Chapter Text
Jeongguk spends three days sulking in his bedroom. Mainly because he doesn’t understand why Jimin rejected his offer. Okay, he knows why.
He just doesn’t understand why Jimin’s rejection hurt him so much when usually he’d thrive off of it. He would piss Jimin off, make him radiate that addictive smell of smoke, and then enjoy the way Jimin would remain in an awful mood for the rest of the day thinking about how Jeongguk fucked with him, not once calming from his rage until he’s had his revenge on Jeongguk’s body the right way which perfectly returns the favor.
Thinking about Jeongguk, that’s the point to be noted, the rest is collateral damage that Jeongguk has to deal with.
What he aims with all this, he hasn’t figured it out himself. But what he achieves from it, Jimin’s undivided attention wherever and whenever, to be the only person on Jimin’s mind, have his share in Jimin’s life, is good enough to keep his villain role up.
And Jeongguk has always loved being just that. It’s how they were meant to be, after all.
Then why does it hurt now more than ever? He can’t understand. This is all he’s ever gotten from Jimin; doubt and anger. His mistrust shouldn’t prick him like a million needles, especially not after being (rightfully) subjected to it for eight years. Yet, it hurts enough that Jeongguk doesn’t even leave his room for three days straight now.
He looks out his bedroom window when a loud thunder booms. The sky is grey and gruesome, the lightning sharp and loud, the rain’s pitter-patter angering him because it resembled the way his heart was weeping while his mind was numb. This was inevitable, the heartbreak. Jeongguk has known it since forever now.
And he has a self-help plan ready for it.
Once he graduates, he’ll go and find every man that looks like Park Jimin, make them fall for him then break their hearts and leave them to rot. He’ll marry a woman to please his father, let her fuck around the same way he will, have her bear some random dude’s babies, and carry the Jeon heritage — however fake it is — while he forever lives to become the devastatingly handsome heartbreaker vampire, with his own heart broken beyond repair. He’ll have his personal collection of ruining boys like Park Jimin, and will undoubtedly make it his undead life’s only purpose.
If the world will be merciful on The Chosen One, he’ll meet Park Jimin when he’s old and wrinkly and rub his lavish immortality in his face, making sure Jimin feels every speck of pain he inflicted on Jeongguk.
If he didn’t have so much respect for the Jeon name, he might just.
The only time he did leave his room was when he tried cornering his aunt again to get more details about the vampire attack, but Jeongguk’s hunch was wrong as she was just as much out of the loop as he was. It’s as though the attack never happened, The Mage wiped all records clean.
Jeongguk has never wanted to kill someone more than he does right now. An urge that’s lived in him since forever, but never acted upon because of a certain idiot with messy hair and smokey scent. He takes it all out on his guitar, the metal strings burning against his calloused fingertips, his ears ringing from the loudness of his abuse.
“Master Jeongguk,” his nanny says as she opens his bedroom door after a knock, interrupting the noise pollution with a wince. “Your friend is here.”
“Tell Seokjin to just come up, Vera.”
“No, it’s… not Seokjin. It’s a boy with curly hair, and he’s wearing Watford’s uniform.”
Jeongguk’s eyebrows furrow as he raises his head off his pillow and stares back at his nanny questioningly. She shrugs, saying something like he’s quite the mess, and Jeongguk is throwing aside his precious instrument and shooting up his bed at the speed of lightning. He stumbles and almost falls face-first on the way to his dressing mirror, running his fingers through his greasy locks and grimacing at how apparent it was that he hadn’t showered for three whole days. He fishes out his wand, casting a clean as a whistle spell on himself to seem presentable, and sprints out of his room, all within the span of a minute.
Then he rushes back into his room to change into a clean shirt hastily just in case it still looks tragic, running his fingers through his hair again to slick them away from his face, and finally huffs out in moderate satisfaction at the sight of his reflection.
He pauses at the top of the stairs, breathing in deeply to calm his heart, then descends to find the guest.
There Park Jimin stands on his doorway rug, dripping from head to toe with muddy shoes and trousers, looking so lost and intimidated that Jeongguk has the sudden urge to coo at him. He doesn’t, damn his instincts, he’ll never coo at Park Jimin unless he’s a ghost haunting Jimin — which is another alternate self-help plan, if he were to somehow die before this idiot boy messing up his doorway dies.
“Jeongguk. You’re— You’re wearing jeans,” Jimin gawks at him.
“You’re wearing half the country’s cow shit,” Jeongguk retorts, equally stunned at the other’s appearance but better at hiding it than Jimin.
“The taxi driver refused to drive uphill,” Jimin says after a minute of staring at Jeongguk’s thighs that makes him itch with the urge to squirm, tone accusatory as though it’s Jeongguk’s fault. “Said something about the manor being haunted.”
“It is.”
“Why did I even doubt it,” Jimin mutters under his breath.
He swallows as his chin raises and his lips set into a thin line. Jimin has the longest neck and the most prominent Adam’s apple, and every time he swallows, Jeongguk thinks it’s a whole fucking show. A show that leaves him dumbfounded. As always, Jeongguk does little to hold his gaze away from it. Sometimes, despite himself, he wonders how it would feel under his palm. If it would be just as showy up-close, if Jimin could manage a swallow with Jeongguk’s teeth clamping onto his Adam’s apple.
Jeonguk is so, so, disturbed.
“Park, you’re dripping on a very expensive rug,” Jeongguk comments after several moments of silence pass through them, not knowing what else to say.
“I’ll— uh… buy you a new one?”
“Spell it clean,” Jeongguk shakes his head disapprovingly, stepping closer until he’s an arm’s length away from Jimin. Even as a mess, Jimin looks beautiful enough for Jeongguk to scream curses at him in his head. “Light the match, blow out the tinder.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Just try,” Jeongguk sighs softly, and considers it progress because Jimin huffs as though in defeat. He points his palm over the rug — never one who could be confined with wands — closes his eyes, and with a sigh casts sparkly clean. The rug dries up that instant, and Jeongguk points his wand onto Jimin to spell him clean before he dirties it again.
Jimin flinches at the sudden burn of Jeongguk’s magic, then soothes with a sigh as he rubs his palms together.
“It worked,” Jimin whispers while crouching down to touch the rug, his trousers stretching over ridiculously thick thighs, a brilliant smile overcoming his features. “It actually worked!”
“Baby steps, Park. Anything can work if you’re patient.”
“Like you and me, too?” Jimin grins wider, Jeongguk scoffs to hide the way his cheeks begin to warm up as whatever blood in his body is rushing up to them.
They can work too, Jeongguk thinks, if they tried.
“Jeongguk,” Jimin’s grin disappears when Jeongguk motions for him to enter, visibly stiffening with a clench of his jaw that has Jeongguk raising his brow questioningly. “We need to set some rules.”
“We can set them in my room, Park.”
“I’m not entering until we declare a truce,” Jimin shook his head.
“We already have—”
“A magical truce.”
Jeongguk freezes in his post, the harsh blow of reality punching him square in the gut.
“Shit, Park. I thought we were past the needless distrust.” Jeongguk says. He didn’t want to, he never wants to show Jimin any weakness, but it’s getting harder and harder to keep himself veiled. He can’t expect Jimin to trust him if he keeps pushing Jimin away and leaves him dumbfounded.
“Needless,” Jimin scoffs. Jeongguk hates the sound of it. “I need your word you won’t push me off the stairs.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Jeongguk buries his hands in his pockets to prevent them from choking Jimin to death.
The truth is Jeongguk wouldn’t ever do that, and the previous event where he did push Jimin down the stairs was just an accident. He’d cross his heart and hope to die if he could, truly. It was just mere luck — unluck — he threw a punch while they were fighting on the top of a staircase and Jimin went flying down the stairs because his limbs were rarely of any use to himself. There was no genuine intention behind it — there never was.
Although he didn’t back down from the accusation. When his aunt asked if he did throw Jimin down the stairs, he replied with an enthusiastic hell yeah, what else did you expect? It was all for show, just a facade, and it damaged them tremendously.
“If you have no intentions of killing me, what’s the problem?”
“The problem?” Jeongguk snaps. The problem was that Jimin’s face held so much doubt it pierced through Jeongguk like a blade. The problem was they had only six months left at Watford and the more the clock ticked the more panic grew inside Jeongguk that time was running out. The problem was that their climax was approaching, against each other when the war commenced, and Jeongguk desperately clawed onto any given opportunity to prevent it. The problem was that the more he felt time slipping away, the more he saw the aftereffects of years of villainy on Jimin, the more he grew frustrated with himself. And he couldn’t fix any of it. “There’s no fucking problem.”
“Good,” Jimin raised his hand, Jeongguk clutched it in his own hand brutally. Jimin winced at the strength, and Jeongguk couldn’t bring himself to ease his grip. He couldn’t bring himself to not hold onto Jimin for dear life. So desperately. So hopelessly.
“Truce,” Jeongguk spat.
“Truce?”
“You must know what the definition of that term is, Park. No aggression.”
“No aggression?” Jimin looked down at their hands, how his hand began to turn the faintest shades of blue under Jeongguk’s grip.
“No deadly acts of aggression.”
“Fine. Swear it.”
“Cross my heart and hope to die,” Jeongguk waved his wand over their conjoined hands and vowed. “Until the end, we shall not part.”
Were the situation not so cruel, Jeongguk would call it a confession.
Jimin is a bigger bloody mess during dinner. If Jeongguk wasn’t so desperate to keep him here, under his roof where he’s well fed and looked after, he’d be taunting his every breath.
Instead, he sits across Jimin and watches him scuffle about the ten utensils placed in front of him, picking up the wrong one every single time consistently. Fucking idiot, Jeongguk mutters under his breath, every syllable dripping with endearment inside his head. Convincing Jimin for dinner wasn’t all too difficult after the truce, although Jeongguk did have to force him into more appropriate clothes — his clothes, to be precise. His shirt that is a little too long on Jimin and his jeans that are a little too tight around his groin.
Jeongguk doesn’t know what to do with himself. He can’t stop blushing — as much as a bloodless vampire like him can, anyway.
Park Jimin is sitting in Jeongguk’s dining room, wearing his clothes, eating rice with a fork.
He pinches himself just to be sure he isn’t dreaming, an antic that’s starting to occur way too frequently. Way too frequently to be considered healthy for Jeongguk’s state of mind.
None of this is doing him any good, he knows it.
Knowing he’s in love with Jimin, branding every spot in his house that Jimin has touched into his memory to trace over later when Jimin is gone, creating all these fantasies in his head that are bound to be shattered cruelly one day. Jeongguk knows it’s too much, way too much to be considered okay, he shouldn’t be doing this to himself. But he can’t help it — he can’t help but let himself indulge, deeper and deeper.
For eight years, Jeongguk had nothing but hurt and curses from Jimin’s side, nothing to go on with anyway. It was simply helpless pining. Now, he is running out of time, only half a year left with Jimin, and Jimin is giving him too much. All of this, all these feelings and the hurt that comes along with it, it’s only going to make it harder for Jeongguk to let go.
But he can’t help himself, he can’t help but take.
It can’t be worse than being hopelessly in love anyway, certainly impossible to get any worse either. Jeongguk is at the very limit, on the precipice of love-or-die according to the rules of love: either jump with all that you’re left with, or stay right where you are and wait for the ground to give in beneath you.
His father keeps sending him side-eyed glances, but Jeongguk doesn’t bat an eye. Tonight, he’ll allow himself to indulge.
At least as much as Park Jimin’s allows him to.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
Jeongguk wearing jeans hit Jimin in a part of his brain that one can’t physically feel. He felt it though, like a needle-shaped sword was just plunged into his brain through his eyes. Jeongguk looked amazing.
No, amazing would be an understatement. He looked marvelous. Like how you see an actor playing some fantasy character in a movie, their features heavily edited through the C.G.I. or the makeup, and then you see their real face on some talk show and you’re left stunned at how good-looking they are. Jimin just saw Jeongguk out of his fantasy character, out of the thick vibrant coats and the dark slacks, and he theorizes that perhaps his brain has stopped working completely.
Then he looks down and notices he’s eating rice with a fork and confirms his theory.
“So, Mr. Park,” Jeongguk’s father starts off with a tight-lipped smile halfway through dinner, his voice catching him off-guard during his scenarios of Jeongguk in jeans, setting off alarms in Jimin’s head enough for him to subtly reach down to his hip in case of an attack. Jimin looks at Jeongguk momentarily with alarm apparent on his face, noticing how he isn’t eating and the food remains as it was served. Jimin tries to remember if he ever saw Jeongguk eating at all. Jeongguk doesn’t return his look. “How’s… school?”
“Good,” Jimin nods fleetingly.
“We appreciate the visit, but what is it particularly for?”
“Um— it’s—” Jimin hesitates, wondering if telling the truth would be the same as writing a suicide letter. I have strong evidence that my adoptive father killed your wife, and Jimin thinks that’s enough to have him staked on a log and thrown into the middle of a forest for wolves to feast on his body.
“A project,” Jeongguk interjects.
“Oh, what about?” His father turns to him, practically winking. Jimin feels nauseous all of a sudden.
“History.”
“Science!”
Jimin stares at Jeongguk as they both blurted out at the same time, Jeongguk’s father glancing between them for a moment of pregnant pin-drop silence. Jimin feels his cheeks heating up under the intensity of Jeongguk’s gaze, but luckily Jeongguk’s father only barks out an elegant laugh and pats Jeongguk’s back as though he’s proud of him.
“Ah, right. Official business only, eh, Mr. Park?”
Official business, as though Jimin is sent as an informant of The Mage rather than a fucking peer of his son. He smiles tight-lipped, pushing around the food on his plate and not once daring to look at Jeongguk again in case he sees any exchange between the father and son that he shouldn’t.
“Father, you can call him ‘Jimin.’” The name slipped out so naturally from Jeongguk’s lips as if he’s only ever called him that. He never actually has, not once in eight years.
“You don’t call me ‘Jimin’,” Jimin mumbles to himself, hoping Jeongguk’s ultra-powerful vampire hearing can pick it up.
“And your fath—” his father continues the interrogation but is thankfully interrupted.
“Are you done?” Jeongguk asks rather hurriedly to cut his father off, gesturing to Jimin’s plate. It’s obvious that he’s far from done, but he nods anyway. When he looks at Jeongguk’s plate, the food is still untouched. “We’ll be in my room, father.”
Then they’re off up the stairs, Jimin trailing behind Jeongguk, gawking and wondering if his ass has always been this good or it’s just the jeans making it look rounder and firmer than usual.
Jeongguk’s bedroom is no less than a Victorian prince’s chambers. The thick velvet curtains drape over the french windows leading out in the balcony, the blood-red walls making the room look smaller at first glance, the burgundy antique furniture doing no good to the suffocating feeling of the room. It’s so typically vampirish, ancient, and posh. Jimin vaguely wonders how it looks like it came straight out of a Game Of Thrones episode, except for the weird giant stuffed teddy bear propped against the headboard in the middle of Jeongguk’s bed which Jimin wants to question but knows he won’t get a straight answer for it.
“The sets were inspired by our manor, and Mr. Loaf is not weird,” Jeongguk remarks, shaking his head at the way Jimin thought out loud. Jimin slaps a hand on his own mouth and squeaks under it. “Seriously, you never learn.”
“I can’t help it,” Jimin sighs exasperatedly, embarrassed at the way he’s always so loose-tongued on the worst occasions, which are usually around Jeongguk. He rubs his hands together in nervousness, the feeling of Jeongguk’s burning magic still lingering under his skin. “I have a direct brain-to-mouth connection. No bumps in the road.”
“Shut up.”
“That’s precisely what I cannot do.”
“Park,” Jeongguk sighs to put an end to their banter, Jimin enjoys the view of his hand tucking his loose strands behind his ear. “Why are you here?”
“You invited me.”
“And you rejected the offer,” Jeongguk reminds him.
“I can always leave,” Jimin says, internally panicking that Jeongguk would kick him out. He knows that he shouldn’t be ready to risk his life at the Jeon manor even if his adoptive father is a fucking lunatic, but he feels dread seep into his gut at the idea of leaving Jeongguk’s presence so soon.
It’s a bit unsettling, so he pushes the thought and the feelings it brings away.
“It’s the middle of winter and ten in the night, you walked for an hour, and your hair is still sopping wet,” Jeongguk shakes his head instead, catching Jimin off guard. “You’re staying.”
“Cool,” Jimin smiles, relief flushing through his body. “Cool, no big deal. I’ll stay at a haunted manor with a family out for my blood.”
Jeongguk gives him an unimpressive look. He walks up to the fireplace in his room and settles down before it, gesturing for Jimin to sit with him. Jimin does so wordlessly, speechless because the sight of Jeongguk’s pale skin being washed over by the fire’s orange light makes his stomach flutter and his throat clogged up. The flames dance in his deep grey orbs, as though Jeongguk was made of fire too, as though that trait is suddenly the most attractive thing in the world.
What the fuck? He questions himself, a constant occurrence now. Pleasant? He has yet to decide.
“How come you don’t eat?” Jimin blurts out instead, steering his mind away from dangerous territories.
“What?”
“I’ve never seen you eat.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” There’s a tick in Jeongguk’s jaw that indicates how Jimin is very much correct.
“I’ve done my research, you know.” Jimin goes on anyway, ever so unrelenting with his confrontations. There are no boundaries with Jeongguk, anyway. “Vampires need food too. And I know you don’t eat raw meat, the dead bodies of rats and cats and my dog hold testimony.”
“I did not drain your dog.”
“Don’t you dare lie about Muffins!”
“Hear that? The name drained him.”
“You’re so sick,” Jimin seethes, mind running past the fact that Jeongguk didn’t deny draining the cats and the rats. “So fucking sick.”
“Park,” Jeongguk sighs as he squeezes his eyes shut. He looked tired, messy, out of patience. Jimin had never seen these cracks in his demeanor in all eight years and yet has seen enough cracks in just the past six months to entirely change his perception of Jeongguk. As though he’s just as human as anyone else. As though he’s just as alive too. Jimin didn’t know what to do with that. “I don’t like eating in front of others. I already ate before.”
“Oh,” Jimin replies dumbly. “Even at Watford? You’d eat before?”
“After,” Jeongguk corrected. “I’m good friends with the cook. She understands me.”
“Oh,” Jimin repeats again, equally dumbly.
He feels like an asshole. And it’s strange, because all Jimin has ever done is attacked Jeongguk’s weak points: his vampirism, his villainy, his evil plots, and his ambiguous survival. Yet this attack, this particular one that Jeongguk actually owns up to, makes Jimin feel like a complete asshole. He’s ashamed, and there’s no returning from it.
“So, I’m guessing something happened?” Jeongguk changes the topic as though he sees Jimin’s discomfort. Jimin almost thanks him in abundant gratitude before he realizes it’s fucking Jeon Jeongguk in question.
“A lot, actually.” Jimin’s face hardens as he blinks away the flood of lunacy in his head. “What about you? Did you find anything?”
“I was reading up on vampires,” Jeongguk says evenly, as though he isn’t one. Jimin has to bite back a snarky remark like for self-help?
Instead, he asks, “What did you find out?”
“That they’re dead and evil and like to eat babies.”
“That’s…” Jimin frowns. “Dead?”
“Like a corpse,” Jeongguk grins so wide it looks severely forced. Jimin has to shove his hand under his butt to prevent it from swinging across and slapping the hideous grin off his perfect face.
Perfect face? Good god, Jimin.
“What else?”
“That they’re,” Jeongguk sighs uncomfortably, Jimin doesn’t feel apologetic for once. He wants Jeongguk to feel bothered, at least enough to fucking out with it already. Jimin considers spelling with a truth spell, just to end this ridiculous secrecy between them. “They’re strong, physically.”
“We already knew that,” Jimin glares at him harder, hoping it could convey his annoyance wholeheartedly.
“Did we?” Jeongguk snaps, then squeezes his eyes shut before continuing. “They have sharper senses… I think. They see in the dark, they can hear more than mages, they can smell things others can’t. They’re also immortal, but they are prone to diseases. Just not fatally.”
“So they don’t die?”
“Park, they’re already dead. Their souls die.”
“Bullshit,” Jimin snorts.
“How the fuck would you know?” Jeongguk barks, but his voice remains neutral.
“Observation.”
“Observation?” Jeongguk laughs, an actual melodious pitchy snorting laugh. Jimin doesn’t like the lilt of sadness it brings along. “You can’t observe a soul, Park.”
“Of course you can!” Jimin argues nevertheless, hating every second of this conversation. How dare Jeongguk think he’s not alive? How dare Jeongguk just disregard all the force behind his words, all the hurt from his blows, all the times his evil mastermind plans sabotaged Jimin? A dead person can’t possibly do that, they can’t. “I think I’d know —”
“It’s death,” Jeongguk says bluntly. “Because they need to feed on other lives to stay alive.”
“That’s eating,” Jimin argues, his magic surging under his skin all of a sudden. “Everyone does that! Fuck, we just had steak. That was once life. Even vegetarians eat life.”
“It’s death,” Jeongguk trudges near him with a determined look on his face. The flames are wild in his orbs now, wilder than ever. “Because when they’re hungry, they can’t stop thinking about eating other people.”
Jimin forcefully leans back, not because he’s scared, but because the look in Jeongguk’s eyes looks awfully like a predator’s. Like he’ll whip out his fangs and drain Jimin dry, like he’d not even apologize for it after he’s done.
“Have you ever?” Jimin whispers before he can stop himself.
“Park,” Jeongguk pulls back again, laughing out loud. “If I was a murderer, you wouldn’t be here.”
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
Jimin doesn’t know he’s playing with fire. Fuck, Jimin can’t even be sure if it is fire. Jeongguk has never given any hint of being a vampire, but Jimin’s obsession with outing him must have given him clues that never even existed. He must have found out something, seen something, kept a record of the dead rats and cats in catacombs. Perhaps technology has evolved, perhaps they can trace the venom in their dead bodies back to Jeongguk.
Fuck, Jeongguk should’ve burned them all. He’s such a bloody fool.
“You’re not a murderer,” Jimin presses on, more of a statement than a question. The words irk Jeongguk, makes him want to pin Jimin to the ground and ask for the proof he’s assembled, ask if there’s The Mage’s army standing at the door of the manor waiting to arrest Jeongguk.
Would they arrest him? Or would they crucify him? Or would they just yank a flame at his face and watch him burn like flash paper? Would Jimin do that to him, after all this?
“Of course I’m not,” Jeongguk says, voice raised despite his efforts.
“And you’re not dead.”
“Fucking hell, Jimin,” Jeongguk runs his hands through his head, agitated and frustrated over this entire ordeal.
Jimin doesn’t understand how it kills him to talk about this, about who he really is. About the way he knows Jimin’s peachy scent under all that smoke, about the way he goes crazy when Jimin bleeds, about the way Jimin’s cross creates static sparks in his salivary glands every time he’s near him. Sometimes it’s so strong Jeongguk has the strong urge to knock him out, yank the cross somewhere it can never be found, and do despicable things to his body.
Kiss him? Kill him? Both, one after the other? Then Jeongguk grimaces at the thought of becoming a necrophile.
Jimin doesn’t even know what he does to Jeongguk.
“Fine, I’ll just write a fucking book over it and prove it to you.” Jimin has the same look on his face as he does when he sets out to kill something.
“A book? How to train your vampire, a book by The Chosen One, Leading Expert on Vampires. Real original.”
“I might as well be,” Jimin frowns with knitted eyebrows, gaze falling onto his lap to stare at his fidgeting over them. Jeongguk wants to reach out to him, hold Jimin’s hands in his own, warm up his own cold skin through Jimin’s heat. Fucking hell, inviting Jimin was not a good idea.
“You?” Jeongguk asks with a raised eyebrow, eyes practically begging to change the subject. “Or you were too busy lazing around and sneaking into the kitchens?”
“Jeongguk,” Jimin chuckles, then frowns deeper as he braces himself for what’s to come. “Jeongguk, I think the vampire attack wasn’t a coincidence.”
“What?”
“I think… I think they were invited into Watford by a mage. I think it was The Mage.”
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
Jeongguk doesn’t take the news too well, but that much was expected. Jimin also expected to be the punching bag here, but Jeongguk shows no signs of breaking their truce. Whether it’s intentional, or because of his magical promise, Jimin doesn’t point with confidence. Although for reasons unknown he dearly hopes for it to be the former.
His eyes darken impossibly with a tremble of his lips, and he’s shoving Jimin away with a sharp hiss as though he wants to create distance between them. Then he parades around his room, running his hands through his thick long locks as he breaks whatever’s in view and seethes with profanities. It’s all expected, Jimin’s seen this anger in Jeongguk before. This frustration is what he’s familiar with. Jeongguk turns back to Jimin as his eyes hold fire, so bright and so fierce that Jimin considers touching him just to know if he’ll burn.
He doesn’t dare to, though.
And he isn’t even given the chance to either because they’re interrupted by a knock on Jeongguk’s door, his housemaid cracking the door open to monitor the damage Jeongguk’s done to the room.
“Sir?”
“It’s all good, Vera.” There’s no venom in Jeongguk’s tone, no hiss, rather a forced gentleness that puts Jimin off. Jimin vaguely wonders if perhaps this is the reason every teacher loves him, his despicable respectfulness towards the elders. It makes Jimin smile.
“May I clean up?”
“No need, I’ll do so. It’s my mess.”
“Sir…”
“Vera,” and Jeongguk grows genuinely gentle this time. “It’s late. Do go to sleep, yes?”
God, Jimin can’t put a word to it, but that gentleness makes his chest bloom with something so strong it almost chokes him.
Jeongguk is just… extraordinary.
Extraordinary in the way that he’s built on contradictions. How he is made of fire, but can be lethally harmed by it. How his words slice like daggers, but his eyes hold a unique kindness in them. How he is a menace, and an innate jerk, but when it comes to being a gentleman, Jeongguk is on top of the list. How he’s never dared to use his vampirism against Jimin, but promises to kill him one day. It’s confusing, but that’s Jeongguk for you.
“Hush, hush,” Jeongguk spells his room sound-proof as he locks the door behind Vera, all before he’s yelling out a string of questions and ranting about the tyranny of The Mage. Long gone is the gentleness, now there’s just unadulterated rage in front of Jimin. Jimin answers every question without hesitation and makes sure to narrate every single detail of the conversation he had with the elf, even if some of the words physically sting Jeongguk.
“Tell me you hurt that elf, Park.” It was uncharacteristic of Jeongguk to demand justice from Jimin, not that Jimin minded. Not at all.
“He’s probably cooked to the bone in the oven by now.”
It makes Jeongguk’s mouth twitch, as though he was smiling despite his anger. Jimin took it as a win.
“So what now?”
“I contacted Yoongi,” Jimin explains.
“You told him?” Jeongguk’s tone turns accusatory.
“Told— Don’t be ridiculous,” Jimin snaps involuntarily. “Yes, I told him I was visited by your mother but that was all. He doesn’t even know I’m here, for fuck’s sake. It’s not his business.”
“Want an award? Oh, the Chosen One kept a secret! Oh, oh! Hurray!”
“You’re such a jerk, Jeongguk. Put a pause on the headassery for two goddamn minutes.”
“What’d you ask him?” Jeongguk asks after a deep breath and a moment of silence.
“On the ride here, I borrowed the driver’s phone. He says he’ll email me whatever he finds in his father’s computer.”
“He’d do that?” Jeongguk asks, his eyes awfully hopeful despite his sharp words. Jimin has to push down the urge to hold his face between his hands and shush away his worries.
Jesus, Jimin. What is wrong with you?
“He’ll be done any moment,” Jimin nods with a thick swallow, diverting his attention to his bag to pull out the books he stole from the forbidden library. “His father keeps all the sealed files in his computer, he’ll send all the relevant ones. And I brought these.”
“How did you get these?”
“Taehyung broke the seal on the forbidden library ages ago. No one’s noticed it yet. He also adores your mother so I asked him what books I needed— For research, I didn’t tell him anything. You douchebag.”
Jeongguk looks up at Jimin as though he’s endeared and impressed, and it makes Jimin’s stomach lurch with pride. Impressing Jeongguk isn’t something he’s managed to do in eight years, and now he wonders why he never even tried. He learns that he rather enjoys his impressive gaze more than his impassive glares.
What is happening…
“I didn’t know you had it in you, Park.”
“Had what?”
“Breaking the rules. Against The Mage.”
“Desperate times,” Jimin shrugs.
Jimin pretends as though it doesn’t ache him to say those words, as though going against his adoptive father doesn’t set a lump in his throat. Even if things aren’t all too confirmed, even if there’s still doubt lingering in the air, even if The Mage might not be associated with any of this, Jimin can’t bring himself to take his side. He may not have the courage to punish him, he may even defend him, but deep down in his mind he knows that he can not — he will not — stand with him.
The Mage may have given Jimin a name. He may have taken him in, given him magic, recognition, identity, a purpose to live. Even if Jimin owes that old man his life — a borrowed life — he can’t stand for him. Because that, in some weird way, feels like betraying Jeongguk.
And no matter what they’ve been through, what Jeongguk has done to Jimin, how much hurt resides in Jimin, and its only source being Jeongguk, Jimin will not — can not — betray Jeongguk. He doesn’t need any fucking reason for it.
Jimin is a fool, damn him.
They surf through the books, finding four articles on the vampire attack ten years ago, neither giving them any information other than what they already knew. Except one, that stated that the attack counted twelve vampires, but the forensics could only detect the ashes of eleven vampires.
“What does it mean by ‘ashes’?”
“Vampire death doesn’t leave bodies behind,” Jeongguk explains as he reads through another book. “It’s more like getting cremated. They burn like flash paper. That’s what my father told me.”
They. It irks Jimin even more now, that even after all he’s willing to give up for Jeongguk, he can’t even have his confirmation.
“What else did your father say?” Jimin urges, hoping that this conversation will lead to the confession he’s waiting for all this time. Park, I am a vampire. You were right all along. Instead, he gets shuts down again. He thinks he deserves that at the very least, an admission of who he truly is, a door to let Jimin in. It’s entitlement, Jimin is aware of that, but he needs it.
He needs Jeongguk to trust him.
“The subject rarely comes up,” Jeongguk snaps. It sets Jimin on edge.
“How do you expect us to work together if you won’t tell me?” Jimin’s tone grows angrier with each word, angry at himself for his ridiculous hope of earning Jeongguk’s trust more than anything else. “I already know! Just give a fucking admission like a true mage.”
“How the fuck is that bullshit relevant?”
“Bullshit?”
“It is bullshit.”
“We’re dealing with blood-sucking vampires, and you are a blood-sucking vampire! How is it not? Jeongguk, you can trust me!”
“Trust you? After you threatened to out my mother’s visit to that fucking bastard?”
“I didn’t!” Jimin flinches at the accusation. “I wouldn’t! Not if he’s part of the attack! But we don’t know that yet. He could be innocent!”
“Oh, so you still think he’s savable? You think I’d let him go after all this?”
“Nobody’s perfect. Plus, in case you forgot, he’s my father! We can simply confront him and understand his reasons and motives!” There’s a sour taste in Jimin’s mouth when he says that, but he can’t help himself. The element of protecting his father still lives in his mind.
“Park, there’s no anathema here,” Jeongguk hisses in a dangerously low tone. “Get back to read— I got the email.”
“What does it say?” Jimin jumps nearer to read over Jeongguk’s computer screen, only to be pushed away.
“Don’t come near me, peasant.”
“Wha—”
“It doesn’t have anything,” Jeongguk states after reading it out loud eloquently. “Except for an address of the vampire den that was suspected to be behind the attack, and the name of the twelfth vampire part of the attack who survived my mother’s wrath.”
“Who are they?” Jimin asks, his heart beating in his chest.
“His name is Choi Yeonjun,” Jeongguk vehemently says after a moment of pregnant silence. “And he won't stay alive for too long.”
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
Jeongguk didn’t sleep that night.
He couldn’t, even if he tried to focus on Jimin’s even breathing as he softly snored, splayed half-naked on Jeongguk’s bed. Jimin was like that; pass out at the first yawn, rip his shirt off, ever so trained in living through stressful situations that they no longer affected him too much.
But it affected Jeongguk too much. He tried to calm his anger down all night, just by watching Jimin’s chest rise and fall in accordance to his breaths, by staring at the plumpness of his lips, by watching his eyebrows twitch as though he’s having a nightmare about the Humdrum again. He watches all night, watches Park Jimin sleeping in his bed, and perhaps it does calm him for the time being.
Last night, after all the clues were compiled and Jeongguk sat stuck with the dilemma of what to do, Jimin inched closer to him and wound an arm around Jeongguk’s shoulder. It had Jeongguk freezing in his post, hunched over with his hands tangled into his hair, while Jimin side-hugged him and squeezed his arm around Jeongguk, all the while whispering assurances into his shoulder with a blindingly kind smile.
“It will be okay, Jeongguk,” he said, as though Jeongguk’s world isn't falling apart. He pushed Jimin off.
“Is that what your friends say every time you burn a village down? Because it won’t be okay, it hasn’t been okay, it shows no fucking signs of being okay — you’re so insufferable. Your incessant hope is infuriating, your magic is pathetic, everything wrong with me is because of you!”
Jimin didn’t retort, not even a huff. He didn’t dare touch Jeongguk again after he was violently pushed away, but he didn’t move away either. He only sat there while Jeongguk threw a pile of insults on his head, listening to every word with guilt written over his face. It was unnerving, it was terrifying. It helped him calm down.
It was nothing. Bare-minimum human courtesy of platonic comfort.
And yet, it was everything to Jeongguk.
Everything he’s ever craved for in these eight years with Jimin, everything that he can never fully allow himself to enjoy as the pestering duties bestowed by his family lie on his conscience. He breathes out through his nose when Jimin turns in his sleep and rests on his stomach now, the constellation of freckles running down his back reminding him of all the moments when he sought comfort in Jimin’s skin while struggling through life.
All the times Jimin has spared his life even though he could easily end him, giving Jeongguk second chances and thirds and hundreds and thousands with no indication of stopping anytime soon. He thinks about all the ways Jimin has helped him, knowing and unknowingly, and all that Jeongguk has given in return is nothing less than shit. He thinks about Jimin sleeping soundlessly in his bed right now instead of running to The Mage.
How much he wants all of Jimin, how much Jimin is willing to give, and how much he’s undeserving of it.
He hates himself for what he is, and all that he can never be as Park Jimin deserves.
But by the time Jeongguk is walking out of his room to visit his father’s study, the anger has doubled.
“Guk,” his father greets as Jeongguk enters the library with a respectful bow. “About time we talked.”
“Father,” Jeongguk swallows thickly.
This day was inevitable; when Jeongguk would have to stand before his father and refuse the only mission he’s ever sent on all his life.
The thing is, well, Jeongguk isn’t a murderer, he meant it when he told Jimin that. He found it ridiculously unfair that his father forbade him from feeding on humans being an actual vampire, but expected him to harm Jimin. Jeongguk had never even hurt a fly, all the forced aggression living inside him was only ever aimed towards Jimin, to keep up the facade, live up to the role. But that, a cold-blooded murderer, a pawn in a war that can change the fate of the entire world — to live as someone he wasn’t — Jeongguk couldn’t bear it anymore.
The thing is that he’s spent too much on Jimin. Too much anger, too much time, too much love. Jeongguk was killed at the age of ten, he lived aimlessly for the next two years as though he was lost, and then the universe handed him Park Jimin. He was handed a purpose to live again. He was handed his life back.
How on earth did it expect him to finish off that purpose with his own hands?
This day had to come, because no matter how big of a lunatic The Mage was, no matter how powerful of a threat Jimin was, no matter how damned their fate was, Jeongguk just couldn’t kill him. He couldn’t, even if he made several attempts, even if they were brash and deadly and they could never return from it, even if the damage was already done and Jimin would never fully trust him again, even if they were fated for this, he couldn’t.
Not Jimin, never Jimin.
“I must say, you’ve outdone my expectations,” his father smiles proudly. “Luring him here, absolutely brilliant, son. Is it done? Is he already dead?”
“He’s not dead. He won’t be.”
“Not for long though, eh?”
“Father, please…”
“Oh, so you’re keeping him as a hostage to—”
“I’m in love with him.”
“—negotiate with The Mage and… what?” the proud smile replaces with a look of utter shock. “What did you say?”
“I’m in love with him, Father.”
The library falls silent as Jeongguk feels the phantom heartbeat inside his chest beating quicker. His father’s face falls, turns white before it starts to bloom into red, betrayal, and fury written in bold letters in his eyes that Jeongguk can’t bring himself to meet.
“Jeongguk… what?”
“I can’t do it,” Jeongguk shakes his head. “I haven’t managed to so far and I don’t intend to in the future. Even if we get to the point of the war, I am not laying a hand on Park Jimin. So I request you to find someone else for the job.”
“What are you saying, son? Why all of a sudden…”
“But I must also tell you that whoever you send after Jimin will have to go through me first,” Jeongguk can feel the tremor in his hands alleviating as the harshness in his father’s eyes grows colder. His rambling doesn’t cease, his words continue to flow, his heart continues to stay dead yet beating in his throat. “I won’t ever sit back and watch. I can’t, so if you’re declaring war against Jimin instead of The Mage then consider me against you, too. I’m sorry. I love him, Father. And after everything, after everything that he’s given me, I can’t do that to him. I never will.”
He expects to be slapped, or to be written off, maybe even burnt right there. It is what he deserves, he thinks. Choosing the enemy over the man who’s protected his life all this time. Hell, Jeongguk doesn’t even deserve to die again. They should just throw him in the jungle to live the rest of his life as some undignified animal. That would be a better punishment.
Instead, his father deflates as he thumps into his seat.
“That explains a lot.”
“Father—”
“I don’t want to discuss this any further,” There’s ice in his tone, but it doesn’t bother Jeongguk as it should. Rather, he feels relieved. Unburdened. Lighter. Freed. “Please leave.”
Jeongguk wasn’t planning to discuss Jimin any further. He was planning to finally tell him about his mother. About the veil, and the twelfth vampire that survived, and that he was headed to their den right after to capture and torture him for information before he incremates him to ashes.
He doesn’t say anything, however. He nods curtly before he exits the library and heads right to his car, not once pausing to fetch Jimin with him.
He shuts the manor door behind him before his eyes meet Jimin’s, the latter casually leaning against the hood of his car.
“Go back to Watford,” Jeongguk sneers at Jimin, earning a nonchalant head tilt in reply.
“I don’t think so. I’m coming with you.”
“Park, I swear on the Devil—”
“I’m not leaving you alone,” Jimin argues, his tone sharp, his shoulders pulled back. As though he’s heading into battle. Jeongguk wants to punch his guts out, then maybe crush his body into a bone-cracking hug.
Instead, he marches forward and shoves Jimin away with a harsh force.
He’s lost his mother to his damned kind, he’s not about to lose Park Jimin too. It’s not even as though he expects Jimin to be vulnerable — no, the odds of his death today are higher than Jimin’s. But he’d never, not in a million years, willingly take Jimin with him into the den of the cursed. Jeon Jungmi didn’t survive them, and Jeongguk wasn’t ready to test if Jimin would.
He waits for Jimin to scoff and leave, to shove him back, to curse him. But he gets nothing except a withered look pleading for Jeongguk to take him along.
“You’re not going without me,” Jimin almost sounds as though he’s begging Jeongguk.
He doesn’t reply, doesn’t trust his voice to not crack if he does. He gives Jimin a final glare before he’s hopping into his car and driving off without The Chosen One by his side.
It was always meant to be this way, he convinces himself as he watches Jimin in his rear-mirror staring at his car with a broken expression.
Ten minutes into driving, Jeongguk catches the sight of a giant bird in his rear mirror that makes him do a double-take.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
A year may have passed while Jimin stood in Jeongguk’s driveway, his car long gone at the speed of lightning to the vampire den.
Technically, Jimin knows Jeongguk can’t physically die again. He’s immortal, and he’s convinced enough by now to know he’s a vampire without any speck of doubt. Furthermore, Jeongguk is one of the most powerful mages on this planet, heir to the Jeons, charismatic and resourceful. There’s no situation too big for Jeon Jeongguk, no hurdle he can’t face, no threat too dangerous. The fucker has actively challenged the most powerful mage that has ever lived, nothing scares Jeongguk.
Although none of those known facts soothe the worry that looms inside Jimin’s chest.
Jeongguk is fierce and strong and invincible in battle, but he’s not the one trained for them. No, that was Jimin’s life, born and bred to fight. Jeongguk held a different destiny, and stepping into a den full of hostile blood-sucking monsters wasn’t part of it, regardless of the fact that Jeongguk was a blood-sucking vampire himself. He wasn’t accustomed to battles or wars, the only opposition he faced in all his life except Jimin was the monsters Jimin had to fight in battle, and that too was rarely done willingly.
Despite his instincts, he worries. Jimin nibbles on his lower lip as the worry starts to exceed, the thought of Jeongguk being captured and tortured by vampires was the worst kind of image Jimin had faced in a while. So much so that he squeezes his eyes shut and wills for his magic.
He doesn’t feel anything change, no smell of smoke, no spark of heat in his chest and limbs. But when he opens his eyes, he has wings.
Dragon wings, red base with orange veins running along over it, the corners sharper than his own blade, similar to the ones from the dragon he and Jeongguk saved.
And without another thought, Jimin soars into the sky, hoping he isn’t too late.
He can’t tell how long he’s been flying for, or where exactly he’s going because the sky is just a plain spread of blue and white. Jimin was born in Busan, he’s usually sent back to this city every summer, he knows every way. And yet, the vampire den’s address rang no bell in his head. As though it was hidden from the Normals, just the way Watford was, which made a whole lot of sense.
But somehow, after a while of confused flapping and no sense of direction, he spots Jeongguk’s car pulling up in front of a dingy diner in the middle of nowhere with just a single road leading up to it. He tries to stay discreet, hoping to flap around in the sky and only intervene if Jeongguk was in trouble.
Instead, he’s caught off-guard when Jeongguk steps out of his car and looks directly up at him before he’s slamming the car door shut and stalking towards the diner gates. Jimin blinks as he tries to understand what the gesture means, then chooses to dive onto the ground and figure it out while being closer to Jeongguk.
The minute he lands, Jeongguk gives him a deathly glare over his shoulder, not once pausing to explain his plan.
“You fucking nightmare,” Jeongguk seethes with a shake of his head but makes no effort to push Jimin away which Jimin perceives as a green light to tag along. The grin on his face is all but discreet. The wings disappear as though they know exactly what Jimin wants. It’s weird to have control over your magic for once. Weirder when Jimin thinks about how it’s always in control only when Jeongguk is concerned.
“What’s the plan?” Jimin asks once they’re through the gates and their entrance effectively shuts the entire diner up. It’s not wide, but every booth is covered with at least three vampires. Their fangs are out, their skins are pale, their eyes are bloodshot. They’re handsome creatures, graceful in a sense.
But not a single one of them comes close to the elegance and handsomeness Jeongguk holds.
“Choi Yeonjun,” Jeongguk steps up at the counter without acknowledging Jimin’s question, sliding his fingers towards the cashier with a raised condescending eyebrow. It takes a moment for Jimin to realize Jeongguk is bribing the cashier with a wad of cash.
The cashier smiles, her fangs long and sharp as they barge through her red glossed lips while her hands slide forward to enclose over Jeongguk’s hand sensually. She gives a sly smile, gently prying the bills from beneath Jeongguk’s fingers as though she’s making love to his palm, and witnessing the entire exchange makes Jimin want to punch her fangs into her skull.
He really must hate vampires.
After a good makeout between their hands, Jimin is fuming hard enough to throw off waves of smoke around him, and they’re headed to the back of the store where the girl had directed them.
“Park,” Jeongguk warns.
It does little to calm Jimin down.
And when Choi Yeonjun stands from the booth he was splayed over at the sight of Jeongguk with a sharp hiss, the smoke is thick enough to suffocate the entire room.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
Choi Yeonjun is an attractive fellow.
If he wasn’t one of Jeongguk’s mother’s murderers, or if Jeongguk wasn’t so hopelessly devoted to this idiotic man that smells like a chimney, he’d admire his beauty.
Instead, Jeongguk hisses back as his fangs pop out before he’s jumping the distance between himself and Yeonjun in one long step and pinning Yeonjun’s body to the nearest wall with a force hard enough to crush bones. The satisfying crack sound from Yeonjun’s back hitting the wall, along with his wail of pain, makes Jeongguk smirk like a madman.
“Hello, there.”
“Jeon,” Yeonjun spat. The river of vampires shoots up around them at the threat, but Yeonjun simply waves a hand and every single one rushes out the doors. Jeongguk pays them no heed, with Jimin by his side he was ready to take on an entire army. “Took you long enough.”
“So you know me.”
“A vampire with magic,” Yeonjun says casually, as though those words won’t allow the world to cremate Jeongguk in the middle of the street. “Everyone knows you.”
“Not everyone,” Jeongguk shook his head, the World of Mages was unaware, he was sure of it. “Just your cursed kind.”
“Really? Never wondered why they kidnapped you? They said you were smart, no?”
Jeongguk pressed Yeonjun harder into the wall, making the other grimace and groan with pain. The mention of the kidnapping makes Jimin splutter confusedly behind him, his own panic rising over how his suspicions of being targeted instead of used for petty ogre ransom were confirmed.
“How do you know of that?”
“We know everything about you,” Yeonjun spoke breathlessly before his dagger-sharp gaze shifted onto a flabbergasted Jimin standing behind Jeongguk. “And him.”
“Don’t,” Jeongguk warned, his fangs baring with a hiss as his arm dug into Yeonjun’s neck with a sharp pressure that has the latter forcing his gaze to look back at Jeongguk. “This is between you and me.”
“A weakness? How mage-like of you.”
“How do you know I was kidnapped?”
“Irrelevant. Think about why instead. It was the time of The Veil, wasn’t it?”
“Coincidence.”
“Sole motive.”
“No one knows.”
“He knows,” Yeonjun argues with a nod in Jimin’s direction. And then he spat, “His father knows.”
“It was The Humdrum,” Jeongguk clenched his teeth to keep his hand from crushing Yeonjun’s throat with the pressure. “He sent ogres after me.”
“Ha!” Yeonjun coughed out a laugh, even with his throat being pressed down. “Do you think there’s a difference?”
“What?” Jeongguk’s anger falters.
“The Mage,” Jimin spoke up from behind Jeongguk for the first time ever. “He… is the Humdrum?”
“The Mage. Ten years ago, he told you the Humdrum sent us, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it wasn’t the Humdrum.”
“What the fuck does that mean? Answer me!”
“Do the math, kid.”
Jeongguk’s anger soars as his forearm presses down harder, leaving Yeonjun gasping and clawing for relief. He knows Yeonjun is a valuable witness, but his emotions are getting the better of him. Before his eyes, he only sees the man that murdered his mother, and nothing else. He presses harder, Yeonjun’s eyes go cross-eyed as he begins to faint from the way his throat starts to give under the pressure, but before Jeongguk can do irreparable damage, he’s being hurriedly pulled away.
Yeonjun falls onto his hands and knees, violently coughing and gasping as he claws at his chest, and Jeongguk is already struggling to finish him off.
But he’s stopped, again, by Jimin. Jimin, who’s hastily pulling him back and turning him away from Yeonjun’s sight until all Jeongguk can see is Jimin’s wild baby-brown eyes, his curls falling over them, his mouth moving to calm Jeongguk down. He’s saying something Jeongguk’s ears can’t comprehend, one of his hands curled around the base of Jeongguk’s neck to keep him still, the other looped around his waist to hold him near.
He can feel his limbs turn to jelly when his mind clears enough to register what’s happening, the fight flushing out of his system as Jimin’s lips hit his cheek with whispered assurances.
This wasn’t part of the plan. Fuck.
There’s an ache in Jeongguk’s throat when he growls out pitifully, the feeling of Yeonjun’s throat against his forearm still fresh as the maddening urge to crush it starts to fade. Jimin’s scent of smoke makes Jeongguk lightheaded, the pressure of his palm at the base of Jeongguk’s nape the only thing grounding the vehement anger swirling inside his body, all his senses dumbing down with the feeling of Jimin.
Jeongguk’s entire body stays pressed flush against Jimin, for minutes or hours or months, time doesn’t matter anymore. His anger is long forgotten and the phantom beat of his heart returns stronger than ever.
The world begins to dim down around him until there’s nothing but Jimin that he can think of.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
Jimin holds Jeongguk close to himself as assurances rush out of his lips, and once he’s sure Jeongguk has significantly calmed down by monitoring the way his breath comes out evenly instead of ragged grunts, he gently sways him towards a booth and sits him down on it.
He knows he’s doing too much, too much to be considered normal towards your arch-nemesis. The rules of their truce yet still don’t allow such intimacy, to be holding your enemy with carefulness as you kiss their cheeks to calm them down.
This entire situation is running off-track, but Jimin wouldn't have it any other way. He’d do anything to keep Jeongguk from doing something he’ll regret for the rest of his life.
Jimin sits crouched before Jeongguk, his hands clutched onto Jeongguk’s frozen-cold ones while they rest on the latter’s lap, his eyes staring up into Jeongguk’s dark, dark orbs. Jeongguk’s orbs are the kind of grey that happens when you mix dark green and dark blue together, in a deep shade of grey that comes off as black unless you stare into them, often reflecting all sources of light before him like a glimmering mirror.
Right now, they’re the color of a wet pavement.
When he turns back, Yeonjun is sitting against the same wall he was almost choked against, staring at Jeongguk with a look of despair. And Jimin is raging.
Raging because this man, this abomination is the source of Jeongguk’s pain. This is the man who hurt Jeongguk, who took his life away, and now he has the audacity to regret it. No, Jimin’s skin radiates smoke as the magic flows under his skin. No.
He has the urge to punch that look off his face, no one gets to feel sorry for Jeongguk, especially the man who was part of murdering his mother. But he knows by now that violence won’t get them anywhere. And violence, Jimin thinks, is too merciful anyway.
So Jimin walks up to Yeonjun, the smoke of his magic slightly brasher in intensity but not enough to cloud his judgment, and he squats down at Yeonjun’s eye level with a fierce look and Jeongguk’s lighter flicking to life in one hand, demanding an explanation. Yeonjun curses under his breath as he flinches away from the flame before he’s ducking his head and starting off with a sharp sigh that indicates nothing but hopelessness.
“You know how old I am, Chosen One?” he asks, looking up at Jimin with a broken expression. He doesn’t wait for an answer before he continues. “One hundred and forty. It’s called a damned existence for a reason, you see. Everything ends, but our lives don't. This boy,” he gestures towards Jeongguk who sat a few feet away on the booth with a lost look, staring down at his hands as though he’s got nothing left to live for. Jimin doesn’t look at him, can’t be sure he wouldn’t cremate Yeonjun to dust if he sees Jeongguk right now. “He’s only twenty. He already knows loss better than I do. But you know what the saddest part is? That I’m the one responsible for it.”
“You’re barking at the wrong tree if you’re begging for mercy,” Jimin says with his ice-cold tone, bringing the burning lighter closer to Yeonjun’s face.
“Even Go-God doesn’t show us mercy,” Yeonjun gulped thickly. “I’m not excusing my actions, but I will give you an explanation. As you deserve. As that boy deserves. The only one wronged here, a faultless victim.”
“Your victim,” Jimin corrects with utter vehemence. Yeonjun flinches as though he was stabbed.
“Your father came to us eleven years ago.”
“The Mage?” Jimin’s jaw ticks with how hard he clenches it.
“The one and only. Brought his little army. Back then we lived luxuriously, you see. Not too damned for the World of Mages, living in harmony, in peace, as we all deserved. He was my friend, we called him Lee Minho. Did he ever tell you his name, Chosen One?”
“I never cared for it.”
“Predictable. He brought you up as his filter copy, didn’t he?” the words stung, Jimin thinks they were meant to. “And then your father,” Yeonjun hissed, making Jeongguk jump on the verge of another attack from Jimin’s peripheral vision. He held out his palm to stop and assure him, and it worked. “Your monster of a father attacked one of my hotels, where lived my wife and my brother, all that was left of my entire family, all that was left from my life as a human. I was desperate, I had to sacrifice their lives and turn them, keep them for myself like a selfish prick. I had to sacrifice my heart to keep them close to me, to keep them alive for myself.
“You wouldn’t know loss even if it slapped you across the face, you wouldn’t know my pain! And he took them. He burned them. He kept them alive on the verge of death, tortured day and night. And he said,” Yeonjun’s voice broke. “He said the only way to have them back was if I attacked the headmistress.”
“You’re lying,” Jimin whispered, earning a sharp look from Yeonjun.
“The mission was simple. He’d let us in, we’ll taint her reputation, and she’ll be forced to resign. But then at the last moment, at the very brink, he told us to turn the kid. Turn him. To take him away with us. To break her from the inside out to the extent that she never recovers. I didn’t want to, no — never — I was turned, I know the pain it entails. But… but I had to. I had to.”
“Things got out of hand after one of you bit him,” Jimin deduced.
“Yeah,” Yeonjun nodded. “She… used fire. No, she was fire. It wasn’t so bad until she saw her son being turned before her eyes, I can never blame her either. I ran away as soon as the flames hit, the others weren’t so lucky.”
“I guess this was worth losing your friends,” Jimin barked out mercilessly. “The only survivor of the incident, a damned existence indeed.”
Yeonjun shook his head, his face contorting into a sheer look of agony as the first sob escaped his lips. He curled his arms around his legs and pulled up knees and rocked, eyes flitting over Jeongguk who was staring back at them from the booth. He had no expression on his face, no anger, no fury, no grief. Just a look of being so lost that it broke Jimin’s heart into a million pieces.
“He killed them,” Yeonjun sobbed harder. “All of them! There is no Humdrum, Chosen One. It’s just your father! And that’s worse.”
Jeongguk doesn’t speak on the entire way back.
He drives in utter silence, not a single telling expression on his face, so utterly blank it made Jimin shiver with fear. He’s known Jeongguk for eight years, seen him at his very worst and his very scariest, these past few months have given him a glance at his very best too.
But this… this look on Jeongguk that isn’t evil, nor good. It’s just there.
It makes Jimin nauseous with discomfort.
He doesn’t reprimand himself for staring at Jeongguk’s side profile without abandon, staring intently with his magic drenching the car with the smell of smoke, the wheels in his brain running with possibilities on how to somehow fix this for Jeongguk. Somehow bring back the Jeongguk that he is familiar with. Somehow go back into time and spend more time with the Jeongguk he’s grown up with, to not take him for granted again.
Because Jeongguk, he’s not the same anymore. It’s been only an hour since he found out the truth about his mother’s murder, but Jimin can see how it has changed him. Completely. From the way his hair runs messily all over his face, from the way his grey skin burns with rage, from the way he looks as though he’s void on the inside.
As though he’s died on the inside.
“Jeongguk…” Jimin calls for him, trying to reach out for the Jeongguk he knows, the Jeongguk he can’t live without. “Jeongguk, please…”
Jeongguk doesn’t respond, doesn’t even give any indication that he heard Jimin. No, he simply stares ahead blankly, his hands around the steering wheel barely holding on, his eyes dull and unblinking.
“Talk to me, Jeongguk.”
Jeongguk doesn’t talk for the next minute, or the hour. Jimin can’t tell, time has become a useless ruse, nothing in the world matters at the moment as he watches Jeongguk’s heart breaking more and more, cracking at the surface as it shatters on the inside, Jimin’s heart breaking along it.
Jimin reaches out, hoping that the tangibility may be able to hold onto the Jeongguk he knows to be slipping away. His hand reaches Jeongguk’s arm, fingers clutching onto the black sleeve and tugging, and perhaps that was enough to break Jeongguk’s stupor because he’s hissing out a curse as he speeds the car up.
“Make way for the king!” he screams as the cars ahead of them part for theirs, allowing Jeongguk a clear pathway to speed along.
Jimin’s heart beats out of his chest, holding onto his seatbelt with dear life as his arm retrieves as though it’s been burnt by Jeongguk. The smell of smoke rushes out harsher than ever, Jimin’s magic prickling under his skin as the threat grows larger by every mile Jeongguk races through. He yells out something incomprehensible, the sound of the wind too loud for his voice to permeate through, and on his side, Jeongguk breaks beyond repair.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
None of it matters anymore to Jeongguk.
Not the undead life, not the will to live up to his mother’s name by avenging her, not the dread of living hopelessly in love with the son of his mother’s murderer. A single confession by a vampire in exile was enough to reduce Jeongguk’s entire life to nothing.
Choi Yeonjun was no different than Jeongguk the more he thinks over it. He was spending whatever was left of his damned life by hiding in a dingy restaurant, no one around him to call family, just wailing in his despair and his loss, living the exact damned way he was meant to. Jimin saw it too.
When Jeongguk stared into his eyes as his forearm crushed his windpipe, stared deep into the soulless orbs that held nothing but pain and hopelessness and the very prominent fact that he was nothing, he saw his future.
Choi Yeonjun had nobody, and neither did Jeongguk.
The car speeds along with his thoughts, the hurt and the hollowness, the hollowing ache in his chest waiting for his heart to beat. It never does, not a single beat can be heard, not a single ray of hope. And yet, it hurts enough to smother Jeongguk. It hurts so much he almost thinks he’s alive for once. It hurts so much he’s ready to die again.
Maybe he already has. Maybe this pain is just the eternal sensation of death.
No, Jeongguk knows what death feels like. He remembers clearly, the searing burn of teeth in his neck as his soul left his body. The deafening screams of his mother as she burned before his eyes. The feeling of all-consuming fear before it dissolved into the feeling of nothing. A void. Not a beat. Not even a hum.
Not even breathing.
Just… there.
Then, perhaps this pain was what one felt when they had no hope left.
That might be it, Jeongguk thinks. The loss of hope. The loss of that glimmer that kept Jeongguk going. The loss of the only feeling that made Jeongguk feel alive. Today, he found out his mother’s murderer was the very man whose son he stole life from, the boy he lived through. Today, Jeongguk lost the only life he ever truly experienced.
Today, he lost Jimin, whatever he had of him.
Because no matter what, no matter the cruelty of the world or the brutality of his fate, the day will come when Jimin will choose The Mage over him. Again and again, over and over. And now, Jeongguk won’t be able to live with it.
Surely, this is the death of his hope. Which may as well be his second death.
He can’t remember how he got here, but he’s deep into a heavy forest when his foot hits the breaks. Jimin lurches beside him, but Jeongguk doesn’t even have the will in him to look and care. Jeongguk had nothing left to keep the hope soaring.
He’s kicking his door hard enough that sends it flying open and breaking off its hinges, the void in his chest tightening with either anger or despair, he can’t be sure. What he is sure of is that it’s overwhelming, it’s maddening, and he needs to make it stop. He needs to make it all stop.
“Light up!” he’s roaring with his palms aflame, blue and purple flames heating up his frozen blood as he throws it all directions. Jeongguk doesn’t know where the fireballs land, doesn’t care for it anymore, before he’s shouting out another spell again. “Burn it all, burn, burn burn!”
The forest catches fire the same way a vampire’s skin would. It burns, red and orange and deadly, and Jeongguk can’t wait to burn with it.
He closes his eyes, breathes in even though there’s no use of it. All his rusty lungs catch is smoke, the smothering feeling in his chest growing with each lungful of the toxins, his skin tingling with the anticipation of a stray flame to jump and reduce him to ashes. This is all that is left for Jeongguk — not a home, not a name, not even a purpose.
Jeongguk is no stranger to loss, but losing Jimin takes away everything.
Everything he had left.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
Jimin doesn’t understand a single thing about any of this.
He understands grief, he understands despair, that’s basically all that he understands in full honesty. But Jimin also knows that vengeance outweighs those emotions, every single time with heavy favor, the passion behind it is always superior to the pitiful nature of the others.
Then why would Jeongguk choose to burn himself down to ashes instead of flying to every nook and corner of the world to dig The Mage out and shred him to pieces?
Why would Jeongguk sit there in silent wailing instead of conspiring an assassination?
Why wouldn’t Jeongguk just ask Jimin to come with him?
“Jeongguk!” He’s yelling out, bewildered and out of his depth as the forest burns around them. He’s used to creating fires, not putting them out. Right now, he doesn’t know what to do to save Jeongguk. “Stop this! What are you doing? Jeongguk!”
At the sound of his voice, Jeongguk crumbles on the ground, shaking from head to toe but not daring to let out a sob. This isn’t like him, not at all. Jeongguk would’ve been seething with anger, roaring with anguish, spiraling with plans on how to end that menace. That’s what he knows Jeongguk for; brutal and headstrong, staunch and vengeful.
Not breaking from the inside out.
Not cracking at the seams.
None of it makes sense.
“Jimin…” he whispers, broken and utterly in despair. Jimin lunges before him and grabs his wrists.
“Jeongguk,” he can hear the panic in his own voice as the fire grows. “Get up, we need to go, now.”
“Jimin,” Jeongguk says louder this time, the name foreign to Jimin’s ears when coming from Jeongguk. He tugs at his wrists, but Jimin refuses to let them go. “Jimin, I’m a vampire. I’m a vampire, you hear me? I’m the monster you always thought I was. Now get away, go, leave me be.”
“I’m not going anywhere!”
“Jimin, go away.”
“Jeongguk, you’re not a monster,” Jimin shakes his head, his body trembling but he’s far from afraid. “I was wrong, okay? I was wrong. You’re not a monster.”
Jimin had been wrong. So, so wrong. All eight years, Jimin was wrong. Jeongguk, he isn’t a monster. He’s just a villain. No, he’s not a villain. He’s just a boy.
“This fire isn’t for you.”
“If it isn’t for me, then it isn’t for you either.”
“Please… go!”
“I won’t,” Jimin is whispering. “I’ve never turned my back on you, and I’m not going to start now.”
Just a boy, who Jimin can’t lose. None of it makes sense.
Especially the way Jimin lunges forward, holds his face between his hands, and kisses Jeongguk.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
The first touch of Jimin’s lips against his, and Jeongguk is already mourning his own death thinking he’s reached heaven already.
Except, he’s very much alive — as much as he can be — and being kissed by Park Jimin as though the world is ending.
To be fair, Jeongguk’s world is ending. Had already ended the minute his suspicions were confirmed that The Mage was indeed behind his mother’s death. How was he meant to live with it? To be utterly in love with a boy, while simultaneously wanting to murder the only man this boy cared for? To be the one responsible for this boy’s grief, to orphan him once again? Jeongguk’s world had nothing but Jimin in it, and Jimin was never his to claim anyway.
And now, this boy, Jeongguk’s entire world, is kissing him.
He is kissing Jeongguk.
Fucking hell.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
Jimin kisses him until his lungs begin to burn, forcing him to pull away as they both gasp against each other’s mouth.
The forest burns around them, but neither pays it heed.
“Jeongguk…” Jimin whispers, his plump lips bruising against Jeongguk’s. “Jeongguk.”
He looks up to find bottomless dark grey orbs staring at him, the flames dancing in them, as though Jeongguk is the fire. The way Jimin burns when Jeongguk’s palm slides up to cup his jaw, he thinks Jeongguk is fire.
And he’s setting Jimin on fire.
And Jimin is burning.
And he loves it.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
Jeongguk raises his wand towards the sky and casts, “Out you go!”
Only one tree goes out, and Jeongguk huffs annoyedly, his breath hitting Jimin’s face. There’s a crazed look in Jimin’s eyes then, it almost frightens Jeongguk because it resembles the look he’s had every time he throws punches against Jeongguk’s jaw.
Instead, Jimin dives back to capture his lips, as if unable to allow himself otherwise, while his hands grab Jeongguk’s shoulder and his magic surges out of his palms in waves as they seep into Jeongguk’s cold body.
Jeongguk gasps so loud it rings in his own ears, and then he pushes Jimin's face off of his own before raising his wand again, his voice echoing loudly around the forest now, “Out you go!”
The fire around them settles down but Jeongguk doesn’t have time to confirm if any of the flames are left, he’s too busy reaching down Jimin’s collar to yank the cross around his neck and throw it away to stop the way it made his throat scratch before he’s diving down to capture Jimin’s lips with his own again.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
The smell of smoke is thick around them, but Jimin can’t detect whether it's his magic radiating off his skin or the burnt trees that are responsible for it.
And he doesn’t care for it either. He’s too busy being pushed back against a burnt tree trunk as Jeongguk climbs into his lap, their kiss remaining intact as though breaking it would cut their oxygen off instead of the other way around. He holds onto Jimin’s shoulders in a deathly grip, and Jimin wants to cry out for him to hold on tighter, closer, harder.
Right now, Jimin thinks this just might be it. This might be why they have spent eight years the way they have. This might be why he’s been so obsessed with Jeongguk all along. This might be their real fate.
He finally has Jeongguk where he wants him. And he has no intentions of letting go.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
Jeongguk’s mouth stings. His palm stings too, from where the cross touched him.
He kisses Jimin without abandon, not even pausing to wonder if he’s even doing it right. But Jimin, he tastes too sweet, and the sounds he lets out are too addictive, and the way he burns under Jeongguk’s palms is too warm. He does this thing with his chin, moving it up and down as he slots their lips together, over and over again, his tongue joining soot.
Jeongguk never wants to stop. Never.
He holds Jimin dearly close, his kisses lazy after going at it for hours now, but the passion still so bloody apparent that neither is ready to let go. Jimin’s arms loop around his waist and his palms press into Jeongguk’s hip bones. There’s not an inch of space between them, saliva dripping down their chins, tongues numb from the overexertion. Jeongguk rolls his hips down, just out of instinct, and it has them gasping into each other’s mouth with desperate whines.
It’s maddening, it’s terrifying.
Yet still, Jeongguk doesn’t stop. Neither does Jimin. And they kiss for what feels like an eternity.
Jeongguk was wrong when he thought his second death was losing Jimin. So utterly wrong it’s almost an embarrassing thought now.
No, his second death is this: in Park Jimin’s arms, being kissed alive.