of the room, Seokjin found his words, perhaps with the gentle help of Namjoon, who had started rubbing circles onto the weeping witches' backs.

"Kook—" Seokjin inhaled, hurriedly trying to amend his mistake at Jungkook's sharp glare. “Jungkook, I’m sorry. I'm so, so, so sorry. I've hurt you and—"

"Why?" Jungkook prompted, turning his full attention to Seokjin. Back now turned towards Jimin, the witch's downcast gaze desperately trying to avoid contact with the world. Ah, when had Jungkook's world turned so melancholic?

He had never wanted this. He had never wanted to be so sad. He never intended to spread that sorrow either.

"Why? Why are you sorry, Seokjin? Was it because you left me?" A choked-down, heartbreaking sound escaped Seokjin's lips. The elder hurriedly cupped his palm over it, hiding his fully trembling lip and runny nose. Eyes squinted with tears, yet the witch refused to look away. Jungkook wasn't sure what motivated him to go on, maybe, in the most twisted parts of himself; did it feel good to see one of the people who hurt him feel even the slightest amount of what he's been carrying for the past six years. Or, perhaps it was also a combination of adrenalin from actually having this confrontation that didn't let Jungkook relent in his sadistic pursuit to shed tears.

"Why?" He prodded further, voice whispery yet mocking.

"Jungkook, that's enough—" Namjoon tried cutting in, realizing how this conflict was escalating. The sight made Jungkook snicker because where was that motivation when everything was on the line?

"Was it because you didn't even look back? Or, maybe how you didn't even fight it?" He prompted, taking a step closer.

"Jungkook, stop. Let's calm down—"

"Hmm? Come on, Seokjin, tell me what you're sorry for. Was it because you knew how much our coven meant to me? Or, was it because you knew how much I lov—"

"Because I failed you!" Seokjin finally cut Jungkook off, voice loud and booming, but it cracked at the end. Raw with emotion, with pure, unfiltered desolation .

And the gusto inside Jungkook dwindled, and for the first time since, he had been reintroduced to his past. Felt the mockingly familiar pull on the red strings uniting them; the bulwark that had been protecting what little face he had left relented. Hot tears threatened his waterline before falling down his cheeks and kissing at the bottom of his chin. No one dared utter a word; the only sound was the sniffles, hiccups, and weak attempts to downplay the depths of their shared agony.

It took a moment for Jungkook to find his own voice, shoulders trembling as his gaze turned downcast, too. Gulping down a sob, he nodded.

"Yeah, you did."

"All of you did."

Before his knees could collapse under his weight, the heart in his chest suddenly felt miles heavier than it ever had. He turned around, desperate to preserve what little dignity he had left, and retreated to his room. He swayed, tears making his vision blurry as he swung open his door and nudged it shut behind him, the bang unintentional and imposing. In some ways, the bang signified, or rather— felt , like the means to an end. An odd, somewhat relieving feeling spread through him as he dived face-first into his mattress. Arms swinging around his pillow, face pressed into the downy as he finally let sobs wrack through his body.

Because finally. Finally , he was able to tell them. He was able to say it to them.

His coven hadn't just left him. They hadn't just misused his trust, hadn't just broken his heart—They had failed him. In every sense of the word, they had let him down to shatter amongst the floor. But Jungkook had time—six years, to be specific—and within that time, had pieced himself back together.

He'd be damned if he ever let them break him again.

“Mr. Jeon?”

Perking up from his spot in the waiting room, Jungkook glanced at the nurse standing by the hallway closest to the front desk. Raising his hand, the woman spotted him quickly, a friendly but stale smile plastered onto her lips as she tucked a brown clipboard against her chest.

“The doctor will see you shortly; follow me, please.” Her voice was honeyed, but it was something Jungkook was used to by now. Nearly every nurse he’s met was sweet, voice usually soft, not always in tone—but in nature.

Sitting up from the uncomfortable waiting room chair, he always tried to avoid touching the small cushions patched on the base and back of the seats. They were always in different colors depending on what hospital you went to; in this case, they were a faded pink. But it wasn’t the color that made Jungkook cringe slightly; it was that fake, leathery texture. Of course, he understood why it was that specific texture. They couldn’t go for actual fabric since it couldn’t be cleaned easily; authentic leather was expensive and shouldn’t be cleaned with harsh chemicals, either. Therefore, fake leather was the best option. But that didn’t change the fact that Jungkook disliked it, the texture, and the hackneyed appearance. Maybe it was so because the only time he’d ever had to sit in one was when he was in the hospital.

At this point, Jungkook was no stranger to any hospital. No matter the location, they all worked on the same principles. The only thing that was ever different or mildly difficult was finding the damn floor you were supposed to be on.

But Jungkook had managed; he always did. Standing up, smiling a timid but kind smile to return the nurse's politeness before promptly following her.

Hospital hallways were always eerie; he wasn’t exactly sure what contributed the most to its unsettling atmosphere. It could be the pure whiteness of practically everything: the stale gray vinyl flooring, the off-white, sometimes cream-colored walls, the haunting pattern of your footsteps. The sound was hard to explain in hospitals; it was usually quiet, unsettling as one dangled from their own anxieties, but when there was noise, it was loud.

Whether that noise came from an incessant EKG monitor or the vital sign monitors that practically start screaming when a value is off, to the minute details, such as grabbing a set of gloves from the glove compartments hung against the walls, unwrapping medical supplies, moving machinery around on unoiled wheels, and the constant pacing footsteps of nurses flying around like busy bees.

But Jungkook preferred that, preferred the noise over the silence any day. Which is why he hated his sessions so much; the kind nurse guided him down the hall before entering a room. She let him enter first before plugging a set of gloves from its respective box before checking his vitals, jotting them down, before giving Jungkook a moment to settle.

Jungkook sat at the edge of the hospital bed, not yet wanting to lay down on the thin mattress. There was a process to this he had grown accustomed to; first, the nurse would check his vitals, then he’d wait— that following silence taunted him with gruesome ambition. Then, the doctor would arrive, observing the progression of Jungkook's health and determining the speed at which he was actively deteriorating. Then the doctor would leave, and silence followed before a nurse pushing a heavy, modified centrifuge entered. Lastly, Jungkook would dance with unconsciousness for approximately four hours until the Satan spawn was removed from his arteries.

The entire process had made Jungkook so incredibly anxious the first time he had done it, but his Halmoni had been there with him. Holding his hand, fussing over him, and eventually taking him down to the bakery across the street when he was done, those moments filled him with a gentle warmth because he hadn’t ever asked Halmoni for any of it. They weren’t even related, but the old witch saw something within him that Jungkook might not ever see. But she loved him, and in all her disorganized glory, Jungkook loved her, too.

It was that very love that prompted him to grow more silent over his festering condition. Why he had eventually asked her not to accompany him anymore because seeing the sheer amount of sorrow in her old gaze whenever the doctor confirmed his worsening symptoms and not the desperate hopes she clung to about his improvement made Jungkook take care of his diagnoses independently.

He couldn’t stand the sight of her spirit and hope dying alongside him.

Jungkook hadn’t changed doctors before, but he couldn’t exactly make the ten-hour trip back to Busan for every appointment or check-up; that would be an absolute hassle; besides, he had an illness to cure. He couldn’t necessarily afford many distractions, and he needed to consume what little energy he had left for his research. He couldn’t take time off once every two weeks just to get an apologetic look and poorly hidden pity from a doctor or nurse three towns over. So, Jungkook allowed his primary provider to share his medical history and current treatment plans with this new doctor.

A knock on the door, followed by a gruff sounding “Mr. Jeon?” Was the only warning Jungkook got before the doctor entered. The woman seemed to be approximately in her late thirties, visible tiredness hanging from the slight discolouration underneath her eyes. Hair tied into a bun, with curtain-like bangs poking out and framing her face. Sharp, pointed ears sported elegant but subtle jewelry, making a bold guess Jungkook might assume the doctor was a fairy. Based on the pointy ears, the natural grace with which she sat down, and the purely calming—settling aura she gave off.

It was a stereotype Jungkook wouldn’t admit to socially. Still, it was relatively common that fae, witches, fairies, and elves focused their attention on healing and the general health of the magical society. But Jungkook couldn’t necessarily refute that stereotype, considering that he’s a part of it.

“I’m Sook Geumseong, and I’ll be your doctor for the foreseeable future. I have taken a look inside your medical history and treatment plans sent to me by your previous doctor, Mr. Jee.” Jungkook nodded absentmindedly, trying to snap out of the taciturn mindset he always entered when in a hospital. It wasn’t his fault ; he didn’t want to be here, after all. It was simply easier to nod and drift off than currently be present.

Geumseong nodded, making a slight hum as she spun in those small half-stools with wheels at the bottom. She typed a few curt sentences into her computer, the soft clicking of the keyboard doing little to put him at ease.

“Any new symptoms that have occurred within the last two weeks?” She asked, gaze now locked onto his. Suddenly, Jungkook got the impression that Geumseong was a very efficient person.

He nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat as he pulled up his sleeve. There, against his pale skin—an unfortunate side effect from his illness—stood imposing black veins along his left wrist. That morning, when Jungkook had been woken by his alarm and Balam. He had nearly refused to leave his bed; the temptation to hide and sulk within the comforts of his downy fortress was impossible, especially with Balam swiping at his face.

The freshness of his confrontation with Seokjin, Namjoon, Jimin, and Taehyung stuck fresh in his mind and body. Brain-wracking senselessly over everything he had said, over everything he hadn’t said, or everything he could’ve said. Body, an accumulation of relief, heaviness, and bitterness, and an odd sense of guilt . Because throughout the jumbled mess, he could still hear Seokjin choke on his sob. Blinking, Jungkook could see Jimin's reddened cheeks and raw-bitten lips. And although it had somehow fulfilled him during that moment, Jungkook hadn’t felt satisfied.

Seeing Jungkook's hyungs, his old lovers , in pain didn’t relieve his own. It didn’t mend the six years spent sulking and healing, bandaging wounds that had just started scabbing over. Seeing his hyungs again, they’ve all been reopened. But yelling and spreading more grief didn’t help him in finding more bandaids or bandages, and it didn't provide him with a sling or crutch. It just left everyone aching, and Jungkook felt so tired of hurting.

It was the sound of a knock, knuckles hitting against the wooden door, that prompted him to sit up. For a moment, tense and nervous that one of them would enter. Jungkook couldn’t afford to lose the little safe space he had left. But that didn’t happen; the sound of someone clearing their throat was slightly muffled against the wall between him and whoever was outside.

“I—I’ll leave your breakfast outside. I know you said not to call you for breakfast or anything, but—well, you didn’t eat dinner, so—” Jimins voice mumbled, rambling on as Jungkook could practically picture the blonde wringing out the end of his shirt nervously as he talked.

It was the short, hiss-like voice of Yoongi that he could distantly make out. “Jimin, let him be now!”

Balam had perched herself back on his desk, tail swaying as she glanced at the door before back at him. It amused Jungkook because if she could, she’d probably be scowling with a raised brow at their behavior. It also reminded Jungkook that their late-night fiasco must’ve been passed on to the two absent witches.

It was good to know Yoongi still understood and respected personal space as much as he had done back then, too.

But Jungkook hadn’t heard the sound of footsteps padding away, only the silence as he anxiously waited for any sound to indicate Jimin's departure.

“There’s so much I want to say, Jungkook I—”

“Jimin!”

A pause, the sound of a sharp inhale, and ruffling outside the door followed.

“Have a good day, Jungkook. Drink lots of water and stay hydrated, yeah?” Jimin finished, the subtle sound of defeat infiltrating his tone before the sound of footsteps told Jungkook of Jimin's departure.

Once Jungkook was sure Jimin and no one else was in the hall or nearby, he opened the door. Gawking at the tray that stood before him, a small bowl with what he assumed to be miso soup, steaming gently beside another small bowl of rice and a side of banchan. He picked it up, kicking the door closed gently behind him with the heel of his foot. Walking over to his table, he sat the tray down. An uneasy feeling settled inside his stomach, making him subconsciously gnaw on his lip piercing. Along the tray was a folded piece of paper, folded in half, the cardstock material stood up. It was noticeable and a part of him dreaded the message that could be written on the note.

“Breakfast in your room?” Balam questioned, but that tone of her voice gave hint to her subtle disapproval. It was clear that although she encouraged Jungkook to take his time with handling his situation, she didn’t necessarily approve of his hiding habits.

Nodding numbly, Jungkook felt conflicted. Somehow, it felt as if accepting the meal would also be him accepting the small gesture of apology. But Jungkook didn’t accept their apology, no matter how exactly their remorse was shown.

Letting the food sit on his desk, he eventually grabbed the note meant for him. Sitting on the edge of his bed, stomach tied in knots, Jungkook was about to fold the paper open properly when a spine-curdling sight crossed him. There, where his hoodie hiked up at his movements, showed his wrist, but unlike the usual assortment of small blue, green, or maybe purple veins, now stood in terrifying vividness—thick, black veins. The dark lines faded into his palm, most prominent around his wrist and a little down his forearm before fading. They were spreading.

Jungkook knew what this meant, but it was such a rapid change from two weeks ago. Why hadn’t he noticed earlier? Grabbing the end of his now rolled-up sleeve, Jungkook roughly pulled the fabric back up. Covering the sight, he leveled his breathing. Perhaps it was his own fault to be so caught off guard. He had noticed the gradual change in his skin; once tanned and healthy-looking, it had now grown pallid and dry. That happened weeks ago. The note, now long forgotten, fell beside him onto the mattress as he jumped to get ready.

Which is how he had found himself here, sitting in front of his doctor, Geumseong, slowly rolling up his sleeve. He didn’t even notice the chill all hospitals came with like usual; no, his body was cold. A part of him wasn’t sure if that was a byproduct of his fear and anxieties or another symptom. Presenting the disturbing sight of black arteries replacing his blue ones. The doctor didn’t need to say much; the subtle, sharp intake of air was enough.

This wasn’t a good sign.

“Have these appeared anywhere else?” Her straightforward, authoritative voice questioned.

Shaking his head, he watched as a small flicker of relief flashed within the doctor. But it was quickly replaced with what he assumed to be pity; they both knew what this meant.

“We’ll have to double your treatment plan, replace it from every two weeks to one.” Nodding, Jungkook let out a long, tired sounding sigh.

“You’re all set, Sir; take as much time as you need.”

The dizziness eventually diminished, that signature odd tingling leaving from his fingertips and feet. The debilitating weakness that would usually follow faintness gradually said its goodbyes and the signature ding from his phone alerted Jungkook to a notification.

Reaching out to his phone, he managed a weak smile at Yugyeom's text notification. Upon their last meeting, the two friends hurriedly exchanged numbers. Jungkook still felt in slight shock, or rather, disbelief, that Yugyeom held no resentment or reclusiveness towards him. No, it was like he and Jungkook had never parted.

Yugyeom:

“Has your appointment finished? I’ll pick you up! Mark suggested we go to Enchanted Brews. The café just opened up, and since you’re in town right now, I thought we could eat lunch?”

Smiling slightly, the message reminded him of the café visits he’d indulge in with his Halmoni. Besides the old witch and Yugyeom, no one knew about his condition. In some ways, it was comforting to have his closest friend be there for him. It filled him with a fluttery, light warmth, similar to when one would get to bask in the warmth of golden hour. It felt good.

Somewhere in this cold body of his. There was a subtle warmth. Similar to when the meadows get covered in a layer of thick, frosty ice. Making a once lush field plane, berron, and monotone in its white colors. But then, as the first primrose pokes its head out to greet the warming air. Jungkook, too, felt something bloom subtly within him.

Jungkook:

“Just finished; I'll be outside in a minute.”

It was bizarre, the feeling of knowing someone was waiting outside the hospital for you. It made the lingering smell of rubbing alcohol and sterilizing cleaners escape his senses sooner. Slowly lifting his body in an upright position, he slung his legs over and off the hospital bed. Waiting a moment as if to challenge the dizziness to return before he slowly stood up. Patting down his pockets—these appointments always made him so forgetful—before heading out. Back down the hall, past closed-doored rooms.

A lingering thought washed through him as he walked—as if the very words he formulated were written in sand. Will I die here—among these sad, dreary walls of white? Although most of his wardrobe consisted of black, Jungkook loved color. The vibrancy of life was stunning, a combination of pure, raw beauty that had no benefit to gain from its resplendent nature. What did the sky gain from painting the heavens? When a bunny hops between the blades of a thriving meadow, what does the grass gain from its rich shade of green? Or the poppies from their dying red?

Color was a sign of life, and when Jungkook walked along these erie corridors, past the reception with faded pink chairs. A sense of urgency, a need tugged him forwards.

He will not die here.

Opening the front glass door of the hospital, a breeze of fresh air fanned his skin. Somehow, it felt welcoming. As if greeting him back to the world of the living, even in its freshness, threatening to tint the tip of his nose pink, he welcomed its presence with open arms.

“Jungkook!”

And just as those solemn words were carved into the sand, the sight of Yugyeom, smiling at him from across the street, was like a wave, crashing against the shore and washing them away.

No, Jungkook would most certainly not die here.

Yugyeom had crossed the street, a slight skip or pep to his step as he sauntered over. A smile, genuine and significant, was displayed across the witches' features. A contagious happiness that seemingly infected Jungkook within minutes, the usually brooding sickly witch breaking his misanthrope-like persona rather quickly. Yugyeom had hooked his arm against the crook of Jungkooks, leading him down the street and away from the hospital.

The town adjacent to the university was quaint and consisted of considerably more foot traffic than vehicular. The streets beside the sidewalk are no longer a flat pavement but a combination of closely arranged cobblestone.

“How’d your appointment go?” Yugyeom asked, breaking their streak of idle chit-chat. At least, Yugyeom considered the topic of his coven—one Jungkook knew nothing about— idle . He was reeling; the thought of having missed the moment of Yugyeom finding his own soulmates left a bitter taste on his tongue and a sinking feeling in his gut. He had missed it . He had missed hearing about their first meeting, had missed Yugyeom's first date, and had missed the day the witch completed the bonding ceremony with his soulmates.

It made the words of abandonment echo inside his soul, his mind reeling on the fact that, effectively, he was a stranger. Yugyeom had been okay with him leaving, or rather, hadn’t stopped Jungkook from leaving. But the sickly witch felt uncertain how deep that okayness actually went.

“—Jungkook? Hello, earth to Jungkook?” Yugyeom called out, drawing out the words theatrically as he stopped. Waving his other hand in front of Jungkook's face, successfully snapping the witch out of his guilty stupor.

Yugyeom, unaware of the heavy turn Jungkook's feelings went, snickered, amusement clear in his expression. “Where’d you run off to this time?”

“I’m sorry, Yugyeomm.”

Just like with his first apology, Jungkook watched as Yugyeom's carefree smile turned crooked and forced before resigning to its fate entirely.

“You already apologized, and I already told you that it’s fine—” The witch began, but a shake from Jungkook's head hauled him to a stop. Throughout their time, Yugyeom learned through the rare times Jungkook would talk to let him express what he needed to before jutting back in.

“It’s not, though. I’m sorry, I really am Yugyeom. I missed so many special moments in your life; you were there for me. But I wasn’t there for you.” He began, for a moment, not meeting his friend's gaze, inhaling sharply as he collected his thoughts before returning to those clear, bordering eyes. “I can’t,” He began, his own face contorting into one filled with regret. “—can’t change that. But I can promise you now that I’ll be there.” Grabbing Yugyeom's hand, he gave it a gentle squeeze when he finished his sentence. A silent, physical reminder that he was actually there. That he meant it.

“And I’ll be staying, Yugyeom. I’m done hiding; I’m done running. I want to be a part of your life again. If you still want me to be in it, of course—”

Jungkook's words were cut off by the force of which Yugyeom hugged him, the witch's arms wrapped around his neck. Momentarily knocking the air and his words out of him. It took Jungkook a moment to process, his own arms hovering over Yugyeom's back. Before the sick witch fell into the embrace, hiding his face in his friend's shoulder—arms snaking tightly around Yugyeom, as if the witch would slowly evaporate within his hold.

“Oh, Jungkook, I missed you,” Yugyeom admitted, the words making Jungkook's arms tighten as he exhaled shakily. Yugyeom's jacket muffled the sound.

“Whatever the world holds for us now, let’s face it together again, yeah?” Yugyeom suggested, a hopeful tone dominating the otherwise emotional voice Yugyeom spoke with.

Unwilling to shed tears in public, Jungkook nodded. Letting out a sad, wet chuckle. “Yeah, let’s face it together.”

The rest of the walk was subtle and easy-going, the sight of what Jungkook assumed to be the cafe approaching. It had a similar style to his Halmonis bookstore in that the bottom floor was styled differently, the second floor remaining simple and most likely only serving as an apartment. The block the establishment was located in split the road, creating a Y formation where the streets parted ways. The store was, literally, a corner store. A set of two doors, blunket in color, provided entry to the cafe. Adjacent to the doors were carved, varnished wood beams with a deep but aged appearance with two large rectangular patterns carved into the panelling. The designs were growing much darker, nearly black in color from age. Nailed against the wooden beams was a black picture frame displaying the menu. The sides of the cafe, besides the large, open windows, had its wooden frame painted a matt black. Over the entrance doors was a neatly hidden wooden ledge, an extended assortment of vines growing down onto either side of the doors. The bougainvillea and purpleleaf grape vines mingling well with the otherwise green foliage, it almost gave off the appearance that the entry to the cafe was somewhat hidden. The plants were supposed to remain above striped, black, and white awnings; however, the vines had grown bulky and already begun to stretch over the protective fabric.

The cafe was clearly busy, bustling with customers inside and out. Small, circular tables and woven chairs hugged closely to the outside of the store were already occupied. Entering the cafe, the overpowering aura of magic filled Jungkook's lungs with a quick glance around the otherwise lively space. He watched how brooms swept the floors by themselves, washcloths wiping over vacated desks, dirty dishes collecting themselves and floating into the kitchen. Once again, the sight of such mundane magic made Jungkook's heart swell. Although he can no longer indulge in magic himself, being able to observe it, practically living all around him, felt somewhat consoling.

The cafe had its charm, mimicking the same aesthetic as its outside within the store. Matt blacks, rich varnished woods, and plants decorated their surroundings. A black, spiraling staircase stood beside the end of the counter. Leading to a second floor, which remained open and covered only one half of the remaining cafe. Delicately designed railings line the open wall. The occasional lamp, chandelier, or lined LED gave off a warm orange light. Mixed with the dominant scent of grounded coffee beans and vanilla, Jungkook knew he’d visit this place more often. Walking over to the counter, Jungkook couldn’t help but smile a little as the fae took their orders. The sight of two large, ivory wings resembling those of a bird. Pointed ears, adorned with hanging jewelry, and pale skin. Within the midst of Busan, Jungkook hardly ever saw a lot of magicals. Sure, the occasional creature here or there. But it was no secret to anyone that magicals preferred to stick together, making small towns like these heavily populated with all kinds of magical folk. It made Jungkook feel strangely at home.

With their orders placed, Yugyeom and he sat down at an available table. They had chosen a table on the second floor, hugging the railing and giving them a good view of the interior design and general clientele of the cafe.

“You know, you never did answer my question.” Yugyeom chimed in, having taken off his jacket and draping it over the back of his chair as he settled in.

Perking up, Jungkook shook his head as he shrugged. “Which question would that be exactly?” He mused, tone playful and a little jokingly exasperated.

“About how your appointment went,” Yugyeom reminded, and if he had seen Jungkook tense at the clarification, he hadn’t mentioned it. A long, calculated sigh escaped the sickly witch as he mulled over his thoughts and words. Having Yugyeom support him was a bittersweet but heartwarming feeling. But again, Jungkook found himself wanting to spare his friend from the gory details. There was a pause in conversation, Yugyeom clearly giving Jungkook the time he needed to formulate his response.

“Well, the procedure itself went fine.” Jungkook began, debating silently whether or not to keep his answer at that. But a glance at Yugyeom and a resolved shake of his head, Jungkook confessed.

“I’m, well—I’m getting worse.” He watched as Yugyeom inhaled sharply, his friend's chest filling with air and keeping it there for longer than necessary. A shaky, broken exhale followed soon after. But Jungkook was stuck trying to formulate his words in a way Yugyeom understood; unlike Jungkook, who had studied Astrobiomedicine for the past years and understood complex medical procedure terms and certain biological cell structures going on within him, Yugyeom didn’t. Jungkook knew from experience that adding large, imposing words to anxious confusion simply made things worse.

“Jungkook, will..” Yugyeom drawled out his words, looking away at the patrons below them as he seemingly swallowed a lump within his throat. “Will you be okay?”

Before Jungkook could answer that question, he was unfortunately interrupted by two flying porcelain mugs and two plates carrying a slice of strawberry shortcake. Their earlier placed orders floated towards them before gently landing on the table before them; the subtle smell of vanilla and latte, along with the warm breath of steam lightly kissing his face, Jungkook found himself relaxing a little.

“Yugyeom,” He began, his town a practiced level of clarity and stillness. “Nexus entropy develops in stages. But at its core, it develops when your magic grows unstable. The mana begins to attack itself, gradually becoming more corrosive as the disease develops.” Taking a sip from his latte, Jungkook let the bitter taste of espresso settle him. Glancing at Yugyeom to check if he was following, a curt nod from the witch was all he needed before continuing.

“Of course, there are all kinds of side effects throughout this process.” A dry, humorless chuckle escaped him. Recalling the restless nights spent in bed, tossing and turning because his entire body ached. Or the times when he would lose nearly all of his energy, spending days absolutely bedridden and at the mercy of his Halmonis hellish soups and regenerative concoctions. The spouts of nausea, vertigo, heat and cold flashes, headaches, the list was excruciatingly endless.

Sometimes, in his delusional state, he imagined Yoongi sitting by the end of his bed. Hand resting firmly on his ankle, a distant but reassuring touch, similar to how when he had gotten sick at the end of his first year. The stoic witch had feigned nonchalance at missing the ceremony—where the present witches graduated into a higher class—and remained by his side. Yoongi didn’t say much during those times, but Jungkook didn’t need him to. Whenever a cough would wrack through him, leaving him hunched over and wheezing slightly, that red string connecting their hearts would tug, needily, silently prompting Jungkook to lift his drooping head and look at Yoongi. To confirm to the older—secretly worried—witch that he, too, would be alright.

Jungkook still recalled his sheer surprise as he was startled awake, not even having realized he was nodding off until the door was nearly slammed off its hinges. His soulmates had ushered in, all still wearing their traditional ceremonial robes; if Jungkook didn’t feel like he had just trudged through the moors by himself, he would have smiled at their urgency to return to him. Yoongi, unlike Jungkook, was very unamused by the intrusion. Berating the others for waking him after having just dozed off. Everyone was there, in their tight two-bed dorm room, even Taehyung. That night was spent by six powerful witches desperately fighting the little gremlin that was Jungkook's cold. Namjoon constantly realigning or replacing the cold towel over his forehead, Jin having gone off before retrieving a steaming bowl of soup, Hoseok nudging a pillow behind his back and helping him sit up before subsequently feeding the steaming bowl of soup to him. Jimin was gently massaging his sore muscles, chatting aimlessly since the witch knew how much Jungkook hated silence. Surprisingly, Taehyung had helped with the conversation, helping in his own, reserved way. Yoongi, throughout all of this, had not let go of his reassuring hold on his ankle.

But opening his eyes, Jungkook would always be greeted by the sight of his white ceiling. The rhythmic patter of rain hitting his windows would never soothe him like Jimin's theatric gossiping, nor would soup ever cure what he has.

Clearing his throat to get back on track, Jungkook leaned his elbows against the table. “Well, I’m sure you know how mana works. Although it's spread throughout your entire body, it is most dominant within the bloodstream. Hence, when powerful magicals get injured, their powers quickly diminish along with them.” He made a slight motion of his hand, gesturing to his body as he explained their basic biology. Not because Yugyeom was dense or misinformed but simply because Jungkook remembered Yugyeom nearly failing their biology class.

“When mana becomes–” He paused, trying to find the right words for Yugyeom. “—Corrupted?” He settled on that, waiting to absentmindedly rub his cold thumb over his wrist. “It becomes visible; it turns black.”

Watching Yugyeom's eyebrows furrow with untold questions, Jungkook rushed to explain. “It’s kinda like when we cast a detection charm, and the magic surrounding you gives off a colorful aura? Dark magic usually has a red or black atmosphere, not because it has gained sentience and wants to appear all brooding and edgy, but because it's dangerous. Spells with red auras are that way because the spell caster sacrificed something to conjure it. Black auras aren’t given something; they take something. Similarly to how the color black absorbs the wavelengths of light.” Jungkook prayed to the gods that his explanation made sense. He wasn’t used to explaining his diagnosis; his Halmoni knew because the doctor had explained it to her for him. No one else knew. Well, besides Yugyeom.

Taking a moment to pause, Jungkook let his friend process his abbreviated explanation. “My veins are turning black because the mana inside me is consuming itself.” Jungkook's magic, his essence, was killing itself. Subsequently, taking Jungkook with it.

Yugyeom had stilled somewhat before beginning to pick at his slice of cake anxiously. No longer lifting pieces to his mouth but instead gently nudging a cut strawberry across the white porcelain.

Guilt crept up on Jungkook like an old acquaintance, tapping his shoulder before becoming his companion once more. He had never been able to forget the glassy eyes of his Halmoni, her gray eyebrows contorted and expression low. Seeing Yugyeom like this reminded Jungkook of the sheer helplessness he felt in those moments. Because what should he say? He couldn’t promise a brighter future, especially since he wasn’t sure if he’d even have one.

But the urge was there, persistent and relentless. Clearing his throat, he pulled the lost Yugyeom back towards him. Unable to bear the burden of those far-off gazes. “Do you know what a centrifuge is?” With a shake of Yugyeom's head, he continued, “Well, it's a machine that basically separates heterogeneous mixtures into their various components. Humans use a centrifuge to separate red blood cells, platelets, and plasma. The red cells are then transferred back to the human.”

Jungkook shrugged off his jacket, folding down the soft woolen ring around his neck to reveal a skin-colored bandaid. “Something similar happens to me; they take my corrupted blood—” He then moved to scrunch up the left sleeve of his black turtleneck until he reached the juncture of his arm. A bright turquoise self-adhesive bandage, bulging slightly where the wool swab laid underneath, “and transferred the “clean” blood back into my body. Devoid of any mana.” Pulling his sleeve back down and correcting his turtleneck, Jungkook leaned back against his chair with a tired sigh.

“The procedure takes about four hours.” He stated, watching Yugyeom's mouth gape. The witch had been awfully silent throughout his entire lecture, and Jungkook couldn’t really blame him. He wouldn’t be faring much better if he had just found out his best friend had a terminal illness and then gotten a crash course in said illness only a day later.

He should be in the lab right now. Jungkook thought absentmindedly, although even his own thoughts were laced with a bit of bitterness. Meeting with Yugyeom would never feel like a waste of his time, it just felt like something he didn’t have at the moment. He didn’t have any time left to spare.

“I—” His words choked him, their heaviness preventing him from pushing them from his tongue. He wanted to gag. “In order to give myself time, the mana inside me needs to be removed.” He repeated, frowning deeply. “I don’t really have any magic anymore.” He whispered, blinking rapidly to prevent the wetness clouding his eyes from spilling over. Mana was a part of a witch's soul. They were made of it. To be without mana— without magic , was a witch's equivalent to being a wanderer without a soul. Incomplete.

Before Yugyeom could shed a tear, something Jungkook now realized was a genuine threat. He reached out, plucking one of Yugyeom's hands and encasing it tightly within his own. He rubbed his thumb over the warm skin, a taunting contrast to his own, lifelessness. Lifting his head, Jungkook locked his gaze in with his friends—a steel-like, determined look and tone accompanying his promises.

“But don’t worry, Yugyeom, I might not have magic now. But I don’t need it at the moment either. I have enough time till the end of the year, and by then—” An auspicious smile graces Jungkook's features, “I’ll have a cure.”

A moment of silence, the nonsensical chatter, and gossip of other patrons felt distant, swallowed by a wave neither of them could see. The sound of silverware greeting porcelain, the coffee bean grinder below them, the opening and closing of the front doors. It all felt so distant as if Yugyeom and he were part of a much more melancholic reality. Before Jungkook's running nerves could force the silence away, Yugyeom spoke, “Promise?”

Now, Jungkook wasn’t in the habit of making idle promises. To swear on something he wasn’t certain about. To lie for comfort was never his style.

With a nod, Jungkook sighed. “I promise, Yugyeom.”

Internally, Jungkook hoped this wouldn’t be the first time he’d break a promise.

Yugyeom seemed satisfied with that answer before covering his face in the palm of his hands and sighing dramatically. “I leave you alone once! Once Jungkook.” He joked, pulling his face out of his hands and collapsing against the back of his chair exasperatingly.

And Just like magic, the tension between them faded into the air like steam. Finding himself relaxed, Jungkook lifted his now lukewarm latte to his lips, sipping on it with a new sense of appreciation. It finally gave him the right deck of cards to be the one asking the questions. With a mischievous smirk, he pointed towards Yugyeom vaguely.

“So, is that coven of yours responsible for that purple hickey on your neck?” Jungkook asked, tone casual and nonchalant as he poorly hid his mischievous gaze. Yugyeom blinked, once, twice, before slapping his hand onto the crook of his neck harshly. The sound made a few customers glance their way briefly, all bearing different levels of intrigue or confusion. Jungkook's shoulders slightly shook with how desperately he was holding in his own laughter. The heated look of Yugyeom before the witch grabbed their bag, rummaging through it before grabbing a small compound mirror and checking the validity of Jungkook's teasing.

Upon finding the dark, bruised love bite, the witch flushed. Grabbing some concealer and dotting it onto the spot, he tried to salvage a quick cover-up as he rubbed the pigment in. “And how long were you planning on sitting on that information?” Yugyeom asked a hiss to his tone. It was a fake kind of heat, even if Jungkook wasn’t familiar with it already; the slightly amused curling of Yugyeom's lips gave the flustered witch away.

Shrugging, Jungkook chuckled. “We were having a moment.”

“You brat.”

Jungkook laughed, rolling his eyes as he finished his latte. Yugyeoms feathers successfully ruffled, he could relax again. Watching his friend settle back down, putting away the compact and concealer with a bemused expression. “But seriously, tell me more about your coven.” He nudged, desperately wanting to make up for lost time.

Jungkook wasn’t exactly sure what caused his feelings of bittersweet nostalgia, the way Yugyeom lit up at the mention of his coven or the fact that the love-drunk witch couldn’t stop himself from gushing about them. Pushing those feelings aside, Jungkook felt himself feel happy for Yugyeom; his coven, a total of six members excluding the witch, sounded perfect for Yugyeom.

They seemed to make him very happy.

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maelstrom-of-emotions · 9 months

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Being the maknae, despite what people thought, wasn't just about being the youngest; it was about being the heart that beats at the center of their unity. And as everybody knows, in order to stay alive, the heart can't stop.

#jungkook-centric #OT7 #bts #bts jungkook #ao3 fic #ao3 fanfic #angst #fluff and angst #angst and hurt/comfort #angst with happy ending #bts jimin #bts taehyung #bts namjoon #bts yoongi #bts seokjin #bts hoseok

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bumblebwii · 1 year

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Louder Than Bombs

BTS x The Walking Dead

(Part one)

Yoonkook - Jungkook Centric - morally grey Jungkook (the apocalypse is difficult, okay?)

<3K words >4K words

The smell of gunpowder and wet mud clung in Jungkook’s nose, it was far from pleasant but had served to be a much nicer aroma than that of the dead. Flesh - rotting and raw - had to be one of the most disgusting smells on planet earth. Jungkook was sure that if times were different and he could be picky he’d revert to a strict vegetarian diet.

He would visit the store freely, loudly, explicitly and he’d grab one of the trollies with a now-dead joy, even if it had squeaky wheels that barely rolled in a straight line, and fill it with fresh fruits and vegetables, puddings - lots of puddings - he’d buy shower gels that smelled like heaven in a bottle, laundry detergent that made him feel safe and warm and he’d pay at the till with the largest grin on his face; thank the cashier, wish them well and be sincere about it. If times were different, he’d rush the food home so it didn’t go bad, wrestle his bike out of the little shed he had in his garden and head to the gym, spend an hour or so there before he’d head back home and message around to see if any of his friends were busy because he’d finally got a day off.

If things were different, Jungkook wouldn’t take the little things for granted. But things were not different, everything had reached its terminus, an end to those little segments of euphoria; an end to mankind as he once knew it. He probably wouldn’t last much longer, it was morbid but he’d grown to accept it, everyone in an apocalypse is just simply waiting to die; procrastinating the inevitable because humans could never really process abruptness.

Jungkook knew he’d die soon. If the living-dead didn’t get him, and the living-living left him be, then the hunger would take him out. He was surprised that it hadn’t already, he often ate not nearly enough or things that were so past its sell-by date that in the world before he’d have thrown it away in fear of food poisoning. Let it rot and mould over in some rubbish heap far away, wasteful but out of sight and out of mind.

The greens and browns of the forest were bright and refreshing, it was more life than Jungkook had seen in a year. A year. Jungkook could hardly believe the time that’d passed him by. A whole year since he’d lost everything he held dear to him, a year since the dead no longer stayed dead. A year since humanity died. A year since he watched the world darken like paper held tauntingly at the breadth of a flame.

The forested mountain range around him provided shelter; hid him from any potential threats but also hid the nightmares that lurked in the dark corners, the threats that he needed to see. Jungkook learned that the hard way over the past year; the bullet wound in his thigh was proving to be a scarlet revision card of the dangers that came with roaming the forest at the end of the world. Jungkook had travelled the country to get here, here to Busan. He’d be damned if he’d be taken out just as he arrived. The gun in his hand was heavy as he raised it to shoot.

He had lived sneaking around Korea alone for the past ten months, but originally started the first two months of this whole apocalypse malarkey with his boyfriend and brother. Jungkook had no sense of survival back then; could hardly hold his own weight, never mind a gun, he hadn’t been a threat to anyone but he pretended to be so he could become something of a rock for their terrified trio. A leader. Bluffing your way through an apocalypse was not wise. It was dangerous and risky because it was curtains if someone called your bluff. Granted, bluffing helped so much more than Jungkook gave it credit and he eventually could stop pretending. Although, by that point, he was alone and his heart had been consumed by the fall of humanity.

Jungkook remembers the day he was separated from the two most important people in his life. There were strangers trying to grow their group because safety was in numbers, mercilessness and strength, they’d offered to band together, said they liked the strength and stubbornness, but Jungkook didn’t trust them - he may have hated zombie movies but he knew well enough that stranger danger was intensified in an apocalypse. Jungkook couldn’t forget the narrowed eyes of whom he’d placed as their leader or the way his cheeks dimpled when he spoke and made a very contrasting attribute for a man of such intimidation, the stranger had power and planning, whoever he was, he definitely did not have to bluff like Jungkook did.

They’d all been milling around, too afraid to turn their backs on each other, it was no surprise when the hoard showed up, growling and groaning, a haunting noise that echos in his ears every time he tries to sleep. They let themselves be stupidly unaware for just a fraction of time and then they were surrounded.

He remembers catching one of the strangers huddling beside his brother, weaponless and terrified; Jungkook remembers the tears in the man’s eyes and the shaking in his hands. Jungkook trusted them at that moment, the group of strangers, that is, he realised that they were equals just trying to procrastinate the painfully slow process that was death. He thought it would be alright from there, there was safety in these people, they could survive together, they could trust each other. They were human, not yet the walking dead.

It was a small hoard to begin with, one they could tackle easily but there was a second wave stumbling not too far behind, lured in by the sounds of them all fighting. They fought together, bathing each other in clotted, rotting blood, the thick and sticky half liquid-half solid matter clung to everything like dead weight - literally - but at that moment, Jungkook hadn’t cared, he was too focused on getting Yoongi and Jimin and the lost looking stranger into safety.

Jungkook needed to be that one person he knew he’d shout at if he were to watch the scene play out on the television, because this was his reality now and he understood those foolish people on the screen. He needed to make some kind of escape for these people, otherwise they’d get too tired and all this fighting would be for nothing because they would be eaten anyway.

Jungkook remembers calling for everyone to head up the fire exit right beside them, remembers holding back a cry as he ran past it, hitting the top of a dumpster and began yelling, “keep going! Keep climbing! I’ll keep them distracted!” Jungkook’s heart hammered away in his chest like the drums of a heroic death. He needed to keep the dead’s attention on him so they would not grab at them as they climbed the ladders, but he was not going to die today, not a chance.

The hoard - about thirty of the dead - were quick, hissing as they stretched out their decomposing hands in close attempts of grabbing him, Jungkook was getting tired; struggling to keep his stamina in check. Jungkook realised he was stuck pretty quickly and groaned outwardly, this is why he hates these characters, this is why bluffing his way through the apocalypse was not a good idea.

Once he had lured them into the corner, he pushed the dumpster around to trap as many as he could before swinging his bat at whatever was left, but it was not enough and he fell, buried beneath gnashing teeth and rotten flesh. They were heavy and Jungkook cried out in a whirlwind of emotions but managed to use the kitchen knife in his hand to stab at the two above him before using the last string of strength to push them off and cursed the government for having the strict gun laws he had once admired.

He ran to the fire exit, unscathed and shaken, but stopped when the ladder was gone and the others were looking over the edge of the building. Jungkook cursed and ran to the next one, climbing quickly to reach the top. He had not expected to be met with a gun barrel, that had probably been stolen from the military sites, poised hauntingly at his glabellar once he had clambered to safety. “I don’t think so. We saw you go down. You've been bitten.”

The memories from there fade a little, between getting shot in the side - the angle of the shot skewed by his brother’s intervention and Jungkook waking up, covered in dust and blood beneath the rubble of the shop he had been standing above. At that time, he was sure he’d been reanimated - he sure felt like he had, the pain was unbearable - but once he came to, he knew he was alive, breathing, oxygenated, full of coherent senses and he had called out to anything, anyone above him, supposing it’d been no more than a few minutes and they’d be there to get him anytime soon. He had waited patiently, painfully using whatever he could to keep the slice along his hip clean, and the bullet wound uninfected but as minutes turned into a day and a day turned into a week, he knew they were not coming. They had abandoned him after he had risked his life to keep them alive.

For Jungkook, God - though he had never really been religious - had died and so had the only people in his life that he had left to love. Jungkook was alone and if he wanted to survive, he needed to move. So he left, forced his healing body to heal quicker, scavenged, learned how to survive alone, began to understand weaponry and bittered his heart for survival of the fall of humanity over the course of ten months.

Jungkook, who bluffed his way through absolutely anything and everything was dead too, he was still wasting away on that deserted shop floor, hoping that his long lost love would return to him. This Jungkook, the one calculating his next move, this Jungkook was a killer. Cold blooded, maniacal almost. He had become the walking dead. Sly, malicious, tactical in everything he did. This Jungkook had a rebirth, he was no longer the feeble caterpillar writhing around on the nearest leaf, he was a moth stuck in a person’s ear canal, dirty and irritating, awaiting the next host he could feed off of whilst simultaneously eating away the flesh around him.

Yoongi and Jimin were dead to Jungkook, it was what kept him moving, they were no longer there to weigh Jungkook down and pull him into tough situations like the last one they were in. Jungkook was free now, he could be selfish and survive peacefully, he let himself forget their faces, their voices, their habits, he forced away the memories of the gentle way Yoongi used to dance his fingers over Jungkook’s back and lull him into sleep. Jungkook forced his brain to discard all memories of Jimin sticking to the protective hyung role in all ages of their life and the way Jimin would come home with black eyes and busted knuckles for fighting the kids who dared to bully his nerdy little Jungkookie. They were gone and Jungkook forced himself to make sure they were completely gone, not even existing as one of the unfathomable walking dead.

The apocalypse was something weird to Jungkook, he wasn’t sure how it worked, even if some fancy scientist had explained it to him once, before he blew himself to smithereens, it still didn’t make sense, it wasn’t possible; how could it be possible? Bodies rot and, judging by the rate of decay in which the hoards he’d fought off were at, they rot faster when they’re reanimated, Jungkook couldn’t understand how they moved and saw and smelled their prey. There was no logic in the dead being able to hear and pinpoint the smallest of pindrops, how their rotting, sticky, foul smelling hands grabbed as harshly as they did or how they still had the need to eat. Jungkook had never understood it, all those comics and shows he could never really get into about the days of the dead had always made him want to roll his eyes; he preferred the slices of life, the plot lines that made sense and gripped your heart, the angsty stories and movies that have you sobbing into your blanket at three am.

It was ironic now, those slices of life were no longer slices of life, they were the fantasy, a fiction, a daydream some teenager would mope about wanting to happen, they would mope about being born into the wrong era, they would pout and hum long forgotten songs as they washed away the clotted blood and rotting organs from their clothes. That calm wave of life had gone, that normalcy that had been taken away from them, was a utopia craved by those within this dystopia that was created by the global governments royally fucking everything. A combination of population control, greed, medicine and poor communication skills. They let their dysfunction eat away at good, innocent people, it destroyed the world like everyone said it would but never stopped because no one can benefit from an equal world. Apparently.

The smell of gunpowder returned to his nose and reeled back his thoughts, away from what was to what is and what is, is fighting the living. The throbbing in his thigh needed to be pushed away, swallowed down to be digested for adrenaline. This was not how Jeon Jungkook died. Not yet, it was too abrupt and nowhere near as dramatic enough.

A group, three or so - Jungkook didn’t really get a good look at them - had not even given the lone survivor a chance before opening fire, they started this but that was okay because Jungkook would finish it. He’d survive this and win, even if it meant turning the beautiful forest into a cemetery. He wasn’t sure why they were shooting at him but he suspected stranger danger and desperateness for supplies, not that Jungkook had many of those - unless they were cannibals, he supposed; Jungkook had been there, tried that, it had been keeping him alive when stale food was unavailable. He’d already shot one of them, he heard the commotion of it, the loud thud of their body and someone’s gentle cry for them to stay awake.

Taking a deep breath, Jungkook pushed himself up on his uninjured leg and pulled up the small pistol he had stolen from one of the few untouched military bases at the edge of Busan, and he aimed right for where he saw an arm poking out from behind a tree and he pulled the trigger, hating the ache that the kickback sent jeering up his arms but cheering in a silent pride that he’d got another one of them, their cries of pain cutting over the gunfire echo that rained over them. He moved his gun again, aiming for the head that poked gently out from behind another tree to look at the one Jungkook had just shot, He pulled the trigger, taking a step forward as he did so, a mistake, he missed them by a couple of inches, hitting the tree instead, “bastard.”

Jungkook stumbled forward again, gun clenched tightly in his fist and he was on full alert, turning to shoot as he saw someone step out from behind a tree on his back left. They moved too fast for Jungkook to react to and he was tackled to the floor, the thud of it had been echoed by a desperate, pained, drowsy, “Yoongi!”

The dead would be there soon, Jungkook needed to get this over with and move on, he shoved the person off harshly and did not think twice about pulling the trigger. His unstable balance and tug of his heart at the name threw his aim further off and he hit the stranger in the side and there was another pained, drowsy, barely hanging on, “Yoongi!”

It made Jungkook’s fist clench tighter around the handle of the pistol in his hand, turning to the source of the shout. Gun aimed and hands shaking as he refused to let that voice, that familiar voice and the man trying to wrestle him to a stop with such a familiar name be the cause of his defeat. The voice was something soft and soaked in pain, something familiar, as their body could be heard crawling across the forest floor, held back and weak from where Jungkook had shot him. He knew that voice, knew that face, that cry, it reminded him of days running through the fields of the farm he grew up on, it reminded him of sick days in bed spent watching movies, it reminded him of light and happiness and the only family member to ever really enjoy Jungkook’s presence once he hit his teen years. It reminded him of everything he forced himself to forget.

He must have faltered for a second because he was soon met with a body, heavy and well built, overpowering him entirely tackling him to the floor. He relented with a grunt, his arm caught and twisted beneath the knee of whoever had pounced on him and his gun thrown off to the side.

“Don’t move or you’ll lose your head.” Jungkook huffed at the threat but remained still as the sting of a blade made its way across his throat. There was a ringing in his ears, probably from the come down of adrenaline, and the bullet wound in his thigh began throbbing in a way that brought Jungkook to breathlessness. He kept his eyes closed, doing his best not to writhe in pain but the person on top of him was heavy and sitting on the many wounds and their hand was pressed painfully into his chest as they kept themselves somewhat balanced; if they weren’t holding a blade to his neck, he’d have flipped them over easily. “I said don’t fucking move.” Their voice was deep and gravely, it sent chills down the back of Jungkook’s neck.

“It’s hard not to when you’re sitting on my gunshot wound and pushing your hand into my fucking sternum.” Jungkook groaned, opening one of his eyes to scowl at whoever was above him. He couldn’t see them clearly, however, because the sun was far too blinding to keep a focused eye.

“Jimin,” the man above Jungkook said tenderly, sadly, Jungkook couldn’t really see what was happening though and the blade at his neck seemed to dig in harder so he didn’t dare crane his head around. “How bad is it, Joon? Is he alive?” There was fear in the man’s voice, that deep gravel had long since cleared up, he sounded smooth and melodic, a love song Jungkook once played on repeat.

“Yoongi move, move so I can fucking kill him myself.” The leader scowled, his own pistol pointed at Jungkook’s face, his hand was shaking and there were tears clouding his eyes. The wounded shoulder he was spotting looked awfully painful and it brought Jungkook’s attention to his own wound once again and to the man atop of him.

Jungkook felt his heart plummet to his stomach, fear and excitement bubbling through him. “Park Jimin?” Jungkook frowned, his brother was alive and Jungkook had just shot him, apparently. There was something buzzing around his head and it made him light headed, there his brother lay, turned onto his back by the tall stranger and he was agonisingly still because Jungkook had shot him. The man Jungkook had once loved more than life itself was pinning Jungkook down in fear and hate, a boiling anger that could be felt in the reflection of light from the blade at Jungkook’s throat. It was an odd realisation, like a horde of the dead had fallen on him.

It was a pin drop moment, when the man above him leaned closer, a frown pulled together on his face and realisation flooding his brain, “Jungkook?” The relief in the man’s eyes had washed out instantly, replaced with a layer of white-hot anger. Jungkook didn’t understand why Yoongi would be angry, he was the one that left, he took everything they had for survival and they had taken Jungkook’s plan of returning to the farm in Busan and left him to become one of the rotters as if they were never in love, as if Jungkook was the stranger.

Min Yoongi was Jungkook’s first love and last string to the peace of the living world. Yoongi and Jungkook had been together for a majority of their lives, they dreamed of getting married one day but the laws were never passed and times changed and life - what was left of it - moved on. Still, they had worked to the bone to get a cosy little house and a garden, good jobs that they’d plunged themselves into student debts for, they worked hard for each other and their love and gave each other something that their outside world couldn’t. It was cheesy as cheesy could be but Jungkook loved that and would not have changed it for the world. They had been soulmates through and through and accepting that Yoongi had left him all those months ago - left him to die and turn - to do nothing but stumble around this grim abyss alone had been impossible. Now here they lay, Jungkook seeming to be the villainous dragon that Yoongi the noble, valiant knight would be protecting his people from if he chopped off its head with this big shiny sword.

Jungkook fell placid, all tension that had built up inside of him disappeared, as a menacing, taunting laugh broke past Jungkook’s chapped lips, a sound so unstable and crafted by months and months of poisoning his own humanity and smashing his once perfect moral compass into a million fragments and the name of his lover rolled off of his tongue like a poisoned arrow, “Min Yoongi. We meet again.”

#bts #bts au #bts zombie au #yoonkook #minimoni #jungkook #yoongi #jimin #zombies #horror genre #are these enough tags?#the walking dead shaped my teen years #villain #jungkook centric #doctor Taehyung #doctor Seokjin #villain jungkook #please read aha #yoonkook hyyh

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