Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The train is stuffy.

It may be due to being filled to the brink, and how most passengers chose to keep their windows shut to protect themselves from the icy wind.

Jimin always wondered how that felt like, being cold.

Or it may just be Jimin’s usual abnormally high body temperature alleviated from the anxiety induced due to returning to Watford after three months of living without magic. He’s mentally contemplating that perhaps he’s overreacting at the stifling air of the train compartment, and the outcome of the contemplation prevents Jimin from sliding his window open. Even if the stuffiness makes him feel airheaded and dizzy.

It’s normal for the weather of Seoul to start getting chillier in early September, and Jimin’s willingness to sacrifice a fresh batch of oxygen for the sake of others is just as normal, too. This year, however, winter has come surprisingly early, and Jimin’s oddly fighting himself to stay the good guy he’s always been instead of elbowing right through the window glass.

He wonders if perhaps Jeongguk’s antagonism is rubbing off on him.

Jimin likes winter the most out of the four seasons, primarily because Jeongguk hates it the most. Of course, there are other reasons too, Jeongguk isn’t the standard for all of Jimin’s choices.

Reasons like how Jimin’s body constantly runs on high heat from all the boundless magic stored in it, so a little chilliness makes him feel less like he’s burning from the inside out. Or how Taehyung brings him new sweaters from home every winter break, even though he knows Jimin would never wear warm clothes unless he wants to melt within his skin. He loves them though, keeps every single one neatly folded, only because the scent on those sweaters gives Jimin a faint sense of what home may smell like. Or how the winter nights make Jeongguk shiver in his bed while Jimin watches him squirm under a million blankets with sheer pleasure.

Alright, he will accept it. Begrudgingly so, but he will. Winter’s central charm comes with the ability to torture Jeongguk in a way nothing else ever can. It’s fucking marvelous.

He distracts himself from the suffocating atmosphere of the train by thinking about that time in mid-October when the Humdrum had caused another calamity. It’s normal for the Humdrum, a faceless adversary, to spiral shit up most of the time. No one knows where it came from, or what it wants, or when the fuck will it leave. The only thing they know is that it’s behind the random dark attacks on Watford and The World of Mages. Jimin wonders whether it’s a he, or a she, or a they.

The Mage — Watford’s headmaster who was also nameless and suspiciously privy other than his title, as far as Jimin knew — had sent Jimin to hunt down the dragon that was destroying a village near Busan. It wasn’t all too significant, except for how Jeongguk had accidentally grabbed Jimin’s collar with the intention to punch him when Taehyung portaled them away to the scene of the crime. They ended up on the outskirts of Busan, his collar snug under Jeongguk’s grip, Taehyung yelling out spells, the cold winter air engulfing them like a second skin and the gray clouds veiling whatever heat the sun may have provided.

He can’t remember what Jeongguk and he were fighting about, only remembers how Jeongguk had shivered without abandon in his thick black leather jacket, his luscious hair framing his cheeks instead of the usual slicked-back style, his ruby red lips pale for once. He kept summoning small floating fires in his palms as he sneered and hissed, doing the absolute bare minimum to help take down the dragon.

“They’re not dark creatures, Park.” he had said. 

“Is that what you think looking in the mirror too every morning?” It was one of the only times he could shut Jeongguk up for good. When he slayed the dragon’s head off with less effort than necessary, he remembers Jeongguk covering his face to shield his skin from the cold air. Iconic.

He’s snickering at the enjoyable memory, mind long diverted from the suffocation, when he felt a pair of eyes stuck to his back, belonging to a man a few rows back. He thinks it could be a pervert. Or a goblin. After all, the Humdrum did put a bonety on his head.

“You mean bounty,” Jimin had corrected Taehyung.

“No— bone ty. Short for bone-teeth, because that’s what they get to keep from your body if they catch you.”

The first few attempts at Jimin’s life were daunting. Now, after eight years of living as The Chosen One (as Jeongguk had spitefully titled him) whose sole purpose was to fight the invisible evil existence of the Humdrum that terrorized the World of Mages, he’s gotten rather expectant of it.

Taehyung sometimes remarks that Jimin goes out of his way to look for trouble, which may be true as right now Jimin is muttering under his breath to summon the Sword of Mages against his hip. The blade is as thin as a needle and as sharp as a dragon’s teeth under its black leather sheath, and the only thing worth value under Jimin’s possession.

It shows up, and he keeps it concealed with his duffel bag on his lap, waiting for the goblin to attack — secretly hoping it would so that it may distract him from this tedious train ride, while simultaneously hoping it wouldn’t for the sake of all these Normals around. Because then he’d have to erase their memories, and he hates doing that.

Jimin always found memory-erasing spells on Normals (non-magical beings) slightly unethical. Majorly because when he did it for the first time, the subject couldn’t even remember her name. And minorly because he’s left terribly traumatized by it and has always made Taehyung do it for him instead — who isn’t here to abide by Jimin’s needs as he did per usual.

He doesn’t want to be forced to erase all these passengers’ memories himself, or else there’d be a whole controversy in South Korea about how fifty passengers in one train compartment collectively ended up with amnesia.

Fortunately, the goblin — or so Jimin thought — never attacks and Jimin’s off the train looking for a driver holding a placard of Jimin’s name sent by The Mage. The Mage never personally cared for Jimin’s travels, hadn’t since he was twelve, and Jimin never bothered to complain about it, finding the entire matter futile.

“You managed to wipe out a ten-story building by yourself,” the Mage had off-handedly commented to his twelve-year-old self. “Surely you can manage a train ride.”

In his defense, Jimin is the most powerful mage that has ever lived, he didn’t need a fucking guardian. It’s another story that he can’t necessarily control his magic. In its defense, it has always been docile in desperate times, as scarce as they are.

Although sending a driver to pick him up was the least The Mage could do. Taehyung would argue so.

He spots his name soon enough, waving a hand to a bloated old man in uniform as the driver acknowledges his existence with a curt nod. They’re on the road to Watford soon enough, a school in the middle of nowhere that no Normal can see with their naked eyes.

A world without Jeon Jeongguk sounds like a blessing, Jimin believes.

That was his most probing thought on the ride back to Watford, the school of magic where Beings Of Magic (the formal term for mage) from all around South Korea were bred and nurtured before being shipped into the world to live amongst the humans without disrupting any peace. Magic is chaotic, and Watford is the only place in South Korea where they teach you to control the magic, not the other way around. So that when you’re out in the world, you’re not responsible for the chaos it inspires.

According to this ideology, Jimin thinks he will never get to see the world.

“You’d be dead before you can, anyway.” He remembers Jeongguk saying so during one of their Ethics lessons. “My hands are already around your neck.”

He’s halfway through the journey when his sixth sense starts to tingle. After eight years of living under unending threats, Jimin knows never to wave off his sixth sense.

He knows every single path to Watford like the back of his hand, and the one they’re on right now isn’t any of those.

He looks ahead, the driver seemingly normal in appearance; cropped hair, double chin, droopy eyes. Only then noticing how it differs from his reflection — green scalded skin, round red eyes, quite the handsome fella. Goblin.

The Humdrum sent a fucking goblin to fetch Jimin. How basic, Jimin scoffs.

Or it could be The Mage warming him up for the year, remembering the time when at fourteen, Jimin’s birthday gift was being dumped in the middle of the Whispering Forest and was told to find his way back home before dusk with dinner.

It’s training, The Mage had said. Jimin could only manage to nod.

Either possibility pisses Jimin off drastically.

“What was your name, again?” Jimin asks, glaring at the Goblin’s reflection as it looks up to meet his gaze through the rear mirror. He faintly wonders if the creature sent by the Humdrum ate the real driver, and also wonders if The Mage even remembered to send one his way. There’s a hiss in the goblin’s throat before the car starts spinning as the creature lurches backward to attack Jimin and yanks the steering wheel while doing so.

Jimin mutters under his breath to summon his sword again, bracing his entire weight in his thighs to push back and grunting hoarsely as the goblin manages to throw a punch against his ribs. The Goblin’s seatbelt prevents him from digging its claws into Jimin’s skin, and that’s all the time Jimin needs.

It takes a millisecond before he’s flinging his sword across the driver’s seat and slicing the creature’s head clean off in one swift stroke. The black blood splatters all around the vehicle as it crashes into a nearby tree, Jimin escaping any hit through the leverage of his thighs.

Jimin huffs out as he exits the smashed car with slight soreness in his thighs and a throbbing ache in his chest. He’s grabbing his duffel bag, one hand wiping away the specks of blood that managed to stain his face, and his other hand dialing the Sweep Department about this event so they could come over and clean up.

Usually, mages are capable enough to spell it away themselves, but Jimin’s magic is never in his control and the Sweep Department is fairly familiar with him by now — what with serving him for the past eight years. Then, he calls The Mage.

“Jimin!” the old man exclaims, who was weirdly fond of red and green attires like a candy-cane obsessed santa claus, greeting into the phone. “Are you back?”

“Yes, sir,” Jimin states plainly. “Met a goblin on the way, the driver probably didn’t survive.”

“What driver?” 

Of course, Jimin sighs to himself. “Just some taxi driver.”

“It was the Humdrum,” The Mage explains as though he’s trying to convince Jimin. “I’m in Japan right now, let’s talk when I’m back. Okay?”

He hangs up before Jimin could provide an affirmative.

This is just boring, Jimin sighs exasperatedly, all the morbid killing. His rivalry with Jeongguk has truly ruined the standard of enjoyable action for Jimin, he begrudgingly accepts as he starts walking towards Watford, hoping he’d reach there before nightfall. He could use his immense magic to portal himself at the gates, Jeongguk would taunt him until he did, but Jimin rarely gets things done as he intends.

Besides, he’s so excited to be back that a little walking doesn’t bother him as much as it normally would, thinks it’ll help him warm-up for his last year at Watford too. 

Every year at Watford is simply amazing, all the knowledge he can pretend to acquire, all the off-course missions set for him by The Mage, all the limitless food. He has an entire list of things he’d miss after his graduation:

1. The beef steaks for dinner. No explanation required.
2. Taehyung. Jimin doesn’t like to think about the future, when Taehyung wouldn’t have to stay bound to Jimin. Once Watford is over, somewhere, somehow, Jimin knows Taehyung and he will have to part. It’s not a nice thought. It makes him miss Taehyung already.
3. The football pitch. Jimin barely has time to study, let alone for sports. What with his constant business of training for wars and actually fighting them too. Goblins, ogres, zombies, dragons, they keep Jimin’s hands full. But the football pitch, Jimin loves the sight of it. It’s huge, and green, and the shady trees around it are lovely, and the air smells like wet grass that he adores. Jimin wonders if he’s good enough to qualify for the team this year. Jeongguk is. He’s the goalie, and he’s good. But then again, he’s good at everything. No different on the field than he is anyhow: graceful, strong, fucking ruthless.
4. The Mage. Jimin put him on the list when he was twelve, out of courtesy more than actual liking. He ponders over taking him out. Then mentally slaps himself for being an ungrateful bitch.
5. His uniform. He loves the red shirts and the black trousers dearly.
6. His room. He could live there forever. No demons to kill, no lives to save, no books to pile and procrastinate over. A fucking haven. He wishes Jeongguk stays out of it all the time though.

Every summer, Jimin is sent back to foster care where he spends three months in utter anguish and antagonism, counting his days until he could be back at Watford: in his dorm room, in his bed, in his Watford tracksuit and uniform. The Mage says those homes are promised to be a delight. Jimin never dared to correct him. Equally futile, plus the fact that he didn’t want to be a burden on the man. Watford, that’s Jimin’s home. His only home.

Actually, the only con of returning to Watford is facing his roommate, Jeon Jeongguk, even when Jimin is used to dealing with his villainy after spending eight years as roommates. So consequently every summer, on the entire journey back to Watford, Jimin thinks about Jeongguk — not that he didn’t think about him otherwise. Jeongguk was a constant menace over his head.

When The Mage found Jimin in an orphanage in Busan, he hadn’t muttered a single word to the young boy until they were on the grounds of Watford through a magic portal. The short gut-wrenching voyage had Jimin feeling nauseous, the entire ordeal of discovering magic all the more so.

And the only two things he had learned on his first day at Watford were: he possessed enough magic in his malnourished body to burn half the world down to crisp, and the Crucible had appointed Jeon Jeongguk as his eternal roommate.

Sometimes Jimin wonders why in the name of fuck would the Crucible, the floating all-knowing ball of fire, would bound all his years at Watford to the boy who’d live to be Jimin’s greatest nemesis. As one could never seek to change roommates as long as they’re at Watford, neither Jimin nor Jeongguk could break the roommateship. Taehyung says it can’t possibly be a mistake, Jimin argues on the contrary.

“Hi,” Jimin had squeaked out with utter enthusiasm on the day he met his soon-to-be nemesis, a hand raised towards Jeongguk, both boys barely twelve years old. “We’re roommates!”

“Eat my shit,” Jeongguk had replied, all shortly cropped hair, pursed chapped lips and corpse-pale complexion, slapping Jimin’s hand away before he strutted off — only to return two minutes later with his wand to cast a cross this line if you dare on his side of the room.

The spell meant that if Jimin so much as let his toes cross that line, he’d get an electric shock of 200V. He didn’t specify what would happen exactly, Jimin had breached the barrier twice just to figure it out, and had broken Jeongguk’s nose at the football field as a retort.

Thus, the enmity began on Day 1 and hasn’t changed much since then — except for the fact that Jeongguk sometimes tries to kill Jimin, and Jimin doesn’t miss the courtesy of returning the favor.

At the beginning of every summer, Jimin is torn between the despair of leaving Watford — the only place he could ever call home — and the relief from being hundreds of miles away from Jeongguk and his attempts at Jimin’s life. There’s also the contributing factor that every summer he gets sent back to different foster homes, all Normals living without a speck of magic because The Mage thinks Jimin is safest from the Humdrum when he’s with humans. Again, not that Jimin needs protection. He can simply go off and burn his enemies to dust. It’s happened a handful of times, so he’s awfully sure about it. But Jimin still feels safe, even if the homes are hell on earth.

This summer was no different. The foster house he was shipped to had three more boys squeezed into a tiny bedroom, all adolescent angsty teenagers whom Jimin was too tired to deal with, made to survive on one meal a day on paper plates. It was no less than torture, but he was supposedly safe.

He had asked The Mage why in the name of God he’s being kept under care at the age of twenty, earning a wordless shrug in reply. Jimin didn’t question it further, the same way he never questioned anything The Mage did.

Thus, after three months in agony, Jimin was finally on the way back to Watford, craving for his bed and his uniform.

“You and your idiotic obsession with those rags,” Jimin can hear Jeongguk’s taunts repeating in his head as he finally spots the Watford gates, two giant series of curled iron in the shape of roses and thorns, holding every creature except a mage at bay. “You’re more obsessed with them than you are with me, Park.”

Jeongguk always ridiculed his preference towards the Watford uniform over generic attires — or in Jeongguk’s case, dark-shaded smart dress shirts with suit pants covered and completed with posh overcoats. Jimin never had the heart to tell him that it was the first piece of clothing that was solely his. Not a hand-me-down over/undersized shirt with holes in it, not a trouser he had to tie over his bony waist with a rope, not carrying someone else’s scent on himself — none of that. Just a clean, soft, whole suit, made for just him. Maybe one day Jimin will have the courage to say it out loud, even though he knows Jeongguk would never understand.

Jeongguk is just… loathsome.

He’s the high school rich jock cliché Jimin sees in those American teenage dramas with dark families and darker personalities, except he’s not exactly social nor positively popular. In all of his eight years at Watford, Jeongguk has managed to become the team captain for every single football season, has maintained his first position in class even though his competition is with Kim fucking Namjoon, and has slithered his way into becoming every single teacher’s pet — even the cook’s. But all the company he has is his cousin, Jung Hoseok, and his neighbor from back in Busan, Kim Seokjin.

Now that Jimin thinks about it, he’s never even had a girlfriend, even though he’s quite possibly the most handsome bloke Jimin has ever met. Although, the lack of romantic relationships may be due to his vampirism. Jimin remembers how they were taught in their very first year that vampires lack morality, emotions, anything remotely humanistic, after all.

Yes, above all the now long dark hair slicked back, his pale grayish skin and his ruby red lips, the cliché vampire look that makes it ridiculously ironic, Jimin is convinced that Jeon Jeongguk is actually a vampire. A real vampire. It’s a rather drastic accusation; vampires are allowed to be killed on sight as per The World of Mages’ rules, but that has never stopped Jimin from announcing his suspicions to the world.

After all, Jimin surely doesn’t care for his life.

No one ever bats an eye at his accusations though, mainly because Jeongguk looks so much like a vampire with his gothic attires, his anti-social antics, and his posh eloquence, that it’s almost too much of an obvious claim to be believable. Although it’s also because Jeongguk belongs to the Jeon family which is one of the most powerful families in the World of Mages that most are shit scared of, and who are in vehement rivalry against Jimin’s adoptive father.

Sometimes Jimin wonders if Jeongguk is evil himself, or is forced to be the villain because of the ghastly combination of being a vampire while belonging to a family that’s in opposition to The Mage. Sometimes he also wonders that if their families weren’t mortal enemies, maybe they’d manage to be friends.

Jimin knows that if Jeongguk doesn’t manage to kill him first, he’ll kill Jeongguk. Or will have to.

He wouldn’t if they were friends, though. And maybe defeating the Humdrum wouldn’t be his sole responsibility either, maybe they’d even fight together against it. But alas, it’s all wishful thinking. That faceless menace is written to be defeated by Jimin’s and Jimin’s hands only. And Jeon Jeongguk hates him too much to be his friend.

Hence, Jimin is certain in his belief that a world without Jeon Jeongguk would be great.

How could it not be, after all? Jeongguk is a menace, to Jimin and the World of Mages — being a vampire and a mage is quite the lethal combination. So what if he’s at the top of the class? Nerds are the second vilest creation of the universe, after vampires of course. So what if he’s the son of the ex-headmistress? He’s nothing like his glorious mother. So what if he’s one of the most powerful magicians Jimin has ever known? Your level of power doesn’t pertain to good character.

If that were the case then The Mage — the current headmaster of Watford as well as Jimin’s adoptive father — would be the kindest man on this planet. He’s not. Everyone knows that. Jimin too, although he prefers to look away.

The Mage wasn’t all that bad. He was just strict. In the sense that he overthrew the Higher Families and earned the monopoly on the World of Mages through taking over Watford, and in the sense that he never misses the chance to torment them for subtly opposing his drastic rules and regulations, and in the sense that someday he’ll grab Jimin’s arm and burn their manors down to dust. He’s never known to be kind, but Jimin prefers to look away instead of hating on the only man who’s offered him shelter.

“Jimin-ah,” Taehyung had said one night when he sneaked into Jimin’s dorm, during their fourth year at Watford, no sign of Jeongguk because he had gone hunting — or so Jimin assumed. “You can’t stay with me during the winter break this year…”

“What? Why?” Jimin had asked.

“My mum,” Taehyung tore his gaze away as though he was ashamed. “She loves you. She really does. But you being the Humdrum’s target… and The Mage’s heir is… The higher families don’t trust you and… My mum said… You get me, right? You can always come for Christmas, though! Right, Jimin-ah?”

Jimin replied with a short shrug as he looked away. Now as the gates of Watford open for him, he shoves away all the pestering thoughts and heads on with a smile, looking away from the nasty snarls he earns by the students he passes by.

The first thing Jimin has mastered in all his twenty years of life is looking away. He looks away when his professors frown at his slipping grades, he looks away when he sees the higher families plotting against The Mage, he looks away when Taehyung casts forbidden spells to sneak into the forbidden section of the Watford Library, he looks away when he sees the hate and fear in people’s eyes towards him. He also looked away when he found Jeongguk in the woods holding hands with a girl from their class — maybe he does have a girlfriend, Jimin wonders and decides it’s none of his business.

He’s mastered the art thoroughly, one might say.

The second thing Jimin has (barely) mastered, and there’s a slight humiliation when he says this as the strongest mage that has ever walked the planes of earth, is casting spells — and Jeongguk would never miss the opportunity to taunt him over it. 

“A 12-year-old can cast that spell better than you, Park,” he’d say. He’s always right, that fucker. Jimin knows he is, but that doesn’t mean he’ll let Jeongguk have the satisfaction. 

Not when “You’d know, hanging with kids like a lowlife.” is already slipping through his lips. He’ll never let Jeongguk win, even if sometimes he begrudgingly gets the last word.

Park Jimin is the worst Chosen One who’s ever been chosen, Jeongguk says. And Jeongguk may be evil, and a complete jerk, and a dangerous vampire, but he’s right.

Regardless, all of those reasons are why the third thing that Jimin has mastered after eight years of living at Watford as Jeon Jeongguk’s roommate, is ignoring Jeon Jeongguk’s existence.

“Alright, Jimin. Hand over ₩10,000,” Taehyung mutters during lunch, skimming through yet another forbidden book, of which the cover he’s illusioned with yet another forbidden spell: what the eye can’t see. They’re in the dining hall, two weeks into the last semester, and Jimin is fairly losing his mind.

Which is uncharacteristic of him, he usually manages to suppress all his worries into nothing. The fourth thing he’s mastered is not thinking about anything, literally, fuck his doomed fate looming over his head. But that can only be achieved via distractions, and Jimin’s only distractions at Watford were the deadly attacks or Jeongguk. Right now, neither is present. And Jimin is losing his mind.

“What?” Jimin asks around a mouthful of kimchi as Taehyung slides him his share too. He always hands over his half of the meals during the first month back. Jimin thinks it’s because he looks too skinny every time he returns from foster care. “Why?”

“This is the tenth time you’ve mentioned Jeongguk since morning, and according to the bet, you now owe me ₩10,000. Hand it over.”

Perhaps Jimin hasn’t mastered the third thing that well, but he’s getting there.

“For fuck’s sake,” Jimin huffs exasperatedly. “He hasn’t been back! It’s been two weeks since the semester started!”

“It’s the last year, not even mandatory. Maybe he just decided enough is enough,” Yoongi adds to the conversation. “You know how sensitive the times have gotten.”

“As if,” Jimin scoffs. “That bastard is the biggest nerd on the planet. He’d never miss the graduating year. Even with a war waiting at the end of this year.”

“Maybe he’s on vacation,” Taehyung retorts, reaching into Jimin’s breast-pocket to pull out the won bills he’s owed. Jimin doesn’t miss the way he flinches at the mention of the war. His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t comment on it. “Maybe he finally decided to live a life outside this godforsaken place.”

“Hey!” Jimin shrieks as he tries to snatch away his money, to no avail because Taehyung casts a shield around himself with keep the dogs out muttered under his breath. A spell that is, in fact, forbidden. At least on Watford grounds. “One day he will turn up with an army of vampires to take this place down, and only then will you believe me that he has been plotting heinous crimes against the World of Mages this entire time!”

“One meal,” Namjoon grumbles, earning a sympathetic look from Taehyung. “One meal without the mention of Jeongguk, or vampires, or the word ‘plotting.’ That’s all I ask.”

“Impossible. Jimin’s existence revolves around Jeongguk’s,” Yoongi mutters, the second subject of Taehyung’s sympathy.

“Unbelievable,” Jimin laughs, rather forcefully. His voice comes out harshly against the small murmurs around the dining hall which earns a few nasty looks, none of which Jimin cares enough to return. “I couldn’t give two shits about his existence.”

“Oh yeah, that’s totally why you’ve been trying to prove he’s a vampire for the past six years.”

“He is!” Jimin shrieks. “You know he is!”

“Sure, but what evidence have you gotten in all this time? Leaving the dorms at night for an hour doesn’t prove anything,” Yoongi argues with a tinge of annoyance in his voice. They have this argument every other day, one should praise him for his patience. “Maybe the dude just likes midnight strolls around the grounds.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Jimin doesn’t give in, he never does. “I found him inside the catacombs numerous times. No one even goes there since the incident with his mum!”

“Fucking hell, Jimin. Have some respect for the tombs.”

“Have you ever considered that perhaps, he just misses her?” Taehyung asks as he slams his book shut and shoves it in his bag, ever ready to defend Jeon Jungmi, his idol. “He lost her when he was ten. On the grounds of Watford. To the fucking vampires. Maybe he’s just grieving.”

“Okay, but what about how pale he is? How he’s always cold? How his cheeks seem fuller when he’s angry? How will you explain the dead rats?”

“Jimin, how many times—”

“A litter of dead rats every night! Drained of blood! At the very spot that Jeongguk visits every night!” Jimin slams his hand onto the table. “Tell me you guys aren’t that dense.”

“Let it go,” Namjoon sighs, to no avail because Jimin is already shaking his head as he stands up for his evening finding-the-damn-bastard-hunt. “Jimin, just go back to your room and sleep. Your dark circles are concerning.”

Jimin never hears the latter half of that sentence because he’s already leaving the dining hall to commence his hunt for the vampire. Jeon Jeongguk may just be hiding somewhere on the grounds of Watford this entire time, God knows he’d do that just to torment Jimin. 

During their fifth year, Jimin had followed Jeongguk everywhere, and Jeongguk had silently let it go on, until one day they ended up deep into the Whispering Forest where he planted a chimera — a giant python with a wolf head — who’d planned to eat Jimin whole. Jimin hadn’t expected that in the slightest, which is why his magic went off like a fucking atom bomb and burned the entire forest down, turning everything to ashes in the blink of an eye, every single thing except for himself.

Jeongguk was the only other survivor. Jimin still wonders what spell he used to shield himself from Jimin’s outburst.

But this time, Jimin will not fall for his deadly antics. This time, Jimin will stay prepared.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Jeongguk has never missed a day at Watford, not once in eight years.

Now he’s missed two weeks in a row, just because he was kidnapped by fucking ogres.

So instead of being in History class, he lays in his coffin — yes, the big blobs of rock with pea-sized brains took the vampirism way too seriously. They broke his leg, whether by accident or on purpose Jeongguk didn’t care to know, and threw Jeongguk into a coffin where the cramped space forcefully healed his leg the wrong way. They throw him goat blood every night because they might’ve thought that’s the best way to keep vampires alive, but didn’t sit to think that he needed actual food too.

Thus, there he lays in the pitch-black darkness, barely breathing and starved near death, trying to push down the urge to hiss at the wooden lid as an aching scream keeps bubbling in his throat. 

He wonders if screaming will just make it harder to breathe. He also wonders if he can die, again per se — being already dead and immortal, all that jazz.

Jeongguk had left the sports club near the Jeon manor after a bone-wrenching game of tennis, slinging his sports bag on his shoulder as he made his way to his car, a glossy black Porsche. He unlocked his car when out of nowhere, there was a sharp thud against his temple, and everything blacked out. When he woke up, his leg was bent the wrong way, and his head was hurting so much he threw up.

At the moment, he lays in sheer disgust in a coffin with his leg permanently crooked, bloodstains on his clothes and seeping into his hair, the stench of dried vomit permeated into the wood. Fucking amazing, he thinks.

If his mom was alive to see him in this state, she’d probably laugh to her grave. He knows for a fact that Jimin definitely would.

“Let me out!” Jeongguk screams, a pathetic whine in reality, after careful contemplation as his fists collide with the coffin for the nth time and the lid doesn’t budge. He suspects it was spelled shut by a mage, for normal wood could never hold back against his superior vampire strength. Then disregards it, because the only mage that spiteful against him is Park Jimin, and he’d never have Jeongguk fucking abducted and starved. “I swear on my mother’s name, the second I leave this grave, I will burn every single one of you! Damn if I’m flammable!”

But after two weeks, even the ogres didn’t bat an eye at his baseless threats.

Truth be told, after the third day, Jeongguk had considered starving himself to death. He’d finally found a golden chance, a chance where he could let go without staining the Jeon name. His mother wouldn’t roast him much in the afterlife if he died here, might even pet his hair in sympathy with her calloused fire-bending hands. God, Jeongguk misses those hands.

The world will forget a Jeon Jeongguk ever existed, and the Jeon bloodline will die with him — which was bound to happen anyway, given how he’s a sterile and ridiculously gay vampire. 

Yes, the possibility of never hearing the end about being kidnapped by goddamn brainless rock giants from his mother might be a con he’d have to face for the rest of his existence in Heaven, but that was something Jeongguk was willing to live with. Anything would be better than being buried alive. Half-alive? Half-dead? It didn’t fucking matter.

That is if he went to Heaven. If he met his mother in the afterlife. If his mother even wanted to see him again. Jeon Jungmi was an amazing mother, but she’d never bend the World of Mages’ rules and breed a vampire for a son.

Perhaps that doubt was the only thing keeping Jeongguk alive, starving and every bone etched with pain. He may have considered the con of being roasted, but he refused to think about the fact that his mother might have killed him with her own hands the very day he was Turned.

His aunt says she’d rather have given up Watford and the World of Mages than her only son, but the facts can’t be so easily ignored. 

When Jeongguk was ten, a cult of vampires had somehow breached the barriers of Watford and attacked the nursery. People say the Humdrum sent them, and Jeongguk can’t quite bring himself to believe it. 

No one was hurt because his mother, in all her glory, had effortlessly thrown fireballs from her bare hands at the damned creatures to keep them at bay. Playing with fire was her hobby. After all, it was the Jeon trademark, driving magic from the fire was their heirloom. Jeongguk finds it cruelly ironic how fire is the only thing that can mortally kill him.

It was during the summers, the attack. Only a handful of mages were on the grounds, and a Jeon never needed any help anyway. She was enough to handle an entire army of blood-sucking monsters.

Except, she was bitten.

An ugly vampire had attacked her from the back, latched onto her neck with its sharp teeth, and all the others joined to mount on her. Jeongguk had seen everything from behind his mother’s desk; how her agonizing scream echoed in the office, how she’d turned around to meet Jeongguk’s gaze with her teary eyes, how she’d smiled sadly before muttering a spell that set her ablaze along the vampires latched onto her like leeches. She killed herself because she couldn’t bear the idea of being one of them. She’d have killed Jeongguk too, were she still alive.

That’s all Jeongguk remembers from that night, just the last moments of his mother. 

When he regained consciousness, there were several bird-cages piled near his window and an intense thirst in his throat. His father had explained how he almost died from a vampire’s bite, and that the only reason he survived was that he was born with magic. His mother was gone, and he was too numb from the healing spells to even cry out. Then Jeongguk realized what he was.

A vampire with magic. An abomination. A monster. A villain. All titles carefully bestowed upon him by none other than Jimin.

Vampirism didn’t make anything easy for Jeongguk. His identity was kept hidden by the World of the Mages, concealed with a facade, burdened with a secret he’ll take to his grave — if he’ll even have a grave. If he’ll ever manage to get out of this grave.

The incident left a deep scar on the Jeon household, it changed everything. They were once the most respected family in the World of Mages, all because Jeon Jungmi carried the reputation of a goddess. Now, they can barely hold up against the tyranny of The Mage. When he took over Watford, a school that was founded by Jeon Jungmi, it was as though the Jeon household cracked from the inside. It was as though losing his mother wasn’t enough, he had to lose her legacy to the hands of a lunatic too. A fucking cherry on top.

This is why the only reason Jeongguk was even sent to Watford by his father was to spy on The Mage and, if the situation demands it, kill Park Jimin.

Park Jimin, a.k.a The Mage’s heir, a.ka the most powerful magician to have ever lived and the greatest threat against the higher families, a.k.a the Chosen One born with the destiny to die for the world, preferably by Jeongguk’s hand. Barely after the first year at Watford, his father had subtly ordered him to get rid of Park Jimin for good.

Suffice to say, he’s been a disappointment to his father’s mission for the past eight years consistently.

It was never difficult to kill Jimin. It was just that when the Crucible made them roommates, Jeongguk wouldn’t dare lay a hand on Jimin in their room, or else he’d be expelled from the grounds for the rest of his life as per the anathema, and he’d rather be bitten again than be expelled from the school his mother founded.

And then the first few attempts outside their room, he had underestimated Jimin’s power. 

And then he had just enjoyed tormenting Jimin rather than the gruesome idea of murdering a living being, one who was so alive.

And before he knew it, Jeongguk was in too deep.

During the chimera incident, Jeongguk had truly hit the jackpot. 

Jimin was unprepared, scared shitless, overpowered for once. Jeongguk had been watching from the shadows of the Whispering Forest, how Jimin had fallen to the ground with the chimera towering over him, a single bite away from being dead. Dead at last, just like Jeongguk, except for the un-dead vampirism part.

He had wondered how the higher families would reward him for killing the Mage’s heir with a prideful smirk plastered on his face, how his mother would smile down on him from the heavens for saving her school from the awful Mage and his heir, how he would prevent the war by ending the other side single-handedly, how he’d never have to hide his identity because his existence would become too important to be murdered on the streets in cold blood.

And at the moment, he wondered if he was right.

Then, in the next moment, his wand was pointed towards the chimera’s direction with smoke coming out of its tip and the creature was thrown off of Jimin’s form momentarily. And he knew he wasn’t right. Not at all. He always looked at Jimin and saw a threat, a source behind his family’s pain, a power that stood in opposition to them. But he was wrong.

Jimin was trembling as he cried for help, desperately trying to summon his magic that refused to appear, scraping against the thorny grass in order to survive. And Jeongguk, he was so fucking wrong.

Jimin was just a boy.

Then he ran to Jimin, throwing him a million insults as he practically sang spells to hold the chimera back.

“You worthless piece of magic, just go off!” he yelled at Jimin.

“I can’t! It doesn’t work that way!”

“Park, think of it as lighting a match,” Jeongguk said as they hid behind a rock, throwing a fuck off to the chimera and sending it flying back to the ground once again. “That’s what my mother used to say. Light the match in your heart, then blow the tinder. Close your eyes and, shit — light the fucking match, you pitiful fuck!”

Jeongguk doesn’t know if it was the analogy or the insults which eventually set Jimin off so hard that it burned the deadly creature and the heavy forest around them into ashes. Jeongguk still wonders how he was the only one to survive that outburst without so much as a scratch. The thought has bothered him to this day.

Only Park Jimin holds the capability to torture Jeongguk in a way nothing else can, the sole runner-up being Winter.

“Eat,” one hideous ogre grunts as he throws a dead goat at Jeongguk’s stomach after opening the lid of the coffin, barely for mere seconds that Jeongguk can’t even react. Jeongguk retches at the contact of a heavy goat against his gut and has his forehead slamming against the lid as the ogre slams it shut before Jeongguk can maneuver his body back down.

Great, another dead goat with dead blood. Jeongguk should starve himself, Heaven and Hell be damned. The Jeon legacy be damned. Park Jimin be damned.

Or he could just think about all the stupid things Jimin does and ease the time away as he’s done so far, waiting to be rescued by his aunt or eventually die from malnourishment.

Every time Jeongguk thinks he's slipping off the edge of insanity, he holds onto the handful of things he's sure of to keep himself sane.

Brown eyes.

The smell of smoke.

That stupid spluttering mouth.

The freckles down his naked back.

That Park Jimin is the most powerful mage alive.

He’s spent the last two weeks doing just that; hoping he’d see Jimin again and make his life an even worse hellhole than it already is, laughing about how idiotic the universe was to bestow so much power onto a dork like him, wishing he could insult Jimin and his existence one more time before the grim reaper comes knocking at his coffin.

Jeongguk can’t even reprimand himself for having Park Jimin as his last thought before he stands at the gate of Hell. 

After all, he is hopelessly in love with him.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

A third week passes and now Jimin is forced to start doubting his theory. He goes out of his way to corner Seokjin and Hoseok in the corridor, earning glares as answers to each one of his questions, and deducing expertly that they were just as clueless about Jeongguk’s whereabouts as Jimin was. And if the Damned Trio wasn’t together, there were extremely low chances that Jeongguk was upto plotting something against Jimin.  Even the girl Jeongguk held hands with at the Wavering Woods was clueless, more about being questioned than at Jeongguk’s absence.

“Perhaps,” Jimin thinks out loud, “Jeongguk did take a vacation instead of plotting towards my demise.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Taehyung snickers.

“Or is this also a part of his plot? To make me believe he’s not plotting and hit me harder when I’m unprepared?”

“For the love of magic…” Namjoon groans.

“Do you guys not find this weird?” Jimin then says as an afterthought. They’re sitting on the football field outside the Main Office, and Jimin has his knees pulled to his chest as he unconsciously plucks the grass off its roots. “He’s never missed a single day in all his eight years. One time, he caught the rat plague during the fourth year and spelled a hazmat suit around himself. He could barely stand but he was in class studying fucking potions.”

“We thought you’d be glad he’s gone.”

“I am!” Jimin blabbers, sending the torn off grass glued to his hands in all directions.

“Sure.”

“I am. I already have the constant fear of the Humdrum’s evil magic on my head, I’m glad the burdens lessened.”

“But?”

“But he’s…” Jimin struggles to find the right words for a moment. “This isn’t normal of him. Disappearing without a word.”

“Alright, look,” Yoongi sighs deeply, closing his lyrics notepad in which he scribbles down fleeting thoughts. “I did find it weird. So, I asked my dad.” Namjoon raised a suspicious eyebrow, at which Yoongi flipped him off. Yoongi’s father was Watford’s librarian, The Mage’s trusted secret keeper, and he was never so co-operative. “Fine. I broke into his office and hacked into the Watford email server. Apparently, Jeongguk’s father was contacted about his absences, and he replied saying he’d like to request a leave for the time being. He also mentioned that he might not be returning at all.”

“Told you so,” Taehyung snickers again. Jimin wants to punch that noise out of him. “Now can you please start sleeping? You look like a walking mummy.”

Jimin still finds that suspicious, has mild panic rising in his chest at the possibility that Jeongguk won’t return — at all — but he chooses to call it an early night. Maybe the lack of sleep is making him a little insane.

The dorm room looks empty when he returns. The panic starts to really settle in.

It had looked as such ever since he returned from the summer break; empty. No bickering on Jeongguk’s end about how he left the bathroom rug titled, or his cedar and bergamot shampoo scent clogging Jimin’s nostrils, or the sight of him curled up to his bed’s headboard as he went over the day’s lectures while practicing songs on his guitar — so painfully empty.

Jimin thought he’d live forever in this room, that Jeongguk’s absence would only heighten its charm. This emptiness was what he failed to consider.

At a closer look, Jimin can see dust collecting on the edges of his headboard and on the plane of his desk, a sight he’d never witnessed in eight years because of Jeongguk’s slight obsession with cleanliness. At an even closer look, he finds the bathroom rug still tilted from how he left it three weeks ago, something he always thought Jeongguk made just to find something to nag on, only now realizing he’d actually been doing so for eight years now.

All of it looks so wrong.

Jimin had assumed that without Jeongguk, he’d live in peace. As peaceful he could get while being summoned once in a while by The Mage to kill dangerous creatures that threaten the world, and simultaneously preparing himself to face the faceless entity which is the greatest threat on the World of Mages, the Humdrum.

He had believed he’d sleep soundlessly for once, having something else to worry about than Jeongguk’s plots, doing everything he’s missed out in life being preoccupied with Jeongguk’s existence.

And he had been so wrong.

The only thing worse than living with Jeongguk is living without him. 

Jimin thinks it’s just another curse Jeongguk had probably cast upon him during his sleep; to remain in an eternal state of restlessness — with or without him. He had said it once too. 

“You are obsessed with me, Park.”

He was right, that fucker. He always is.

Jimin is obsessed with Jeongguk and right now this entire ordeal without him feels so wrong.

Jimin takes his showers at night, and Jeongguk takes his in the morning. It’s how they managed to tolerate each other all these years with one bathroom and without a fistfight ending either of them over the cliff of expulsion. And even though Jeongguk hasn’t been around for the past three weeks, Jimin has stuck with their usual routine. 

He’s taking showers in the evening even though he’s always loathed them. He’s not daring to cross the line in between their beds even though the invisible electric shield probably expired months ago as Jeongguk didn’t re-cast it. He’s keeping his books to his side of the desk because Jeongguk hated his things being touched.

He can’t bring himself to break eight years’ worth of routine, even though he’s hated every single thing about it. Because that… that feels so wrong.

A world without Jeon Jeongguk just feels wrong.

It’s well into the night when there’s a knock on the window.

Jimin hadn’t managed to get a wink of sleep, all-consumed by thoughts of Jeongguk and the possibilities of his plotting when he’d suddenly shot up in his bed thinking there’s another goblin attack on Watford. 

He summons his sword with a hand hovering over his hip, the inherited Sword of Mages from The Mage that is one of the most lethal weapons ever created, but the hilt never appears in his grasp. Jimin fumbles with his pajama waistbands as panic rises in his chest, the sword refusing to appear even then. He then resorts to leaning down without tearing his gaze away from the window to break off one of his bed’s legs, holding the scraped wood in his hand and ready to stake it through the imposter’s skull.

He doesn’t see anything for a few moments, just the clear blue sky of the night illuminated by the moon. His room remains dimly lit by his lamp, the shadows of his figure falling onto the door, Jeongguk’s side barely receiving any of the light. It’s silent and serene, and Jimin thinks he might have imagined the sound, when suddenly there’s a sharp and icy gust of wind blowing into the room, stinging his eyes like needles to render them teary, and then there’s a silhouette of a woman standing in his room.

She’s tall, which is the first thing Jimin notices when he leaps out of bed and stands his ground with the wooden weapon in hand. The second thing he notices is that she’s levitating, and it takes a moment of staring at her with his teary eyes before he finally realizes she’s a ghost.

Jeon Jungmi’s ghost, to be precise.

“Jeongguk,” she cries out, her voice piercing through Jimin’s chest as chills run down his spine. “You’re not Jeongguk…”

“I’m…”

“My rosebud boy… Jeongguk! What did you do to my boy?” she shrieks out and Jimin has to cover his ears from the deafening pitch of it.

“He’s not here!” Jimin yells back. “He hasn’t returned! I did nothing!”

“No… The veil won’t last… Don’t lie to me… I need….”

Jimin remembers the mention of the Veil at the back of his head, how Taehyung had reminded him that it was the year when the barrier between the world of the living and the dead is lifted. He said many students got visited by their dead family members who had died without unveiling their secrets. It was quite a fascinating discussion, except Jimin was too busy marking the places on the Watford map where he hadn’t yet checked in the search for Jeongguk. 

“I’m not,” Jimin cries out, her presence freezing him to the bone, the shivering refusing to subside. “He’s—”

Jimin doesn’t manage to complete his sentence because in the next moment he’s being grabbed by the collar and pulled up in the air to match Jeon Jungmi’s height. He feels his pajamas ripping under her grasp as the wood slips through his limp hand, only managing to gasp in reply. He can fight her off, easily after years’ worth of combat training, but something tells him that the reason why the sword didn’t appear was that he wasn’t facing a threat. 

Jeon Jungmi wasn’t a villain like her son.

“Boy… You’ll have to do,” she says with saddened gray eyes that are round-shaped like Jeongguk’s, leaning into Jimin’s ear to whisper. She looks so sad that Jimin has the sudden urge to cross the entire fucking globe just to get Jeongguk back, for her and himself. “Tell Jeongguk… He has to avenge my death… It’s him… My successor…”

Jimin doesn’t understand anything, the horror of it rendering him dumb.

“Jeongguk has to avenge me… Tell him… He needs to live for me,” she says before pulling back and her eyes are brimming with tears now, only to plant a kiss against Jimin’s forehead. Jimin thinks his soul just left his body. “Give him that… My rosebud boy… My beautiful, beautiful boy.”

Another gust of wind flows, this time outside the window, as Jimin is released from her grip and he falls to the ground on his hands and knees. He’s shaking, either from the ice-cold touch of her lips against his skin, or the fact that he’d just met a fucking ghost for the first time in his life. She’s gone, taking away all traces of her presence with her, as Jimin stays planted on the ground, shaking and heaving.

Only after an hour or so does he realize he’s on Jeongguk’s side of the room.

“What the fuck,” Namjoon breathes out when Jimin is done narrating the entirety of last night’s events to the group, their lunches long forgotten. “What the actual fuck.”

“You,” Yoongi shakes his head with rigor. “You, of all people, were visited by Jeon Jeongguk’s mother?”

“You were visited by Jeon Jungmi,” Taehyung mutters with his hands clutched in his hair. “She’s a fucking legend… It should’ve been me! I’m her greatest fanboy!”

“Tae,” Jimin sighs with a shake of his head.

“The most powerful woman ever lived — I can’t believe you didn’t call me,” Taehyung hisses. “Our soulmate bond is broken from here onwards.”

“What we need to focus on right now,” Namjoon cuts in, pushing Taehyung away. “Is that she came looking for Jeongguk and found you instead. The Veil won’t be lifted again for the next ten years. Hell, she might not even come back! Jeongguk will not be pleased.”

“I know.”

“Jeon Jungmi. It should’ve been me!”

“I know.”

“What did she even come to say?” Yoongi asks with curious eyes burrowing into Jimin’s.

Jimin hesitates to answer. He considers telling them all about her will to be avenged, however, Jimin feels as though by doing so he’s overstepping a boundary. Not that there were many left after Jeongguk pushed him off the stairs and he’d ended up with a fractured leg, which he returned by throwing him out their second-floor classroom window leaving him with a cast around his arm for a week. There were no boundaries, now that Jimin thinks about it, apart from the electric shield dividing their room and the constant silent denial by Jeongguk about being a vampire. Although he still feels as though being visited by his mother on accident created a new one.

Jimin may have to kill Jeongguk one day, but he isn’t cruel enough to ridicule his deceased mother’s wishes.

Jimin shakes his head again, and Yoongi receives the message. They don’t probe him any further and leave him to stuff his mouth full of medium-rare steak, resorting to their meals as well by casting a you’re getting warmer on them to re-heat.

It remains quiet, just a soft chatter across the cafeteria — until there’s a loud bang of the cafeteria doors slinging open as though a dragon had barged in.

And then there was Jeon Jeongguk standing at the entrance.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Perhaps casting an open sesame on the cafeteria doors was a tad bit dramatic. It doesn’t stop Jeongguk from casting it.

He’s been away for three weeks now, and while he knows not many would’ve missed him, he still wants to put up a show for Park Jimin. Everyone and their mothers are aware that Jimin would’ve gone half insane by now without Jeongguk. Jeongguk partially wants him to. 

Thus, he spells his uniform clean and crisp one more time to be sure he looks absolutely perfect, makes sure his limp isn’t visible in his walk, and then he sends the gates flying open for his grandiose entrance.

As expected, Jimin stands up so brashly at the sight of him that his chair flips back.

Jeongguk fails to hide the amused snicker on his features at the predictability of Jimin, although he makes sure not to look in Jimin’s direction again so that the confusion can torment him even more.

If there’s one thing Jimin hates more than Jeongguk’s taunts, it’s being ignored by Jeongguk.

And if there’s one thing Jeongguk loves more than the sight of Jimin’s face, it’s his annoyance.

“Gentlemen,” Jeongguk greets Seokjin and Hoseok as he walks up to their designated table, trying the utmost to mask the limp in his steps which strains his leg further. “What have I missed?”

Seokjin scoffs so hard he almost spits in his meal, while Hoseok stares at Jeongguk with a blank expression.

“Where the fuck were you?” Hoseok hisses after lunch, the three friends smoking under the football field bleachers. Neither of them was fond of the poison, only participated to indulge in Jeongguk’s habit of flipping off the irony of being flammable through a cigarette. “Your dad stopped taking anyone’s calls and your aunt went M.I.A.”

“Ain’t telling,” Jeongguk huffed out a cloud of smoke.

“Don’t test us, Guk.”

“It’s awfully embarrassing, you wouldn’t spill either if it were you.”

“We’ve seen you in your flower-patterned underwear,” Seokjin retorts. “Nothing can beat that.”

“Hyung,” Jeongguk grimaces. “It’s worse than that.”

“We know about your obsession with banana milk, too.”

“Worse.”

“What, kidnapped by fucking ogres, were you?” Seokjin scoffs for the nth time that afternoon, and Jeongguk can’t recover quickly from the taunt before his face is stiffening up again. And if Seokjin is anything, he’s observant. “You’re kidding me.”

“What?” Hoseok blurts confusedly.

“Jeongguk,” Seokjin snaps, this time losing all the humor in his tone. “What happened?”

Jeongguk sighs as he throws his cigarette butt and distinguishes the flame under his stomper boot. He knows that tone too well, knows Seokjin won’t let him off the hook unless he’s spilled every detail. So he does, from start to end, excluding the part where he kept daydreaming about Jimin to stay sane.

“Your aunt found you?” Hoseok asks after a moment.

“She used a tracking spell,” Jeongguk explains. “Then set all the ogres on fire before I could. Although I wouldn’t complain, I was barely able to stand by the time she found me.”

“Fucking ogres, Guk,” his aunt had seethed as she carried Jeongguk to her car. “Motherfucking ogres! Jungmi would be laughing in her grave right now.”

“Take me to school, aunty.”

“Of everything else you could’ve been a prey to, you fell in the trap of ogres!”

“Aunty. School. Now.”

“Shut the fuck up,” she had snapped, a rarity for when she was too emotional. “No boy getting kidnapped by fucking ogres gets to order me around. We’re getting burgers first, jesus fucking christ!”

“God, was it the Humdrum?” Hoseok asks.

“I doubt it cares about me. I doubt anyone cares enough about me to get me kidnapped. I guess I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time.” 

Seokjin shut his eyes for a moment before he stepped forward to hug Jeongguk. Jeongguk had never been fond of physical contact, but at the moment he made sure he was held tight and snug by his best friend. After all, Seokjin knew him better than he knew himself. 

“She’s got balls, I must say. Setting fires around her flammable nephew.”

Jeongguk laughed for the first time in three weeks, perhaps even longer.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Jimin has a list of questions ready the minute Jeongguk comes into their room.

When Jeongguk arrives, he only manages to say: “You look like shit.”

“Thanks, Park. You look half-dead yourself,” Jeongguk replies swiftly, his gaze ducking down Jimin’s bed to find one side supported upwards with their academic books. “Are those my books?”

Jimin shrugs. Jeongguk sighs exasperatedly.

“As you were,” Jeongguk mutters with annoyance, the books returning to his desk and the wooden leg of the bed attaching back to it’s designated place, before he slips into the bathroom to freshen up. The absolute aloofness towards Jimin sets him off, immensely.

Jimin sits dumbly on his repaired bed for several moments, wondering what to say to Jeongguk that’ll make him spill all the plots he’s come up with so far. He wonders spelling Jeongguk with a truth spell, but that would certainly cross a line for several reasons, such as Jeongguk will have a pass to use his dark magic on Jimin, or Jimin might accidentally render Jeongguk unable to lie for the rest of life with how weirdly his magic works. 

That won’t be so bad, Jimin thinks at the same time as Jeongguk steps out of the ensuite bathroom.

Jeongguk pauses in his tracks for a moment, face still void of any expressions before he turns to face Jimin and raises one perfectly arched brow — his signature pose.

“Where’s your necklace?”

“What?” Jimin blurts.

“Your cross,” Jeongguk clenches his jaw. “Wear it. Now.”

Jimin scrambles towards his desk drawer, completely forgetting about his cross ever since he was back. He only ever wore it because he was terrified Jeongguk might drain every speck of his blood in his sleep, on mere speculation that the dumb necklace would keep his vampire self away from draining Jimin in his sleep. He didn’t think it affected the vampire. Right now, he got his confirmation, and he remains blissfully occupied to care.

“Where were you?”

“None. Of. Your business,” Jeongguk hisses again.

“I meant it, you know,” Jimin adds, somehow his tone gentler than usual. “You look like shit. And you’re limping. What, fell off a cliff? Hit by a bus? Got into a fistfight? You hate people other than me?”

“Not tonight, Park.”

“You’ve been gone for three weeks,” Jimin half-yells before he’s charging towards Jeongguk. Jeongguk doesn’t budge. Up close, his cedar and bergamot scent clogs up Jimin’s nostrils and his brain sighs out a soft finally that he chooses to overlook. “I deserve an explanation!”

“What you deserve is a 400V shock for being on my side of the room,” Jeongguk snaps in reply. “Move it, Park. This is a warning.”

“You can’t hurt me on purpose without getting expelled,” Jimin argues. “Go ahead. Shock me, fucker.”

“Glad The Mage’s speech therapies are coming handy.”

“Handier than your doomed plots, for sure.”

Jeongguk clenches his jaw as he stands up straighter, a good two inches taller than Jimin. Jimin would be lying if he said the height difference doesn’t piss him off immensely, along with a few other things.

“I will say this once,” Jeongguk sneers. “Either leave me the fuck alone, or I’m making sure my next plot against you leaves you dead, for sure.”

“You can’t do shit.”

“Says the Chosen One who can’t do anything except shit.”

Jimin chooses to not press forward at the jabbing Chosen One taunt. One, because Jeongguk does look gray and gruesome enough to almost pity him — almost — and two, because he realized long ago that this conversation was going nowhere. He doesn’t know why he momentarily expected something different. 

Doesn’t understand why he suddenly feels a spark of hope towards Jeongguk. Fucking idiotic of him.

Jeongguk pulls back his sheets, glares at the open window, then kneels to pull out three more blankets from under his bed and drapes them over himself. He used to bicker about having the window closed, but after the first few months of being almost suffocated by Jimin’s oozing body heat warming up their room and the constant smell of smoke of Jimin’s magic flaring his nostrils, he stopped arguing. He silently bears with the cold, and Jimin doesn’t even gain any satisfaction from his misery now.

Jeongguk is fast asleep when Jimin remembers about Jeon Jungmi.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It’s peaceful to sleep in his bed, Jeongguk thinks. This damned Watford bed that is more his than the awful centuries-old bed back at home. He never thought he’d accept it, but goddamn he really missed this. Three weeks inside the fucking coffin, Jeongguk has learned to appreciate the smaller things in life. Like the way his bed is higher towards the foot and lower at the head, how it creaks if he moves too much, how it’s parallel to Jimin’s bed in a way that when he turns, he has a clear view of Jimin’s face.

It’s pitch dark in the room, and it’s the only time Jeongguk is thankful for his vampire night vision. This power allows him to stare at Jimin all night long, without abandon and without the threat of getting caught. He’s done it enough times to be an expert now, anyway. And tonight, seeing Jimin’s face after months, thinking he’d never get to see it again, hoping one more glance can bless his eyes, Jeongguk lets himself indulge.

Just for tonight, he promises himself.

He stares at the tan of Jimin’s skin. How he sleeps shirtless and still manages to radiate warmth in the middle of winter. How his chest rises and falls with each soft breath. How his cheeks are hollow but have a healthy color splashed across them. How his lips push out into a pout when he’s deep into dreamland. How the vein on his neck pulses in accordance with his heartbeat. How alive he is.

“You’re so alive,” Jeongguk whispers to himself. “So alive, you got my share of it.”

He stares longingly. As though it is enough to satisfy this incessant want breeding inside him. It’s not — it never can be, nothing can be enough. Jeongguk can have Jimin in his arms, can vow him his entire life, can spell just the two of them far into the stars without anything holding either of them back, and it still wouldn’t be enough. 

He stares, at the almond shape of Jimin’s eyes, at the freckles that spread across his cheekbones, at the slope of his nose, at the plump of his lips.

He notices the dark circles too, the sharpness of his cheeks, the sight of his bony collar bones that has a scream building inside Jeongguk against the foster care system of this country. Sometimes Jeongguk wants to kill the Mage, not only for his antagonism against his family, but for the way he neglects Jimin too. One day, when he does kill him, he thinks it will mostly be because of the latter reason.

Jeongguk would rather die again then declare out loud just how important Jimin is to him. It’s nothing that Jimin has done. Hell, all Jimin’s ever done is beat him up, mostly as retorts for his initiatives but still. Yet Jeongguk knows, too well, that if Park Jimin wanted him dead, he’d be so by now — the same way he can never kill Jimin.

He doesn’t delude himself with the thought that perhaps the feelings are mutual, perhaps Jimin is in love with him too, perhaps he longs for Jeongguk’s love too, none of that. Never. Jeongguk wouldn’t do that to himself, no matter how much he hates himself for being this monster. He does let himself believe that maybe Jimin doesn’t hate him, but not enough to kill him.

Although all of it is in vain, because one day Jeongguk will slip up, and then the Mage will order Jimin to kill the imposing vampire on the grounds of Watford, and Jimin will comply the way he’s always had. Or, once this year is over and the Higher Families are ready to march against The Mage without the threat of their children being held hostage, Jimin and Jeongguk will face each other in battle.

And Jeongguk will lose, even if he wins. Jeongguk is prepared for that day.

“Get well soon,” Jeongguk mutters with his wand pointed in Jimin’s direction, already witnessing the way his dark circles significantly lessen and his cheeks become a little fuller. He smiles to himself, finally glad to be back — back where he belongs; being the villain in Park Jimin’s story.

Chapter Text

“So I'm thinking to ask Namjoon to be my date,” Taehyung rambles on as they walk, Jimin in-tune to the conversation except for the way he diligently looks around to find Jeongguk. As expected, the monster walks out of the West Wing where he had his Greek class, and heads in the direction of the East for his Literature class, his steps staying on route pleasing Jimin's paranoia. “Yo! Hey, Earth to Jimin. You listening?”

“Totally,” Jimin nods fleetingly.

“Right. So I have a flower theme in mind, print out some hugeass banners with will you be my date? on them, all roses because they symbolize passion and lust, things to lure him into my sexy charms, and hang them off the second floor to propose Namjoon. Grand grand gesture.”

“That's… romantic?”

“A new fucking standard.” 

“Think of the wind,” Jimin reminds him, this year’s winter has brought frequent wind storms with it.

“I’m a mage, Jimin. I can handle fucking wind.”

“Waste of magic,” Jimin shakes his head, earning a judgemental look from Taehyung.

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“Got any date in mind?” Taehyung asks as they walk up to their lockers, bags slinging on their shoulders and bodies clad in red and black.

“Date?” Jimin tilts his head confusedly.

“For the Spring Ball,” Taehyung frowns at Jimin's ignorance, his face blinking up at Taehyung that shows utter blankness. “Year-end prom? Only get it once in eight years? What's the matter with you?”

“Nothing. Spring Ball, yeah. We have to go? Go go?”

“Uh, duh? We've been waiting for the ball for three years? I already got my tuxedo fitted and ordered yours so we have to check the fitting on New Year’s— Motherfucker,” Taehyung stops in his tracks with a glare directed at Jimin. “You forgot!?”

“I didn't!”

“You forgot.”

“Alright,” Jimin huffs as he concedes, finding it idiotic to keep lying or pretending as though his mind isn’t prickling at his eyes to go anc check on Jeongguk’s whereabouts. “I forgot. I've been preoccupied as you know.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung scoffs with a knowing yet annoyed look. “I know. Totally. How's your boyfriend? No trouble in paradise, I presume? His blood supply stocked for the year?”

“Tae,” Jimin frowns. “Come on. We still don't know where he was, or what he was up to. And now the whole scene about his mother appearing? Who knows what he’ll do.”

“You never told me what his mother said,” Taehyung quirks with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s… nothing. Irrelevant. All we need to focus on is that Jeongguk may be plotting something against us.”

“We don’t even know if he’s a vampire, all the evidence is circumstantial. He has literally never committed any crime.”

“That doesn’t mean that he won’t commit any now!”

“Can you focus on something fun for once?”

“I can’t afford fun.”

“We’re graduating,” Taehyung’s voice drops the cheeriness, his face contorting into a look of seriousness, and perhaps a little sadness too. “Who knows what’ll happen when this year ends. All I ask is for a fun night, a memorable one. With only you and me. And with absolutely no fucking vampire roommates! Is that asking for too much? To not think about Jeongguk? To enjoy your last year here?”

“I can’t just leave him be, you know he’s dangerous,” Jimin frowns harder. “Balls can wait.”

“The entire world has to wait for Jeongguk,” Tae shakes his head before he starts to walk away, leaving his locker open and refusing to listen to Jimin’s calls. He’s yelling into the corridors more to himself than anyone else, “Every single time!”

Jimin can't even deny it.

Jimin’s friends think the only reason the enmity between him and Jeongguk exists is that Jeongguk rejected his hand in friendship.

Jimin thought so too, for a good eight years now, reliving their first meeting every day like one keeps pressing an old bruise, over and over again.

Jimin, excited and overjoyed from finally having somewhere to belong to, for finally having a purpose to live. Jeongguk, reducing all that positivity by a single slap on Jimin's hand raised in friendship, blunt rejection slammed onto Jimin's being.

As though he couldn't wait to burst Jimin's bubble.

It hurts all the same, leaves him upset and confused and every time he manages to shake off the memory from his head, it adds another percentage as to why he hates Jeon Jeongguk.

The bruise doesn’t heal, the hurt doesn’t subside, the enmity sticks.

It is merely a part of his life now, the hurt. Sometimes he wonders if the foundation of his very life was built on that, being hurt. He has learned to live with it anyway, doesn’t quite know how any other alternative works, because one can't miss what they never had. And Jeongguk’s rejection has all but shifted the hurt to anger and to now one of the only things Jimin is sure about in his life.

He hates Jeongguk the most.

He needs to take Jeongguk down.

He needs to keep Jeongguk close.

The fact that Jeongguk holds the same amount of hostility against him only justifies to hate him all the more. It's the logical way to make things work.

But it isn't working.

This year, however, he’s questioning whether the rejection really is the reason behind his hatred for Jeongguk.

The most probing reason to question it would be that Jimin had never been offered friendship by anyone, ever.

During his first year, he was infamous for being unreliable amongst his peers. Which is the truth, to some extent, judging by how the only way The Mage even found the orphaned and nameless boy was because his magic went off in his sleep and burned the orphanage building down to crisp. It’s rather crueler when Jimin thinks about how he only remembered going to sleep, and then waking up to the nasty smell of smoke clogging up his nostrils and infiltrating into his lungs, burning him from the inside out.

No one was hurt, luckily, only minor injuries and sheer panic was the outcome, but that was all on the surface. Beneath it, Jimin's entire life changed.

Jimin was twelve when they told him he has magic, a shitload of it, and it was enough to commence a complete upside-down of Jimin’s world. He went from Just Jimin to Park Jimin. He shifted from a Nobody to a Somebody. He was plucked off the grounds of being No One and dropped onto the field of Watford as The Chosen One.

While his unintentional bombing fiasco was ruled out as faulty wiring by the ignorant Normals, the news spread fast and vast in the World of Mages, rendering Jimin as the infamously predicted savior of the World of Mages, when in reality he was nothing but a threat to the hierarchy of the Higher Families as long as he was under The Mage's control. Jimin knows the only reason he was still living was that he was the only one capable enough of standing before the Humdrum. But that didn’t make him any less of a threat, just made him tolerable.

Before The Mage could even legalize Jimin's adoption, he had already gone viral as The Mage's Heir.

At the beginning of the second day at Watford, Jimin’s locker had the first and last title sprayed over it: ticking time bomb. Eventually, it was followed by a private series of Jeongguk’s spiteful verbal ones.

Pair the anger from being bullied with how Jeongguk had shielded his bed and rejected his friendship point-blank without any masked hostility or any obvious reason behind it — a menace on Jimin's head in his own room — Jimin found the only outlet of his pent-up anger to be Jeongguk’s nose.  Jeongguk was above that petty lowkey bullying. And perhaps, his outspoken hatred was what made him stand out to Jimin in the first place.

However, he is no longer sure if his infatuation with the vampire had anything to do with Jeongguk’s rejection, per se, or if that is the only reason why Jeongguk still stands out to Jimin. On the contrary, Jimin was simply too confused and too afraid to dive into his hurt feelings back then, and Jeongguk was the only one who had the balls to confront him head-on instead of spray-painting his locker like a bunch of coward rats. Hence, Jeongguk was just a sensible target. Jeongguk was just a name in the river of criticism Jimin could pick out. Jeongguk was just there.

Jimin isn't confused and afraid anymore. Yet, Jeongguk sticks right there.

You see, Jimin didn’t know kindness until Taehyung entered his life, shortly followed by Yoongi and Namjoon. At twelve, Jimin hadn’t the faintest clue as to what a friend was. And naturally, Jimin learned how to defend himself and how to make sure he’s seen rather than trampled over. Before them, there was no such thing as generosity or favors or even a speck of the possibility that Jimin can be liked by anyone, so Jimin didn’t bother being the helpless boy he was expected to be.

Orphan and abandoned, everyone considered him no less than trash, Normals or mages. Regardless of the fact that he was the boy from the prophecy.

He wasn't trash, however. He may be passive before The Mage, and he may not demand what he deserves. But that didn't mean he was a push-over. His stern reply on Jeongguk’s nose was a message enough to Watford: don't mess with me. After that ruthless message, most began to ignore his existence, and only some still went out of their way to throw sneers and curses in his path. And none of them were worth Jimin's time. Yet, Jeongguk still is.

Jeongguk was no different in that nemesis domain. He was just another fish in the pond along with the heartless students and the merciless Higher Families and the goblins and the dragons and the fucking Humdrum. Nothing different that would require any persistence to maintain an exceeded level of hatred against him, nothing to grow fixated on.

And yet, Jimin rarely bats another eye on the list of his enemies, while Jeongguk still remains a constant burden on his mind. Always, always on his mind. Truly it isn’t because Jeongguk rejected his hand in friendship, nor is it because he barks about killing Jimin someday — both situations that Jimin faces from every other nook and corner and never thinks about twice.

Jeongguk is just… overbearing.

Not in a way that he imposes himself into Jimin's life, or makes the extra effort to stay involved, or even expresses a desire to be part of Jimin's life. Jeongguk remains out of the loop. And yet, still manages to remain the protagonist. Jimin doesn't have the faintest clue as to how to explain it.

Why?

Jimin’s friends also think that Jeongguk is the most important being in Jimin’s life, and Jimin is yet to find any substance to refute that claim. After all, it would be hypocritical to do so when all Jimin ever thinks about is one: saving the world and, two: what Jeongguk is plotting. And no, Jimin is not a hypocrite.

What makes him so important?

He is unable to conjure up a single reason, especially behind why he holds Jeongguk on the other end of his priority spectrum — the world on one end, Jeongguk on the other.

Why is he my only other priority?

Jeongguk is evil, but so is the Humdrum. Jeongguk has threatened Jimin’s life, but so has every other being that crossed his path. Jeongguk will face him in battle someday, but so will the entire World of Mages. Jeongguk is a vampire, which Jimin knows deep down in his heart to really not be a crime unless he outright attacks Watford.

Why? Why? Why?

It haunts Jimin, even more so when he doesn’t waste a breath before following Jeongguk into his Math class to confirm if he's attended it or bunked in favor of running along plotting something. Jeongguk never bunks a class, and that fact doesn't help Jimin's paranoia in the slightest.

Along with those persistent thoughts and questions, Jeon Jungmi’s presence haunts Jimin all day, too.

Which is ludicrous if thought over. The veil between the two worlds had returned last night, and there was no chance of it being lifted again in the next ten years. So the presence, as Jimin prefers to describe the daunting burden over his mind and body as is nothing but his own ill-developed fear.

For someone who is claimed to be the most powerful mage ever, Jimin has a lot of fear stored in him. Not for himself, never for himself. It's always the people around him that he fears for.

Perplexingly, he fears for Jeongguk, at the moment. Fears how he'll take this incident, how it'll affect him, why he even cares about it in the first place. Jimin doesn't care about Jeongguk’s feelings, truly. But he can't bring himself to blurt it out, wondering if it'll somehow hurt Jeongguk irreparably. He can't burden Jeongguk without wanting to shoulder some of it.

He wants to avenge Jeon Jungmi's murder with him. Jimin is a fucking lunatic.

When he ponders over it, forces himself in all honesty because he’s mastered the art of not thinking about anything — literally never — he comes up short of pros and an unending list of cons.

1. Jeongguk is his enemy.
2. Jeongguk is a vampire. Hello? Why is the list going on, reason one should be enough.
3. Jeongguk pushed him down the stairs! Tried to feed him to a chimera! Drained his dog! Fuck this blood-sucking freak to hell.
4. Jeongguk doesn’t even need help, look at him! Crazy powerful bastard.
5. Reason one. Snap out of it, Jimin.

Jimin glances over to Jeongguk who sits on his desk and covers up the missed homework of three weeks without a single complaint. Whenever he's studying, Jeongguk’s presence is almost therapeutic; with how he sits calmly while his aura remains peaceful and his face holds an expression so serene as though he has not a single worry in his life. Jimin thinks this sight is the only redeeming thing of Jeongguk’s being.

Redeeming? Are you fucking serious?

He's unaware of Jimin’s eyes raking over him, with his shoulders tensing at a certain difficult question and his back straightening as the answer clicks in his head. His hair slicked back with how his hands softly slide over them continuously, and his jaw sharp with a slight clench in it. His skin is pale because it's way past the time for his evening hunt, but his concentration remains unbreakable from the thirst until his homework is done and dusted.

But beneath this banality, he's a monster.

Jimin desperately tries to find one reason why he should help this monster, why he should even tell him about his mother to begin with instead of running off with this to The Mage. He finds not a single reason, and yet his determination to help stands.

The list of cons extends the more he stares.

And he stares for a while.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Jeongguk can feel that something is off with Jimin.

It’s too obvious to ignore, what with how he stares at Jeongguk thinking Jeongguk doesn’t notice, or how he thinks loud enough that every troubling thought ends with a grunt or a huff, or how he is quite literally humming in agreement to himself when a favorable thought crosses his mind. Oftentimes his mouth twitches with displeasure, then he smiles to himself. His hair falls in messy curls over his forehead when he shakes away an idea, and every time he faces another dilemma, he threads his fingers through his hair until he conjures up a solution and leaves them tangled even more.

Jimin is so easy to read, the ridiculousness almost makes Jeongguk bark out a laugh.

Although, his own friends rarely manage to read Jimin. Usually, they confuse his grief with anger, his concern with fear, or his excitement with the urge to kill something — the latter is usually true, but Jeongguk also knows the distinction between when Jimin is plain happy and when he has enough energy to mass murder a herd of goblins.

No one else can, however. Not even Jimin himself, most of the time. That thought does manage to make Jeongguk chuckle.

“What are you giggling about?” Jimin snaps from behind him, his eyes shooting daggers in Jeongguk’s back. “Are the sacrifices made by our ancestors funny to you?”

“How do you know I’m studying History?” Jeongguk retorts with his back still turned away from Jimin, leaving the other spluttering and angrier than before, the sharp spike in his smokey scent making Jeongguk chuckle again.

This is sweet to Jeongguk. The bickering, the rebuttals, the way they manage to step on each other’s nerves at every given opportunity.

Jeongguk remembers how he picked up the guitar in his third year just so he could practice in their room all night and keep Jimin up with him, simply out of sheer spite. Then he got attached to the guitar, and now he practices songs he wishes to confess to Jimin with; Wish You Were Here, 505, Sweater Weather, Heavenly, I Wanna Be Yours.

Jimin is always too pissed at the noise to care enough about the messages Jeongguk tries to relay. But even his blatant ignorance swaying beneath his anger is sweet to Jeongguk.

Maybe if their fates wouldn’t be so doomed, Jeongguk might enjoy this more. Might consider apologizing in order to not completely damage what they have. Might even imagine kissing Jimin’s frown away, or brushing his finger pads against Jimin’s sullen cheeks, or caressing the freckles on his naked back to soothe away the anger until the strong smoke radiating off his skin is simply lingering in the air for mere seconds before disappearing with the wind.

Although those are only dreams. In reality, the smoke doesn't go away until Jeongguk does.

But being around Jimin, whichever way, whatever circumstances, is simply sweet.

It doesn’t do him any good, never has nor ever will. Jeongguk is stuck in a loop where he wakes up every day, curses his damned existence, grieves the life he once had and sighs at the disappointing growing affection for Park Jimin.

Every night he tells himself it’ll be the last; last time he counts Jimin’s freckles, last time he follows Jimin into battle, last time he provokes Jimin’s buttons to get his attention, last time he convinces himself that he isn’t in love with Jimin and actually manages to believe it.

Every morning, a simple glance at Jimin and all his efforts reset to zero.

Jeongguk piles away his books and sets his chair neatly in place as he stands up. Jimin's glare follows his every move, but he doesn't speak. Jeongguk can’t decide if he wants him to. He slides into his red overcoat and slips out of the dorm door, the weight of Jimin's gaze following him all the way into the catacombs even if he doesn't move an inch.

He's extra thirsty after delaying it for some extra hours in favor of completing his 3 weeks' worth of homework. His fangs were already out and pleading for attention, he drinks up on the rats, dabs away the blood from his fangs and lips with a napkin, and sighs profoundly to himself as his eyes meet his mother's tomb.

A constant reminder that he is, inexplicably, dead. That his dreams will remain as such. That Jimin's attention is futile in the future, no matter its nature.

Perhaps one day, he’ll manage to crush every speck of hope blooming in his chest every time Jimin’s gaze lingers on him. Perhaps one day, the weight of his eyes wouldn’t feel this heavy. Perhaps one day, he wouldn’t delude himself into believing that his heart beats too.

Perhaps one day, Jeongguk wouldn’t need Jimin to convince himself he’s alive too.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Jimin wakes up to a knock.

It’s similar to the one on his window the night Jeon Jungmi appeared, and the very sound of it has Jimin shooting up in his bed with a chill running down his spine. He knows she isn’t a threat, and the logical voice at the back of his head tells him the veil has been long returned to its rightful place. But his reflexes, his warrior reflexes, they refuse to take any chances.

Instead of Jeon Jungmi, he’s met with the sight of The Mage.

“Jimin,” the old man smiles, as though forced to, his face breaking up awkwardly as the unused muscles get to work. It’s a hideous sight. “Sorry to barge in.”

“Sir,” Jimin gapes, then begins to fumble about when he remembers he’s shirtless. “Uh… sorry, I’m indecent. Let me get dressed.”

“It’s alright, it’s 5 a.m anyway. I forgot to consider the time zones. Where’s your roommate?” The Mage glances at Jeongguk’s empty bed, his feet taking a step back from his space worried he might disrupt it with his scent. Jimin is pretty sure he’s afraid of vampires just as any other mage is, although he would describe it as being ‘cautious’. It’s pretentious, he is pretentious. Jimin doesn’t ponder over it.

“I… don’t know,” Jimin lies through his teeth. He knows Jeongguk is usually at the football field for morning practice right now. “Sir, I thought you were abroad?”

“I’m on a tour,” The Mage replies, his mouth twitching. “Foreign affairs, looking for allies. You know we’re running out of time. We need to expand our army.”

Our. Jimin thinks he tastes bile in his throat.

“Right.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t receive you on the first day,” he goes on, not looking one-bit apologetic for being three weeks late in greeting Jimin back after a horrendous summer. “Or about my silence all summer. You know how busy things are.”

“Yes.”

“So…” The Mage nears Jimin, and Jimin has to fight the urge to flinch. It’s not as though he’s scared of him, Jimin isn’t scared of anything anymore. Not even death. But his aura, his red and green attires, and that ridiculously maddening fierceness of his gaze, it makes Jimin incredibly uncomfortable. “Do you have anything to report?”

“I told you about the goblin attack,” Jimin reminds him.

“Those buffoons.”

“Yes.”

“Anything else?” The Mage looks at him expectantly, as though he expects Jimin to tell him about something else.

It hits Jimin then, the entire ordeal with Jeon Jungmi, the veil being lifted, the revelation of her murderer still walking the Earth. A shiver runs down his spine, his stomach churns at the thought of informing The Mage about her and then churns some more when he decides against the idea.

“Nothing else,” Jimin lies. Again. Jimin hasn’t lied to The Mage in all eight years of their… acquaintance. And today he’s lied twice in the span of five minutes, all for a fucking vampire.

What has his life come to?

The Mage beams with delight at his answer, as though he expected to be given dreadful news but it was all in his head. He pats Jimin’s back with a vigorous nod and then summons a portal to Switzerland.

Jimin watches him go, guilty about the relief that’s flooding through his system at the loss of his father’s company.

Jimin doesn’t know how to tell Jeongguk about his mother.

He tries, he really does. He stalks around Jeongguk in the dorm, waits outside the bathroom door to initiate a conversation after Jeongguk’s morning shower. He chokes up when Jeongguk exits it in a bathrobe, a scowl plastered on his face.

He also goes as far as approaching Jeongguk’s table during breakfast but gets distracted by the sight of mashed potatoes. 

He even heads onto the football field and watches Jeongguk’s afternoon practice while he sits on the bleachers, thinking to wave at Jeongguk to get his attention but his arm never raises.

Each time, he chickens out and then curses himself for being such a coward.

After hyping himself up for half the day, words of wisdom to himself being you’ve butchered him, talking is hardly difficult now, he makes up his mind. Jimin grabs Jeongguk by the arm after the sixth period and pulls him away into an empty hallway, earning a douchey smirk in reply that makes Jimin want to slap him.

And the fact that he fights the urge holds testimony to his willingness to tell Jeongguk.

“I— Jeongguk—” Jimin hesitates, stutters and huffs, his heart beating in his ears. There’s no polite way of going about this. Hey, funny story, while you were away I met your dead mom and found out her murderer still walks the Earth, after which he imagines Jeongguk staking his wand through Jimin’s heart and incinerating him as the finishing job. Maybe Jeongguk will sweep up his ashes and flush them down the toilet, which is something Jeongguk would totally do.

He considers backing out again, but his mind yells at him to stay put. He will have to face Jeongguk’s wrath sooner or later.

“Spit it out, Park. I don’t have all day.”

“Look, asshole. I— well. It’s—”

Jeongguk shoves his hand away and leaves with a sharp roll of his eyes, Jimin only then noticing that he'd been holding Jeongguk’s arm the entire time. At Least no one can blame Jimin for not trying.

Jimin instantly regrets not slapping the smirk off Jeongguk’s face.

He’s only returning to class with his head hung low in the disappointment of missing a golden chance when there’s a scream breaking out across the hallway.

Jimin’s head whisks up as he mutters the chant and summons the Sword Of Mages, this time the blade appearing without any pause. The needle-like sword is slashing out of its sheath as he runs in the direction of the scream, one that was followed by a hundred others echoing harder with the sound of running and sheer panic, all of them being momentarily silenced around Jimin’s ears by a deafening roar.

Dragon, Jimin realizes, the Humdrum sent a fucking dragon.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Jeongguk stands at the railing of the second floor as he stares at the magnificent dragon flying headfirst into the West Wing, crashing through the bricked walls and emerging without so much as a scratch from all the rubble.

Jeongguk is in a good mood for once, what with the feeling of Jimin’s hand around his wrist still fresh against his skin and his stupidly endearing spluttering antics amusing Jeongguk to no end. It’s the closest he’d been to Jimin in ages, close enough to see the mole on his forehead. Fucking fabulous, he thinks as it’s followed by a contradicting thought of: you’re a disgrace, Jeon.

The dragon shoots blazing fire at the building, Jeongguk watches him with a smile and his hands in his pocket. Behind him, students are running away as though the war has hit, which is quite the overreaction according to Jeongguk. Dragons are beautiful creatures, he wonders why no one else is standing with him to admire his sunset-shaded scales. He’s faced far worse in Jimin’s company anyway, a dragon attack almost bores him now.

Sometimes he thinks his rivalry with Jimin has ruined the standards of action in his life; anything that he faces that doesn’t involve Jimin on the opposing end just makes him yawn.

And that’s what he does right now too, he yawns as the dragon shoots a river of flame at the building before it.

He feels sorry for the architecture, snickers at the fact that The Mage will have to waste his precious time in fixing centuries-old buildings. It’s oddly satisfying to know that he’d also be wasting oh-so-precious magic on this mess rather than save it to use against his family. Jeongguk breathes the smoke of the fire in his lungs; this feels like therapy for the traumatic kidnapping to him. A returning gift. A welcome party. He smirks so wide it might as well be a grin.

He’s rejoicing under the smoke and the flames and the panic around him, basking under the fact that he’s so fucking glad to be back — until he realizes that the dragon’s shifted its attention towards the Main Office.

His mother’s office, to be precise.

After the attack of the vampires, her office was meant to be taken by her replacement: the Mage.

Except, the doors never opened for him. His aunt says it’s how magical architecture works, it stays bound to the magician who built it block for block. It only opened for Jeongguk and his aunt, probably due to their shared bloodline, and they’d rather stake their own hearts than hand it over to the Mage. Although, that didn’t stop The Mage from forcing Jeongguk and his aunt to open it for him, using the threat to expel Jeongguk that was too big of a risk for the Jeons to take. Luckily, the doors remained shut at his intrusion, and his aunt didn’t miss the chance to flip the old bastard off.

And now this magnificent beautiful dragon was going off-track to destroy her office, turning Jeongguk’s smile into a frown as soon as he figures out the change of its plans.

He’s sprinting before he realizes it himself, his wand slipping through his sleeve into his hand, a there’s nothing to see here spilling through his throat to make the dragon turn away. It only works for a moment, the dragon pausing to shake its head before it’s diving back towards the office.

“I said, there’s nothing to see here!” Jeongguk shouts out, his wand heating up with magic as he jumps off the second floor and gracefully lands near the ground floor office to stand guard at the door. If the dragon’s going to burn her office, it might as well burn Jeongguk with it. “Fuck off! Beat it, douchebag!”

Jeongguk isn’t powerful enough, he’s still so weak, still limping and scrawny, and help is nowhere to be seen.

He thinks this might be the reason why he survived the kidnapping, his mother had set a martyr death for him in store. The dragon’s mouth opens as a ball of fire forms at the back of its throat, Jeongguk closes his eyes and braces for the flames.

He finds this noble, dying while saving his mother’s legacy, burning down to ashes on the ground she spent all her life on, dying as the good guy instead of the villain his father has made out of him. Jeongguk likes the idea of blaming his father, it keeps him excluded from the responsibility of hurting Jimin all these years. It’s time to burn now, pay for his sins. The phantom heat of the fire hits him before the actual fire does.

Except, it never really hits him.

“Jeongguk, get out of here!”

Park Jimin is flying with his glorious sword in hand, the blade burning out a silver beam as it’s piercing through the dragon’s scales to distract him away from the office, the fire with Jeongguk’s name written on it soaring towards the sky as Jimin’s power-addicted aura soaks up all its energy. 

He’s always such a sight in battle, his blond curls flying in the air, his lean body in warrior form, his face hardened with the intent to kill. Jeongguk remembers back in their third year when they had faced a similar situation with a dragon, remembers how stricken he was left at the beauty of Park Jimin in battle, remembers how smitten he was with his existence. 

Remembers how deeply and hopelessly he fell in love just then.

Right now, Jeongguk feels he’s falling all over again. Perhaps deeper, too. Perhaps more hopeless than ever.

“You deaf shit! Get out!”

The way Jimin orders him, he almost obliges under that tone. Jimin rarely has that forceful dominant bite in his tone, even if he’s cursing the very ground Jeongguk walks on. Right now, his tone is so sharp and authoritative that Jeongguk’s insides swirl as though butterflies are flapping in his belly and he’s a sprint away from obeying.

But a Jeon never flees from battle, and the dragon may have threatened his mother’s shrine, but it’s too magnificent to kill.

“Park,” Jeongguk yells at the top of his lungs. “Don’t kill it! Dragons are not dark creatures!”

“Not this again—” Jimin grunts before he pulls the blade back, hanging off the dragon’s ear before he swings and settles at the back of his neck, ramming the blade right into the center of its neck to steer the fire it spills. “This damn creature!”

“Park! Don’t kill it!” Jeongguk yells again, his mind reeling with the possible spells to help the dragon calm down, still traumatized from killing the last dragon and how back then he had run to the libraries to research ways in which mages could preserve feral dragons — and then it hits him. Jeongguk runs forward, casting a bounce like a bunny that gets him closer to the football field where Jimin is currently wrestling an entire dragon.

He lands gracefully, his hair flying with the wind and his limp leg ticking at the impact, right before the dragon that’s desperately trying to shuck Jimin off its back.

“Jeongguk, for fuck’s sake! Get away from him!”

“Shut up, Park.”

“Jeongguk, you’re flammable!”

“So is everything else!”

He can hear the frustration in Jimin’s voice as he tries to hurl the dragon’s face towards the sky so it won’t shoot blazing fire at Jeongguk. It’s just a humane gesture, really, Jimin is so innately keen on being a good person that he’d readily save his enemies too if the situation demands it. There’s nothing to overthink about any of it.

And that’s precisely what Jeongguk does.

It makes Jeongguk wonder, against his will especially in that life-threatening moment, why he’d do so much to waste an opportunity to finally put an end to his nemesis’ existence. Why, even after all that he’s put Jimin through, all that he promises against Jimin, he’d go out of his way to protect Jeongguk. 

He waves away the thoughts, knowing he’d be thinking over this moment in his head all night, however, and then sings at the top of his lungs.

“Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home!”

“You’re kidding me,” Jimin says as though he is stricken with disbelief. Jeongguk ignores him altogether.

“Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home, your home is on fire, and your children are gone.”

Using a nursery rhyme as spells to shoo away small animals like mice or dogs is common. Jeon Jeongguk is trying to shoo away a fucking dragon with it.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Jeon Jeongguk is trying to shoo away a fucking dragon with a nursery rhyme, and Jimin almost barks out a laugh. He would’ve if he didn’t have his hands full trying to position the dragon’s head away from the idiotic flammable vampire.

It’s not purposeful, Jimin wouldn’t think twice about saving Jeon Jeongguk. It’s just instinct. Damn his instincts.

“Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home, your house is on fire, and your children shall burn,” Jeongguk sings either way and after the second verse, Jimin feels the tension in the dragon’s head start to lessen drastically. He’s a little dumbfounded when he releases the pressure of the blade drilling inside the dragon’s neck to steer him and sits back on its scale to watch the way Jeongguk commands the dragon. To say that he’s in awe would be an understatement.

“All but one,” Jeongguk hoarses out at the top of his lungs, his discomfort apparent from the way his neck veins bulge out and his pale skin begins to blush. “And that’s little John, and he lies under the grindle stone.”

The dragon freezes, head ducking down and nearing Jeongguk as though it’s hypnotized by him, quite literally the same way Jimin is. Jimin yanks his blade out and jumps off its back, gingerly walking towards Jeongguk until he stands behind him and watches the scene unfold.

“Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home, your house is on fire, and your children shall burn,” Jeongguk’s voice breaks a little. “All except one, and her name is Aileen, and she hid under the soup tureen!”

Jimin looks around to now find the entire school standing in the corridors or the edge of the football field to watch how Jeongguk tames the dragon with a nursery rhyme. He spots Taehyung at the edge too, physically being held back by Namjoon’s arms, staring at them so inquisitively it almost makes Jimin duck his head with a blush.

It’s truly one event for the history books of Watford, how marvelously Jeongguk commands the dragon away from the turmoil, how powerful he looks at the moment as he pours every speck of magic in his body out in the open for everyone to see.

The sheer awe that Jimin’s struck with is making his hand raise itself before he realizes what he’s doing, and he doesn’t bother stopping it until it settles onto Jeongguk’s shoulder. He kept it solely for moral support, out of pure instinct, couldn’t help himself when the sudden urge to somehow help Jeongguk clouded his senses.

To somehow be closer to the good inside Jeongguk that he never had the privilege to witness before.

Jeongguk repeated the rhyme and Jimin could feel the way he was shaking with exertion, saw the way the dragon was tilting its head at Jeongguk as though it was in a trance, the entire school staring at them as though they were in it too. 

And then, out of sheer instinct once again, Jimin does what he’s never even thought he’d do.

He pushes.

His palm encloses around Jeongguk’s shoulder, and he remembers how Jeongguk had once explained it to him — light a match, he had said, close your eyes and light a match in your heart, then blow out the tinder.

During the chimera incident, Jimin hadn’t lit a match. He set up a bonfire. Because he was angry and afraid, and Jeongguk’s calm composure breaking before him while he tried to hold back the creature was making him panic even more.

This time, Jeongguk isn’t panicking. This time, Jeongguk is the rock that Jimin leans onto despite himself. This time, he closes his eyes, breathes in deeply, and lights the match.

And this time, his magic flows from his chest down his arm, pools in his palm, and swiftly drowns into Jeongguk’s shoulder.

“Ladybird, ladybird,” Jeongguk’s voice booms around the field louder than the dragon even, his limp straightening as the tremors subside and his chest sticks out. “Fly away home!”

The dragon flaps back, its eyes still glued onto Jeongguk but somehow more affected by his rhyme than before. Jimin stops pushing, but the magic keeps flowing, the connection remains and Jeongguk pulls from Jimin as much as he wants. 

He takes so much, and Jimin doesn’t dare refuse.

“Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home!” Jeongguk’s right foot lurches forward and he stands sideways in form, hair no longer slicked back as it starts flying in his face, wand sparkling with the magic and curling around his wrist, his skin shining with sweat as one bead trickles down his temple. Jimin watches him instead of the dragon, mesmerized and awestruck. He wonders if he ever saw Jeongguk this way before, so focused on being the good guy. He wonders if this will stick, gives himself a margin to hope for it dearly, doesn’t even bother correcting his overt optimism. “Fly away home, ladybird!”

The dragon lurches back as though it’s been shot and in the next moment it disappears into the sky.

“As you were!” Jeongguk booms at the burned wing to revive it. Then, as though he’s wiping the entire school’s memory, he adds, “T’was a dream!”

The entire school flinches before they start dispersing, their memories wiped of what they had just seen Jeongguk do. It disappointed Jimin, weirdly, that they wouldn’t know how Jeongguk saved the day. That they won’t remember witnessing Jeongguk being the hero. That thought should please him, but it only forms a frown on his face.

Jeongguk heaves out a breath as he turns to face Jimin, his lips sealed together and his cheeks seemingly fuller than usual. His body is shaking again, although this time with relief and his round eyes are boring into Jimin’s with such intensity that Jimin sees the way they are begging him to pull back, forcing him to step away and yank his hand back.

Only then does Jeongguk gasp out, lurching forward so that his hands rest on his knees and his chest heaves with each breath as his head hangs low — perhaps to conceal his fangs from view. Jimin has to fight the urge to bow down and inspect.

“What the fuck was that, Park?” Jeongguk says with a soft lisp that always permeates his eloquent speech whenever his fangs do pop out.

“I don’t know,” Jimin replies in all honesty.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

As expected, no one at Watford remembers the dragon attack except Jimin and Jeongguk, but Jeongguk goes out of his way to fill in Hoseok and Seokjin on it.

“So what you’re saying is,” Seokjin clarifies, extending one finger with each sentence before stubbing his half-burnt cigarette under his shoe. “The Humdrum struck again. We got attacked by a deadly dragon an hour ago that you sent away. You fixed the buildings that got burned. And no one except you and your lover boy remembers because you wiped the memory of the entire school?”

“He’s not my lover boy,” Jeongguk frowns.

“Stay focused!”

“He really isn’t!”

“Since when do you possess that much power?” Hoseok asks instead, ignoring Jeongguk’s protest.

“I don’t,” Jeongguk replies curtly. “I think… I think Jimin somehow pushed his magic into me.”

“What?” the two asked in unison, their shocks apparent on their faces.

“I remember it vaguely to be frank. The power made me feel… drunk, as if,” Jeongguk explains as he casts his gaze to the floor and remembers the feeling of Jimin’s hand clutching his shoulder. How he’d felt a sudden buzz through his veins, the smell of smoke flaring his nostrils, the power making him seem invisible, the energy of what was purely Jimin making his insides float. Definitely a memory for the showers, he thinks. “I was trying to send the dragon away, and I remember I was weakening… then all of a sudden I felt this immense power. As though I was hit by lightning and current was flowing through my blood. I felt so full.”

“We can do that?” Seokjin asks, turning towards Hoseok. “Share our magic?”

“It’s unheard of,” Hoseok replies with a shake of his head.

“Well, it’s clearly possible,” Jeongguk huffs. “Maybe just another perk of being The Chosen One.”

Something in the expression his friends hold tells Jeongguk that it was a bit more complex than that. That no, it isn’t a Chosen One thing, it’s a Jimin and Jeongguk thing. That Jimin will never be able to do this with someone else, that Jeongguk is special to Jimin, that maybe their magic is declaring their fate: soulmates, fucking hell.

And that makes him do what he never does, almost never unless he has a second death wish.

He hopes.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Jimin’s out of it the whole day, wondering if the event with the dragon actually happened or he just dreamt it. None of his friends remembers anything, and he chose to keep it that way until his stomach started churning from withholding a secret and he spilled his guts out. He was terrible at keeping secrets from his friends.

“You can share your magic?” Taehyung shrieks, lurching forward to grab Jimin’s hands. “Do it. Share now!”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Jimin says with a pained expression, suddenly hyper-aware of his power, the previous instincts long gone.

“That really should be the least of our concerns,” Namjoon chastises. “Why would a dragon attack us? During the winter too, when they’re meant to be hibernating.”

“Dragons don’t attack unprovoked,” Yoongi adds. “And they can’t breach the Watford barriers uninvited.”

“Neither do vampires, but that’s happened before.”

“Exactly. Three attacks in the past eight years, vampires, goblins, dragons, all by creatures who can’t break the Watford barriers unless they’re let in by a mage,” Yoongi says with a hardened look. “Jimin-ah, you need to discuss this with The Mage. There’s no doubt anymore that we’re facing a threat from the inside.”

“He’s away,” Jimin deflates. “Foreign affairs or something. I doubt he even knows about the attack. He mentioned that your brother was with him.”

Yoongi stiffened at the mention of his older brother, Min Jaehyun, who was one of The Mage’s most trusted warriors. Jimin’s adoptive father had built a small army to protect himself from the Higher Families, the army constantly loitered around him as security, primarily made of runaways and orphans. Yoongi’s brother was the only volunteer, encouraged by his father who was Watford’s knowledge protector, and the only reason why Yoongi was on rough terms with him. He hated The Mage, but then again everyone did.

“Quite the competent headmaster,” Taehyung scoffs, monitoring Yoongi’s reaction and attempting to steer the conversation away from his brother. “He uses you like a watchdog, for fuck’s sake.” Jimin gives him a pointed look, earning a nonchalant shrug in reply as though Taehyung was stating nothing but facts. He probably is, Jimin thinks, Jeongguk would definitely agree. “Anyways, Jimin, share it with me!”

“Tae, we don’t know if it really works,” Namjoon complains, his hand reaching out to hold Taehyung’s hands to himself. “Or how lethal it may be.”

“Jeongguk seemed fine when I saw him earlier.”

“Tae—”

“Just,” Taehyung sighs. “A little. Just a little. Try.”

Jimin deflates further as Taehyung struggles away from Namjoon’s hold and grabs his hands, throwing his endearing boxy smile to convince Jimin. Jimin closes his eyes with a deep sigh and begins focusing on summoning his magic. Light a match, and blow out the tinder, he chants in his head as his grip subtly tightens around Taehyung’s hands. Light a match —

“Fucking hell!” Taehyung shrieks as he falls back, whisking his hands in the air and blowing on them. He looks like he was burned deeply, even though there are no visible injuries. Namjoon hastily pulls him further away from Jimin as he and Yoongi start casting a get well soon onto him, and after an elongated minute does Taehyung return to normal, all the while Jimin hovers around him with unending apologies. At one point, Namjoon had to shove Jimin away to keep the smell of smoke from suffocating Taehyung.

“I’m so sorry, are you okay?!” Jimin frets from the furthest corner, feet not daring to move towards Taehyung again who sits a little numb now from all the magic spells. “Shit, Tae. Please say something.”

“I’m…” Taehyung pauses to let out a breath, looking at Namjoon before his eyes meet Jimin’s. “I’m okay, Jimin. It’s fine. It just hurts a little.”

“I’m so sorry, Tae.”

“It’s okay,” Taehyung shakes his head, trying to push his hands between his thighs to regain feeling in them and to mask the tremor they’re caught in. “It’s really okay.”

It takes a while for Jimin to calm down after almost burning Taehyung’s hands off his arms. He frets and fusses around the football field where they had fought the dragon this morning until it’s bedtime, and only then does he pause to think whether he had significantly hurt Jeongguk as well.

He’s sprinting to his dorm then, guilt seeping in his gut for reasons unknown. Jimin knows that if you hurt your arch-nemesis, you’re not meant to feel bad about it. Jimin knows that, he knows it. He’s never felt bad about hurting Jeongguk before either. It’s just bruises and broken bones. It all heals.

But this is magic, he retorts sharply in his mind, magic that kills. Magic that burns. He doesn’t deserve to die this soon.

It’s too soon.

He’s barging into the dorm with a heaving chest and wild curls flailing about into his eyes, only to find Jeongguk comfortably perched against his headboard while he hunches a little and tunes his electric guitar, the instrument white-based with skull and smiley stickers and paired with his its rainbow strap, raising his perfectly arched brow at Jimin’s disheveled appearance with pointed judgment. He doesn’t wait for an explanation before he dives back down to start playing Arabella by Arctic Monkeys on his guitar in full volume.

The fucker is just fine.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Jimin rarely looks put together, so him barging in as though he just returned from a battlefield doesn’t faze Jeongguk. What does faze him though, was him barging straight towards him. Jeongguk sets his guitar aside without a second thought over the pestering guilt of missing practice for the past three weeks and looks at Jimin’s approaching figure with a skip of his heartbeat.

“Jeongguk, did it hurt?” he’s gasping out.

“When I fell from heaven?” Jeongguk smirks.

Jimin glares at him for a moment before he’s scoffing with his entire body and storming into the bathroom. He throws things around in there, Jeongguk makes sure to listen to every move with persistence. So much for almost considering they’re soulmates, what with the unique magic sharing and all.

This is all Jeongguk gets, to hear Jimin while he takes angry showers and to gain petty satisfaction from it.

Jeongguk is almost asleep by the time Jimin re-enters the room, too distracted to practice a new tune on his guitar. He stares at Jimin from a side-eye, Jimin who always walks out his evening shower in just his track pajamas and nothing else, a towel draped over his shoulders and his curls tamed for once.

When Jeongguk is sure Jimin isn’t looking, and because he’s a constant disappointment to himself, Jeongguk tries to count the freckles on his back. So far, he’s counted fifteen out of thirty-three when Jimin is turning around abruptly.

“Jeongguk, can we talk?”

That’s a first, Jeongguk thinks. For a minute — a split second, to be honest — Jeongguk imagines him saying, the truth is, I’m desperately attracted to you. And then he imagines spitting in Jimin’s face with a mocking laugh. And then licking it off before he kisses the breath out of him.

Jeongguk is disturbed, ask anyone.

The fact that he’s been away from Jimin for nearly four months sets off the screws in his head a little more than usual. The fact that it’s the last year and he’s running out of time only heightens it.

“Absolutely not,” he replies, burrowing deeper into his blankets.

“Jeongguk.”

“Park.”

“Jeongguk, it’s about today,” Jimin sighs. “Can you spell away the dumb shield?”

Jeongguk raises a questioning brow as he sits up in bed, only to realize that Jimin was talking about the spell he cast on his side of the room during the first year and hadn’t renewed it ever since the fifth year. He isn’t surprised that Jimin didn’t figure it out, he’s awfully dense at times.

“Why do you want to come to my side?”

“Just cast it away.”

“I haven’t cast it since fifth year,” Jeongguk remarks. “Waste of magic. And the dumb dog’s been trained anyway.”

Jimin purses his lips in displeasure before he’s stalking towards Jeongguk’s bed, only to stop right in front of him. Jeongguk is surprised Jimin believed him enough to test the invisible shield.

“The magic,” Jimin starts off on-topic at last. “You felt it, right?”

“Maybe.”

“Yes or no?”

“I know your vocabulary is limited to those words, Park. No need for reminders.”

“Answer the question, asshole.”

“Eloquent.”

“Jeongguk, don’t make me angry.”

“You should be glad I’m not making you bleed.”

“Can we put a pause on the shitty attitude for a minute?” Jimin says as he pinches the bridge of his nose, all the while Jeongguk tries to mask the way his lips twitch from the pleasure of finally seeing Jimin up close twice in a day after months and shirtless at that. He’s a lucky bastard, that’s certain. He almost considers being nice.

Almost.

“I don’t think so.”

Jimin raises his fist and pulls back his elbow sharply with a hiss. If Jeongguk wasn’t so stupidly addicted to his touch, to how each blow hits with more life, he’d flinch. Instead, he raises his eyebrow and waits for Jimin to test the anathema.

Jimin sighs exasperatedly before he dumps down onto Jeongguk’s bed with his jaw squared and his baby brown eyes boring into Jeongguk’s dead round ones. His fist uncoils as he reaches a hand out in between them, motioning to it with a flick of his orbs, his tolerance to bullshit visibly on thin ice now.

“I want to know if it hurt,” Jimin explained, his hand extending until the tips of his fingers brushed against Jeongguk’s chest. “If it’ll hurt.”

“You really have a shitload of magic to waste, don’t you?” Jeongguk scoffs outwardly, trying not to be obvious when he swallows thickly, nor when he stares at Jimin’s naked chest, as his hand encloses around Jimin’s and his heart stutters from the warmth of it.

Jimin is always, so, so warm.

So fucking alive, his mind echoes as he clears his throat.

“Should I push?”

Jeongguk just grunts, not trusting his voice from having a half-naked Jimin sit on his bed, their knees bumping together, their hands conjoined.

Fucking hell, this must a present from the universe, his lips twitch pleasantly.

Then Jimin closes his eyes and breathes in deeply. There’s a surge of energy buzzing in his palm before it seeps into Jeongguk’s skin, ticklish enough to almost make Jeongguk giggle. It’s not as strong as before, not the blazing heat positively setting Jeongguk’s insides on fire, but rather a simmering candle-like flicker of fire curling around Jeongguk’s veins as it flowed into his core.

It felt so good, Jeongguk thought he might pop a boner — he would’ve, been he raised as a lesser man.

“You feel that?” Jimin’s eyes are wild and so alive. Jeongguk wants to dive right into them.

“Sure,” Jeongguk clears his throat, earning an unbelieving scoff in reply. “What? It’s just magic, Park. I have a fair share of my own.”

“Cast a spell,” Jimin says instead, feigning avoidance of a needless banter at the moment.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, you’re the fucking expert.”

“Says the Chosen One.”

“Jeongguk, I swear to—”

“Twinkle twinkle little star,” Jeongguk casts with a thick curl around his ‘w’ because the drunkenness from Jimin’s magic returns two-fold, and within a blink of his eye, they had somehow teleported from their dorm room into the night sky.

“What’s with you and nursery—” Jimin’s gasp cuts him off as he looks around with wide eyes and a hung open mouth, Jeongguk sparing a glance around his surroundings too once he takes in Jimin’s expression. The atmosphere dropped significantly in temperature, and Jeongguk couldn’t help but shiver at the contrast as the icy air provoked goosebumps on his arms while his hand remained capsulated with a human furnace.

The stars looked brilliant up close, the moonlight falling onto their figures, the wind icy around their bodies. Winter has never bothered Jimin, but as he floats half-naked between the stars, he shivers. Jeongguk thinks he’s going a little insane at that sight.

The light falls onto Jimin’s tan skin, glimmering against his goosebumps and engulfing his entire figure. The splash of moonlight on his chest is heavenly, the shadows illuminating the curves of his muscles are sacred, the stars calling onto Jimin as though he’s one of them is holy. Jeongguk pinches his thigh discreetly just to confirm that it wasn’t a dream.

It wasn’t.

And he was fucked, if that were anymore possible.

“How did you— and we—”

“Spit it out, Park.”

“Fuck,” Jimin breaths out. “So beautiful.”

Jeongguk fixes his gaze onto Jimin’s turned face and agrees wordlessly.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Jimin never knew he’d say this, but fucking hell is Jeongguk an absolute beauty.

He’s not blind, he’s always known Jeongguk is attractive. It’s one of the common facts about him: name’s Jeon Jeongguk, secret vampire, rich jock, definitely the most handsome man Jimin has ever met. Although his outward beauty hasn’t once let Jimin eradicate the fact that he’s the Devil incarnate. Nor has it let Jimin shield the way Jeongguk is Jimin’s greatest enemy alive. Or, half-alive.

Right now, Jimin allows him a pass.

Right now, Jeongguk looks so divine it’s almost ridiculous. 

He floats before Jimin with his hand clutched tightly in Jimin’s grasp, a grip that’s only intended to hold, and to feel, and to connect, and not to initiate a duel for once. His hair has fallen against his cheeks that have a healthy splash of pink spreading over them instead of the usual gray hollowness they hold, falling just the way Jimin prefers them. A shadow falls under his cheekbones, making the scar on his cheek even more prominent, deeper yet prettier. His touch isn’t so ice-cold, his hand warming more and more under Jimin’s heated palm by time. The expression he holds on his face isn’t too harsh, isn’t too closed-off.

And his deep grey eyes, they look around for a moment before they’re locking again with Jimin’s, every single star in the sky reflecting back on it.

Jimin doesn’t want this to end. He doesn’t want to move an inch. Or blink. Or so much as breathe.

Fucking hell, echoes within Jimin’s head.

“Try giving it back,” Jimin whispers.

“I can’t.”

“How about taking it?”

“Oh, oh shit,” Jeongguk shivers as Jimin feels a wave of magic slip out his arm. “That’s… a lot.”

“So you can take it, but you can’t give it back.”

“Shit, Park.” Jeongguk gasps, the pink of his cheeks growing brighter. “Shut up.”

“How does it feel?”

“Weird. Ticklish. Makes me feel drunk.”

“So it doesn’t hurt?” Jimin asks a moment later as he stares down at their conjoined hands, the evident buzz of the shared magic comfortable to both sides. “At all?”

Jeongguk merely shakes his head in reply.

“So it’s a vampire thing?” Jimin urges, testing his luck — only to be kicked off the bed by Jeongguk, the illusion of Jeongguk’s beauty and the sky full of stars breaking apart to reveal their bare dorm walls as Jimin falls onto the ground. “Ow!”

“Doesn’t hurt,” Jeongguk says curtly with a deep breath. “Go away now.”

Just when Jimin thought he was getting somewhere with Jeongguk, the latter makes sure to remind him of their realities. He’s rubbing his sore ass as he crawls back to bed, only then deciding that he needed to tell Jeongguk about his mum now. Jimin had stretched it out for far too long.

“Um,” he begins, gaining back Jeongguk’s attention. “While you were away, some stuff happened. Stuff regarding your mother.”

“What stuff?” Jeongguk still doesn’t have that usual snarkiness in his tone, which makes Jimin want to retreat and savor the good mood as long as it’ll last. Instead, he mentally slaps himself and blurts out all at once.

“Theveilbeingliftedkindofstuff.”

“Park,” Jeongguk said warningly after a long moment of silence as he stood up from his bed with a deathly glare set on Jimin, the warmth of his tone turned to ice now. “Did you just say, the veil being lifted kind of stuff?”

“Yes…” 

Jimin sees a crack in Jeongguk’s demeanor — just a fragment of it where his eyebrows knitted together and his eyes widened with realization as utter sadness took over his features, a similar reaction Jimin had seen on Jeon Jungmi’s face.

Maybe he was wrong to assume he’s nothing like her.

“My mother…” Jeongguk whispers as Jimin watches the wheels turn in his head. Sometimes Jimin thinks if he didn’t spend all his time loathing and stalking Jeongguk in the case to stop his vampire villain plotting, he might just be fascinated by how impeccably smart and handsome he is.

“Listen, Jeongguk,” Jimin says, the look of anger on Jeongguk’s face worsening by the second. Jimin considers holding his hand again, then decides against it. “She came looking for you here, she said you were supposed to be here if not anywhere else.”

“She talked to you?”

“Yeah— yes. She was distressed and—” and then Jimin tries to test his luck, again. “Where were you? Why couldn’t she find you?”

“What did she say?” the hiss in Jeongguk’s tone is back. “Why was she here? Why did you talk to her?”

“I didn’t have a choice!” Jimin argues. “She scared the shit out of me and then thought I hurt you.”

“What. The fuck. Did she say to you?”

“She…” Jimin gulps. “She said you needed to live— yeah. She said you needed to live so you can kill her murderer.”

“What?” Jeongguk’s eyes bore into Jimin’s face as his face contorts into a look of delirium. “What murderer? She killed the vampires!”

“No, she—” only then does Jimin remember he’d written everything she said down in his journal that night once the shock had subsided. He turned around and dug into his drawer, locating the journal and flipping through it until the page appeared. Jeongguk snatched it away before he could read it out.

“You write like a fucking animal,” he seethes.

“Pardon my shock after facing the dead,” Jimin remarks sarcastically before snatching the journal back and reading over it. “She said ‘tell Jeongguk to avenge my murder, it’s him, my successor’ and then she called you her beautiful rosebud boy.”

Jeongguk looks positively ready to drain every ounce of blood from Jimin’s body, and he can’t even be blamed for it. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.”

“Her successor? Me? What about me?”

“I don’t know, Jeongguk.”

“What else? What else did she say? What did she look like?”

“She looked sad,” Jimin says slowly. 

“I can’t believe this,” Jeongguk says as his fingers clutch in his head and he paces back and forth in their room. “My mother came to see me and she met you instead! Fucking unbelievable!”

“Where were you, Jeongguk?”

“None of your business!” Jeongguk howls so loud.

“Well, I hope that secret voyage was worth it!” Jimin shouts back, frequency matching Jeongguk. “Your mother came for you while you were out planning your hopeless rebellion, good for you!”

Jeongguk stops in his tracks momentarily before he’s charging towards Jimin with his fists raised, leaving Jimin more scared about his expulsion from hurting Jimin in their dorm than for himself. He reaches forward and grips Jeongguk’s wrists first, holding him back from making an irreversible mistake.

“Jeongguk, no,” Jimin yells, Jeongguk’s breath hitting his face and his deep dark orbs raging with anger. Gone is the starry blanket over them, replaced by nothing but anger and despair. “You don’t want to hurt me, okay? I’m sorry— Jeongguk, listen to me. I’m sorry.”

It takes a moment of pushing each other with full force before Jeongguk eventually huffs out and yanks his wrists out of Jimin’s grip. He turns away from Jimin, his shoulders heaving, his chest growling, a whimper at the end of each growl.

For the first time in eight years, Jimin finds it in himself to feel sorry for Jeongguk. Immensely.

“Park, is that all?” he hisses, glancing back at Jimin through his side-eye.

If Jimin hadn’t just stopped Jeongguk from being expelled, or if he didn’t feel so fucking awful about all this, he’d have made a snarky remark. He crosses his arms over his chest and huffs out, wondering for the nth time in a day why his life was constantly under the dramatic veil and how everything managed to be somehow linked to Jeongguk.

Once again, Jimin can’t help but question their fate. Why is it that the universe keeps tangling their threads of fate together, further and further? One day, Jimin will stand on the other end of the war with the only man who’s ever given him shelter, food, an identity, a name. He will stand with The Mage and do as he commands.

And the only thing other than his death that he’ll be certain of at that moment, is that Jeon Jeongguk will stand on the other end waiting to kill him.

It’s inevitable, it’s what they were meant to do. Then why were their lives so tangled with each other? Why did Jimin fail to escape Jeongguk over and over again? What was the reason behind this enmity if they were bound to share each other’s despair as well as fight their battles as one? The universe is cruel for this sick joke. Absolutely barbaric. Especially now, when he’s seen Jeongguk like this. Not void of emotion, thoughts, or feelings — not dead.

Jimin’s fate grows worse now that the very thought of harming Jeongguk leaves a trace of bile on Jimin’s tongue.

Jimin has no choice but to give in. Whether to Jeongguk or his fate, he’s yet to decide.

He’s about to reply that there’s nothing else to recollect from Jeon Jungmi’s visitation before the chilling memory from that night resurfaces.

“No,” Jimin says softly after a moment of hesitation, stepping up to grab Jeongguk’s shoulder and turn him around to face himself. “She also told me to give you this.”

Before Jeongguk gets the chance to shove Jimin away, Jimin leans up on his tiptoes and places a gentle kiss onto Jeongguk’s forehead.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The feeling of Jimin isn’t something Jeongguk is unaware of.

During their first year, he learned the feeling of Jimin’s hands. It started when he had slapped Jimin’s hand away the very time they met, completely unsure of how to process being the roommate of the boy he was meant to spy on, sabotage, and eventually murder in cold blood. When he was asked to keep his enemy close, he wasn’t prepared to end up living with him.

Although maybe the confusion was solely because of how Jimin was just so… alive.  

Then Jimin broke Jeongguk's nose with a single punch, then Jimin had pushed him back every time Jeongguk pushed him out of confusion and spite, then Jimin had cursed him twofold for every taunt thrown his way, then Jimin was radiating off heat like a fucking furnace and Jeongguk was soaking it all up into his corpse-cold skin.

And then Jeongguk was sure Jimin had all the life the universe had to offer, all the life he never got to have.

It was a weird thing to notice first in someone: their hands. Everyone would say so. Jeongguk knows so.

But dying two years ago, living under constant threat of being exposed and incinerated, knowing you don’t deserve an ounce of the magic inside you as you laid there breathing stolen air without a single beat in your chest, it wasn’t that weird to notice how dead he was within his skin and how alive Park Jimin’s touch felt.

Alive in a way that he had golden skin. In a way that his curls were frizzy yet shiny. In a way that he was so fucking skinny during the first year that Jeongguk wanted to run to the kitchen and get him three times’ worth of meal all the damn time but powerful enough to tackle the vampire with superhuman strength in a fistfight without hesitation.

Jeongguk provoked him over and over again, and Jimin didn’t once back down. He never dared to use his magic on Jeongguk, but the smell of smoke radiating off him every time he got angry was always destined to become Jeongguk’s addiction.

It was probably how alive his magic was, now that Jeongguk reminisces, the addicting blazing energy oozing through his pores, radiating off into the air around, seeping into Jeongguk’s skin with every punch and every shove, and sometimes spilling through his wide smile reaching his eyes which were never directed at Jeongguk.

All of that, all of Jimin, it made Jeongguk live. It made Jeongguk crave to be alive a little bit more.

Jimin had raised his hand in friendship when they first met, and Jeongguk hadn’t trusted himself enough to know he’d ever let go of. He had a mission, he had to save his family from the tyrannous Mage and his only heir. He had no space to let the enemy in. He slapped Jimin’s hand away, and for better control, casted a shield around his bed. Jimin thinks it was to keep him out — when in reality it was to keep Jeongguk in. He’d never correct him about that.

During their third year, he learned the feeling of Jimin’s warm and sturdy chest.

They were fighting. Jeongguk was stupidly taunting Jimin’s obsession with medium-rare steaks to earn his attention and Jimin was lunging forward with his fists raised. When out of nowhere, The Mage sent a dove with yet another deadly mission, and then they were on the outskirts of Busan.

Jeongguk doesn’t remember the details, just remembers that Jimin was pushing Jeongguk off himself in a hurry the next moment as he and Taehyung ran towards a secluded area shouting something about a dragon, and Jeongguk just knew he was going into battle borne by the Humdrum, yet again.

He ran after Jimin, pretending to try to punch him as he grabbed his collar last minute and got portaled with him. His father thought he went to sabotage Jimin’s mission, Jimin thought so too.

In reality, he went because he didn’t trust Jimin enough to keep himself safe.

He underestimated him, of course, he had never seen Jimin in his true element until then. Although, no amount of belief in Jimin’s power will ever stop Jeongguk from being worried about him. Jimin was a sight in battle, even at the age of fifteen. He killed the dragon, Jeongguk let him even though the slaying of a dragon haunted him for weeks. He had shivered from the horror of killing a magnificent creature as that dragon, but sometimes dragons are driven to madness — usually by Jeongguk’s cursed kind — and there’s no saving it. The same way Jeongguk’s horse was put down back at home that summer.

“He’s too far gone, Jeongguk.”

“But I love him.”

“Sometimes love isn’t enough.”

Jimin had thought the winter air affected Jeongguk, and it might have if he wasn’t so close to breaking down in the middle of nowhere. When they were portaling back, Jimin latched onto Jeongguk’s back like a leech, making something up about Jeongguk losing a limb during the voyage since his magic was near freezing inside him.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Jeongguk grumbled, shivering at the warmth of Jimin’s chest against his back, at the strong smoky smell of his magic, and the bone-crushing grip of his hug.

“Your lack of magic will make you lose a limb,” Jimin explained. “Portals aren’t so simple, and you’re barely able to stand. So shut up, unless you like the idea of becoming a cripple.”

It made absolutely no sense. 

Jeongguk didn’t dare complain, though. Because for the first time since dying, he felt warm.

During these eight years, Jeongguk learned Jimin’s sleeping habits by heart.

How he snores when he’s particularly tired after a rough day. How his stomach grumbles with hunger in the morning even though he snacks way into the night. How his curls are mussed and messy because he sometimes forgets to dry them off after his evening shower and goes to bed with wet hair.

How he always smells so strongly of smoke — the scent of his magic, Jeongguk realized soon enough.

He knows him inside out; the freckles running down his back, the ripped muscles of his chest, the softness of his stomach, the scars on his body from the battles. The fact that Jimin sleeps shirtless just helps Jeongguk read his body easily, tracing new scars and mourning old ones. He knows Jimin better than he knows himself.

None of this information does him any good, he’s too painfully self-aware of that. Even in some fucked up alternate reality where he isn’t a vampire and Jimin isn’t the Chosen One, Jimin would never fall for a douchebag like Jeongguk.

No, Jimin would like someone deserving of him. Someone kind, and polite, and charitable, and considerate, and someone who was simply good. Jeongguk could never be any of those things, even if he pretends to be.

His dead being knows all he’ll ever get is nothing from Park Jimin.

What Jeongguk doesn’t know, hadn’t ever believed that he could unless he’s well into dreamland or completely dead, was the feeling of Jimin’s lips.

“What the fuck,” Jeongguk whispers against his will as Jimin steps away after kissing his forehead. His lips are just how Jeongguk imagined them to be, warm and soft, everything Jeongguk craves every fucking day.

“She told me to,” Jimin clears his throat as he ducks his head, his cheeks a crimson shade of red and his lips leaving a warm patch against Jeongguk’s forehead. So goddamn alive. “Give you that. Yeah.”

Jimin blushes so profusely, his tan skin turning to a shade of cherry-red, and Jeongguk has to ground his heels on the ground he stands in order to not pounce on him. He breathes in deeply, breathes out his nose, his eyes boring into Jimin’s who doesn’t once look away either.

“There is something really wrong with you,” Jeongguk snaps as he finally finds the courage to turn away and charges out of their dorm. He doesn’t stop until he’s barging through the catacombs, his fangs out in the open, his chest squeezing all the air in his lungs.

He spends all night trying his best not to cry out in frustration and relief, suffering from the knowledge that he had missed the visit from his mother who might not return every again, as well as that Park Jimin’s stupid sputtering mouth was just as soft as it looked and he’ll never get another chance to feel it in this lifetime.

His mind is running at the speed of lightning, simultaneously perplexed on two things: his mother doesn’t hate him but she doesn’t rest in peace, and the universe is hellbent on making it harder and harder to kill Park Jimin.

Within one hour, he manages to shed tears for both.

Chapter Text

An odd kind of discomfort resides in Jimin’s stomach all night.

It was the kind of discomfort where your stomach churns in anticipation, while at the same time your heart sinks with the thought of facing the turbulence spiraling slowly and steadily all around. The kind of discomfort where you know you're in the calm phase before the storm hits.

It was the kind of discomfort that Jimin hadn’t ever faced before, not once even after all the times he’d headed into battle without a second thought. Because then, there’d be no consequences to face. No consequence to fret over, anyway. Jimin would enter, fight for his life, and rely on either outcome; emerge victoriously or die as a martyr. It’s how he’s ever known to live his life, after all, an unending vicious cycle of fight or flight, and he never chooses flight.

Right now, there were countless consequences at hand that Jimin had never faced before in his entire twenty years of life. 

It was as though, for the first time ever, Jimin had something to lose. Exactly what, he had yet to discover.

Jimin waits for Jeongguk to return, tossing and turning in his bed and staring longingly at Jeongguk’s creaseless bed, trying to conjure up ideas on how he will save whatever is left of their relationship — or lack thereof.

He could let it be as it is, let Jeongguk be the villain of his story, and meet their inevitable fates eventually. He doesn’t owe the vampire anything, regardless of the fact that he feels sympathetic and the violent urge to somehow fix all this mess up for him. Truth be told, Jimin knows it’s more of a savior complex than anything else; than actual sympathy for his enemy. He doesn’t, damn the bastard, he could simply watch from the bleachers as Jeongguk’s life falls apart bit by bit. God knows it’ll be one hell of a show.

Or, he could try one last time to save them from all of it. One last effort before he says fuck it and never looks back. One last time when he tries to save Jeongguk, and himself. And when the war hits, when they’re standing with their blades at each other’s throat, there shall be no regrets.

It’s an unpleasant scenario in Jimin’s head, the thought of facing Jeongguk in battle, but it’s not something he’s never thought of before. It’s not as though it surprises him, not really. It’s been decided so for the past eight years.

Yet, he desperately wants to hold it out.

It isn’t before dawn until the dorm door creaks open.

“Jeongguk?” Jimin shuffles up in his bed, catching Jeongguk off guard, and almost stumbling on his face when he shoots up near Jeongguk. Upclose, he looks better than he did a few hours ago, less pale and only minutely agitated. The first rays of the sunrise flood in through the open window and dance against his pale skin, and for a moment, there’s no pain or sorrow or anger reflecting back in his eyes. Jimin wonders if it’s because he fed well on the rats.

“What do you want?” Jeongguk huffs, not so careful about closing the door as he was with opening it.

“Can we talk?”

“You reek of morning breath.”

“Can we talk after I brush?”

“Not a chance.”

Jimin rolls his eyes and heads into the bathroom to freshen up. When he returns, Jeongguk is sitting on his own bed, staring down at his hands with his hair falling forward against his cheekbones instead of always being slicked back. He looks so broken, so unkempt, so unlike Jeon Jeongguk. Jimin has to push down the urge to hurl forward and gather him in his arms until he feels better. Jimin also has to push down the urge to punch himself for having such urges.

It’s Jeongguk, he reminds himself, the vampire who can drain you any day.

“Jeongguk, hey,” Jimin calls out, his voice making Jeongguk sit up straighter as the frown on his mouth disappears and his eyes harden again, hands flying up to push back his hair. There you are, Jimin sighs, part relief part disappointment.

“I’ve had enough of you today. No, I’ve had enough of you for a whole lifetime,” Jeongguk grunts as he stalks to his closet heavily, dragging his feet in a display of unrelenting exhaustion. Jimin can’t blame him, the entire night must have been exhausting, emotionally more than physically. “Shut the fuck up or I’m spelling you mute for the rest of the week.”

Jimin scoffs with indignation as he crosses his arms over his chest, not once removing his eyes from Jeongguk’s back.

He can see the muscles flex under his thin uniform shirt, how tense his shoulders are, and how shabby his long hair is as though Jeongguk was pulling and grabbing at them all night. If Jimin didn’t remember how Jeongguk had fed on his favorite dog on Watford grounds as revenge for winning the window-shall-stay-open fiasco, he’d even apologize for all that was going on in Jeongguk’s life.

He doesn’t speak anymore, mainly because he doesn’t trust Jeongguk to not use his dark magic on Jimin, and minorly because he doesn’t want to agitate Jeongguk again. He simply watches Jeongguk move soundlessly around their room, his eyes downcast and his lips set in a straight line. When Jeongguk steps into the shower, Jimin decides it’s never too early to go for breakfast.

Jeongguk avoids him completely for the next fourteen days. He sleeps in during the mornings until Jimin leaves for breakfast and doesn’t return during the nights until Jimin is fast asleep. He keeps his jabs during classes at the bare minimum, and the frequent sneers spared in Jimin’s direction are nearly extinct too. He doesn’t mention the veil or his plans regarding his mother’s vengeance, he doesn’t spare any attention to Jimin if they catch each other in their dorm, he pretends as if the stars were a fever dream too.

In simple terms, Jeongguk wants nothing to do with Jimin.

Which is something that’s always been established in their relationship — if it could be called that. Jimin makes a mental note to find a term that defines who they are because he can’t call Jeongguk an enemy after having so much sympathy for him, neither can he call him an acquaintance because, well, the life-threats are still very much in validation.

What is eight years’ worth of rivalry and failed murderous attempts categorized as anyway? Hardly a relationship. Eventually, Jimin pushes the dilemma into his don’t think about section of stored troubles.

What he does think about, can’t bring himself to stop, is that for some fucked up reason he should be beside Jeongguk.

His friends have always praised him for the unending amount of hope he carries in himself, and Jeongguk has always mocked it. It makes perfect sense to leave Jeongguk be, let him fight his battles, maybe that way he could be permanently distracted from his tormenting against Jimin and Jimin can finally live in peace. As peaceful as living under the Humdrum’s constant threat can get, anyway.

But maybe this is what can fix them.

Maybe this can save them.

From each other.

From themselves.

Then on the fourteenth night, the ray of hope in Jimin’s head snaps. He begins to follow Jeongguk around the same way he did during their fifth year.

He hides mostly, tries to conceal himself as he subtly chases the vampire down and watches his every move intently. Jeongguk doesn’t do anything out of what might be considered abnormal for a mage and normal for a vampire — for example, bite the cats that roam around the grounds. He doesn’t do anything except keep his hands in his black joggers’ pockets and walk around in the chilly night in nothing but a sweater. Jimin wonders if he’s cold. Jimin also wonders why his skin looks much greyer than usual.

“How long will you keep this up?” Jeongguk scowls after an hour or so of silently being chased, standing at the bank of the Pious River. Jimin jumps behind the tree he’s hiding, his heart near well leaping out of his chest.

“I— You—”

“Spit it out, Park.”

“Hey,” Jimin clears his throat and steps out from behind the tree to stand beside Jeongguk. It’s rather dangerous to be out alone with Jeongguk with no one to witness if he decides to drain Jimin instead of the rats, no anathema protecting him here besides the river. He considers pushing Jeongguk in it, to see if the river burns him the way holy water should burn vampires. The thought only amuses him temporarily, the outcome of imagining a burnt Jeongguk making Jimin frown with a grimace. He wonders how he ever lived with himself all this time, hurting Jeongguk to such extremes without remorse.

Then remembers how Jeongguk wasn’t exactly lacking in hurting him first and nods to himself.

“I thought we were past the stalking,” Jeongguk remarks coolly, eyes stuck ahead at the way the moonlight licked the river waves. Jimin has to look slightly up to read the expression on his face, always loathing the two extra inches Jeongguk has on him, extending to four via the goth stomper boots Jeongguk wears all the time.

Although, as tall as Jeongguk stands, something about him is different — duller, dimmer, darker.

He looks thin, his eyes unfocused, his cheekbones sharper, his eyebags deeper, his lips less red, the grim smirks of his replaced with a permanent sullen frown on his mouth. He looks as though he hasn’t slept in ages, hasn’t eaten longer than that, as though he’s struck with such grief that he’s considering giving it all up.

Completely out of character. Completely not Jeongguk.

Jimin fucking hates it.

“We needed to talk,” Jimin shrugs as though it’s an explanation. Jeongguk scoffs as though it’s far from that.

“No, you needed to step into my business in order to fulfill your savior complex. I don’t have anything to say to you, nor let you save the day the way you’re spoiled to do.”

“One day, Jeongguk,” Jimin shakes his head disapprovingly. “I ask for one day where you don’t act like the forsaken villain.”

“Can’t stop being who I am, Park.”

It upsets Jimin, the verbal declaration that Jeongguk is evil. He can’t explain it, can’t pinpoint the exact reason why, but it upsets him more than it has in the past eight years collectively.

“I want to help.”

“We’ve already established I won’t let you.”

“Jeongguk, please.”

“Why? What are you even raving on?”

“Your mother was a fierce mage. She gave us all this,” Jimin says then, gesturing to the Watford building behind them. “I want her to get justice. She deserves that, even if you’re her son. She deserves to be avenged.”

“Even if I’m her son? You have a lot to say for someone who’s the sole heir to a fucking tyrant.”

“We don’t pick our parents.”

“We can pick to lose them.”

“Will you?” Jimin shoots him a daring look. Jeongguk turns away. He breathes out deeply, and for a moment it’s deafeningly silent. Not a single sound except for the soft lull of the river waves hitting against the rocks as they flow away, the surface glittering under the moonlight and the winter fog pooling at its corners. It’s a mesmerizing sight, awfully in contrast to their woeful moods, but Jimin enjoys the silence. It allows him to pretend that everything is fine, that Jeongguk is standing beside him in comfortable silence while they watch the Pious River, and that everything has the potential to be fine forever. “I just want to help, Jeongguk.”

“Don’t you have the world to save?” Jeongguk retorts as his head jerks in Jimin’s direction and their eyes meet for the first time that night. Jeongguk’s eyes reflect every single star in the sky, Jimin notices for the second time after that night when they were amongst the stars. As though he holds the entire galaxy in them. He wonders why he never noticed this before. Why all he ever associated with Jeongguk’s eyes was sorcery and rage, when in reality all they hold is all the life and all the beauty in the world.

It's a common fact that vampires are walking corpses, it's what they were taught from the beginning. For some reason, mainly because he's lived with a vampire for eight years, he never believed they were dead. Jeongguk isn’t dead, at least.

If it moves, it's alive. Simple as that. Jimin doesn't understand why there's an unnecessary discourse over it. Seeing so much life in Jeongguk’s eyes only reinforces his beliefs.

“Jeon Jungmi getting her justice is also part of saving the world.”

“She’s my responsibility.”

“She can be ours.”

“Honestly, how must I structure my sentences for you to understand it’s time to fuck off?”

“Jeongguk, we’re two of the most powerful mages alive. With your brains and our combined magic, we can figure out what happened ten years ago way quicker than you can on your own.”

“I don’t need your magic, Park.”

“Jeongguk,” Jimin throws his hands in the air. “We sent back a feral dragon, just the two of us. Our magic isn’t only compatible, it’s fucking brilliant! Tell me you don’t want to find your mother’s killer sooner and I’ll leave, but think about all that we can do!”

“You’re too ahead of yourself,” Jeongguk says, although his eyes bore into Jimin’s with sheer interest, a glint in those starry orbs that has Jimin’s breath hitching. Jimin can see the wheels spinning in his head, he knows he’s getting to Jeongguk.

“Jeongguk-ah,” Jimin says softly, surprising himself more than anyone with using the tone he only uses with his close friends. “It’s okay to need help.”

And perhaps that was the wrong move because Jeongguk sneers as he steps forward and pushes Jimin into the river before stalking off to his damned spots for spending the night.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The only thing that pisses Jeongguk more than fake concern is genuine sincerity.

Especially now when it’s directed at him by Jimin. Which is a first, so it pisses him off a little more than it normally does.

He marches off to the catacombs, prying his wand out to cast a here, kitty kitty in order to call upon the cats and feed on them. It’s a rough night, rats won’t be enough. Hell, it’s a rough dead-life, Jeongguk should be given a fucking cow every night as compensation.

After he’s done draining four male cats, avoiding the females in order to keep the breeding up, he sits at his mother’s tomb and begins to replay his conversation with Jimin from before.

Jeon Jungmi getting her justice is also part of saving the world.

Jeongguk’s eyes pool with tears at the memory of Jimin’s gorgeous eyes gleaming with hope when he said that, how he was ready to take on the responsibility of avenging his enemy’s mother, how he’d forgotten years’ worth of mental torture Jeongguk had bestowed upon him. It’s perhaps the main quality that draws Jeongguk towards Jimin, how good he is, even to someone like Jeongguk.

Even if Jimin is bound to The Mage, even if Jimin knows one day Jeongguk and he will face each other and only one of them will survive, even if all the damage Jeongguk’s done is irreparable. Even then, Jimin offers his help like it’s nothing.

“Hey, ma. Your rosebud boy is caught in quite the scuffle,” Jeongguk chuckles wetly to himself. “This damn boy just won’t let me live. He thinks he can help— help you rest in peace… All this time I thought you were at peace until that damn boy met you and told me otherwise. I didn’t know, ma. I’m so sorry… Sorry that I— I missed you. I miss you. Just when I thought the universe couldn’t be crueler. And I wasn’t there when you needed me. I’m so… so sorry, ma.

“I don’t know what I’ll do… I don’t know if there’s anything I can do. But knowing that— That you don’t hate me… That you came to me, asking to avenge you, that you still look over me that’s— God, ma. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know. I just miss you so much. I just wish it were me, and not you. I just wish we were together right now. I miss you— miss you so much, ma.”

Several minutes later there’s a faint rustling sound of shoes grinding against the gravel, the usual Park Jimin habit of dragging his feet when he’s pissed beyond repair.

Jeongguk whisks away his unshed tears and smiles to himself when he smells the smoke of his magic, hinting at how Jimin was close to going off. That damn addictive energy of his seeping into Jeongguk’s dead skin like a fucking energizer. Jeongguk faintly wonders if he’s managed to anger Jimin enough to draw his sword.

Jimin is the worst Chosen One that was ever chosen, simply because he had no control over his magic. He works impromptu, and sloppy, and has no sense of strategic plans to strike. Jimin is renowned as a fierce warrior, but Jeongguk knows it's more of his impulsive going off rather than actual brains put behind his attacks.

He doesn’t bother to stop and think, Jeongguk knows he doesn’t think at all, in fact. Jimin simply loses his temper, begins to simmer and blur, his starking baby-brown orbs glossing over as his skin begins to shine. It usually starts with his sword, the orange and red flames he begins to kindle that are oddly in contrast to Jeongguk’s blue and purple ones, the sole source of the smell of smoke that begins to overcome oxygen. He begins to spark, like a fucking jet engine, igniting from his wrists against his sword’s hilt, curling up his arms, licking down his chest, mesmerizing and terrifying at the same time.

Even if he’s spent eight years in combat training after it became blatantly clear that his magic is untamable, Jimin never learned patience, nor a stable hierarchy of planning his moves and checking for consequences.

He simply goes mental. Jeongguk unhealthily loves the sight of it.

“You fucking bastard!” Jimin is roaring when he nears Jeongguk. He’s so close to going off but he doesn’t have his sword out. He never has his sword out when it’s Jeongguk on the other hand, which partly may be why he never actually blows up in front of Jeongguk. “You absolute menace!”

“Have some respect for the dead,” Jeongguk retorts with an exaggerated sigh, raising his eyebrow at Jimin’s voice echoing around the tomb and further infuriating him.

“I give you my hand in friendship and you threw me into the river?!” Jimin’s clothes are dripping onto the gravel, the cotton fabric of his shirt sticking to his lean form and making things a tad bit more difficult for Jeongguk than usual, but he remains relentless. Letting Jimin in is no less than willingly jumping into the Pious River, burning every speck of his skin slowly and torturously until there’s nothing left of him to burn. And he’d rather jump into that fucking river than know what it feels like to be on Park Jimin’s good side. “What the fuck is your problem?!”

“You. Always you.”

“I just want to help!”

“Help? My ass.”

“Yes, help, you fuckwad!”

“Why?!” 

“Because you— And me—”

“We’re not friends, Park,” Jeongguk spits out vehemently, pissed at Jimin for wanting the impossible, pissed at himself for wanting more than that. Every time Jimin offers his hand, it becomes harder for Jeongguk to shove it away. The frustration overpowers his rationality, his anger soaring as he clenches his teeth, and weeks' worth of agony begins unraveling in his chest. “We can never be friends.”

Jimin clenches his jaw so hard Jeongguk thinks his teeth may grind to dust.

“Fine, you want that? Fine. But I am not letting a fucking vampire roam around in mage business without an eye on him. So either you let me in, or I’m reporting the visit of your mother to The Mage.”

“What the fuck?” Jeongguk is seething at the threat now, all prior thoughts abandoned at the idea of being betrayed to such an extent. Would it qualify as betrayal, judging their circumstances? Sometimes Jeongguk wonders why he lets himself believe that Jimin won’t use his weaknesses against him, why even in the midst of their endless rivalry he hopes to stay on the side Jimin willingly protects, why he is convinced that Jimin is nothing but good. Jeongguk, in all his despicableness, is a bloody fool. “How dare you try to play my mother against me?”

“The same way you played my kindness against me!”

“I don’t want your kindness!”

“Then what the fuck do you want?!”

“For you to fuck off!”

Jimin fumes so hard the chilly night reduces to one resembling a midsummer’s night, fumes so hard Jeongguk is momentarily afraid he might blow off his mother’s tomb. There’s a dull ache in Jeongguk’s head that tells him to hold Jimin down, tell him to breathe, tell him he’s sorry, or do nothing and walk away to save themselves from a calamity. He does neither.

Instead, he chooses what he always does. The only way to distract Jimin, the only way to feel Jimin.

Jeongguk doesn’t even realize how close Jimin had gotten before he sublimates his urge to hug him by raising his fist.

It collides brashly against Jimin’s jaw, the crunch of Jeongguk’s knuckles hitting Jimin’s jaw only doubling the fury raging in his cold-blooded veins, and effectively throwing Jimin off balance for a second before he’s retorting the punch two-fold. The fumes lay off, all the energy waiting to burst now submerging into his fists. In a byronic way, Jeongguk saved the fucking day.

Jimin may be a terrible mage, but nothing can beat him in a fistfight. Jeongguk knows that, has had enough experiences to know it far too well, and it still doesn’t stop him from charging back to push Jimin on the ground.

Because this; Park Jimin hurling kicks and punches with a bonus curse at the end of each delivery, is all his hopeless being gets.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It probably took all night for them to tire out from the fighting.

By the time Jimin lays panting on the gravel ground with blood spilling from his cheek and mouth along with a sharp ache in his ribs that indicates a broken bone, he can see the rays of the sunrise spilling through the catacomb entrance nearby. Jeongguk huffs from the other side of the tomb, his temple bleeding from how Jimin kicked it with his heel a while ago.

“Already tired, Park?” Jeongguk heaves out, barely able to stand.

“Haven’t done this in a while,” Jimin replies breathlessly. This is normal, this is them. They fight, they make each other bleed, and they go back to their shared room as though nothing ever happened only to repeat it all over again the next day. This is them. Then why does Jimin feel the need to nurse Jeongguk’s wounds? “Think I’m done for the night.”

“Coward,” Jeongguk spits, and for once Jimin agrees.

“Let’s go,” Jimin says, standing up on shaky legs before he stalks towards Jeongguk and holds him up by his forearms that has him blinking at himself for a moment. Surprisingly, Jeongguk lets him, then shoves him away as an afterthought that has Jimin scowling the entire way back to their room.

“You’re not surviving through the week, mark my words.”

“Yes, yes.”

“I’m going to kill you in a way that no one even finds your dead body.”

“Get in the shower, Jeongguk.”

“Fuck you.”

“You’re not limping anymore,” Jimin remarks as Jeongguk fishes his neat closet for a clean uniform.

“Your magic—” Jeongguk cuts himself off. “Stop being so obsessed with me, creep.”

Jimin allows himself to smile only when Jeongguk slams the bathroom door on his face.

When Jeongguk exits the shower after an hour, his wounds are already healed. Magic-healing usually leaves a faint scar that fades hours later, but Jeongguk’s vampire immortality doesn’t need magic. His wounds heal up within an hour as though they never were inflicted, the only mark on Jeongguk’s face being the scar on his cheek that has no story— that Jimin knows of. The vampire healing though, Jimin figured that fact out way early.

Jeongguk scowls, as he always does when Jimin stands in his way and looks at him expectantly.

“What?”

“Magic my wounds away, fucker.”

“I’d rather jump out the window,” Jeongguk scoffs.

“Alright, do so after you magic my wounds aways,” Jimin states evenly. It's always been a risk to make Jeongguk use his magic over him, but Jimin thinks they're way past that fiasco. “I can’t go to breakfast looking like this and I’ll miss breakfast if I go shower. You hogged all the hot water anyway.”

“What does a human furnace like you even need hot water for?” Jeongguk sneers, earning a deadpanned look in return. “Ask your lover boy Kim Taehyung, Park. I’m not wasting my magic on you.”

Usually, this is the time when Jimin huffs and puffs and leaves Jeongguk be. But usually, Jimin doesn't beg for his magic, neither does he peer over Jeongguk’s walls. Nothing about them is usual anymore.

Jimin waits a moment before he steps right into Jeongguk’s space and speaks, “You owe me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Excused. Now, look here. My magic fixed your limb,” Jimin counts on his fingers. “I didn’t kill the dragon when you so politely asked. I stopped the dragon from burning your flammable ass, as well as your mother’s office — I noticed, yeah, don’t give me that look. And gave you a shitload of my magic. You. Owe. Me.”

Jeongguk breaks their eye-contact and stares at the ground near his feet for a hot minute before he’s nodding his head.

“Fine. I’ll repay four favors, that’s what Jeons do. Get well soon,” he casts on Jimin, and there’s a hiss in his breath as he does.

Jeongguk’s magic burns, like molten candle wax, and then soothes, like air freezing it back.

It’s always fire with Jeongguk, Jimin has known that since the first year. But only now does he allow himself to wonder that perhaps it’s not always meant to destroy. Perhaps his fire can heal too. He enjoys that idea.

“Three more favors left,” Jimin grins. Jeongguk merely flips him off before they head to breakfast.

“Jeongguk,” Jimin calls out right before they separate at the cafeteria gates. “I won’t say a word to The Mage.”

“I wish I could believe you, Park.” Jeongguk almost sounds hopeless as he leaves without a single glance spared onto Jimin.

Disappointment isn’t something that Jimin is a stranger to, especially being on the receiving end. He’s faced several situations in life when he disappoints people around him. The look on Taehyung’s mother’s face when she found out Taehyung was almost eaten by a dragon. The look on Yoongi’s face when his brother joined The Mage and Jimin had to congratulate him right before Yoongi’s eyes. The look The Mage sent Jimin every time he described how he took down an enemy with his sword, not his magic. The look that stares back at him every day in his reflection.

Disappointment is a part of life, no matter what he does he’ll never manage to make everyone happy. But when it comes from Jeongguk, it hurts a tad bit more.

I wish I could believe you, Park. As though Jimin is incapable of doing the right thing. As though he’s nothing more than The Mage’s watchdog. As though he’d ever, in his sane mind, sell Jeongguk off like that. It hurts to hear that Jeongguk thinks so lowly of him, even if all he’s ever received from Jeongguk is hurt and suffering.

Yet, his words prick at Jimin all day long.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

A week of silence later, Jimin starts acting weirdly around Jeongguk.

1. He starts following Jeongguk around again, like a dog tied to his ankle. 

It was very similar to how he had followed Jeongguk around in the fifth year, except the hostile glares and the unprovoked curses are no longer there. All of them are replaced with fleeting conversations and concerned stares. Back then, Jeongguk was still trying to process how the fuck was he meant to deal with being in love with Park Jimin while having disastrous bodily reactions to his attention. Suffice to say, not much has changed since then.

Jeongguk deals with it much more easily than he did back then, however. His go-to savior move would be to throw a punch every time his heart fluttered under Jimin’s intense gazes. These days, he merely hisses and Jimin takes a tentative step back. Jeongguk appreciates that as much as he craves for the opposite.

2. He's constantly smiling as though his face is broken. 

Jeongguk hates the way his eyes turn into crescents and his front crooked tooth catches on the inside of his top lip when the smile begins to form.

Jeongguk loathes the way it makes his cheeks feel warmer when it’s directed at him.

3. Then comes the touching. 

Jimin has always been a physically affectionate person, what with how he latches onto his friends like a fucking kitten all the time. Jeongguk always received the negative aspects of his physical preferences, and he felt sufficiently full with his kicks and punches rather than his hugs and kisses — no matter how much he’s dreamed about the latter, damn his life. Now, Jimin touches him all the time. And it’s not even meant to hurt Jeongguk.

It’s simple, innocent, platonic touches. A hand on Jeongguk’s bicep here, a graze on Jeongguk’s forearm there, a playful shove to Jeongguk’s shoulder during conversations, grabbing Jeongguk’s hand to get his attention. 

All normal. It makes Jeongguk’s skin crawl with prickling affection and want.

4. And then comes the worst part: how gently he takes Jeongguk’s name.

“Jeongguk-ah,” Jimin says, honey-dipped Busan dialect curling around his ‘g’ and softening impossibly at ‘ah’ as he’s going over his Greek homework. “Did you get the answer to question three?”

Even if Jeongguk tells him to fuck off, Jimin’s mouth twitches as though he’s delighted to be acknowledged. Jeongguk wants to bite himself for giving him the constant pleasure of being so.

He’s never found anything difficult in life. He’s mastered seven languages, enough to cast spells with every single one of them. He’s the football team captain and always intends to stay as such as long as he’s at Watford. He tops his class, sometimes by a thin margin because his competition is Kim fucking Namjoon, but nevertheless maintaing the record for seven years so far. He’s also handsome at every time of the day, which demands quite the effort.

Nothing is difficult for Jeongguk.

Except for one thing that should be the easiest considering their eight year’s worth of rivalry; he can never let go of Park Jimin.

“Park,” Jeongguk can’t stop himself from whispering well into the night, buried under his countless blankets as Jimin lays on the opposite side of the room shirtless and without a single sheet covering him.

Jimin hunches up on his elbows to turn on the side lamp at the sound of Jeongguk's voice, such an uncharacteristic response when Jeongguk expected he’d snap about not being the night-crawling creature between the two of them. Especially since Jeongguk kept him up with his guitar practice for an extra two hours out of spite towards this sudden attitude change. The fact that he practiced Homicide Love by James Arthur is completely irrelevant information.

“Yeah?” Jimin asks instead, that same damn gentle tone of his.

“Why are you so intent on helping me?” Jeongguk asks after a moment of staring at Jimin’s ruffled curls. “We’re not friends.”

“I know.”

“We never will be.”

“I know.”

“Once Watford is over, you and I will face each other in battle. One of us will die, preferably you.”

“I know.”

“Then why…” Jeongguk grits his teeth, angry at their fate all over again, more so now when he hears Jimin acknowledging it too. “Why are you trying to be so nice to me? It's making me very ill-ease.”

Jimin sits up straighter, back resting against the headboard as his head laid back and stared at the roof. He sat silently for several moments, which made Jeongguk think that he was trying to figure out the right words to say — an endearing yet frustrating trait. Park Jimin’s pauses made Jeongguk’s chest ache with so much adoration that he would almost rip his own beautiful hair off his scalp.

Then, after another solid moment or so, Jimin swings his legs off the bed and struts over to Jeongguk, thumping down on his bed unceremoniously as his curled hair bounced against his forehead.

Jeongguk almost screams at how his heart lurched inside his chest.

“Remember the stars?” Jimin’s baby-brown orbs are gleaming at the memory, Jeongguk barely manages to nod with how affected he is. “That night… It was very revealing, wasn’t it?”

“Are you on crack?” Jeongguk snaps instead of nodding enthusiastically, because yes, that night was so fucking revealing.

“Jeongguk-ah,” Jimin sighs. “I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than a sky full of stars that close.”

“So?”

“So…” Jimin ducks his chin to his chest, his eyes fluttering shut as he swallowed thickly around nothing, Jeongguk intently watching his throat wobble. Jimin’s showy swallows were always such a sight. “It means something, right? It can’t be a coincidence, not with the crucible, the Veil, and then our magics being compatible in a way that’s never happened before and can make the impossible possible.”

“It’s a Chosen One thing,” Jeongguk huffs.

“No,” Jimin shakes his head adamantly. “It’s a you and me thing. It doesn’t work with anyone else.”

“W-What?” Jeongguk’s heart stutters with his mouth, Jimin smiles proudly at the sound of his stutter.

For a split second, Jeongguk is back amongst the stars, floating in the cool night air with his entire body chilled to the bone but his hand warm as Jimin holds it firmly at his side. And at that moment, Jeongguk is smiling so wide his front teeth barge out, and he’s staring at Jimin without any hesitation, knowing damn well that his eyes are confessing to the years’ worth of love he’s kept shoved deep inside his heart for Jimin. At that moment, Jimin belongs to him and he belongs to Jimin.

It’s a you and me thing.

The moment is just that, however. A moment. And it soon passes like any other with the knock of reality, its blow rather brutal even if it’s expected.

“Have you ever wondered,” Jimin whispers slowly. “What would it be like if we weren’t enemies? If your family wasn’t in a silent war with my adoptive father? What if this is a sign from the universe, Jeongguk-ah?”

Jeongguk doesn’t remember a day where he hadn’t thought about that alternate reality.

How easy everything would be then if he wasn’t murdered at the age of ten and revived as a walking blood-sucking corpse. If his main purpose at Watford wasn’t to keep an eye on Park Jimin. If Jimin wasn’t Jeongguk’s greatest weakness. If Jimin wasn’t being bred by an evil genius who’d one day use Jeongguk’s greatest weakness against him.

A world where he wouldn’t waste all this time yearning and daydreaming secretly as he threw hurdles in Jimin’s way. A world where the idea of kissing Jimin wouldn’t end with Jeongguk’s neck on the line. A world where maybe, just maybe, being so hopelessly in love with the most powerful mage alive wouldn’t be so bad. A world where Jimin will choose him over The Mage. Jeongguk wonders about that world every day, every night, with every breath he takes.

It’s a you and me thing, except there’s no you and me. It’s as though he’s blooming a flower that can’t be bloomed, in a dream that can’t come true.

“No,” Jeongguk says through clenched teeth. “There’s no point thinking about things that are impossible. You’re destined to die by my hands, Park.”

Jimin’s face falls as he sits away from Jeongguk’s space. He looks as though he’s been slapped, smile turning into a frown, eyes losing their glint, eyebrows relaxing in threat. Jeongguk thinks he should’ve just done that instead of being so cruel with his words.

“Why,” Jimin shakes his head, his voice hoarse as though he’s tearing up. Jeongguk wants to reach out, wants to apologize, wants to gather him in his arms, and lay them back down together. He doesn’t do any of that, because he isn’t allowed to. He never will be. “Why do you always say the cruelest thing possible?”

“It’s who I am,” Jeongguk states evenly.

“Alright,” Jimin nods as he gets up from Jeongguk’s bed. “If being the dick-faced villain is what you prefer, then alright. Only will make it easier to kill you on the battlefield.”

Jeongguk wishes Jimin would just summon his sword and slice his head off right then, he dearly wishes so. Instead, Jimin stalks back to his bed, slams the side lamp shut so hard that the switch shoots sparks before it breaks beyond repair, much like Jeongguk smashing any hope between them, and lays down with his back turned away from Jeongguk.

Jeongguk stares at him all night, managing to count all of Jimin’s back freckles several times, like children would count sheep, before he loses himself to sleep too.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The lamp's switch is followed by the shower handle, then the bookshelf on Jeongguk’s side of the room, and then their fucking front door. Jimin's limbs work with a mind of their own as they flap around smashing things.

It's mostly on purpose. He's petty from last night's conversation, and he knows Jeongguk’s neatness-obsession won't allow him to walk past those damaged goods without wasting his magic to fix them up. He also imagines Jeongguk cursing with frustration when he finds things broken in the room one after the other and enjoys the scene immensely.

Then he realizes only eight months are left of their year. Eight months of promised peace before God knows where the war begins or how many. Eight months before there's no saving Jeongguk or himself. Then he grows from petty to fucking terrified which eventually flows into fuming rage.

Jimin slams his food tray onto the table hard enough to have his food jumping out of its compartments and splashing everywhere, making Taehyung grimace at the wasted food as Namjoon and Yoongi stare at Jimin’s face with inquisitive eyes.

“What’s up?” Yoongi casually asks, regretting it even before he got the question out because Jimin seemed just about ready to slay a dragon.

“What the fuck is his problem?”

“And so it begins,” Taehyung mutters against Namjoon's shoulder.

“Sometimes I think he was born evil! Is his father really his father? Or was he born through the fucking devil, what with all the villainy in his veins since his blood froze years ago—”

“Jimin…”

“—not to forget the threat he is to everyone in this school! His fangs pop out more than usual, I got a glance at them not fucking long ago, and he’s moved on from the rats to the cats! My dog wasn’t enough for him? Now he’ll come after my cats? Then you guys? Then me? That fucking bloodsucking douchebag and his disgusting vile cold-blooded character, he makes me want to choke him to dea—”

“Park,” Jeongguk remarks as he stands behind Jimin’s seat, effectively cutting off his rambling insults. “I see the obsession extends to friendly group chatter too.”

“Hey, Jeongguk,” Namjoon waves off-handedly, getting a nod of acknowledgment in reply. The short friendly exchange makes Jimin’s blood boil harder.

“What do you want now?” Jimin seethes as he hurls himself off his seat to face Jeongguk, yanking the chair somewhere and hearing Taehyung yelp behind him. “Want to get done with the battle right now? Wanna die that bad? Let’s fucking g—”

Jeongguk slaps a palm onto Jimin’s lips to shut him up, the gesture making Jimin flinch with the way he expected a punch instead. His eyes grow impossibly round as he stares at Jeongguk’s face, all deep grey starry orbs, all ruby red lips, all sharp cheekbones, and long slicked-back black hair. Sometimes Jimin has the urge to ruffle them, just so they fall against Jeongguk’s cheekbones. Sometimes Jimin also has the urge to chop them off his head in his sleep. Right now, it is the latter urge that reigns over his head.

“We need to talk,” is all Jeongguk says before he’s grabbing Jimin’s arm and dragging him outside until they reach the main office — Jeon Jungmi’s office.

“Woah,” Jimin says for the nth time, all anger forgotten, as his hands rake over the centuries-old scriptures piled up in endless rows and shelves in Jeon Jungmi’s office. He vaguely wonders about how the Mage will react if Jimin tells him he was in the office that the Mage had been trying to break in for years now, and then waves it off by thinking he should bring along Taehyung to hoard all this knowledge someday. “This is so cool.”

“Why do you want to help me?”

“Huh?” Jimin pauses right before a picture of Jeon Jungmi posing before the camera with a roughly eight-year-old Jeongguk on her lap. He stares at them while he replies. “I told you last night.”

“No, last night you were blabbering about the impossible—”

“For fuck’s sake,” Jimin groans, diverting his gaze back to meet the vampire's. “I get it! We’re mortal enemies!”

“Park,” Jeongguk steps closer, his mouth set in a straight line and his eyes bleeding with sincerity — which is a first. Jimin has always craved his sincere side, but now that he has it, he’s unsure of what to do with it. “Why do you want to help me?”

Jimin stares back into his eyes, only now noticing the thin light grayness that outlines Jeongguk’s deep dark grey orbs, and how it matches the greyness of his skin. He wonders if it’s a vampire thing or a Jeongguk thing, and then wonders why he thinks it’s two different things. Then he sighs before reaching out and grabbing Jeongguk’s arm.

“Because I’m sorry.”

Jeongguk blinks twice, then thrice, and then he’s shoving away Jimin’s hand as he steps back. For good measure, he pushes Jimin's chest to create more space between them.

“So it’s pity,” he almost spits. “You want to offer your oh-so-godly magic because you feel sorry for me.”

“What— No!”

“I don’t need your sympathy, Park,” Jeongguk does actually spit this time. “I don’t need anything from you, you useless bag of wasted magic!”

“Please, just listen!”

“You good for nothing mage! You atomic blasting freak! I don’t need anything from someone as incompetent as your sorry ass!”

“Jeongguk-ah—”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Will you shut the fuck up?” Jimin roars out, accidentally with magic, and Jeongguk’s lips seal shut as his eyes widen with fear. He flinches away and stumbles over a chair, clawing at his neck with his eyes bleeding for help. Jimin’s never seen him afraid, not like this. “Oh fuck, oh no no no…”

Jeongguk seems like he’s trying to scream, with how his throat strains and his hands leave red trails of scratches on his neck, and then he stares at Jimin with wide-blown eyes that look caught between fury and helplessness. Jimin runs to him at once, crouching in front of him with his hands shaking as they hover over Jeongguk’s mouth before he’s holding a palm to his sealed lips, closing his eyes, and casting a repairing spell.

Jeongguk flinches away as though he’s burned by Jimin's touch, but Jimin pulls him back with a confident expression on his face. He asks for permission this time, with his eyes, and Jeongguk nods once before Jimin’s palm is settling over his lips again.

“As you were,” Jimin whispers, lighting the match and blowing the tinder. It was rather surprising that his magic worked the way it was intended, a day of many firsts indeed. 

Jeongguk’s lips move under his palm, opening, and closing until he hears him try to speak.

“I— I can,” Jeongguk swallows as though it strains him to speak, his lips moving under Jimin’s palm softly. “Why did… you do… that…”

“I didn’t mean to,” Jimin speaks with genuine worry, his head shaking vigorously, his hand moving to cup Jeongguk’s chin. “Are you okay?”

Jeongguk shakes his head as he pushes Jimin’s hand away, although this time fairly gentler than the previous shoves.

“Please… leave.”

Jimin didn’t expect anything else, so he ducks his head as he stands up and starts to make his way to the exit. But before he leaves, he says, “I don’t feel sorry for you. I just feel sorry.”

“Why?” Jeongguk asks, tone low and resigned.

“Because you missed her,” Jimin explains at last. “You missed her by a day, and I know that if I were in your position, I’d be ready to kill the man who took my chance. I feel guilty for being the one there instead of you, no matter what you were plotting. I feel awful that she was taken from you and you were given this damned fate, and I took the only chance you had to feel her close to you once again. You don’t know Jeongguk, it keeps me up at night, knowing I stole that from you.”

Jeongguk’s shoulders deflate as Jimin goes on.

“Jeongguk… It is the savior complex. But it isn’t only for her. It’s for you too. She was your mother and they killed her in front of you and that’s just — it’s wrong. And maybe this… You and I… together, avenging your mother, maybe that can change our fate.” 

“Park…” Jeongguk turns to face Jimin with his mouth slightly parted.

“We aren’t meant to be friends,” Jimin raises a hand to stop him and continues. “I hear that, loud and clear. But maybe — just maybe, we don’t have to be enemies either. Maybe you and I can live on for a long time instead of killing each other someday. Maybe you and I can be the solution.”

Jeongguk doesn’t reply for several moments, but Jimin stubbornly stands there and waits for him to kick him out — if not give any response. He grows fidgety, shifting his weight from leg to leg, wondering if dusk has set already with how patiently and silently Jeongguk sits with his brain running hard enough to show on his face. Jimin waits, nonetheless, waits for something.

And then there it is, subtle enough to miss if Jimin wasn’t obsessively staring at Jeongguk’s form, but also clear enough to know Jeongguk’s intentions as though they unrolled like a scroll.

Jeongguk nodded.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Behaving like friends is rather weird, Jeongguk thinks, really, really weird.

Not like they were sitting together at lunch or helping each other with homework. To be fairly honest, Jeongguk doesn’t think anything’s changed between them. They still taunt each other in class, Jimin still tends to get pissed off enough to almost blow up like a bomb, Jeongguk still finds pleasure in being on the receiving end of Jimin’s anger. They’re still what they’ve always been.

The plotting against each other’s demise stops, however. Or more like, Jeongguk stops pretending as though he’s plotting murder, and Jimin stops aggressively asking what he’d been up to while he was out of Jimin’s sight.

They sometimes also manage to have conversations that don't involve almost ripping each other’s heads off. And the fistfights have stopped too, no other episode since the fight in the catacombs almost two months ago. Jeongguk also weirdly misses that.

Being Park Jimin’s friend just means not planning on — pretending to —killing him, and Jeongguk can’t help but think Jimin’s got tragically low standards.

“It’s not like I can have many friends,” Jimin scoffs in reply when Jeongguk points it out with heartfelt mockery. They’re in their beds now, nearly midnight as the moonlight pours through their dorm window along with the chilly wind, Jimin glancing at it before standing up to shut it all the way. Pillow talks from opposite ends of the room have become common between them, Jeongguk thinks warmly and then curses his existence for being a disgusting bag of mush. “I’d have better standards if I wasn’t… all this.”

“You have friends,” Jeongguk says with furrowed eyebrows pointed at the now closed window, silently confused about what was wrong with ‘all this.’

“Taehyung’s family is terrified of me,” Jimin remarks. 

“You did almost get him killed by the Humdrum.”

“True. He probably sticks around because of all that we’ve been through, but I know his family pressurizes him to stay away, and one day he’ll have to choose them above me.”

“That’s highly unlikely.”

“Maybe. But it is possible,” Jimin smiles sadly.

“You still have Yoongi and Namjoon,” Jeongguk adds. You still and will always have me, he doesn’t add.

“Yoongi sticks around because he’s vowed to rebel against his father in every possible way, and what can be better than being around a ticking time bomb such as me?” Jimin laughs out, Jeongguk doesn’t find the depreciating words funny at all. “Besides, his brother and father are on The Mage's side but everyone knows Yoongi is far from it. And Namjoon too is tired of my ass. He’s only forced to be around because of Taehyung since they’ve been dancing around each other for years and are too scared to make the move. Besides, in the war, they’ll be with their families. Against The Mage, against me. So really, you can’t blame me for having low standards.”

“Your friends are adults who can make their own decisions.”

“So you’re saying you can go against your family since you’re an adult?”

“I'm saying you're also an adult who can make your own decisions.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Jimin huffs after a minute of stunned silence. No one dares talk to him about it, about what he'll do — or what he'll be forced to do — once Watford is over and the war commences. No one but Jeongguk, of course, and he prides himself on having no fear of Jimin. Jeongguk is afraid of a lot of things, and Jimin isn’t one of them.

“Why do you stick around him?”

“What—” Jimin barks out a laugh. “What do you mean why?”

“Why?” Jeongguk deadpans.

“I had nothing, Jeongguk. I was nothing. If it weren't for The Mage, I'd still be nothing.”

“You're the Chosen One, Park. You were born to be everything.”

“Yes, and then thrown at the gates of an orphanage while the sky poured into my basket with a name written on my arm. Not even a fucking surname, Jeongguk. I spent twelve years being nothing, and The Mage saved me from that. He gave me,” Jimin waves his arms around like a duck. “All of this! How can you even ask why? What would you do?”

“I know a tyrant when I see one,” Jeongguk replied without a hitch in his breath. He had a vague idea of what high esteem Jimin deemed on The Mage, so the rambling doesn't surprise him one bit. It does disappoint him, however, way more than his liking. “You don’t owe him anything, Park.”

“I do. And he's not all bad,” Jimin shook his head. “He's misunderstood. And his position is threatened. It's all just bullshit communication issues, to be honest. I know there's good in him.”

“That's what you tell yourself to justify being under his debt?”

“Well,” Jimin only shrugs stupidly.

“You’re a pessimist and an optimist, Park. Your brain is actually a whole fucking circus trampoline.”

Jeongguk wants to end the conversation because all these insecurities Jimin starts spilling is making it harder and harder for him to not get up and kiss his worries away, or punch some sense of self-worth into him. He curls his arms around his pillow and forces himself to stay glued to his mattress, trying to keep his overwhelming emotions at bay.

“I’m a realist,” Jimin argues with a grin, trying to come off as though none of this bothers him. “There are only two constants in my life; save the world from the Humdrum’s attacks, and keep the vampire-cum-evil-mage under constant surveillance. I don’t think about anything else.”

“Why not?”

“Because…”

“Because?”

“It’s just— You know…”

“Spit it out, Park,” it’s too gentle, Jeongguk is too gentle.

“It’s like you said,” Jimin shrugs, broad shoulders deflating at the end as he bows his head and sighs deeply. Jeongguk loathes the sight with fierce determination. “The thing about being on the battlefield someday — except my entire life is a battlefield. I burned down a building at the age of twelve, killed a dragon when I was fifteen, killed a chimera too, and have been killing other dark creatures before I could even hold up that damn sword… And everyone expects me to destroy the Humdrum because I’m the boy the prophecy talked about. I was born with the destiny to die for the world. Eventually, one day, I will. So I try not to think about anything that gives me hope.”

There’s no shock that Jimin realizes his fate. It’s the sole reason why Jeongguk came up with the title The Chosen One, i.e the one chosen to sacrifice himself when no one else can. That was the fate Jimin was born with, after all. It’s as cruel as Jeongguk’s fate — if not more — and it makes Jeongguk wonder what they have ever done to deserve this.

Maybe Jeongguk deserved it, maybe he was born evil the way Jimin claims.

But Jimin wasn’t. Jimin was born good. Jimin has been nothing but good all his life.

Why would the universe be so cruel to someone as good as him? Someone who was abandoned by his parents at birth, someone who was shoved into terrible foster care for the past twenty years, someone who was raised between the Normals until The Mage decided it was enough so he shoved him into the world of mages instead, expecting him to just be okay with everything that’s thrown his way.

Everyone treated Jimin like he’d be okay with the worst treatment ever, and the worst part is that Jimin was. Is.

It angers Jeongguk so much he can’t decide what to do with himself.

Jimin, this absolute fucking idiot, just went with all of it without a single complaint. It pisses Jeongguk off that Jimin would give himself up for an undeserving world, pisses him off so bad that his fangs pop out and his nostrils flare, so bad that he wants to punch some sense into Jimin and then beg him on his knees to demand more — for better, for the very best because that’s what he deserves.

He deserves to be treasured, not to be bred as a sacrifice.

“That’s the most idiotic thing you’ve ever said,” Jeongguk grits out with a lisp, pulling his blankets over himself as he lays facing away from Jimin, hiding his anger. “Goodnight.”

“Jeongguk-ah.”

“What.”

“Thanks for listening. And only judging silently.”

“Bite me, Park.”

Jimin just laughs. It doesn’t help Jeongguk’s fuming ears.

It’s well into December when Jeongguk finally musters up the courage to go out in search of his mother’s killer. They’re granted a two-week winter vacation every year, and it’s the only time except summer when Jeongguk is allowed to return to the Jeon manor where he can research without having the authorities knocking on his door for suspicious behavior.

No one ever says it out loud, about The Mage being such a fucking dictator.

Jeongguk knows Jimin like the back of his hand, but never once could he understand where all this loyalty to that monster came from. The Mage would hand him mittens, and he’d run around smitten. The Mage would make him his heir so he could actually enter Watford, and he’d vow to burn the world down at his first command.

It was unnerving. It was terrifying.

His aunt told him that The Mage was off raiding the Higher Families’ homes all summer while Jimin was rotting in care, sitting in their drawing rooms and drinking their tea while his little army tore their houses apart and searched their libraries for forbidden spellbooks. He uses the excuse that he wants to monitor which of the Higher Families are consorting with the Humdrum, his aunt used very colorful language over that reasoning.

“Jeon, you better steal his diary,” she wrote on the dove she sent, a three-page letter attached to its lithe body. “Break into his office. Hack his computer. Scissor all his trousers. Kill his heir.”

This isn’t new, the family has always tended to focus on his weakness; Jimin. Only because The Mage has always been a fucking tyrant.

He sealed off most of the records regarding the vampire attack on Watford ten years ago as soon as he took Jeon Jungmi’s position. Then, as the cherry on top, he banned all electronic devices in Watford such as the basic mobile phone or computer and went out of his way to add the resistance towards the internet in the Watford shields. Through this, he made sure that none of the students at Watford belonging to the Higher Families (Jeon, Kims, Jungs, etc) would be able to contact them and inform them about all that was happening at school. Jeongguk doesn’t feel ashamed when he compares Watford to a prison disguised as a glamorous club.

Although, the lack of contact with his father all year round is one of the few ways Jeongguk has managed to avoid doing actual damage to Jimin. It’s a shock that his family never figured out that Jimin is Jeongguk’s weakness too. So he tries not to complain too much about not being able to talk to them.

“Off home already?” Jimin comments at the neatly folded clothes Jeongguk set in his suitcase, always making a point of taking all his clothes back and then returning with them untouched because he had a fair amount of clothes back home too. He did it only to make a show in front of Jimin, hey I’m off so please notice, because normal conversation was never an option.

At least not initiated on his part. He still has his own set standards to live up to.

“We are,” Jeongguk replies evenly.

“What?”

“You’re coming with me.”

“... What?”

“Does your brain genuinely not work?” Jeongguk tilts his head condescendingly, secretly adoring the way Jimin blinks up at him.

“Does yours?” Jimin retorts with a scoff. “I’m not going to the Jeon manor.”

“Why not? The library back home is too big for me to cover on my own, plus I have a car through which we can actually investigate rather than sitting on our asses… Why are you looking at me like I asked for your kidney?”

“Why— In case you hit your head and forgot everything, our families hate each other.”

“I thought you said we didn’t need to be enemies.”

“Well, yes,” Jimin splutters. “But our arrangement is personal. Your family still wants me dead.”

“You’ll be my guest,” Jeongguk raises his head indignantly. “No one will dare harm a guest at the Jeon manor, let alone my guest. I’ll even cast a spell on you, be my guest.”

“As if you’ve never lied to me before,” Jimin scoffs now, turning away and marking the end of the conversation. It’s a strange dynamic change, it was always Jeongguk who ended their petty arguments all this time. It doesn’t bother him as much as it should.

“Park, you promised to help me find my mother’s killer,” Jeongguk pushes on anyway.

“I can do that from here. Just send me a dove when you figure out a clue and I’ll have my magic ready for you.”

“What are you afraid of? We’ve lived together for eight years now.”

“Okay, and?”

“Why did you even offer to help when you didn’t mean it?” Jeongguk snaps now, wondering why they’re back to square one. He thought Jimin trusted him now, he thought they were past all the doubting and the suspecting and the needless mind-reading to figure each other’s motives. So much for wishful thinking.

“I offered help,” Jimin argues. “I didn’t promise dinners with a family that’s been trying to murder me for the past eight years. They wouldn’t miss the golden chance of killing The Mage’s heir right under their roof and covering it up as though I never existed.”

“How dare you—”

“Are you saying that if your father poisoned my food you would dare stop him?”

Jeongguk remains silent.

Not because he wouldn’t stop his father, of course, he would. But because the admission would sound like treachery to his family and a confession to Jimin. And he’d rather end their dumb arrangement right this moment than confess that his eight years’ worth of attempts at Jimin’s life was nothing but a drastic measure to gain his attention.

“Practically asking me to kill myself, Jeongguk. Real smart.”

“Suit yourself,” Jeongguk hisses as he storms out of their dorm, leaving his suitcase right on his bed but grabbing his guitar, and marching off to his aunt’s car who waited outside the doors of Watford to drive Jeongguk back home.

“I thought you said you’re bringing a dude,” his aunt questions with a raised eyebrow midway.

“No dude. Just me. Always gonna be just me.”

“You’ll find the one, Jeongguk,” she tsks, shaking her head.

“I don’t need anyone.”

Jeongguk desperately wishes he could believe his own words.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Jimin regrets not accepting Jeongguk’s invitation.

Not because he’s suddenly developed a blind trust in the Jeon family, he’s not that big of a fool. But because every winter break he heads down with either Namjoon or Yoongi to crash at their places, and attends Christmas dinner at Taehyung’s with the rest, returning to Watford on New Year’s together.

This year, however, Taehyung isn’t going back home. He’s going on a two week holiday with Namjoon to some island that Jimin can never seem to remember the name of, and Yoongi has been appointed to attend an American Mage Conference by his father.

Jimin has no choice but to stay at Watford during the winter break too, with nowhere else to go. And recent events have proven that being at Watford without Jeongguk is surprisingly unpleasantly unbearable for Jimin. And he hates that he regrets not accepting Jeongguk’s invitation.

“Jimin-ah, just come with us,” Taehyung begs for the nth time. “Please, it’s what we want.”

“Not a chance.”

“Jimin, please! What will you even eat?! The kitchens are closed during the winter break!”

“I’ll magic some food up,” Jimin winks sarcastically, Taehyung slaps his arm.

“Just come with me,” he pleads again.

“Tae,” Jimin frowns. “This is your chance to bag the man. I refuse to be the cockblock between you two anymore.”

“Jimin—”

“Just go. Enjoy the sunny beaches, talk about your feelings, maybe get laid, and spare us the constant goddamn sexual tension. This is your chance, Tae.”

Taehyung grumbles about not being the only one with the disturbing sexual tension under his breath, Jimin chooses to ignore it altogether.

He was sitting on Taehyung’s suitcase to help zip it up when the dread of being all alone on Watford grounds without any food for the next two weeks settled into his gut. He considered visiting The Mage, wherever he was, but decided against the idea in case he sent Jimin to foster care for two weeks to rid himself of the responsibility. Besides, The Mage always contacted him first so going the other way around felt awkward. 

He also considered getting a job, but decided against that idea too for he was never in control of his magic, may be summoned to kill something somewhere any time or attract a dark attack by the Humdrum outside Watford grounds, and the possibility of going off in some shabby cafe because your boss scolded you is low. Even by Jimin’s standards.

“Just come with me,” Taehyung says, his eyes sincere and his voice low. “You can stay by yourself the entire time if you don’t want to be a third wheel. But please, just come.”

Jimin could, but after eight years of being a constant liability on Taehyung and forcing his best friend to waste all his magic on Jimin’s scrawny incompetent ass, of forcing him to give Jimin company while the rest of the school avoided him like the plague, of dragging Taehyung into dangerous missions and making him fight Jimin’s battles, the least Jimin can do is let him enjoy one vacation without having him worried about an out of control mage.

“Have fun out there,” Jimin smiles as he pats Taehyung’s back.

Jimin breaks into the kitchen on the third night when his emergency stack of food finishes, setting off a million alarms that have one elf barging in with his magic ring, ready to slice Jimin’s body in two.

“Oh, Mr. Park,” the elf mutters instead.

“Just Jimin, please.” Jimin grimaces, the form of addressing reminding him of Jeongguk’s taunting tone. It made him frown, oddly missing Jeongguk’s teasing antics even more now.

It isn’t surprising that Jimin craves for Jeongguk’s company. He’s spent eight years in it, spying on his plots and keeping him in line. He discreetly follows him to classes, attends every football match of the season to confirm Jeongguk’s whereabouts, monitors his comings and goings in the dorm, and times his huntings of the evenings. Jeongguk keeps him occupied.

He’s always made sure Jeongguk doesn’t set off burning the entire world down, even if it has him stressed enough to sometimes lose his temper beyond repair. So naturally, despite Jimin’s attempts to act against the urge, he can’t help but think of only Jeongguk when he’s all by himself.

Jeongguk is just… vague.

He never actively tries to be evil, but always tries to come off as though he’s plotting a mastermind plan that will kill every single mage around the globe.

There was one instance that left Jimin confused for weeks. He was battling a goblin attack single-handedly during the sixth year. Jeongguk was watching perched over a nearby bench, legs folded, hair slicked back, face plastered with a snicker as he taunted Jimin for using a sword when he had all the magic in the world.

It was impossibly annoying, had Jimin distracted too, enough that a sneaky goblin slithered up and tried to slash him in half with his blade-like nails from the back, as Jimin’s sword pierced through another’s and wasn’t quick enough to defend himself. Jimin was too distracted to notice as he braced for the pain and the poison, mentally noting to make Jeongguk pay for the inflicted wounds later if he survived.

But the goblin’s hit never came.

Jeongguk was on Jimin’s back in the blink of an eye, his wand slashing through the goblin’s throat as he hissed at the creature, Jimin watching the entire scene with a dumbfounded expression.

“Only I get to kill you, Park.” Jeongguk was seething, but his eyes almost seemed concerned. Almost.

Fuck, Jimin missed Jeongguk way too much to be considered adequate. It was normal to think about him unendingly, but to miss him? That was new. Perhaps it was because of their new peaceful arrangement, how they’d managed three months on peaceful terms, how they’d often chat like friends.

How Jimin had grown a tad bit more obsessed with Jeongguk after seeing his non-villain side.

Jimin starts regretting his choice of staying behind even more now as it’s mixed with guilt of promising Jeongguk to avenge his mother with him and then never falling through with it. It makes Jimin feel fickle, unreliable, like a fucking liar.

He wonders if the blunt rejection hurt Jeongguk just the way it had hurt Jimin when Jeongguk slapped his hand away the day they met. He wonders when he’d become so cruel.

Fuck. He thinks about sending Jeongguk an apology postcard.

“Are you hungry, master?” the elf asked with a gentle smile, Jimin nodding in reply.

“I’m sorry for the trouble, got nowhere to go.”

“It’s alright, your father never did either.”

It takes a moment for Jimin to realize the elf wasn’t talking about his father but about the man who adopted him. Made sense since no one, not even Jimin, knew who his real parents were. Jimin was left at the gates of the orphanage in a basket, with Jimin written on his arm with a black sharpie. He didn’t even have a surname, to begin with, something to track his parents down with. He had nothing but a generic name, no family, no house, no place to belong to, destined to live like an outcast all his life. Jimin was a Normal with no fate and no purpose, a nobody.

And then The Mage gave him all of it. A name, friends, a place to belong to, a swell of endless magic. The Mage made him The Chosen One.

Jimin wonders how he’ll ever manage to repay this debt.

“The Mage?” he questions anyway. The elf looks as though it said something it shouldn’t have, Jimin almost doesn’t want to force out anything more and discomfort it further. But he’s never had anyone speak about The Mage’s life before he became the headmaster, and he wasn’t about to let the opportunity pass this time. “Please tell me, it’s okay.”

“I don’t want to upset master,” the elf says, referring to The Mage. Jimin wonders just how old it is.

“I’m his son,” Jimin says sweetly, forcing out a warm smile, the words leaving a foul taste in his mouth. “Just wanted to know about my father’s childhood. It’s okay though if you don’t want to talk about him.”

The elf hesitates for a minute before he sighs and turns towards the oven to warm up bread for Jimin. “The Mage was just like you. Powerful, but lonely.”

The remark pierces through Jimin, makes him defensive. He pushes the feelings down, however.

“He didn’t have a home either. Dead parents. Back then, no foster homes, you see. Living with Normals was considered a crime according to him, and mages don’t adopt. He lived in Watford all year round, so much that he never left. After graduating he joined the faculty. Then the board. Then was next in line to Jeon Jungmi’s position.”

“I thought that was a spontaneous decision?”

“No, no,” the elf shakes its head. “All politics. He planned all along to replace her but Jeon Jungmi wouldn’t leave, that wench. Didn’t even leave for summer.”

“I thought she was loved,” Jimin says confusedly.

“Hah!” the elf snickers. “Scared of her, everyone. She would never leave!”

“Why not?”

“She was paranoid. That leaving would break out war with the Normals. Thought she was being played by the board.” 

“Was she?”

“She was,” the elf hesitates. “But had it coming all along.”

Something in Jimin infuriates him enough to spell the elf’s mouth shut, the smell of smoke permeating the air as his anger inspires the chaotic magic spiraling inside him. No one had the right to badmouth Jeongguk’s mother, the founder of Watford, let alone a lowly servant. But Jimin let it go on for the time being, just for the sake of waiting for something more substantial. Jeongguk would do just that, and he’d want Jimin to do the same.

“What did she do that was so bad?” Jimin asks, forcing his tone to remain even.

“Defended them Normals,” the elf spits in disgust. “Said they shouldn’t be punished for summoning our magic for themselves! Didn’t punish those scums!”

“Punish? Since when did we own magic?” Jimin remarks.

“Since forever!” the elf retorts with a pensive look. “Your father says so too. Threw off the Higher Families when they objected. Banned communication to the wretched outside world. Preserved our magic, you know the Hall of Life? The heart of Watford? The heart of magic? All the magic in the world that was made for us stored in it. It is ours only to use, and anyone who interferes deserves to die. She didn’t have the guts. He did. A true Watford headmaster.”

“He killed Normals…” Jimin says, rather than asks. The dread seeps right into his gut as a shadow takes over his expression. It dawned upon him just then that perhaps his adoptive father was indeed the tyrannous leader as everyone claimed him to be. Perhaps Jimin had been on the wrong side of the war all along. Perhaps the man Jimin owed so much wasn’t worth it after all, regardless of the debt Jimin was under. “Is this why all her records are sealed?”

“The Jeon sister, she’s a real smartbutt. The Mage didn’t want her snooping on Watford, did what had to be done. He always has the guts,” The elf purses it’s dehydrated lips as it bows its head and pulls out the bread from the oven before handing it to Jimin. Jimin wants to smash the tray against his face. 

“You seem fond of him,” Jimin comments pointedly. “Like you owe him.”

“Of course! He warned me about them vampires, saved my life.”

“Warned you?” Jimin’s sixth sense begins to tingle.

“Ye, saved us all. Your father, a true hero.” The elf’s face softens before he offers jam with the bread, Jimin’s face hardens with realization.

Warning them meant The Mage already knew there’d be an attack, which made Jimin realize that he was always aware of the attacks. Which made even more sense when he remembered how The Mage is never around every time Watford is attacked.

The Mage had always said the Humdrum sent the vampires, and the dragon, and the goblins, and everything else Jimin had fought. The Mage had said the only reason he banned communication sources in Watford was to avoid attacks. The Mage had said Jeon Jungmi was a fierce leader and he forever regrets not being there when she was attacked.

They were all lies.

Now, Jimin realizes he wasn’t there because he already knew. Perhaps it was the Humdrum who orchestrated those attacks, but The Mage was always somehow aware of it. Perhaps he even staged it.

The Mage has been in it all along.

Jimin’s mind is running a million miles per second, all possibilities locking in, all loose ends joining together. Upon deeper pondering, he remembers how The Mage was the one who came up with the Humdrum entity, someone who no one had ever seen, nor interacted with. As though The Mage had made him up, conjured an evil power, never once explaining where it came from or what it wanted, or how he even knew about it.

Yoongi mentioned that the Watford shields don’t allow any creatures except mages into it, unless a mage lets them in, and no one except Jeongguk would readily risk Watford. But Jimin thinks — knows — that Jeongguk protects Watford with his life, he may be evil and a vampire but he would never betray his mother’s school. Jimin is convinced of that.

Yoongi also mentioned that none of these creatures attack unprovoked, so why would they attack Watford for no reason whatsoever? Why would these creatures purposefully walk to their deaths at the hands of The Chosen One? What would they achieve from that?

Jimin knows that The Mage goes around the world to find allies, to gather support behind him other than Jimin and his army of orphans and runaways that can fight for him against all of South Korea’s mages. He speaks of peace and harmony, but never yields to giving what the mages deserve. And yet, he’s more ready for the war than anyone else is.

Jimin’s head is spinning, the smoke pouring out his pores, his magic tingling under his skin to be let out. He knows the symptoms, he’s about to go off, about to burn Watford to the ground, all because he had been so purposefully blind towards all the chaos his adoptive father was conjuring to hurt his friends, hurt their families, hurt Jeongguk.

Jeongguk.

There’s a sharp ache in Jimin’s chest when he realizes how the worst victim out of The Mage’s tyranny is Jeongguk. The ten-year-old boy who lost his mother and possibly got turned into a vampire, damned for the rest of his life. The ache heightens when he thinks about all the times he’s tried to out Jeongguk, hit Jeongguk, cursed Jeongguk.

Jimin was the son of the man who had wronged Jeongguk, and Jimin was the one promised to kill Jeongguk. It made Jimin hurl the tray of bread against the nearest wall with a sharp agonizing cry.

He’s about to go off, he’s about to burn Jeongguk’s favorite place in the world, he’s about to hurt him more than ever — and then he focuses on things he’s sure of.

Glossy black hair.

Pale grey skin.

Deep eyes.

Jeongguk.

He thinks of Jeongguk, of how much he needs Jimin right now, he breathes in deeply and then breathes out, he imagines Jeongguk’s forceful yet gentle voice telling him to stay calm.

And all is good then, as good as it can be.

He doesn’t waste another breath, runs at his top speed to the nearest taxi station which is five miles away from Watford, and punches the coordinates in the taxi’s GPS to the Jeon Manor in Busan. But before doing all that, he locks the elf into the oven.

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.

Chapter Text

Loathsome. Overbearing. Vague. Extraordinary.

Jeongguk is all of those things, and more. Jeongguk is evil, a whole jerk, a vampire. He’s ruthless and dangerous and spiteful and he wants Jimin dead the minute their truce is over. But Jeongguk is kissing Jimin as though his life depends on it, and Jimin refuses to take a step back.

Besides, he’s never taken a step back before, and he doesn't plan to start now.

The smoke has long vanished around them, now only the smell of burnt wood and ashes remain, the smell of pine and cedar and bergamot that’s near well suffocating Jimin, and all of it should be uncomfortable enough to turn him off. All of these scents are what he’s hated all his life. But Jimin is going off like his insides are on fire. Or more like, getting off.

He wonders how long Jeongguk has wanted this.

He wonders how long he has wanted this.

He’s blowing up so hard his skin is burning. Every swipe of Jeongguk’s palm, his mouth, his tongue, it burns in the wet after-trail, burns so good it has Jimin’s oxygen supply cutting off as he sweats through his clothes — Jeongguk’s clothes, fuck. Jimin is wearing Jeongguk’s clothes and his cock is grinding against Jeongguk’s, and the lower part of his face is numb and spit-slicked, and the forest is echoing with their conjoined moans.

Fuck.

He can’t muster any rational thoughts, or words, or think about the consequences, he’s just grasping onto Jeongguk’s hips tightly with a sharp gasp as he pulls him down against his straining front. Jeongguk breaks their kiss and throws his head back at the expense of unadulterated pleasure he gains, his mouth falling open as his body rolls into Jimin and hips buck harder and faster against Jimin’s. Jimin can’t remember what day it is or how they got into the position they are in and why in the name of fuck haven’t they been doing this all along.

Instead, there’s a list of things he’s doing, a list of things he thinks he’s always wanted to do:

1. He pushes his hand into Jeongguk’s hair, the strands silky soft, threading between his fingers like they belong right there.
2. He bites Jeongguk’s bottom lip, then pulls at it, then let’s go when Jeongguk whines, then sucks on it — as though he’s apologizing.
3. His mouth deviates onto Jeongguk’s pulse point, feels no beat there under the cold skin, then bites life into it.
4. His hand slithers down Jeongguk’s back and cups his ass, and Jeongguk’s jamming his jaw forward that has groans spilling out from both their mouths, sounds indistinguishable by now, woven around each other as though they’re one.

“Jimin— fuck.”

Jeongguk sounds broken, the good kind, the kind that has Jimin groaning while his hands squeeze over Jeongguk’s ass harder, the kind that makes Jimin crave for more. Wanton moans spill from his ruby red lips, bitten raw from Jimin’s ministrations, his pale skin blushing profusely with a sheen layer of sparkling sweat, his pectoral muscles bulging under his wet t-shirt, the entire ordeal rendering Jimin insane.

When exactly Jeongguk got this buff and why exactly Jimin never noticed is beyond his comprehension. When exactly Jeongguk became this beautiful and how Jimin had ever resisted him, even more so.

“I’m gonna…” Jimin gasps again as his mouth dives onto the other side of Jeongguk’s neck, biting and sucking to keep his embarrassing noises at bay, because they are very embarrassing and painfully loud. There’s a pestering thought at the back of his head, that someone may catch them like this, and it doesn’t bother him as much as it should. “Jeongguk-ah… shit.”

“Me too,” Jeongguk nods enthusiastically, his arms curling around Jimin’s neck to push his head further into his neck, like he wants to be eaten alive and Jimin can’t bring himself to judge him over it, because he wants to eat him up. Not in the way that leaves him writhing with pain, but in the way that leaves him unconscious with overwhelming pleasure. At the moment, Jimin has the insane dedication to pleasure Jeongguk for the rest of their lives if it means he gets to have Jeongguk like this.

Jeongguk’s skin isn’t cold anymore, nor deathly pale. It’s warmer, darker, like it’s full of life. The harder Jimin sucks on it, the brighter it blushes, the faster his hips roll down against Jimin. He has a strong belief that he could get addicted to this, addicted to hearing Jeongguk make all these sounds, addicted to marking him up, addicted to having Jeongguk so fucking close.

“Shit.”

Jimin hasn’t seen much of the world.

No, correction, Jimin hasn’t cared to see much of the world. He’s been all around South Korea to fight his battles, all eight years he’s portaled to every possible destination there is. There’s also the fact that he gets shipped off to remote areas during summers for his foster homes, and even then he’s never cared for exploring them. Sights are bland to him, nothing appeases his gaze. Nothing makes him stop and think.

Jeongguk, however, highly does.

Or more likely, Jeongguk’s face when he comes is what Jimin thinks should be the eighth wonder of the world.

Because he is so — fuck, Jimin can’t even put it into words.

Jeongguk is so magnificent on his own, so powerful and graceful and so violently beautiful that anywhere he goes, he turns heads, he eats up the attention, he breaks hearts. Jimin wouldn’t mind getting his heart broken by him, if he’s being completely honest. Jeongguk has the kind of energy where he can hold an entire room’s attention with a single raise of his eyebrow, leaving everyone baffled and confused as to why their hearts start fluttering.

Jimin has experienced it all first-hand, and only now stops and thinks about how he survived it all along.

Did he? Survive it? Or was the obsession all along just a product of being utterly whipped?

One kiss, and Jimin’s rethinking his entire fucking life.

But the sight of Jeongguk’s face when he comes, the way his neck goes rigid while his jaw goes slack, the way his tongue lolls out and sticks to the corner of his mouth, the way his eyes flutter close, and his eyebrows knit together lazily — fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Why isn’t this the eighth wonder of the world? Can Jimin’s magic declare it as such? If yes, how soon?

Jimin comes with a single groan, pulling Jeongguk harder into his chest as though he’s trying to mold their bodies into each other permanently, impossibly close as his hands continue to roll Jeongguk’s hips against his own to ride out their high, their orgasms spilling into their trousers as they continue to rut against each other unbothered.

Jeongguk trembles in his arms, hands clawing onto Jimin’s clothed back to keep himself grounded, mouth lazily sucking onto Jimin’s neck, one of Jimin’s hands uncupping his ass to squeeze at Jeongguk’s bulging bicep. The flush of his skin is radiating heat, as though he soaked up all of Jimin’s warmth and is now spilling everywhere like an overfilled teacup. It’s maddening, it’s addictive, Jimin never wants it to end.

But Jeongguk whines out a stop when he becomes too oversensitive, and Jimin obliges without a stutter.

“Jimin…” It’s foreign, to keep hearing his own name for the first time in eight years from Jeongguk’s mouth. The feeling blooming inside his chest at the sound is now Jimin’s most favorite feeling in the world, most definitely. Having this, all of this with Jeongguk, it’s officially Jimin’s favorite thing in the world. “Shit. Where’s your cross?”

“Huh?” Jimin’s still panting in the aftermath when Jeongguk pulls back hastily. He catches a glimpse of Jeongguk’s fangs pushing into his bottom lip and filling up his red-tainted cheeks, but he’s too deep into his bliss to care about it. Jeongguk begins to pull away, and the feeling that settles into Jimin’s gut may be what dread is. “Wait, no. No, don’t go.”

“I need—” Jeongguk’s lisp is back. What once was an indication of his fangs and spurred Jimin into a fight response is now fucking adorable. “Just— Just give me a moment.”

“Are you thirsty?”

Jeongguk shoots him a glare, which softens visibly when Jimin cups his cheek and pulls up one corner of his mouth to inspect his fangs. They’re sharp, pearly white, dripping with what Jimin assumes to be venom — or more likely an aphrodisiac liquid. It’s equally as sexy as the sight of Jeongguk’s face when he comes, Jimin associates at once without any hesitation.

Jeongguk’s fangs are just as gorgeous as him, so much that Jimin stares at them in sheer fascination.

He expects Jeongguk to pull away, but is instead met with him nuzzling into his palm while turning into a puddle under Jimin’s touch. He likes it so much, the power to tame Jeongguk’s anger, to make him putty under his hands, to soften his glares into a look of puppy-love. All of this, it’s so much better than fighting, Jimin likes it so much he can feel the giddiness swirling through his limbs.

He may as well love it. Love him. Jimin thinks it’s highly likely he always has.

“Uh, yeah,” Jeongguk gulps, his tongue licking over his lower teeth as his hooded gaze meets Jimin’s.

Again, he wants to kiss Jeongguk again.

“Okay, then. Call on a deer.”

“You should— You should go…” Jeongguk stutters, forcing himself away from Jimin’s palm before nuzzling into it again like a kitten as though an overbearing afterthought is forcing him to. Fucking adorable.

“I don’t want to,” Jimin states evenly.

“Your cross—”

“Here,” Jimin fumbles into the grass below them and finds the necklace, not waiting before he ties it around his neck. “Better?”

“Better?”

“Have you ever bitten anyone?”

“No,” Jeongguk frowns. “Of course not. I’m not a murderer.”

“Then, it’s better.”

“You can’t possibly trust me this much,” Jeongguk stares dumbfoundedly.

“Call it,” Jimin says as he intertwined his fingers with Jeongguk, pushing another wave of magic down his still-trembling body, surging another wave of pleasure down his spine judging from the way Jeongguk shivers and gasps.

“Doe,” Jeongguk chokes. A deer appears, gingerly crawling near the burnt trees.

“Can I come with?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Alright. Go drink.”

“Don’t look,” Jeongguk says, finally detaching himself off Jimin’s lap and heading behind the burnt trees. The front of his jeans is exotically spoiled, and Jimin’s belly churns with blazing heat at the sight. “I’m serious. Don’t look.”

Jimin doesn’t look. Not at the deer anyway.

When Jeongguk returns, his skin is flushed. Jeongguk has been flushed for a while, but the flush on his skin at the moment is different — ghastly, as though he was reminded of the burden of the situation and was suddenly caught with agonizing exhaustion. Jeongguk holds a floating fire in his palm which momentarily makes Jimin panic again, but then he looks around and finds the sky as black as a coal.

Jeongguk’s face looks heavenly against the blue and purple flames dancing in his palm, but his broad shoulders are deflated, as though they hold the weight of a mountain on them, and Jimin can’t help but admire how wide and strong they are. Strong enough to hold his own burdens, as well as Jimin’s.

Because right now, Jimin wants to — craves to — dump all his troubles onto Jeongguk’s shoulders, and take up all his troubles on his own shoulders. He wants them to unburden each other, he wants them to trust each other, he wants them to save the world together, he wants them to kiss again until neither can breathe.

“Do you breathe?” Jimin asks with a fascinated lull in his tone.

“I— No?” Jeongguk looks pained at the question.

“Alright then, just me.”

“Huh?”

“In my head,” Jimin smiles, tapping his temple with his forefinger. “Thought of kissing you until we can’t breathe, but you don’t need that stuff so just me.”

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t meet Jimin’s gaze. He doesn’t look at Jimin. Nor does he indulge in hugging Jimin when Jimin steps up to do so. Jimin chooses to not think over it.

“Do you need to drink every day?”

“Yes, to stay sane.”

“And the heightened senses thing… that’s true too?”

“Yes, Park.”

“You called me ‘Jimin’ before.”

“No,” Jeongguk tightens his jaw. “I didn’t.”

“So you are immortal? Like you’ll live forever?”

Jeongguk doesn’t reply, even makes it a show of ignoring Jimin’s question before turning away with an annoyed huff.

Everything is fine, finally. Everything will be fine.

“Did you do this?” Jeongguk asks as he walks up to his car and finds the driver’s seat door broken off its hinges.

“Nope,” Jimin replies with a popping sound. “All you, sir.”

Jeongguk only grunts as he waves his wand and casts an as you were over the door before he thumps in place behind the wheel. He starts the car and barely waits for Jimin to settle in before he’s reversing hastily out of the forest. It looks as though there was a cult ceremony held there, all trees burnt in a circle, the smoke still lingering off their trunks.

Jimin touches his swollen lips and thinks it probably was.

“So,” Jimin quirks when they’re back on the road, only to fill the awkward silence more than anything. “You’re into dudes.”

“Huh?”

“You’re… not?”

“No, I definitely am,” Jeongguk huffs again, as though the very sound of Jimin’s voice irritates him. “But I thought that was obvious.”

“How exactly would that be obvious?”

“Park, my fucking guitar strap is a rainbow.”

“You called me ‘Jimin’ before,” Jimin huffs back, suddenly a bit irritated as well that the softness in Jeongguk’s tone has evaporated as though it never existed. “And well… I didn’t, you know, want to assume.”

“Assume? I’ve known you’re gay.”

“How?” Jimin splutters. “Even I didn’t know I’m gay!”

“You didn’t— Are you serious?” Jeongguk removes his eyes from the road and glares at Jimin. “That was a fucking experiment?”

“No,” Jimin knits his eyebrows together. What was he being accused of now? What the fuck was happening? “No, of course not. I just never thought about my sexuality.”

“Oh right, because you never think about anything,” Jeongguk’s tone is no less than the venom in his fangs. “Ever.”

“I think about you,” Jimin says, pathetically.

“Please, shut up.”

Jimin does. And then he starts to think over it, despite himself.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

When they reach back the manor, Jeongguk’s mind is painfully silent.

He can’t bring himself to look at Jimin. Nor think about his mother. Or The Mage. Or the fact that he’s returning home after the abrupt confession to his father this morning. He can’t even think about what he’s supposed to do now, even if he strains his brain hard enough to develop a headache.

He looks down at his lap, and his jeans are spoiled. A bittersweet reminder of what he did — what they did — in the middle of a burning forest, right after Jeongguk found out Jimin’s father murdered his mother. Jesus fucking christ, his mother must be turning in her grave right now.

He doesn’t bother hiding them when he sees Jimin heading into the manor before him, his trousers equally ruined. It’s a little embarrassing to walk into his house like this, the threat that Vera or this father seeing them like this would be something Jeongguk may never be able to live down.

But Jimin refuses to care. And Jeongguk just follows his lead, unsure about what else to do. Jimin seems more experienced, anyway, so it’s rational to simply follow his lead. Luckily, there’s no one in sight and the two reach Jeongguk’s bedroom without any interruption.

“Do you, um, mind if I shower?” Jimin asks once Jeongguk locks the bedroom door behind them, his hands fidgeting over his naval and his teeth nibbling over his bottom lip. Jeongguk stares at him, wondering about how he was nibbling on it not long ago, and he squeezes his eyes shut and nods wordlessly. Jimin hurls towards the bathroom as though he couldn’t move any faster, and only after that does Jeongguk realize he’s been holding his breath.

What the fuck, is the first thought he manages to conjure up.

He came in his pants — no, he came in his pants while grinding against Park Jimin. He kissed Jimin — no, Jimin kissed him. He fed on a deer and now feels the blood slosh in his tummy — and Jimin watched him while he did.

What the fuck.

Jeongguk looks to his side and catches the sight of his reflection, and immediately regrets it.

There’s a trail of faded bruises running down his neck, the warmth of Jimin’s mouth still fresh on his skin. Jeongguk rarely ever bruises from Jimin’s kicks and punches, so this is really quite the feat Jimin’s done on his skin. His hair is a fucking mess, sticking into all directions and tangled at the roots from how Jimin fisted and pulled on them over and over again. His mouth is swollen and bitten raw, his shirt crumpled beyond repair, his jeans obscenely stained that he makes a mental note to burn them.

Jeongguk doesn’t even need to breathe, yet his breath quickens.

This — This mess that he is right now, Jimin did that. Jimin, the Chosen One, The Mage’s Heir, the boy that has vowed to kill Jeongguk one day, the reason why Jeongguk can’t even avenge his mother.

Jeongguk feels like trash. No — Jeongguk is trash. He just found out his mother was murdered by The Mage, and then he went ahead on a suicide mission, which consequently ended in him coming in his pants at the hands of said Mage’s heir. Jeongguk is garbage, absolutely smelly, not even worth recycling. His stomach churns uncomfortably, his eyes squeezing shut to get rid of the image of his own appearance, his Adam’s apple wobbling as he realizes what he had just done. What he vowed would stick to his fantasies only, what he was never supposed to do.

He tries to argue with himself that it wasn’t him that initiated any of it. Hell, he was just trying to die, do one fucking thing in peace without the Chosen One’s interference, goddamn it. It was Jimin who put the entire kissing and grinding and coming in motion. Jeongguk shouldn’t be blamed.

But you didn’t stop him.

Jeongguk, he’s a constant disappointment to himself. There he laid, contemplating how to avenge his mother without hurting Jimin, deciding his best option was to just fucking end himself, and then in the next moment, he was on Jimin’s lap, shoving his tongue down The Chosen One’s throat.

Fuck.

“Everything okay?” Jimin asks out of nowhere, standing at the door of Jeongguk’s en suite bathroom in nothing but a towel draped around his waist.

“Jesus fucking christ,” Jeongguk couldn’t stop himself from muttering out in annoyance, suddenly exhausted and furious and so fucking done with everything.

Does Jimin know how badly Jeongguk wants him? Has he known all along? Why would he kiss Jeongguk if he didn’t know? Is this a scheme he’s conjured up with The Mage, to toy with Jeongguk before they crucify him in front of the World of Mages? Jeongguk imagines Jimin standing at the foot of his cross, yelling out to the mages: Hey, he’s not only a vampire but fucking queer too!

It’s not true, Jeongguk knows Jimin isn’t that cruel. He knows he’d never do something that cruel.

But can you blame Jeongguk for thinking such heinous possibilities? Only last year, Jimin had thrown him out of the second-floor window and broken his arm. Now he just got Jeongguk off in his lap. Fucking hell, how was he supposed to react to this? How was he supposed to cope with the fact that Jimin is The Mage’s heir? How was he supposed to live on after he got a taste of Jimin? How was he supposed to not want more?

“Jeongguk-ah?” Jimin’s eyebrows were knitted as his eyes bore over Jeongguk’s form. He gingerly steps forward, but even the slightest motion has Jeongguk flinching away. The hurt is so apparent when it flashes over Jimin’s features, and there’s nothing Jeongguk is willing to do about it.

This is too much.

Too fucking much.

He stalks over to his closet and pulls out a pair of clothes for Jimin, throwing them in his direction without a glance before he storms into the bathroom and slams the door behind himself.

Jeongguk slides down the door, his supersonic hearing aware of every single breath Jimin takes on the other side of the door, as though he’s resting his forehead against the wood and sighing deeply. He doesn’t dare move a muscle until Jimin’s breathing fades away.

Jeongguk sits numbly in his bathtub for hours, the warm water freezing cold now, when he realizes that he’s the biggest idiot in the universe.

Now the Chosen One has substantial proof that he’s a vampire and can easily get him locked up. Now The Mage’s Heir knows that his father was behind Jeon Jungmi’s murder and there’s a witness present whose whereabouts are known that can easily help to get rid of him. Now Jimin knows how much Jeongguk has wanted him all along and has probably figured out why the vampire let him live for so long.

He dreads leaving the bathroom, not sure how he’ll be able to live if Jimin wouldn’t be there.

All this time, he was convinced that if Jimin and he were to get together, were to kiss and confess their undying love to each other, then everything would turn out to be okay. Jeongguk was convinced that kissing Jimin would end all his problems, all their problems.

Instead, kissing Jimin only worsened them. Jeongguk is such a bloody fool.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Jeongguk doesn’t exit the bathroom for an hour, and by then Jimin has stopped waiting.

It’s a little confusing — a lot, actually. Jimin doesn’t know how to react. Only hours ago Jeongguk was gasping Jimin’s name, kissing him as though his life depended on it, clawing and begging Jimin to hold onto him harder. And Jimin complied to everything without a single question, not because Jeongguk asked, but because he wanted it just as much — if not more.

Now, Jeongguk is back to giving him death glares. To snapping at Jimin. To being closed-off and distant.

It’s so unsettling it makes Jimin barks out a laugh.

What the fuck was all that supposed to mean, then? Yes, sure, he kissed Jeongguk first. He still can’t possibly fathom as to why he kissed him instead of doing, literally, anything. Neither can he understand where the urge came from, and how it ever even existed. But that was what his instinct told him to do, what he thought would only work. It was more of a stunning-his-senses-back-into-action kind of gesture at first, except Jeongguk latched onto him — pounced on him — and Jimin was surprisingly eager to return the favor.

He’s always returned all of Jeongguk’s favors, anyway. It seemed idiotic to not do so then.

And now Jeongguk acts like nothing happened. As though they’re back to being enemies, back to the time before their truce, as though their dicks weren’t rubbing against each other mere hours ago. As though all that was nothing to Jeongguk.

Is this how people cope with grief? Use anyone before them to blow off some steam and then pretend like it never happened? Does Jeongguk do this a lot, and Jimin just happened to be available? Was the fire just a ruse to scare Jimin into submitting to his seduction?

Was Jeongguk trying to seduce him? Or is Jimin just fucking crazy?

God, it’s so frustrating, enhancing the more Jimin thinks over it.

This is why he hates thinking.

This is why he doesn’t think about anything, ever. Except for how to tackle his enemies in battle and how to keep Jeongguk’s plotting under control. Nothing else is worth his attention, nothing else deserves to be pondered on for more than five seconds. But now — now when he thinks about Jeongguk, all he can remember is the feeling of Jeongguk’s weight on his lap, the wetness of Jeongguk’s tongue in his mouth, the sight of Jeongguk’s face when he comes.

Heat pools in Jimin’s gut and it makes him groan out in frustration. He threads his fingers through his hair and huffs in annoyance, falling back onto Jeongguk’s bed that only clogs his nostrils with cedar and bergamot that in no way helps his frustration. Or arousal. Or frustrated arousal that’s tinged with a shred of annoyance.

He considers knocking on Jeongguk’s bathroom door, just to see if he’s even fucking alive. Then decides against it when he remembers how he’s never been alive in the first place.

Then he slaps himself for being a prick.

It’s just the anger talking, just the confusion. Jimin has never really believed Jeongguk is dead, not ever, and especially not since he witnessed the raw heartbreak on his face the night he told Jeongguk about his mother’s visit in the dorm. Dead people can’t feel, but Jeongguk feels. A shitload of it. He’s just mastered the art of hiding it. Circumstances have forced him to master it, Jimin thinks. And Jimin doesn’t like that, doesn’t like the thought of Jeongguk concealing who he truly is, doesn’t like being shoved and locked out of Jeongguk’s walls. Not anymore, at least.

Thunder booms outside Jeongguk’s dimly lit bedroom, the faintest light of the sunrise illuminating the sky, and Jimin can sense the storm coming. More than one.

He grabs Mr. Loaf and screams into his furry stomach. Fuck Jeongguk’s glares warning him to stay away from the teddy bear. His howl is muffled into the stuffed toy, and he pettily punches its face once his throat begins to ache. The fuck is Jeongguk going to do about it, huh?

Fuck. He can’t think straight. He can’t understand. There’s lethargy seeping into his bones painfully, the entire day’s events falling over his shoulders as though a full size dragon is sitting onto them and keeps provoking him to go off, yell, curse, punch Jeongguk into oblivion or kiss him stupid.

Tomorrow, he promises himself. He’ll talk to Jeongguk tomorrow.

When Jimin wakes up, nothing has changed in the bedroom.

Jeongguk’s side of the bed remains cold, his scent long faded, his presence long gone, symbolizing that either he never left the bathroom, or he bolted straight out of the bedroom when he exited it. It’s typical of him to avoid Jimin, he’s been doing so for the past eight years except for the times when he didn’t avoid him and pounced on Jimin with his fists instead.

Jimin feels like pouncing on him again. With or without his fists, he can’t decide yet.

Jimin washes up the bathroom that he finds disappointingly empty, and then exits Jeongguk’s bedroom on his toes. He tries to be discreet, not a fan of accidentally running into Jeongguk’s family, but he’s unaware of any of the rooms in this manor because the fucking vampire never had enough courtesy to offer him a tour. Nevertheless, after a solid minute of loitering in the neverending and seemingly same hallways later, he finds Vera in the corridor, who directs him towards the Main Hall.

It’s through a door, and as soon as Jimin steps in, he spots Jeongguk at the other end of a long table, hunched over a book. If he feels Jimin’s presence, he doesn’t make any show of acknowledging it.

He looks handsome, even though the room doesn’t have any lights on and the grey clouds do less to tan his skin via the sunlight. But he looks beautiful, his hair slicked back, his skin less pale than usual, his eyebrows set in fierce determination as he reads. Jimin has always known Jeongguk is handsome, but right now his beauty just hits him a tad bit harder.

Again, he wants to kiss Jeongguk again.

“Good morning,” Jimin says with a bite in his tone. He can’t help it, this aloofness from Jeongguk has always pissed him off immensely.

Jeongguk only grunts in reply, as though words are too big of a bother. It stings Jimin in a place he didn’t think he could feel, and then he remembers how it has always stung him but he never thought to question it until now. How ignorant was he, to demand his arch enemy’s attention every time everywhere and never think to consider it probably goes beyond enmity.

Jimin gingerly nears him until he has a good view of the book Jeongguk is so invested in, which he then realizes isn’t a book but a gigantic series of intricate scriptures. 

“I said, good morning.”

“You’re still here,” Jeongguk states plainly.

“Was I not meant to?”

“Hm.”

Jeongguk goes silent again. Jimin watches the sentence Jeongguk’s forefinger traces over and reads in head, if a mage has broken the law, another mage can see fit to bring him to justice, and abruptly freezes.

“What is this?” he asks with a stunned look.

“Laws of the World Of Mages,” Jeongguk replies nonchalantly.

“I know that,” Jimin grits his teeth. “What are you doing with it?”

“Reading it.”

“Why?”

“It’s how one plans, Park. Unlike your impulsive haphazard attacks, some of us have a brain to use.”

“Jeongguk, what are you planning?” the dread settles heavily in Jimin’s gut, effortlessly being displayed in his tone. “Huh, what are you thinking?”

“Park,” Jeongguk stands up straighter, after several moments of silently continuing his reading, folding his arms over his chest. He wears a white button-up with black slacks, sleeves folded as they strain against his forearm muscles, face contorted in an unreadable expression. The unpredictability of Jeongguk’s thoughts and actions only makes the dread in Jimin’s gut churn harder. “Thank you, for all that you’ve done for me so far. Unfortunately, I will have to ask you to leave now.”

Jimin blisters. “What?”

“It’s become blatantly obvious that you and I now have a clash of interests,” Jeongguk goes on, plain and emotionless. Jimin finds it fucking deplorable. “And we only have two options before us: part ways right here, or end each other right now. I’m not in the mood for violence this fine morning, so I made the decision for us. We'll be meeting on the battlefield shortly, anyway. That is, if that bastard lives long enough for it.”

Jimin stares at him speechlessly. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say, or do, or act like. It’s as though Jeongguk has snatched the ground beneath his feet, ripped up the skies above his head, tore out the oxygen in his lungs. He can’t muster any words, doesn’t even know if Jeongguk even wants a reply. He looks at Jimin coolly, with bored eyes and a thin mouth, as though all this time together, their truce, last night, none of it meant anything to him.

As though Jimin means nothing to him, so he readily disposes of his presence.

“What,” Jimin swallows thickly, eyes closing for a moment to take in this sudden change. “What will you do if I leave?”

“Carry on with my plans without any obstacles,” Jeongguk states evenly, his plans Jimin suspects being to plan an assassination against The Mage. The assassination doesn’t bother him as much as it should, but the fact that Jeongguk plans it does bother him more than it should. More than anything.

“And if I don’t?”

Jeongguk’s deathly emotionless eyes bore into his before they’re glancing down at the table before them, only then does Jimin notice a samurai sword kept sheathed right above the book.

“I’d advise you to leave.”

“You’d do that?” Jimin laughs to himself more than anything, Jeongguk visibly stiffening in front of him. “You’d kill me?”

“You’d defend him.”

“He’s my father.” Jimin has to force himself to not gag at those words,

“He killed my mother.” Jeongguk spits vehemently.

“That makes him a murderer,” Jimin says forcefully, reaching an arm forward. “You're not a murderer.”

“Yet,” Jeongguk hisses and shoves Jimin’s arm away. “Either leave or draw your sword out, Park.”

“You called me 'Jimin' before,” Jimin starts to shake his head subconsciously, as though that would save the situation, he’s desperate enough to try anything to save them. “Jeongguk, please.”

“Draw your sword.”

“I can't.”

“Draw it.”

Jimin mutters the chant to summon the Sword Of Mages, dreading the weight of the hilt in his grip because that would mean he's under a threat, that Jeongguk will indeed kill him if he doesn't leave. Never once has the sword appeared in all eight years of his rivalry against Jeongguk.

It doesn't appear now either.

And the relief that washes through Jimin should really be cherished for longer, because as much as Jeongguk tries to pretend, he doesn’t intend to hurt Jimin. The universe knows it.

But Jimin’s internal flood of relief doesn't stop Jeongguk from reaching for his sword and slashing it out of its sheath. He swings it forward without the slightest pause, and Jimin has to jump back with a yelp in order to not be sliced in two. Thanking the heavens for his reflexes, his eyes shooting a deadly glare at Jeongguk over his antics.

“He killed my mother!”

“Jeongguk—” Jimin is cut off when Jeongguk swings the sword again, the blade slashing through the air as it nearly misses Jimin’s arm. “What the fuck!”

“I knew it,” Jeongguk hisses brokenly, quick on his feet as he attacks Jimin again, and again, and again. “Even after all this! Even after you know what he’s done, you’d choose him! You'd choose him over me! Even after everything!”

On the fifth attack, Jimin runs out of space to run when his back is pushed into a corner, and the sword grazes against his shoulder. The sharp impact catches him off-guard and his breath knocks out, but the Sword of Mages still doesn't appear against his hip. It also makes Jeongguk stutter in his form, but he’s yelling out something incoherent as he pulls the sword back and slashes it forward again.

Jimin doesn’t allow himself to react to the sting of the cut because he’s preoccupied with ducking to avoid another impact, swiftly kicking the hilt in Jeongguk’s palm that sends his sword flying in the air, and then bucking his knees before jumping up to grab at the flying sword before Jeongguk has the chance to. Once the hilt is secure in his grip mid-air, Jimin pounces onto Jeongguk, the pad of his knee digging into Jeongguk’s ribs as they both crash down on the floor. Jeongguk hisses at the impact of his back against the tiled floor, then groans as Jimin’s knee keeps him pinned to it when he struggles to get up.

Jimin holds the tip of the blade against Jeongguk’s throat to keep him in place.

“Not in the mood of violence, my ass!”

“Finish me, Park! Do it!”

“Where is all this coming from?!” Jimin yells out, his breath sharp and his anger spiking with the suffocating smell of smoke enclosing their bodies.

“I hate you,” Jeongguk barks out. “I hate you, Park. I hate you for all that you are. And I hate your father!”

“This may come as a shock,” Jimin snaps. “But I hate him too.”

“Would that stop you?!” Jeongguk is yelling, his eyes brimming with unshed tears as his words come out strained. “Has it ever stopped you?! He’d command you like his personal watchdog and you’ll follow with a fucking blindfold around your eyes! You’ve wanted to kill me this whole time, so do it! Kill me! Kill me before he tells you to!”

“I’ve never wanted to kill you!” Jimin hisses back, tone equally venomous as Jeongguk.

Jeongguk flinches at his tone, thinking the forcefulness behind it would press the blade into his throat. Jimin wants to slap him for assuming such cruelty is within Jimin’s ability, then wants to slap himself for letting things spiral out of control.

Although he still doesn’t entirely trust Jeongguk to not push up and rip his guts out, so he keeps the blade in place.

“I don’t care if he dies,” Jimin says above a whisper, leaning down to hover over Jeongguk by planting one hand beside Jeongguk’s head, their faces mere inches apart. “I don’t— Fuck, that’s what he deserves! I just… I just—”

“Spit it out, Park.”

“I don’t want this, Jeongguk,” Jimin sounds pathetic to his own ears, but he can’t care for it right now. “Not after last night, I hate this. I don’t want to hate you. Please…”

“One kiss and you think the world has changed,” Jeongguk chuckles, a lilt of sadness in his tone.

“Two kisses,” Jimin corrects.

“What?”

“I’m pulling in another favor,” Jimin says at last. “I choose you, damn it. Don’t push me away.”

“What are you—”

Instead of trying to speak, instead of formulating convincing speeches, Jimin yanks the blade to the furthest corner of the room and leans down to kiss Jeongguk.

He expects to be pushed back, to be shoved off, but Jeongguk’s hands fly up to cup his nape as he pulls Jimin harder into himself. He kisses Jimin back with such passion that Jimin thinks the world is about to end.

Maybe it will, soon, but Jimin thinks he won’t mind as long as he gets to keep kissing Jeongguk.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Jimin kisses him without abandon. Jimin kisses him so much Jeongguk thinks he might turn him with his saliva. He kisses him so much Jeongguk’s lips go numb. Then he gets on all fours and hovers above Jeongguk, staring down at him with those baby-brown intense orbs, and he makes Jeongguk reach for his lips.

And Jeongguk does. No objection, no hesitation. He’d always reach for Jimin, no matter how high, how low, no matter how much his dignity has to fall. If Jimin wants him to, Jeongguk will cross oceans for him. Leaning up to taste his lips again is merely nothing.

Nothing, except for the fact that every time their lips meet, Jeongguk feels a little more alive on the inside. As though his heart beats on its own, as though his lungs breathe on their own, as though his blood isn’t cold anymore. Every time Jimin gasps his name, he’s a little more alive.

The world is still doomed, the war is still knocking on their doors, and Jeongguk is still inherently fucked by the hands of The Mage and his Heir. But right now, right now, he allows himself this.

To indulge in Jimin. To take whatever Jimin gives him. To live in this fantasy a little longer.

There’s a moment, a suffocatingly warm moment when Jimin rests his forearms on either side of Jeongguk’s head and his eyes bore into Jeongguk, and Jeongguk can’t help but sing poetries about Jimin’s eyes, the kind of brown that matches the fertile earth — rich and full of life, the kind of brown that matches a warm cup of hot chocolate on a cold day, the kind of brown that ring around trees in autumn, the kind of brown that’s a clear hue of sunrise shades that are the only glory in this sky before an agonizing and bristling cold winter.

The kind of eyes Jeongguk stares into, and can see his future in.

Then Jimin hastily stops, as though he’s remembered the oven is turned on at his place. But his place in their dorm is on the top floor, and they don't own an oven, so Jeongguk makes a confused sound that sounds an awful like a whine to his own ears. He pulls off of Jeongguk and settles over his groin, making Jeongguk groan out at the sudden attention to his erect cock.

“Shit, sorry,” Jimin fumbles off his lap and stands up awkwardly, the look of panic on his face confusing Jeongguk immensely.

Until he looks behind himself to see Vera standing at the doorway.

Now, everyone knows Jeongguk is very, extremely, unnervingly gay. He’s never been quiet about it, always thought that nothing can beat the fact that he’s a vampire anyway. But being caught making out with a dude in the middle of the Main Hall of the manor by your nanny is a different kind of embarrassing. Jeongguk wants to positively dig up his own grave and bury himself six feet into the ground, and the look on Jimin’s face doesn’t indicate any other wishes from him either.

He laughs to himself at how even as a vampire with enhanced hearing, Park Jimin’s stupid sputtering mouth had all his senses dumbed down and numb.

“Sir,” Vera clears her throat, blinking away her own astonishment. “Your friends have pulled up in the driveway.”

“Right,” Jeongguk pales as he shoots up to stand beside Jimin. “Let them in. Thank you, Vera.”

She leaves without a word, but Jeongguk catches the amused smirk that plays over her mouth gradually.

“Fix your pants,” Jimin instructs as he cards his fingers through Jeongguk’s hair to make him look presentable, his own blond curls a flopping mess.

“Don’t look at my pants.”

“That’s not what you were saying five minutes ago.”

“Park—”

“Jimin,” Jimin hisses as though he’s beyond pissed, grabbing onto Jeongguk’s collar and pulling him into a fiercely bruising kiss. “I will fucking burn you alive if you try to pull away again, I swear on my magic!”

Jeongguk opens his mouth to reply but doesn’t get a chance to before Taehyung and the rest are spilling into the hall with a sharp noise of their huffs and the clicks of their heels against the tiled floor. It’s a stabbing contrast to the silence of the room filling with their soft breaths and moans, and Jeongguk loathes it already. Jimin gawks at them confusedly, eyes darting back to Jeongguk for an explanation.

“Figured we needed help,” Jeongguk states.

“Help,” Jimin echoes.

“Can we get on with this?” Seokjin storms through them all until he stands before Jeongguk and gives his shoulder an assuring squeeze. The little gesture may seem as nothing to the rest, but Jeongguk feels tremendous comfort via it. “The faster we take that bastard down, the better. Time to talk.”

“If we can get Choi Yeonjun to testify,” Yoongi starts off with his plan. “Then we can easily get The Mage prosecuted. I’ve already hacked into my father’s computer, but they’ve covered their tracks like smart pricks. All we need — all we have — is Choi Yeonjun’s testimony, and— and Jimin’s, um, testimony.”

The entire room turns their heads to stare at Jimin inquisitively.

“Sure.” Jimin shrugs, face void of any expressions.

For the first time ever in all eight years of them being together, Jeongguk finds it hard to read Jimin, who usually opens up before him like a book. But then again, Jeongguk would never have imagined even in his wildest dreams that Jimin would kiss him senseless, twice, on impulse. His newfound unpredictability unnerves Jeongguk in the worst way possible, but there’s less of it that he minds.

“Are we? Sure?” Taehyung looks at him quizzically. “You will testify?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because, uh…” Taehyung stutters.

“Because he’s your fucking father,” Seokjin jumps in, ever ready to speak up when no one else has the balls to. Jeongguk adores him for this trait, though not so much at the moment when he sees Jimin physically wincing at the words. “Because you lick his boots. Because you’re his biggest weapon. Fuck,” he sighs, then turns to Jeongguk. “What is he still doing here?”

“He’s—” Jeongguk tries to speak, but Jimin cuts him off.

“Yeah, but I was all those things,” Jimin says with a straight face. “Before I found out who he truly is, what he’s done to—” his eyes meet Jeongguk as he abruptly pauses. “What he’s done. And what he plans to do.”

“So, you have no objections?” Namjoon juts in, his chin pushed forward as he keeps one hand resting over Taehyung’s shoulder, an act of comfort. Jeongguk oddly craves for Jimin’s hand on his shoulder when he sees that. And then he shakes his head in blatant disappointment at himself. Jimin should’ve just left him in that burning forest, for fuck’s sake.

“As long as we don’t have any blood on our hands,” Jimin looks pointedly at Jeongguk again, his eyes bleeding with sincerity and concern. It sets Jeongguk on edge. “As long as we let the law handle him. I have no objections.”

It’s weird to hear Jimin say that, to give up The Mage just like that. But Jeongguk knows Jimin doesn’t lie, and he’s above scheming so brashly for a mere vampire. Although, that rational explanation does little to convince Jeongguk’s trust issues.

You can trust me, Jeongguk, he hears Jimin’s voice in his head, repeating over and over again like a broken cassette player. Jeongguk really, really wants to.

“The law,” Hoseok scoffs from near the window. “I say we march up to him right this instant and decapitate his ass.”

“You and what army?” Yoongi argues. “Because he has one for himself, he’s preparing all sorts of invasions against your families as we speak. The entire world is helpless before him, and you suggest we, seven 20-year-olds, attack him?”

“We have the Chosen One on our side,” Seokjin remarks jokingly, and Jeongguk sends him a stern glare that effectively shuts him up.

“Maybe if you convince your father to turn against him,” Hoseok snaps in retort to Yoongi’s jab, which clearly hits a nerve judging by the way Yoongi shoots up his seat. “Or your brother! The entire Min lineage, fucking lapdogs to the tyrant.”

“Don’t fucking talk about my family!”

“Or what? You’ll ground me, grandpa?”

Yoongi charges towards Hoseok, who sits there bracing himself, and only then does Jeongguk remember that these two sides have been on rough terms all these years too, that the rivalry between Jimin and Jeongguk extends to their friends too. Not much has changed for them, while Jimin and Jeongguk’s entire world did a backflip, a split, and is now swirling around like a goddamn tornado.

Then, in a split-second, Jimin is standing before Yoongi with a harsh glare. There’s vehemence on Jimin’s face, it’s like nothing Jeongguk has ever seen before, Jimin’s eyes shoot daggers as his anger spills into the air in thick waves of smoke and warms up the room.

“I said,” his tone is ice-cold, awfully similar to his tone against Choi Yeonjun. “No blood.”

Jeongguk can’t help but wonder why he’s never been on the receiving end of such a tone even though he’s been Jimin’s greatest enemy all these years.

Yoongi doesn’t argue when he steps back and sits down in his chair, making the extra effort to veil his flinch at Jimin’s confrontation. When Jimin shifts his glare onto Hoseok, his provoking comes to an end too.

“Since we’re back to behaving like adults,” Seokjin remarks sarcastically. “Let’s decide what to do next.”

“We need to inform the Police Department,” Namjoon starts off. “I’ll talk to my dad, he’s good friends with the Commissioner. It’s better to keep it lowkey instead of marching to the authorities with Jimin on high alert. We don’t know who to trust right now, so let’s keep it between us and people we trust.”

“You trust your father?” Seokjin arches his brow.

“Yes, fuck, I trust the man who birthed me,” Namjoon reiterates.

“Good,” Seokjin raises his hand in defense. “It’s a privilege, mate. Cherish it.”

“Is the jabbing necessary?” Taehyung scowls in Namjoon’s defense and Seokjin chuckles amusedly. “We’re here for Jeon Jungmi. Let’s stick to the common ground.”

“The legend,” Hoseok adds, and Taehyung smiles at him before he passes the same warm smile onto Jeongguk, one that resembles the one he keeps reserved for Jimin. It makes Jeongguk feel uncomfortable, but when he peaks at Jimin, he holds the same look and this one simply warms Jeongguk.

“I think we’re done here,” Jeongguk speaks up, at last, all the energy in his body draining out as though he’s run a marathon. Or several. “Thank you for being here, I appreciate the help.”

“It’s in all of our interests that The Mage is taken down,” Taehyung stands up, Namjoon and Yoongi following suit. “Thank you for trusting us, Jeongguk. I’m so sorry about everything.”

“Thank you,” Jeongguk shakes his head. “Please let me know what the Commissioner says, Namjoon.”

“As soon as possible, I promise.”

“Jimin? You coming?” Jimin gives off a confused sound at Taehyung’s question. “Uh… Christmas? You can't go back to Watford, surely?”

Jimin's eyes meet Jeongguk’s, his face contorted in an expression that begs him to ask him to stay.

Jeongguk stares back.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Jeongguk stares back, and then he looks away.

He supposes that much was expected, especially after the sword attack. Which was followed by making out on the floor, but somehow Jeongguk’s memory seems to block out whenever they’re close enough to become lovers instead of enemies. As though he’s afraid of it. As though he’s afraid of Jimin.

“Right,” Jimin speaks after a moment, the feeling of disappointment flooding into his chest. “Let's go.”

“Thank you for the hospitality, Jeongguk,” Namjoon shakes Jeongguk’s hand, Jimin doesn't wait around to hear his reply.

The minute they jump into the car, Taehyung’s rambling commences.

“No, I fucking knew it! I knew that old bastard was up to no good!” He’s seething in the backseat with Namjoon nodding along beside him, while Yoongi looks lost in thought behind the wheel. “The day he sealed her records, my mother told me he’s not to be trusted. Who the fuck seals records instead of investigating? He should’ve been decent enough to stand on the frontline of her murder investigation, but instead, he cowered behind his title and forced us to pretend like nothing ever happened! I want to slit his throat, for fuck’s sake!”

“Are you alright?” Yoongi mutters to him when he finds Jimin staring blankly at the dashboard.

“Just a headache,” Jimin replies.

“Do you want me to shrink it? With magic?”

“My head?”

“Your—” Yoongi looks at him quizzically. “Your headache, Jimin.”

“No, I… I’m alright. Thank you.”

Jimin doesn’t add to the conversation in the backseat because there isn’t much to add in the first place. Truth be told, he was aware that The Mage was shady. He’s not exactly someone you can blindly trust to manage a whole fucking community of mages — the one who controls Watford, controls the World of Mages. Although everyone says he’s always been hellbent on being the one in charge, to do whatever he can to maintain his charge, his power-hungry personality didn’t help either. He did whatever was ‘necessary’, as he described it to Jimin once.

Jimin would convince himself that it’s how he was, is, how he’s meant to be, how the universe wants it to be like.

Jimin just… he looked away.

He had to, damn him. He had to look away, and pretend like The Mage’s all good, that the world isn’t fucking falling apart and he’s the one responsible for it. Jimin had to let him be, do his thing, silently obey whatever he commanded. It was what he was brought to Watford for in the first place, just another addition to The Mage’s orphan army, his greatest weapon as Seokjin put into words so kindly. Jimin never questioned him, because what kind of man would that have made him? What kind of man stabs his own provider? What kind of man forgets to give back to the very man who gave him a fucking life to live?

“I’m so glad Jimin sees the sense in all this,” Taehyung keeps speaking, as though Jimin isn’t sitting right there. “The prophecy never even stated he’s got to listen to that bastard, he’s The Chosen One for the World of Mages! That includes Jeon Jungmi, right Joon?”

Namjoon audibly nods with each word, Jimin listening to it as one might listen to a therapist. You don’t owe him anything, Jeongguk’s voice echoes in his head. Jimin argued with Jeongguk as though his life depended on it back then — which, to be fair, did. He did owe his life to The Mage. All his tyranny, all his menacing ways, all the hurt he spread around the world. He just chose to look away.

Jimin kept looking away, until he couldn’t.

Until it was Jeongguk in question. Until The Mage hurt Jeongguk by getting him abducted, continued to hurt Jeongguk by being the perpetuator behind his mother’s murder, and planned to hurt him even more once the war hits. Until it became too much for Jimin to look away and pretend it isn’t happening. That nothing is happening and it’ll all go away soon.

He can’t pretend anymore, fuck.

The world may burn, it was always meant to anyway. That’s something Jimin was prepared for from the age of twelve. Jimin was also prepared to let Jeongguk burn with it, burn down with him too for fuck’s sake, but he… He can’t allow that anymore. He thinks it’ll be in the best interest for his state of mind if he just lets this be, let Jeongguk be, but he can’t. He knows that he can’t.

Not when he’s seen the real Jeon Jeongguk. Not when he’s realized how much he likes the real Jeon Jeongguk.

Fuck, he can’t look away anymore. He may owe his life to The Mage, but he never promised handing over any vampire. Not in a million years, even if that means he’ll be the undignified bastard who turns in his own father. Jimin is ready to become the villain of his own Chosen One legacy as long as it protects Jeongguk.

It makes Jimin laugh as he watches the countryside rush by him, how he was ready to sacrifice himself only six months ago, and then two kisses changed his entire set of priorities. It was always the world on one side, and Jeongguk on the other.

Now, it’s only Jeongguk. Fuck the world. Fuck everything.

“Jeon Jungmi said, It’s him, it’s my successor! The Mage succeeded her at Watford! I would’ve figured it out in a heartbeat, damn it! Remember when he sent Jimin to Ilsan? Without a word of any attacks in the news? But the minute Jimin landed there, there was a fucking army of ogres! Out of thin air! How the fuck did we not figure out it was staged? That asshole is the only threat to the World of Mages, my mother had been right all along!”

Yoongi nods with a clenched jaw along with Taehyung’s words, Namjoon rubs his back to calm his anger. Jimin watches it all as though he’s a million miles away.

He may as well be, because he’s left his mind and heart back in Jeongguk’s house.

“Stop the car,” Jimin says all of a sudden. Yoongi glances at him confusedly, Taehyung pausing in his rant. “I have to go back.”

“Did you forget something?” Namjoon asks.

“Yes,” Jimin replies, showing no signs of expanding on it.

“Alright, I’ll turn back at the next intersection,” Yoongi states.

“No,” Jimin shakes his head. “You guys go ahead, I just need to go back.”

“What?” Taehyung gawks at him. “You… You won’t come for Christmas?”

“Your mother hates me, Tae.”

“She doesn’t hate you!” Taehyung argues defensively. “She just thinks you attract trouble, and you do, Jimin. But it’s all good now!”

“Yes, well,” Jimin retorts as he unbuckles his belt. “I still need to go back and stir more trouble.”

“What does that mean?” Yoongi pulls up. 

“Jeongguk, he needs me.”

“Huh?” the three blurt in unison, and then Namjoon speaks. “Jeongguk… Jeon Jeongguk. Your arch-nemesis. The vampire you’ve been trying to out for the past six years. The same Jeon Jeongguk?”

“Yes! Can I go now?” Jimin asks impatiently, his eyes meeting Taehyung who looks at him as though he’s grown a third head.

“Why does he need you? He’s fine!”

“No,” Jimin insists. Jimin just found out he was in a fucking coffin for three whole weeks, put there by his father. Jeongguk needs him, even if he says he doesn’t. He won’t abandon Jeongguk anymore. Absolutely not. “I gotta go.”

“How will you even go back? We’ve been driving for an hour.”

“I’ll walk,” Jimin shrugs.

“Jimin— Get back in the car.”

“He can’t be alone!”

“Jimin!”

“See you guys back at Watford!” Jimin says as he finally jumps out of the car and barely slams the door shut before he’s jogging back in the direction of the Jeon manor.

Jimin left in the first place because Jeongguk made it blatantly obvious that he didn’t want Jimin anywhere near him. He even cut his arm, which Jimin sees with a glance is still very much bleeding.

Which is fair. Absolutely. For a number of reasons, the biggest elephant in the room being that he’s the heir of the fucking man who killed his mother. His very face may just be a tragic reminder of The Mage, even though they don’t exactly look alike, but the sentiment is still there. Jimin is very much The Mage’s Heir, very much his legally adopted son. And Jimin can’t blame him for being sick at the very sight of him.

But the thing is, Jimin can’t let go.

The thing is that… Jimin needs Jeongguk, maybe a lot more than Jeongguk needs Jimin. He’s always needed Jeongguk, more than anything else in the world. He used to mislabel it, called it hatred, enmity, called it sheer loathing. Never once did he think to consider he had feelings for Jeongguk. Has. Actual romantic feelings, feelings that make him want to hold his hand and kiss his cheeks and stare into his eyes.

And the thing is, if he doesn’t return, Jeongguk may dig in so deep into himself that he’ll never open up again. He’ll make Jimin think he dreamt it all, the night in the woods, the kiss in the Main Hall of the Jeon manor, the feeling of their tongues together, the sight of his face when he comes, the unfiltered sounds that come along it.

And the thing is, fucking hell, Jimin can’t let go. He may be a painful reminder to Jeongguk of The Mage, he may make Jeongguk uncomfortable, he may be on the top of Jeongguk’s hate list. But that is no different than what they were for the past eight years; enemies, rivals, thirsty for each other’s blood.

Jimin is still thirsty. Immensely. Minus the violence factor.

He just needs to be there. He just needs to know if he’s okay. He just needs to lurk in the shadows and keep an eye on him.

Which is something he’s always done, so Jeongguk shouldn’t have a problem with basic routine.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Jeongguk is blasting I Wanna Be Yours on his guitar.

It’s exceedingly pathetic to him, how he sublimates the pain of heartbreak through emo songs with ridiculous lyrics. He even begins to sing them, voice tinged with desperation and chest tightening with an unlabeled feeling. There’s no hope residing in Jeongguk, just dread.

Dread of what will happen once Namjoon’s father informs the Commissioner. Dread of what his family will have to do, what lengths they’ll be forced to go to, what measures they’ll follow up in desperation to bring his mother justice. Dread of what all of this will do to Jimin and his relationship.

If it could be called that — a relationship. What should rivals to friends to a one night stand and to being silent enemies again qualify as? Hardly a relationship. Perhaps it doesn’t need a label, Jeongguk thinks. Perhaps it’s best without a label. He’s never liked being generic anyway, it’s only fitting that the only boy he’s ever loved is a fucking tornado to love.

But Jimin isn’t hard to love, not at all. In fact, falling in love with Jimin was the easiest thing Jeongguk’s ever done. It happened like it’s his second nature.

It’s sweet to him, though. The fact that it’s near-well impossible to love Jimin but he’s determined to do so anyway, the fact that there’s a one hundred and fifty percent chance of it never being returned but that does little to reduce his passion. It’s true love, Jeongguk smiles sadly when he hits a harsh note on his guitar, true love in its purest and most tragic form. If they survive through this, he considers snatching Jimin away from the world and living on the moon. Jimin may not want him back, but he sure as hell will be stuck with him forever.

It’s a bittersweet fantasy.

He’s mumbling the chorus to himself when his father comes in.

The first thing Jeongguk did in the morning was head over to his father’s library and tell him all about the veil and The Mage. His father hadn’t spoken the entire time, but he slumped further and further in his seat the more Jeongguk went on. He asked his father to call upon Seokjin, and ask him to call upon Namjoon, and he expected objections but his father simply nodded defeatedly. By the end, Jeongguk took his silence as a sign and took his leave to banish Jimin from their house. Although that plan went completely off-track, Jimin was out of their hair.

Jeongguk thinks his father’s here to thank him for ending his misery.

“Hey, son,” he says as he holds the bedroom door open. His face holds a sullen expression, but the word son doesn’t sound as forced as it did back in his library. His father looked helpless back then, and angry, and his tone was ice-cold. Now he looks hesitant, yet expectant. Jeongguk sets his guitar aside and welcomes him into the room.

“Father.”

“I saw your friends leaving with the Mageling,” his father comments off-handedly, Jeongguk wincing at the title he gave to Jimin. “I’m… I’m sorry. I meant Jimin.”

“It’s alright.”

“I like the tune you were just playing, what’s it called?”

“I Wanna Be Yours, by Arctic Monkeys.”

“Ah, this new generation and their sentimental songs.”

“Yes, Father,” Jeongguk says because he doesn’t have the slightest clue as to what else he is meant to say.

“Will he…” he waves a hand. “Jimin, I mean. Will we be expecting him again?”

“If you’re wondering whether I confessed to him,” Jeongguk mutters. “I haven’t. We’re not a thing.”

“Why not?”

“Uh,” Jeongguk clears his throat, not expecting his father to be this interested. “It’s… complicated.”

“Yes, but you already knew that when you chose to fall in love with him, didn’t you?”

“Father, I didn’t choose to betray you.”

“Son,” his father’s eyebrows knit together. “I didn’t raise you to be a liar.”

“No, you raised me to be a murderer.” His father flinches visibly, and it makes Jeongguk have the sudden urge to jump out of the window. None of it is his fault, Jeongguk is an asshole to take out his anger on his father. “I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t… You didn’t.”

“It’s fine,” his father shakes his head with his hands raised in surrender. “I deserved it. Ever since your mom… It’s been difficult. Strained. Unlike how we used to be. Remember when we used to go to that water park?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“I wonder why we stopped,” his father’s tone isn’t accusatory. It’s nostalgic, brimmed with regret. He looks tired, his eyebags deeper than ever, his skin drooping around his cheeks, his wrinkles worsening than before. As though he’s aged ten years further in one night. “Jungmi loved that park, called it Jeon’s picnic destination. You should invite Jimin there sometime.”

“Um… Okay.”

“He can get to know the Jeons better that way. Did I ever tell you? Why I took your mother’s name?”

“No, not really.”

“Well,” he grins sheepishly, hesitantly. “She’s from a Higher Family, and I was a nobody. So when we fell in love while building Watford, her father threw every possible obstacle in our way possible. He even invited me to dinner and cast a don’t you dare on me to keep me away from her!”

“Star-crossed lovers,” Jeongguk whispers.

“Just that,” he smiles so wide his face begins to wrinkle even more. Jeongguk can’t remember the last time he saw him smile like that. He goes on, talking about his wife in the present tense as though she still lives. “But your mother, she is so fierce! So strong-willed. And back then she said to me, you’re mine, Junseok. Nothing can change that. She fought her entire family, her father, every single person in our way, all the while building Watford brick by brick. Her dedications, her passions, her strength! I asked her, Jungmi, will you give me your name? And she looked so taken aback like I’m mad!

“But my decision made it easier, you see. Her father was overjoyed that the Jeon name will stick to you instead of my nobody title. She said she felt as though I was compromising, but what she didn’t know, doesn’t understand still is that I saw so much life in her, so much so that I wanted to live through her! And then… we had you, and everything was perfect.”

Was. Jeongguk hears his heart break in his ears. They never talked about the incident — hell, they never talked. It was always, spy on The Mage, spy on his Heir, plan this murder, plan that hurdle, never anything else. And now, when he does hear his father speak, Jeongguk can feel a strong feeling of suffocating pain flush down his chest.

“Then you lost us both,” Jeongguk speaks, his voice cracking in the end.

“No,” his father neared him and held him by his shoulders gently as though Jeongguk might break if he applied to much force, shaking his head furiously in determination. “You both still live. You, in front of me. She, inside me and you. I didn’t realize, son, that I never lost anything. I’m sorry, Jeongguk. Don’t you dare think you’re betraying me, son. You’re… You’re just in love. And I’m sorry I went insane when she was taken from us. I will spend every day making up for that, and I will never dare tell you how to live again. I regret ever telling you to live it any way you didn’t want to— to be someone you’re not. I’m so, so deeply sorry.

“This boy, Jimin, if you love him, if you truly feel for him the way Jungmi and I felt for each other, then screw all the complications. Screw the war, screw that old bastard, screw the fate the universe has decided for you. Follow your heart, son.”

“Even if…” Jeongguk looks up with tear-brimmed eyes.

“Even if,” his father insisted. “Even if the world is forcing you to be against him, you follow your heart. Force the world to bend to your will, Jeongguk. Because love has the power to do that. Even if.”

Jeongguk stares into his father’s eyes blearily. Tears pool in his eyes, but he’s no longer in despair. He’s no longer in pain. He’s no longer burdened under the weight of betraying his family. He falls into his father’s arms and hugs him tightly, tears spilling through his eyes but of pure joy.

“Now get ready, the family’s here for Christmas dinner!”

“Yes, Father,” Jeongguk says with a smile. A real, big smile.

He’s walking down the stairs fully dressed with his father when the front door bursts open and in steps a boy with a strong gust of wind alongside him.

“Oh,” his father says with a soft smile before he walks away. “Guess you are a thing.”

“Jimin?” he gapes at the sight before him, his clothes — Jeongguk’s clothes — drenched and muddied from top to bottom. The sight hits him with a strong sense of deja vu, and he pinches his thigh to be sure if it isn’t a dream.

It’s not.

“Jeongguk,” Jimin breathes out, panting and out of breath staring up at Jeongguk who’s standing on the stairs. “Fuck, you’re… You’re wearing a suit.”

“And you’re wearing cowshit,” Jeongguk huffs out with a disbelieving laugh. It’s as though they’re starting over, from the moment it all began to hit rock-bottom, given another chance to do it right this time. Jeongguk promises himself that he will. “Shit, you’re back.”

“I’m back,” Jimin repeats, his smile hesitant and not exactly reaching his eyes. “I’m here to pull another favor.”

“Two in one day,” Jeongguk fights off a smile. “Aren’t you overdoing this?”

“Can I stay, Jeongguk?”

“It’s Christmas. You’re supposed to be at Taehyung’s.”

“Supposed to, sure. I want to be here, though.”

“You want to be here.”

“Yes, I want to be here.”

Jeon Jeongguk learns two things on Christmas eve:

1. Jimin wants to be here, near him, with him.
2. Jimin looks stunning in a grey suit. His grey suit.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Loathsome. Overbearing. Vague. Extraordinary.

Love.

Jeongguk is love.

How it was right before Jimin all along, and how he couldn’t see it, still baffles him. He’s always been the type that’s exceedingly self-aware. He knows himself better than anyone can claim to, he knows the exact way his brain functioned when it came to Jeongguk, he knows that his brain only ever functioned right when it was about Jeongguk.

When Jeongguk looks up from his plate on the dinner table, the entire hall echoing with chatter and laughter from the extended Jeon family, the snow falling outside, the world stops.

Jimin's mouth is stuffed with mashed potatoes when his eyes lock with Jeongguk’s. He smiles around a mouthful, and Jeongguk grins back without a moment’s worth of hesitation. His deep grey eyes bore into Jimin’s baby-brown ones, and the entire world fades away around them.

At that moment, Jimin is so in love it’s almost ridiculous.

Chapter Text

Jeongguk looks breathtaking in a red suit.

But then again, Jeongguk always looks breathtaking, even if his hair is greasy and his skin is pale, and his words are slicing daggers into Jimin’s chest. He never stops looking breathtaking, no matter the circumstances.

“Thanks,” Jeongguk mutters as soon as they step into his room and he shuts the door behind them. Apparently, Jimin was thinking out loud again, and it doesn’t leave him as embarrassed as it usually does.

“You’re welcome,” Jimin replies evenly, no longer stuttering, no longer flabbergasted, no longer blushing and mistaking it for anger. He wants to speak his mind out loud, he wants Jeongguk to know just how much he adores him. “You should wear suits more often.”

“Noted.”

“You should speak more, too.”

“Duly noted.”

“You should also kiss me. Like, right now.”

“I—” Jeongguk hesitates. “Good plan, yes. How about we talk first?”

“Absolutely not,” and then he takes Jeongguk by the back of his neck.

After an hour or all night of making out, Jimin lays beside Jeongguk as the fireplace crackles on above their laying bodies. The flames are in stark contrast to Jeongguk’s blue and purple flames, but they look heavenly against Jeongguk’s figure. His white dress shirt is straining over his bulging biceps and his broad shoulders as he lays on his side facing Jimin, but Jimin refuses to get rid of the shirt because Jeongguk looks so beautiful just like this. He doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to change the view in any way, doesn’t even want to breathe in fear of disrupting the peace spread over Jeongguk’s features. The fire creates shadows under Jeongguk’s cheekbones which makes his spotless skin look delicate, as though he’s made out of wax with a Use With Care sign labeled on it, and Jimin tenderly traces his fingertip against it in sheer fascination and utmost care.

Jimin wants to ask if his porcelain skin has always been this soft, if it hurt him a tad bit more when Jimin punched his face rather than his guts, if his kisses are enough to soothe the hurt of eight years, if Jeongguk will ever be able to forget their past and live in their present with a wiped out record of what they once were.

He doesn’t though, and Jeongguk smiles so warmly as though he can read Jimin’s mind and he gives Jimin his best smile yet to shush away the concerns. He’s beautiful when he smiles, he’s beautiful when he frowns, he’s beautiful when he cries.

Jeongguk was always so scathingly cold, made out of fire yet his touch stung like frostbite. Now he’s so warm, so comfortingly warm, that for once Jimin doesn’t mind the heat. For once, Jimin appreciates his inherent warmth, because his warmth keeps Jeongguk warm.

He likes Jeongguk when he’s warm. A lot.

“Do you believe in Santa?” Jeongguk whispers softly, lips curling with a soft smile before they’re turning to kiss the concave of Jimin’s palm, and then turning back to connect their eyes.

“No,” Jimin replies, caressing Jeongguk’s cheek all the more softly. “When I was five, they told me not to keep any hopes. That he’s fake and the system can’t afford presents. So.”

“Bastards,” Jeongguk grimaces, a slight harshness in his soft deep grey eyes flashes through. Jimin shrugs, hoping the nonchalance gets rid of his annoyance.

“They probably thought they were doing us a kindness. Do you?”

“I did,” Jeongguk says as his hand slides down his chest and softly strokes Jimin’s hip. “Then the year my mom died, he didn’t show up. I thought I had been bad, being a vampire and everything, that I was dead so I no longer deserved presents.”

“Your father must have been devastated.”

“Everyone was,” Jeongguk nods, a lock of thick black hair falling over his deep grey eyes that Jimin brushed away softly without a second thought, as though it was a basic reflex like reaching for his sword was. Then Jeongguk gestured towards the giant teddy bear on his bed and acknowledged its existence for the second time. “Then my aunt showed up with Mr. Loaf. Said Santa lost my address.”

“You were very gullible at ten.”

“Yes, I was ten.”

“I love her,” Jimin says.

“I love her, too.”

“I love that you love Mr. Loaf,” Jimin adds unapologetically.

“He’s been there through all the highs and lows,” Jeongguk smiles, his front teeth unveiling behind his upper thin lip, so dazzlingly bright that Jimin feels his heart stutter in his chest. Jimin can’t remember if he’s ever seen Jeongguk smile like this, not once in eight years. The sight of his smile is more beautiful than a sky full of glittering stars, and he shines brighter than all of them combined.

“Did I ever tell you,” Jimin whispers gently, his lips brushing against Jeongguk’s warm ones, warm from all the heat Jimin shared into them, warm for as long as Jeongguk lets Jimin have him. “That you’re the most beautiful person alive?”

“I’m not,” Jeongguk argues.

“Of course you are.”

“I'm beautiful, factual. But I'm not alive. Not by a long shot, Park.”

“Jimin,” Jimin stresses. “And of course you are. You’re alive to me.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Of course I can.”

“How?”

“Observation.”

“Observation,” Jeongguk chuckles, but there’s no bite to it this time. “I can’t be alive to anyone.”

“You’re alive to me,” Jimin repeats. He reaches out, both his hands cupping Jeongguk’s face before he hoists one leg over Jeongguk’s hip and straddles him. “You’re warm. You feel. You move. You’re alive.”

“Sunlight burns me,” Jeongguk deadpans.

“Me too,” Jimin retorts. 

“You’re an idiot.”

“Old news.”

And then he dives down to capture Jeongguk’s lips with his own.

There’s a knock on Jeongguk’s door a while later. Jimin glances at the clock to see that it’s almost dawn.

“Come in,” Jeongguk says as he gently moves Jimin off his lap and sits up.

“Sir,” Vera enters with a tray full of food, an amused smirk plastered on her face. “Your dinner. I came before, but no one responded to the knock.”

“Right,” Jeongguk stiffens beside him, then softens when Jimin brushes their hands together. “Thank you, Vera.”

“Sir.” She places the tray on the bed and exits quietly. Jimin thinks he may be imagining the grin spreading on her face.

“Your maid knows we’re doing the nasty,” Jimin remarks with a grin of his own.

“She’s my nanny. And glad to see there’s an exhibitionist inside of you,” Jeongguk replies, setting Jimin’s cheeks aflame and leaving his sputtering instead of mocking him for having a nanny. “You hungry?”

“I can eat.”

“Come on then,” Jeongguk beckons him over to the bed, handing him a spoon while he ate with the fork. When Jimin stands up, his back cracks unpleasantly from being hunched over and laying on the hard floor for so long. But the pain pleases him weirdly, reminds him of why he was in those positions, his skin crawling in a silent plea for more. “I know you’re thinking about me having a nanny. So to clarify, she brought me up after my mom passed.”

“She’s sweet,” Jimin replies gently.

“Yes, she’s the best. The guitar was her present on my twelfth birthday.”

“Why are you uncomfortable eating in front of others?” Jimin asks once he sits in front of Jeongguk on the foot of his Victorian bed, then adds: “If… I may ask.”

“Since when are you so polite?” Jeongguk chuckles, no bite in his tone. Jimin can’t get used to the gentleness, not yet. But he promises himself that he will, eventually. “My fangs pop out when I eat. That’s all.”

“I’ve never seen them do that.”

“You’re not that observant, Park.”

“Or they’re not as apparent,” Jimin argues back. “And it’s Jimin. One more offense and I’m kicking your guts out.”

“Rearrange them instead,” Jeongguk replies, still very much invested in the medium-rare steak before him.

“Uh…”

“What?” Jeongguk pauses. Then looks up through his eyelashes with a sly smirk. A part of Jimin’s soul dies. “You haven’t thought about it?”

“No, I… I definitely have.”

“Then stop blushing.”

“All… right.”

“Your fangs are so wicked,” Jimin grins.

“Please shut up.”

“Wicked!”

“What was it that you wanted to talk about?” Jimin asks once Jeongguk sets the tray outside his bedroom door, their bellies stuffed and their moods less intense.

“Oh? Now you want to talk?”

“My lips are a little numb,” Jimin explains with a swipe of his thumb at the corner of Jeongguk’s mouth to clear off the smeared sauce. He doesn’t think twice before bringing his thumb back to his own mouth and licking the sauce off it.

“Huh,” Jeongguk bites his lip and leans back to stand up.

The look on his face is unreadable, his lips swollen red, his eyes a deeper shade of his usual dark grey, his skin almost tan from how heated it is. The sleeves of his white dress shirt are folded up his forearms, the muscles bulging out when he folds them over his chest, his thighs straining against the red slacks when his legs part to stand in a comfortable position. When exactly the vampire got this buff, Jimin had no clue, but he wasn’t in any position to complain.

Then Jeongguk unbuttoned his dress shirt till his navel to expose his chiseled abdomen, and Jimin is suddenly quite literally in hell. The best kind.

“Talk,” Jimin says, standing up too before Jeongguk as one of his hands reaches up to tuck a lock of hair behind his ear. It’s falling against his cheekbones because Jimin ruffled it up, maneuvering it just the way he likes them, only to tuck it away again and again to find an excuse to touch Jeongguk’s hair. Jimin thinks he’s growing obsessed again, but he doesn’t feel like stopping himself. Not anymore.

“Well, uh,” Jeongguk clears his throat. “I just wanted to know what— Stop that.”

Jimin immediately pulls his hand back from where it began stroking Jeongguk’s nape, raising his brow in question. He bites back a snarky remark, fighting off old habits for the sake of maintaining their horny peace. He tilts his head in confusion and blinks innocently as Jeongguk huffs out frustratedly before him.

“I'm sorry. I didn’t— I didn’t mean to snap.”

“Is that the Jeon Jeongguk apologizing to me?”

“I liked you better when you stuttered every time your mouth hung open,” Jeongguk scowls.

“You… You liked me? Like… me?” Jimin asks with a disbelieving look.

Jeongguk rolls his eyes and unfolds his arms, running one hand through his long black locks and then laughing out as though Jimin had cracked the funniest joke in the world. Jimin fucking adores Jeongguk’s laugh, this one that’s too unfiltered and spontaneous, not a single thought behind it than basic impulse. It’s so, so beautiful.

“I came in my pants in the middle of a forest. And my lips are sore from kissing you. And I showed you my fucking fangs before I fed— Yes, you fucking idiot, I do like you.”

“Oh.” Jimin’s mind hits a pause.

“Oh? Jimin,” Jeongguk breathes out deeply, shakily, as though he’s nervous. Jimin has never seen him nervous except for the time he was panicking during the chimera incident. It’s an endearing sight, everything about Jeongguk is endearing. “I’ve liked you for years. Years. Do you understand that? Since the day we met, there hasn’t been a single instance where I did not like you. Which is precisely what I wanted to talk about.”

“Okay,” Jimin encourages him to speak, mind still hitting against speed breaks as it processes Jeongguk’s words.

“Why did you kiss me? In the woods? Was it to stop me from killing myself? Did you panic-kiss? Do you often do that?”

“Often?”

“Well, you were fairly an expert about it.”

“I’ve…” Jimin blinks. “I’ve never kissed anyone before. But, uh, thanks for the compliment?”

“Oh.” Jeongguk blinks back, blushing profusely, as much as his vampire self allowed him to. It’s an endearing sight, too damn endearing that Jimin’s heart clenches.

“Have you?”

“No that… was my first, too.”

“Oh,” Jimin mimics. “I kissed you because I wanted to,” Jimin explains after a moment of silently staring at each other. “Well, to be honest, it was more instinct than anything. I thought, what’s gonna stun him the most? And the idea of kissing you popped in my head. And then I… liked it. And you clearly liked it too, so I kept at it.”

“And now? You’ve kept at it all this time because I like it?”

“No, not entirely,” Jimin sighs. “I mean, yes. I like that you like it. I like it, a lot. But I also… I also like—”

“Spit it out, Jimin.”

“I like you,” Jimin blurts out, Jeongguk gapes at him with a hung open mouth, opening and closing like a fish. “No, that’s not entirely true. I think I love you. But then, I don’t know what it’s like to be in love, because I’ve never even had a relationship, and I never stopped to wonder hey, will I ever fall in love? how will that be like? Because the world keeps crashing around me and I never had time to just. Sit. And think. I didn’t want to think. There’s a dragon? I go kill it. There’s a war? I’ll prepare for it. You want to feed me to chimera? I’ll follow you into that trap. My life has been so— So—”

“Complicated,” Jeongguk says.

“Yes. And you know that.”

“Then why did you come back?”

“Because when I did think about it, all of it… settled into place. The thought of killing you made me sick. The thought of leaving you on your own was unacceptable. The thought of leaving you behind was intolerable,” Jimin exclaims. “You… You were kidnapped? Kept in a coffin? I didn’t even know!”

“You thought I was plotting.”

“Yes, fuck me!” Jimin snaps, suddenly extremely angry at himself. All this time, he thought he knew Jeongguk inside-out. Now, he realizes that all this time, he didn’t even know himself. “I’m the worst person alive, we have already established that. But when you weren't there, Jeongguk, I went mental. I kept searching for you, I didn't sleep, I didn't care about anything else, I didn’t… I didn't think I'd miss you that much and then it just became obvious that you're… You’re…”

“Jimin,” Jeongguk nears him with his deep grey eyes staring down, chest to chest, his breath hitting Jimin’s face. “Why are you here?”

“I’m here,” Jimin breathes in, Jeongguk’s cedar and bergamot scent clogging up his senses. And his mind screams, take him. “Because I want this. I want you. I want to stay by your side and be certain that you’re safe. I want to kill every single person who dares to harm you in any way. I want to hold you down and kiss you senseless. I want to be your terribly confused boyfriend who has no purpose in life other than keeping you safe. Even if you don’t want that, I want it.”

“And The Mage?” Jimin grimaces with mild annoyance as he looks away, Jeongguk captures his chin between his fingers and makes him look back into his own deep grey eyes. “The Mage, Jimin?”

“I told you,” Jimin speaks barely above a whisper. “I don’t care what happens to him anymore.”

“But you’d stop me if I go after him?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Jeongguk bites his lip, probably to keep the cruel words at bay. Jimin likes that he’s making an effort. No, Jimin loves that he’s making an effort. For Jimin, for them.

“Jeongguk, you’ve never even bitten a person,” Jimin shakes his head, his hand itching to cup Jeongguk’s cheek but hesitant in touching him when he clearly asked for space. “You’ve never harmed anyone. You are not a murderer.”

“You’d stop me, Jimin?”

“I will not let you become something you’re not,” Jimin states sternly, mildly afraid of being pushed away again. “Regardless of the fact that he’s a bastard who deserves to have his throat ripped out, and you’re in your right to avenge your mother. I won’t let him hurt you. And I won’t let you lose yourself, either.”

“You’d stop me to protect me,” Jeongguk says, not a single trace of doubt or anger in his tone. His hand reaches up to swipe Jimin’s curls off his forehead, and then his lips follow to kiss the mole there. “I always wanted to do that.”

“Kill my father?” Jimin chuckles.

“Kiss your mole,” Jeongguk reiterates. “I thought it was gonna kill me.”

Then he leans down and captures Jimin’s lips in a bruising kiss, the first kiss ever that was initiated by him between them.

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Everything about Jimin is mesmerizing.

1. The way he smiles with his eyes before he does with his mouth, and then beams brighter than all the city lights.
2. The peachy scent of his skin, just as soft to touch, just as maddening as Jeongguk had expected it to be.
3. The way he holds Jeongguk, firm yet soft. As though he’s terrified that Jeongguk will run away, but won’t dare force him back if he does. It makes Jeongguk love him a bit more.
4. The way he bites his bottom lip to hide his grin every time he urges out another moan from Jeongguk’s lips.
5. The way his hips move. Why the fuck does the Chosen One get everything?
6. The way he gasps Jeongguk’s name. Fucking hell, it’s better than taking any drug, not that Jeongguk knows but he hypothesizes and is resilient in his belief.
7. The way he claws at Jeongguk’s suit, then shakes his head as he tries to calm himself, then begins clawing at it again after the haze returns.
8. The way he loves. If it is love, that is.

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Jimin loves Jeongguk in that red suit, but he loves taking Jeongguk out of that suit more.

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It's a strange feeling, to be stark naked beneath someone. Jeongguk thinks it's more strange being stark naked beneath a boy you've fought all your life and whom you expected to kill you someday.

They're not fighting anymore, there's no cruel words being exchanged, no curses being wished upon the other, no anger, no violence.

Now, it’s simply love.

It’s love when Jimin kisses all over his face until Jeongguk begins to protest with unfiltered giggles. It’s love when he rips up his dress shirt, apologizes and offers to pay for it, then nods to himself before he rips Jeongguk’s red slacks too. It’s love when Jimin grins down at him at the wave of shiver swiping over Jeongguk’s body when his mouth licks his right nipple. It’s love when Jeongguk’s eyes squeeze shut and a tear escapes, and Jimin’s right there to kiss it away.

“Jeongguk,” Jimin sounds strained as he keeps his hips lifted away from Jeongguk’s body. “I don’t— I mean I do but— do you?”

“Yes,” Jeongguk nods so hard his head begins to spin.

“Are you sure? Have you ever—”

“To myself,” Jeongguk replies hastily, turning away to his side table to dig out his half-empty bottle of lube. “A lot. It’s hard not to when you live with the love of your life, for fuck’s sake.”

“Love?” Jimin freezes. Jeongguk freezes back.

It is love, surely? Having someone on your mind twenty-four/seven, someone’s life being more precious to you than your own, craving someone’s attention and acquiring it in every worst possible way. To reduce everything that makes you you to everything that is him. It is love, isn’t it?

Jeongguk has been in love with Jimin for as long as he can remember. Eight years, exact that. The moment he laid eyes on Jimin, felt his warmth and his life, witnessed the light in his eyes and the blinding comfort in his smile, he was gone. Gone for good, as deep as one can possibly go. There hasn’t been a day where Jeongguk woke up and told him he isn’t in love with the Chosen One, with the enemy. It was his life’s greatest struggle, forever caught in the dilemma of being so deeply and hopelessly in love, while Jimin was just there. Alive and beautiful.

It’s love when he doesn’t say anything and chooses to push up on his elbows and kiss Jimin instead. It’s love when he hands Jimin the lube bottle and spreads his thighs as far as possible to allow Jimin more access. It’s love when his nails dig into Jimin’s back when the first finger prods at his entrance and he tenses.

It may not be love for Jimin, but it’s love for Jeongguk.

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Jimin is so in love he thinks he won’t live through the night.

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Jeongguk can’t breathe.

Jeongguk doesn’t need to breathe, not necessarily. But during the first year of his undead life, he missed the feeling of his chest’s contractions and expansions to the extent of almost going insane at the numbness in his chest, so he began to force them. To see if breath goes in, and if it makes any difference to his cold blood. Of course, there was no difference. He kept at it, though, made it a habit again. Breathing is unconscious for others, and a forced habit for Jeongguk, even if his lungs never spun alive and his blood remained icy.

His blood isn’t icy right now, his breaths aren’t practiced, the expansions and contractions of his chest aren’t forced. Instead, Jeongguk’s hands grasp the sheets tightly as he moans out Jimin’s name and his throat constricts around a breathless groan when Jimin pushes the third finger in. It’s a tight fit, his stretched skin burns around the digits of Jimin’s fingers, his cock softens from the pain, but he begs for more and more and Jimin hesitates but he doesn’t deny Jeongguk.

“Do you know any sex spells?”

“Any— What?”

“Sex spells!” Jimin huffs exasperatedly. “To ease the pain, help you through it. I don’t— I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’ve always hurt me,” Jeongguk blurts out before he can rethink his words, the haze of having Jimin three finger deep in his ass rendering his senses dumb. Jimin winces at his words as expected, frowning as he looks down and begins to pull out his fingers. “No! Don’t— Shit, Jimin, don’t pull out. Please. You’re not hurting me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Jimin,” Jeongguk thumps his head back onto the pillow and stares up at the ceiling. There’s a mirror there, reflecting back the image of them laying in bed together, Jeongguk on his back and Jimin between his legs with his fingers inside. Jeongguk used to lay in his bed every summer and think about this, imagine this, with him laying on his back and Jimin on top of him, almost craving it as he curled into himself and weeped in yearning. The reflection is there now, clearer than day, hotter than his imagination. It’s a very erotic image, and Jeongguk is positively panting now. But the mirror also reflects the tenseness in Jimin’s shoulders, the doubt in his movements. Like it’s his first first time. Like he hasn’t the faintest clue on how to go about this. “Can you kiss me?”

Jimin doesn’t speak but lunges up to capture Jeongguk’s lips with his own. It’s softer, slower, but the passion only seems to be increasing with every kiss, more and more with every new knowledge of each other’s skin. It eases the tension inside Jimin, to do something that he’s exceedingly familiar with, especially with the way the enthusiasm shines through the heat in his slicked lips. It’s absolutely insane. Jeongguk never wants to let go.

He glances up at the mirror again when Jimin breaks the kiss and deviates onto his neck, the mirror now reflecting Jimin’s body draping over his own. His back muscles move gracefully as he sucks and licks up Jeongguk’s neck, the trail of freckles looking as though a constellation of stars splattered across his skin haphazardly. Jeongguk watches the way Jimin’s arms strain from holding himself up over Jeongguk’s body, how his asscheeks clench when he rubs his erection against Jeongguk’s hip to relieve some of the pressure on it, how his blond curls part in the middle as they fall against Jeongguk’s skin.

Fucking beautiful. Jimin is fucking beautiful.

“Again,” Jeongguk begs. “Finger me open again, I know a spell.”

“Okay,” Jimin nods into his neck, placing one last soft kiss before he’s kissing down his body and settling between Jeongguk’s legs on his knees again. His palm slides over Jeongguk’s half-hard cock, bringing it back to life, when suddenly there’s a sharp surge of heat pressing into his cock via Jimin’s palm as though he’s— He’s—

“Fuck!” Jeongguk moans out brokenly as Jimin’s magic filters into his body, filling up his cock, the waves of pleasure shooting up his spine and forcing his spine to arch off the bed in the shape of a crescent moon.

“Cast it,” Jimin says breathlessly, as though the sight of Jeongguk’s pleasure is enough to affect him just as much.

“I—” Jeongguk pants roughly. “Open me up.”

Jimin grins, slathering his free hand with lube, warming it up, and poking three fingers into Jeongguk’s hole again.

“Open up,” he grins, placing a soft kiss on the side of Jeongguk’s ankle, his knee, his inner thigh. “Open up, for me.”

“Park Jimin,” Jeongguk hoarses out when he feels he’s ready. “You better make me come before I die.”

“Then you’ll be coming a lot,” Jimin smiles, a smile so warm and so tender, so drastically in contrast to the filth he kisses into Jeongguk’s skin. “Because we’re living, Jeongguk-ah. We’re living together forever.”

When Jimin pushes in, Jeongguk is convinced he’s alive again.

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Jimin’s never had sex before, but holy fuck is this phenomenal.

There’s one instance when he bottoms out completely, and the noise Jeongguk lets out sends a bone-wrecking shiver down his spine. It’s not a moan, it’s not even whine. It’s more like a sigh, a deep trembling sigh, one that was let out in sheer relief.

Jimin thinks he’s not far behind, being relieved more than being turned on. And he is maddeningly turned on.

“Move, move,” Jeongguk demands, his grey eyes glossy and his lips parted to let out shaky breaths. “Park, if you don’t move —”

“Jimin!” Jimin growls, diving down to kiss Jeongguk roughly, rolling his hips gingerly into Jeongguk.

“Jimin,” Jeongguk gasps into Jimin’s mouth. “Jimin, Jimin, Jimin, please— move…”

Jimin nods, pulling out slowly and thrusting in slower than that. He knows the magic spell has rid Jeongguk of any shred of pain, but he remains careful in any case. Jeongguk lets out a small whine at the agonizingly slow pace, and then claws at Jimin’s back to hold him closer, harder, deeper.

“Did you know,” Jeongguk speaks breathlessly, tracing his fingernails along Jimin’s freckles of the path as though he knows them by memory. “How much I love these freckles?”

“My freckles?” Jimin smiles brightly, kissing the corner of Jeongguk’s mouth as he takes the speed of his hips up a notch.

“Love them,” Jeongguk gasps softly, fingertips pressing into the marks before they slide down and cup over and squeeze Jimin’s asscheeks. “Love the sight of them when t-there’s water droplets clinging to them. Like you’ve got an entire g-galaxy on your back. Love the c-comfort they’ve given me all these years.”

“Comfort?” Jimin pauses, only to resume his slow thrusting when Jeongguk whines.

The word is alien, more so when it’s directed at him by his life-long nemesis. Jimin would’ve never thought that Jeongguk would seek comfort in him, but then he thinks about all the times Jimin has kept insanity at bay while using Jeongguk as a distraction and concludes that he’s been doing the exact same thing all along.

He just didn’t realize how much Jeongguk means to him until the threat of losing Jeongguk was on his head. It makes regret surge through him, along with the relief. But Jeongguk is tangling his fingers into Jimin’s curls and pulling him into a bruising kiss that sets all the regrets and all the doubts on fire.

“Comfort,” Jeongguk echoes after breaking the kiss, eyes fluttering shut as his neck strains up in invitation. Jimin gratefully accepts, mouth latching onto the already red patches scattered over the expanse of heated and flushed skin, darkening them so that they last for hours. “I counted them, when I couldn't sleep, when I missed you even though I— I never had you.”

“You always had me,” Jimin argues with a shake of his head, one arm hoisting his entire body weight, the other curled around Jeongguk’s waist to hold his hips off the bed for easy access. “You’ve always had me under your thumb.”

And it’s true. All eight years, Jimin has never been not under Jeongguk’s thumb.

“Not like this,” Jeongguk’s eyes shine, with pleasure, with hurt, with tears. “Not the way I’ve always wanted you.”

“You have me now,” Jimin kisses him, his cheeks, his eyelids that leave traces of Jeongguk’s tears on his lips. He licks the salty droplets, nuzzling his nose into Jeongguk’s cheek scar with a vague thought to question the story behind it, and speeding up his hips. “You’re n-never getting rid of me again.”

“Fuck,” Jeongguk moans out loudly, clenching around Jimin. “Jimin, there. Do that again.”

“Anything,” Jimin thrusts in, harder than ever, right in the angle Jeongguk told him to. It makes Jeongguk’s back arch off the bed again, the sight of his abs flexing with his erection obscenely pressing into them leaving Jimin a little breathless, pushing him a little further off the edge. The arm curled around Jeongguk’s waist tightens, Jimin increasing the pace until the sound of skin slapping against skin begins to echo around the room, the ancient bed-frame creaking with the movements.

Jeongguk is delirious under him, moaning out without any filter, nails scratching down Jimin’s back as though he’s connecting the freckles, pausing to knead Jimin’s ass to push his hips harder into himself, his thick thighs crushing Jimin’s waist between them. His breathy moans echo around Jimin’s head, ruby red lips chapped as they remain parted to let out wanton sounds, pale skin blushing from head to toe. He reaches down, muttering something incomprehensive, and then he’s spilling between their stomachs with a long drawn-out moan, shortly followed by a string of whines.

When he comes, his tongue lolls out to stick to the corner of his mouth, his sculpted chest heaving along with his ragged breaths, his back arching off so high before it thumps down, the streaks of his come splattered across his chiseled abs.

The fucking eighth wonder of the fucking world.

“Jimin, don’t pull out,” Jeongguk says breathlessly. “Inside. Come inside me.”

Jimin doesn’t even realize he’s coming until his cock twitches as the remnant come pumps into Jeongguk’s hole.

“I— I—” Jimin stutters, hissing as he pulls out and the over-sensitive head of cock gets sucked back in by Jeongguk’s puffy rim. “I’m sorry— Shit.”

“Have you ever? Done this, I mean.”

“No, for fuck’s sake I’ve never even been with anyone, wasn’t that obvious? The fucking vampire has always kept me occupied,” Jimin replies, but his eyes are glued to the way the come drips out of Jeongguk’s hole. “Fuck, Jeongguk.”

“Okay. Then we’ll be fine.”

“You haven’t either?” Jimin snaps his gaze back over Jeongguk’s face.

“It’s always been you, Jimin.” Jeongguk smiles lazily.

“Yeah,” Jimin beams. “Yeah, it’s always been you for me too.”

Even if they’re tired, neither of them succumbs to sleep. As though they’re equally afraid that this is just a dream, and when they wake up it’ll be gone forever. When Jeongguk curls his arms around Jimin and pulls him tightly against his own chest, Jimin knows it’s far from a dream, too tangible and too perfect to be a product of his puny imagination, and yet he still refuses to close his eyes in threat of missing any of Jeongguk’s breaths.

Every limb feels like jelly, numb and peaceful, begging to be left just the way they are: tangled with Jeongguk’s and indistinguishable.

“What would you have done?” Jimin asks, the sun rising and peeking through the crimson velvet curtains, his hands intertwined with Jeongguk’s as they laid facing each other. “If I stood between you and The Mage.”

“You mean if you were the world’s biggest idiot?”

“Yes, that.”

“I’m not sure,” Jeongguk whispers, hands tightening around Jimin’s, nose nuzzling against Jimin’s. “The sword stunt was a desperate measure to have you slice my head off, actually. So I wouldn’t have to do anything.”

Jimin bursts into a fit of giggles, Jeongguk follows without hesitation.

“You know,” Jimin says between his pitchy giggles. “You’re really stupid for someone who’s so smart.”

“Blame yourself for that debacle.”

“When have I ever used my sword on you?” Jimin chuckles lightly now. “How stupid, Jeongguk-ah.”

“Why haven’t you?” Jeongguk asks after his own laughter subsides, gentle and tender.

“Because it never showed up even if I called it,” Jimin says, stretching over to Jeongguk like a cat and resting his head against Jeongguk’s chest. “The universe has always known you’re not a threat. You’ll never be a threat.”

“I can drain you dry in three minutes.”

“Yes, my big bad vampire boyfriend.”

“Is that so?” Jeongguk hums.

“Yeah,” Jimin smiles, closing his eyes. He nuzzles into Jeongguk’s chest, his ear stuck to his skin, the beat of Jeongguk’s heart never hitting against it. “It is.”

“I still can’t believe you thought I’d kill you,” Jeongguk chuckles again, his chest vibrating with the sound of his laugh, the only sign of life. “Me, who’s never left any animal in my sight alive. And you thought you’re lucky enough to escape my plotting every single time.”

“I’m not very observant, am I?”

“Not even a bit.”

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The best part about being alive is being with Jimin.

Partly-alive, partly-breathing, partly-existing, and it’s all worth it for Jimin. It’s always been, but before it was more tinged with fear of being at the end of his blade one day more than anything. That fear is long gone now, even if their troubles haven’t ended. Now, Jeongguk has set that as his only purpose in life; to stop living through Jimin and start living with Jimin.

Because living with Jimin is fucking fabulous. A whole erotic gropefest. A series of all-night chit chats that hold no sense to a fifth ear. A string of embodying i love yous without actually saying it. A sky full of stars being experienced without leaving Jeongguk’s victorian bedroom. A whole form of life that Jeongguk has never experienced before.

Jimin came to spend Christmas at the manor, and then he never left. Never even mentioned leaving. They haven’t even left Jeongguk’s bedroom, let alone the entire manor. It’s been utter bliss, neither caring about the cold and the storms, or about clothes, or about foods and drinks, or about the entire world waiting to crash around them.

Jeongguk sleeps in Jimin’s arms, then wakes up in them, and none of it is a dream.

“Of course it’s not a dream,” Jimin remarks from the window, stark naked in all his golden skin except for a pair of boxers covering his nether areas. Jeongguk’s boxers, to be precise. And so unbothered by the cold seeping into the room through the crack of the window he’s opened to let out their sex induced fumes.

“Huh?”

“You said none of it is a dream,” Jimin repeats, dropping several octaves of his voice to mimic Jeongguk’s tone. “Thinking out loud, Guk-ah? Am I rubbing off on you already?”

“Fuck you,” Jeongguk says, with the most idiotic grin he could muster. “I’ve spent eight years with you. The fuck you mean by already?”

“Ah, so we’re counting?”

“We’re always counting.”

“Bet,” Jimin says, detaching himself from the window where he stood admiring the white sheets of snow lathering the entire world, and plopping back onto the bed beside Jeongguk’s half-covered nakedness. He brings warmth with him, always running on high temperatures and making up for the lack of heat inside Jeongguk. “I can count your eyelashes.”

“Sap. Get a job,” Jeongguk remarks, leaning in to kiss the mole on Jimin’s collarbone.

Jimin presses a hand to his chest and shrieks indignantly. “How dare you! Making love to Jeon Jeongguk is a full-time job!”

“Then why are you slacking?”

“My god. Falling for a vampire was the wrong plan. You are insatiable creatures.”

“Is that your dick poking my thigh?”

“No.”

“So, I can’t suck it?”

“I never said you can’t.”

“So, I can?”

Jimin grins before he pins Jeongguk onto the bed and kisses the stored breath out of his lungs.

Jimin is going down on him, and the heat alone of his mouth sets Jeongguk into a state of delirium. He pauses, just for a moment, pulls up for breath and grins so wide while his hand continues to jerk Jeongguk off, his eyes full of mischief and pride at reducing Jeongguk to a blob of moaning mess.

“It’s fucking amazing to be alive,” Jeongguk whispers, hand clutching onto Jimin’s curls and pushing him back down onto his length. Jimin moans around him, plush lips heavenly around his length, pulls him in deeper, swallows around him, and then shoots a wave of magic up Jeongguk’s thighs through his planted hands there. Jeongguk is coming so hard he sees stars.

Fucking amazing, he’s blabbering out without abandon. Fucking amazing to be alive.

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“3… 2… 1… Happy New Year!”

The streets yell out as Jimin watches the streams of people crowding on them at the bottom of the hill. The city lights are glittering as though the stars have descended onto the ground, the snow is shoveled to the sides while more falls from the sky, the crowd chatters with delight and howls out in victory.

“A new year, Jimin. Who knew we’d live to see another one.”

“I knew,” Jimin says softly, the ridiculous amount of hope inside him never allowing him to consider any other possibility. “I knew we’d be okay.”

“Ah, you did, didn’t you?”

“I’ve always been the smarter one.”

“Your failing grades beg to differ.”

“Nerd.”

“Dumbass.”

“The night I met your mother,” Jimin goes on once their bickering ends. “I unknowingly knew everything wasn’t the same anymore. It was as though fate came knocking on my window in the form of your mother, lifted me up the floor with my collar, and slapped some sense into me. Get your shit together, it said, get both of your shits together. It was scary but it was enough.”

“Enough to fight,” Jeongguk smiles, warmth reflecting Jimin’s. His hands have gotten cold again, and Jimin reaches out to warm them up. Jeongguk will never know what being cold feels like again, never again.

“Well, we’ve been fighting all this time. Enough to fight for you, for once.”

“I wonder if things would’ve been different if I fought for you before,” Jeongguk says, head ducking, thumbs caressing Jimin’s knuckles. “You know, if I wasn’t so stubborn or so afraid of rejection or betraying my family and actually had the balls to do something instead of pretending to be a menace.”

“Pretending to?” Jimin raises an eyebrow, playfulness lathered up his face.

“Yes, pretending, fuck you.”

“Alright, sir, tone down the future predictions.”

“And I’m the insatiable one,” Jeongguk mutters, biting his lip to conceal his smile.

There’s a voice inside Jimin’s head that says: of course they’ve hurt each other. They’ve spent eight years on the opposite sides, they’ve been brought up with the knowledge that the other side needs to be trampled over one day, that the very core of their existence is based upon killing the other.

They did what they did because it’s what they were told to do. It’s the only thing they were brought up for. 

They were told to end the winter, to risk absence, to soar in the pain.

What they weren’t told was that to bring spring, they had to accept the cruelty of winter. What they weren’t told was that to risk absence, you must acknowledge presence first. What they weren’t told was that to survive soaring through the pain, you must be promised peace after it.

And what no one told them was that Jeongguk is Jimin’s spring. Jeongguk’s presence brings Jimin purpose. Jeongguk’s pain doesn’t promise Jimin peace.

All that was what they had to figure out themselves, and it’s okay if they are eight years late.

“Hey,” Jimin says, cupping Jeongguk’s cheek and pulling his lip from between his teeth. The ruby red pales before it turns a shade darker, soft and creaseless under Jimin’s thumb. “I don’t want you to wallow in the past and the regrets it brings. What’s done is done, right now we need to focus on each other and make up for lost time.”

“Yes, but if only—”

“No,” Jimin insists. “If only I didn’t try to out you constantly, if only I never hit you, or if only I didn’t declare you as my arch nemesis, things could’ve been different too. But I did, and so did you. That’s just us.”

“We’ve hurt each other too much.”

“Hurting each other is the core of human existence, Jeongguk-ah. That will always be us, although hopefully minus the blood thirst.”

“I’m a vampire,” Jeongguk deadpans.

“Oh? Is that so?” Jimin towers over Jeongguk, manhandling him onto his back and climbing over to straddle his hips. Jeongguk’s eyes widen before he’s letting out a shriek the minute Jimin’s fingers dig into his ribs and start wiggling to tickle him. Who would’ve thought the blood-sucking vampire is ticklish? “You want a bite, vampire? Wanna suck me dry?”

“Yes,” Jeongguk says between giggles. “Shit— Stop!”

“Say you love me,” Jimin says, not once pausing his ministrations. 

“What?”

“Say it!” Jimin tickles him harder.

“I love you!” Jeongguk yells, and pants, and gingerly opens his eyes to stare up at Jimin. There he finds those familiar baby-brown orbs, and he falls a little deeper in love. He raises his hand to cup Jimin’s nape, nails scratching against the roots there, and eyes glinting with all the stars and all the life in the world. “I love you, Jimin.”

“I love you, Jeongguk,” Jimin replies, his own eyes turning into crescents with slight dampness. “I can’t remember a time when I haven’t.”

“Oh, so the time you broke my arm?”

“Very much love.”

“And when you split open my forehead?”

“Still love.”

“And when you— hmph.”

“Happy new year, Guk. I love you.”

Jeongguk pulls away from the kiss, blinks, smiles, then says, “Happy new year, my love.”

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

A week later, Vera informs Jeongguk of the date while serving a tray of breakfast with portions of four and two caged chickens. Jeongguk blushes at her words, not even realizing that they spent seven whole days cooped in his bedroom without a single care of the world.

But the time had come for their bliss to end, momentarily at least. They were expected back at Watford to end their last year.

“Do we absolutely have to go?” Jimin whines and Jeongguk laughs unapologetically at the sound of it.

“We have to complete our education, Jimin.”

“Yes, but, can we stay back another week? Have fun?”

“Fun? You mean start another competition of who does the most blowjobs?”

“Yes.”

“We can do that after we get back to Watford,” Jeongguk promises, but it does little to convince Jimin.

It’s a bit weird to hear Jimin complaining, especially about returning to Watford. Jimin adored Watford, every nook and corner of it. Jeongguk faintly remembers back in second year when he returned from the summer at foster care and sobbed the minute he met the sight of his own bed. Back then, Jeongguk ridiculed his idiotic devotion to the school, even though he understood better than anyone how much Watford can mean something for fuck ups like them. It was home, it was the only home they’ve ever known to have.

And Jeongguk and Jimin, they match. They’re both an equal amount of a tragedy, and Watford was their only shelter.

Until it no longer was. A week with Jeongguk, in his bedroom, and Jeongguk thinks both of their homes have shifted from Watford to each other. Perhaps it was always each other they called their homes and Watford simply happened to be a suitable cover.

Jeongguk always returned because he wanted to do the Jeon legacy justice. Well into Watford, he had decided on his own that Jimin will not be harmed — at least not lethally — and that Jeongguk enjoys studying more than planning death traps for the Chosen One. He loved Watford because it was safe, and cozy, and something that he himself made instead of a room full of heirlooms that he wasn’t allowed to touch or move. And then, obviously, there was Jimin right there in his dorm, so there was no other place in the world where Jeongguk would rather be.

Jimin was his home. Is.

Perhaps when Jimin says he loves Jeongguk, when he holds all the love in the universe on his face, when he kisses Jeongguk like there will be no tomorrow, he feels the exact same way Jeongguk does. Perhaps it never was hopeless after all.

“I don’t understand why we need to return,” Jimin grumbles as Jeongguk tidies up his room. He finds stray pieces of clothing thrown everywhere aimlessly.

“Education,” Jeongguk repeats. “Have you heard from Taehyung yet?”

“Yes, they haven’t gotten a hold of the commissioner yet but he said Namjoon’s father is compiling evidence, and stop trying to change the subject!” Jimin whines. “Tell me, why do we have to return? Your purpose at Watford was me, I choose my only purpose in life to be you. Then why must we return to that dreadful place?”

“I thought you adored Watford,” Jeongguk comments.

“Well, yeah, but that was before.”

“Before what?”

“Before you. Now I’m sufficiently happy being here with you.”

“You’d pick fooling around in my bedroom over an education and a career?”

“You’re rich, I’m powerful, there’s nothing magic can’t do. Who the fuck needs an education when you have all that?”

“Oh god, I’m in love with a tramp.”

“A tramp,” Jimin crawls to the foot of the bed in order to get near Jeongguk. “Who has a magical mouth.”

“And dick.”

“And dick. I can make all your wildest fantasies come true, baby boy.”

Jeongguk leans over Jimin and cradles his head between his hands, ducking down to kiss the mole on his forehead. “You can do that while I’m going over Greek lessons.”

“Nerd,” Jimin grumbles again, but his eyes remain shut as though he’s in a pure state of bliss.

“Thank you,” Jeongguk retorts. “Now get ready, my aunt will be here any minute.”

His aunt perks up at the sight of Jeongguk leaving the manor, jerking her neck to the side amusedly, only to freeze when her gaze meets Jimin. She stares at Jimin for a solid minute before she’s scoffing so hard with her whole body that Jeongguk thinks she may as well hurl her stomach contents out. Then she laughs out hysterically, and then she sets a fierce glare onto Jeongguk before storming into the car.

“So,” Jeongguk’s aunt starts off, filling in the silence of the car ride to Watford, finally resorting to words instead of needless honking on an empty highway. “I heard you’ve had company all week.”

“Yes.”

“All week.”

“Making up for lost time,” Jeongguk repeats Jimin’s words with a smug face, staring at the green fields spreading along the sidewalks.

“Ugh,” she gags. “And you couldn’t find someone… less controversial?”

“It’s only fitting I meet someone who meets my own levels of controversy.”

“A vampire mage and the Chosen One,” his aunt snorts out ungracefully. “Damn it, Jeongguk. Go big or go home, quite literally.”

“Trust me, I would’ve had it any other way if I could.”

“Oh yes, it’s so hard to not love your arch enemy.”

“Ex- arch enemy.”

“Uh…” Jimin speaks up from the backseat. “I’m right here.”

“We know,” the Jeon relatives say in unison.

“Alright,” Jimin raises his hands in surrender. “Just making sure you remember.”

“Is he at least funny?” his aunt asks, glancing at Jeongguk instead of the road ahead of them.

“His humor is passable.”

“And his morals?”

“In my favor.”

“What about his dick?”

“Phenomenal.”

“Huh,” his aunt huffs. “Well, at least you’re having fun. For once.”

“You can too,” Jeongguk speaks softly, all of a sudden in his mushy feelings because Park Jimin has ruined his well-kept walls in mere seven days, reaching over to hold her hand that stays glued on the stick shift. “I know you’ve always thought you have to protect the Jeon name and it’s hindered your entire life ever since Ma left us, but I think it’s time to stop.”

“Stop? The Mage is very much alive, Jeongguk.”

“I’ll handle it,” Jeongguk says fiercely.

“You are a child.”

“I haven’t been a child for years,” Jeongguk says, not unkindly. “I promise you, I’ll handle it.”

“We’ll handle it,” Jimin adds from behind him. “We haven’t heard back from Namjoon yet, but I’m sure the authorities have been notified by now. Choi Yeonjun and I will need to testify, and that’ll be the end of it.

“What makes you think the vampire will testify?”

“I’ll make him,” Jimin states plainly, a lilt of frightening determination in his tone that Jeongguk finds very sexy.  “Everything will be fine, ma’am.”

“Ma’am?” his aunt’s ears perk up. “Oh dear, you snatched a gentleman.”

“I have high standards, you’re aware of that.”

“I am,” and then she visibly un-tenses from the rigid posture she maintained since the minute she saw Jimin exiting the Jeon manor. “You’re right, Guk. It is time to let go.”

“We’ll be good, aunty.”

“We will,” she repeats, smiling warmly. “We’ll fucking rail that old bastard to the moon and back. We’ll be happy and safe at last.”

“We will,” Jeongguk says, glancing back at Jimin who stares at him with a blinding smile. “We will.”

Whether Watford has always been this beautiful, or it’s just Jeongguk’s mood, he can’t tell.

The birds' chirp, the football field looks grassier, the architecture doesn’t hold a gloomy look to it anymore, the students don’t seem so ugly at first sight. It’s good to be back, really good. Especially with Jimin by his side instead of running towards him with a pipe in hand ready to paint the walls with his brains.

They step out of his aunt’s car and stand at the Watford doors, the series of coiled iron in the shapes of roses and thorns opening by themselves at the first sense of their magic. Jeongguk used to dread this moment after every summer back at the manor, always thinking they won’t open for him, that they’ll finally sense he’s dead and they’ll remain shut, and Jeongguk will never be allowed to breathe Watford’s air again. Of course, it was paranoia, but it still frightened Jeongguk.

The fear isn’t here right now. Right now, Jeongguk fears nothing. Not even his own death. The world could find out he’s a vampire, been a vampire all along, and it still wouldn’t faze Jeongguk in the slightest.

“Let’s go,” Jimin chirps beside him, threading their fingers together. Jeongguk stutters when he looks down at their conjoined hands, eyebrows raising questioningly at Jimin. “What? You’re my boyfriend, or are we not doing this?”

“No we’re… definitely doing this. Just… are you sure? Wouldn’t this set the entire World Of Mages off its hinges?”

“Who cares,” Jimin shrugs and starts to drag Jeongguk along the pathway to their dorm.

And if the several confusing glances they receive from all the students in their path bother Jimin even in the slightest sense, he makes no show of it.

Jeongguk has never felt more alive than he does at the moment.

The minute they enter the dorm, Jeongguk doesn’t even get the chance to fully set his guitar down before he’s being pinned to the door being locked behind him.

“Jimin, the anathema!”

“Don’t,” Jimin grunts, voice muffled into Jeongguk’s neck. “Care. You smell so good.”

“If we get expelled because you’re fucking insane then I’m never letting you near my ass.”

Jimin stops in his tracks, looks up with knitted eyebrows, and slaps Jeongguk’s arm.

“Jimin!” Jeongguk shrieks as his eyes flash around them, seeing no change of setting.

“Nothing happened,” Jimin grins. “The universe knows Jeongguk. Now shut up and let me love you.”

“I can’t believe you just risked expulsion,” Jeongguk gawks at him, although not being able to do so for long because Jimin is throwing him over his own shoulder before throwing him down on Jeongguk’s bed. “I can’t believe you’re ruining my bed.”

“The dirty on yours, sleep on mine,” Jimin slurs, pulling his shirt off before reaching down and doing the same to Jeongguk’s shirt. “Shit, how the fuck do you keep getting hotter?”

“It’s a talent.”

“Put it to use then,” Jimin grins, flipping them over. “How come I’ve never noticed how ripped you are? Like, ripped.”

“I hated being naked in front of you,” Jeongguk says settling onto Jimin’s lap and circling his hips slowly over his hardening groin as Jimin’s wandering hands heat him up with magic. “Thought I’d give away too much.”

“You could’ve bagged me long before.”

“You mean I could’ve seduced you? And what guarantee would I have had that you wouldn’t crucify me for acts of seduction?”

“Fair point. You’re allowed to do it now, though.”

“Noted.”

“You can start by taking off your pants.”

“Duly noted.”

“Jeongguk,” Jimin gapes at him when Jeongguk doesn’t move. “Don’t make me rip another pair.”

Jimin is a sight in Jeongguk’s bed, laid flat on his back, abs clenching every time Jeongguk rolled his hips and pushed his cock deeper inside himself, his showy swallow adding theatrical effects every now and then. A fucking sight.

Jeongguk dreams of soft snow, sheets of white spread all around them, flakes falling onto Jimin’s blond curls until they pile over his head like a cone-shaped halo. He sees Jimin’s eye smile spreading so far against his cheeks that the corners of his eyes begin to wrinkle. He feels Jimin’s hand tugged into his own, looks down to find himself naked just as much as Jimin is, but he isn’t cold. He’s warm, warm against Jimin, alive against Jimin. Jimin finds their nudity amusing, laugh pitchy and breathtaking, and he cups Jeongguk’s face between his hands to kiss him stupid.

Jeongguk doesn’t think he’s ever had a nicer dream.

It’s past midnight, both of them snuggled into each other’s arms on Jimin’s bed, when a blinding ray of light barging through their front door yanks Jeongguk awake. He squirms and shivers at the sudden harsh and cold wind it brings along, squinting at the white light to make sense of the intrusion, and Jimin remains motionless beside him.

Motionless and cold.

His warmth seems to be reducing with seconds, the room growing chillier when the only source of heat is ripped away from it. Jeongguk blinks at his peaceful face, haze unveiling his senses, and finding Jimin’s features softened impeccably as he remains passed out. He shakes Jimin, calls for him, touches his cheek to find it cold as ice. Perhaps this is just what fear felt like, because Jeongguk was bewildered all of a sudden and gradually growing terrified the more unresponsive Jimin stayed.

“Jimin,” he shakes Jimin, to no avail. “Jimin, there’s—”

“He's out cold,” a voice says, and dread settles into Jeongguk’s gut as though he was impaled on a sword. “Let’s not make this ugly, Jeongguk. Come along now.”

“What—” Jeongguk swallows around the lump in his throat, voice as small as possible, either from fear or hopelessness, he can’t point. “What are you doing here?”

“Let’s discuss the details outside,” The Mage nears him as Jeongguk hurls onto his feet and plants himself between Jimin’s sleeping figure and the ugly old man adorned in red and green, his beard longer than Jeongguk remembers. The light doesn’t dim, instead creates a halo around The Mage’s figure, a halo around the devil incarnate. The irony of it makes Jeongguk internally scream. “It’s stuffy inside, good god. Let’s open the window.”

He waves his hand and mutters a spell, and the window shatters with a deafening noise.

“What did you do to him?” Jeongguk asks, glancing back at Jimin’s passed out figure.

“Valerian Root,” The Mage replies nonchalantly. “Relaxing in small doses, lethal in large. A moderate amount sets you into a deep sleep.”

“You drugged your son?!”

“My son?” The Mage blinks with a tilt of his neck, then barks out a tragic laugh. A hideous sound, so dreadful it makes Jeongguk fear for what’s about to come. “Funny. Hey,” he calls out to the rows of men standing in the corridor outside the dorm door, Jeongguk’s scent picks up at least ten. Yoongi’s brother is standing right behind The Mage with a stoic expression. “The vampire’s funny!”

Vampire. “W-What?”

“Let’s go,” his face fell, too sudden, too cruel. As if on cue, his army barges in, fire torches in every single warrior’s hand.

“Jimin—” Jeongguk turns to shake Jimin again, but doesn’t make it that far.

Then there’s a sharp thud against Jeongguk’s temple, sending a blazing spike of agonizing pain across his skull, before the entire world blacks out.

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Jimin wakes with a blaring pain in his head, and when his hand reaches out to feel Jeongguk, he finds the bed empty. He doesn’t think much of it.

He huffs and shivers from the cold side of the bed as he rubs his eyes and groans at the headache, calling out to Jeongguk. “Jeongguk-ah! You couldn't wait for me to wake up before running off to shower? Hurry on, I need morning kisses.”

He doesn’t earn any reply. 

“Jeongguk-ah… Should I just join you?”

After regaining moderate focus, his ears register that the shower isn’t running.

Jimin sits up in his bed and groans out louder. The afternoon sun pours into the window and near well blinds him, the sharp pang in his head doubling with it. What the fuck happened last night? He thought these headaches are supposed to happen if you drink. Is Jeongguk’s saliva naturally spiked?

“Jeongguk?”

He still doesn’t earn any reply.

Jimin throws his legs off the bed and squeezes his bleary eyes to regain focus on them. His nose doesn’t pick up Jeongguk’s cedar and bergamot smell, his room is weirdly empty as it was when Jeongguk didn’t return after the summer, his sixth sense begins to tingle. Jimin looks around.

The front door is wide ajar, the window smashed, the rug between their beds sporting a patch of blood in the corner that trails on towards the door and out. There’s a dove obediently waiting for him at the window, it’s claws bleeding against the sharp edges. Jimin reaches for it as he tries to soothe its withering and its pain, only to find a message attached to its lithe body.

Help him! - Taehyung.

Jimin blinks. It all settles into place, but not without a throbbing ache in his head that he forces himself to ignore.

Panic surges in Jimin after his legs shoot up and he’s hurling out their dorm with a scream of Jeongguk’s name. He stumbles and slips on the rug, dizzy and shaken, but manages to crawl up and run on the balls of his feet. The unprovoked screaming alerts the students around them, but no one dares to ask Jimin if he needs help. No one ever has.

He speeds around all of Watford and doesn’t find a single trace of Jeongguk, his brain regaining function the more he runs, unending panic entails along it. He doesn’t find any familiar faces in the crowd of students that flood the corridors and the classrooms, his own friends nowhere in sight. Not in the dining hall, not on the football field, not in any of the classrooms.

The blood trail in his room which felt like Jeongguk’s, was his only clue, and it ended at the very doorframe. As though he was portaled away. Jeongguk’s cedar and bergamot scent was nowhere near, Jimin’s magic unable to pick on any of Jeongguk’s whereabouts and unnervingly numb under his skin.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

Nothing happens, he doesn’t feel his magic, he doesn’t feel his usual warmth. The layer of magic under his skin is as unresponsive as the call of Jeongguk’s name.

He starts to cry, unbeknownst of it.

Running around like this with a call of Jeongguk’s name is painfully the same as running along in his evening hunts back at the start of the year, except this time Jimin is angry for all different reasons. And he’s really, really afraid.

He’s afraid for Jeongguk, for himself. He’s afraid something terrible has happened to him, is happening to him, and every second that passes with Jimin fumbling and panting in search for Jeongguk is like a ticking time bomb. Jimin is running out of time, he’s running out of it fast.

Fear, Jimin finds out for the first time in twenty years of his life, is a barbaric feeling.

Jimin sprinted towards the library, hoping to find Taehyung in the forbidden section and beg for help. For an explanation. For him to say it’s a fucking cruel prank. Taehyung isn’t there either. 

Instead, he’s met with Yoongi’s father.

“Ah, finally,” the old bloated man says as he closes his book and sets his glasses at the counter. “Took you long enough.”

“What?” Jimin gawks at him, out of breath and eyes watery. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“Alright kid, here’s the deal,” Yoongi’s father says, settling back in his desk chair with his hands folded over his lap, as though he’s been waiting for this moment all day. “Your vampire lover is with your father. And the only way to save him is if you take Choi Yeonjun to him.”

“What?” Jimin repeats, this time barely above a whisper.

There’s a violent clench in his chest as his breath hitches, agonizingly dripping into his gut and making him feel heavier as though gravity is pulling him right into the ground. Jimin’s knees buckle, but before he could stumble down on his face, he catches a nearby rack and holds himself up.

The Mage has Jeongguk.

Jeongguk is in danger.

Because of Jimin.

“Hand over the escaped vampire, eh? An eye for an eye,” Yoongi’s father continues, unaware or uncaring at the way Jimin’s life flashes before his eyes and his soul leaves his body leaving him hollow and helpless. “The rest he’ll discuss with you.”

“Where is he?” Jimin asks with a lump in his throat, his voice scratchy and dreadful.

“The vampire knows,” he waves off. “Go along now, tick tock. Tick tock.”

His dismissal surges a vehement flow of rage down Jimin’s spine, the utter lack of basic human courtesy when he addresses Jeongguk even more so. He’s filled with rage now, overshadowing his fear, and Jimin mutters the chant to summon the sword, but the hilt doesn’t appear.

“Oh, kid. You still haven’t figured it out, have you?”

“Figured out what?” Jimin asks through gritted teeth, tears brimming his stinging eyes, dread drilling holes into his stomach.

“The Sword of Mages,” he says. “It’s only of any use when you’re under threat. Here, no one wants you dead, child. We’re just teaching you a lesson. Unless,” Yoongi’s father pauses, raising one eyebrow over his swollen features. “You tamed your magic? The only thing that is actually yours?”

Jimin wills his magic, but there’s nothing inside. Not a speck, not even a spark. As though all his magic is drained out of him.

“Ah, thought so. Valerian Root does that to a mage temporarily. Drains their magic, makes them normal, you know, so you remember who made you. Run along, Chosen One. Oh, but do know that your conspiring friends are all locked up in the tower for betraying The Mage, so don’t waste any time searching for them!”

Jimin leaps forward. He doesn’t need a sword.

Then he’s running off before he even hears the old man cry out in anguish.

It takes hours for Jimin to reach the Jeon manor in Busan, and he finds the entire place empty.

As though no one has ever lived here.

He doesn’t know what he expected when he hurled into a taxi and sped here, as though all of this would be a terrible nightmare and he’ll find Jeongguk sitting on his bed with his guitar in hand, playing a tune he doesn’t recognize, raising a judgmental look at Jimin’s ragged appearance. Instead, he doesn’t even find Jeongguk’s family.

He’s running into every room, yelling out for someone, anyone, but he’s only met with the sound of his own echo hitting back every single time. The entire manor is silent, void, empty, and it does nothing but make Jimin’s heart crumble with fear and worry. Jimin doesn’t even realize he’s crying before he hits face-first into a body and his face is being held between two hands wiping away the streaks of water running down his cheeks.

“Oh,” Choi Yeonjun whispers softly as he takes in Jimin’s wreckage with a sorrowful expression. “What did they do to you, hm?”

“They took— Jeongguk— And they…”

“I know, son. It’s okay. He’s okay. We’ll get him back.”

“And they said h-he doesn’t have time,” Jimin is sobbing uncontrollably, but there’s no control in his body to make himself stop. He’s hollow and full of utter anguish, and there’s nothing he can do about it until he knows Jeongguk is okay.

Jimin has never felt like this before. It’s as though someone has wrenched his heart out of his chest and refuses to put it back, and Jimin is conscious enough to watch them play with it.

“My informant told me,” Yeonjun speaks gently. “Hey, listen to me. I know where they are. I’ll go, okay? I’ll go with you. You can give me to The Mage, we’ll get Jeongguk back. Are you listening, Jimin? Jimin, son, we’ll get him back.”

Jimin nods his head as another sob breaks through his chest, he hears the words but his mind doesn’t process them, he claws at his gut to stop churning, he grips onto Yeonjun’s jacket to ground himself.

Jeongguk. All he needs is Jeongguk to be okay.

“Here,” Yeonjun offers him a blackish potion as they sit in the backseat of Yeonjun’s care being driven by the cashier back at the dinghy vampire restaurant. She stays impassive to Jimin’s sobs. “That’ll take off the effects of the Valerian Root.”

Jimin accepts it wordlessly and downs the entire bottle in a single gulp.

“Jesus! Don’t try to kill yourself already,” Yeonjun grunts as he pulls at the bottle to slow Jimin down, only to find the bottle empty the minute it leaves Jimin’s lips. “Fuck, you really have no militant sense even after living the way you did all these years?”

“I don’t care,” Jimin states plainly, wiping away at his lips as another stream of tears escapes his eyes. “I just need to get to him. How far are we?”

“Not too much,” Yeonjun replies.

“How long until my magic returns?”

“I don’t know, it depends on the amount of Valerian Root they injected you with.”

“What if it doesn’t return at all?” Jimin’s lip wobbles. “What if I can’t save him?”

“You will,” Yeonjun presses. “You will.”

“Why would he take Jeongguk? Why wouldn’t he just… Why couldn’t he have taken me instead?”

“Because that would be merciful,” Yeonjun says, tone tinged with despair. “And Lee Minho isn’t merciful.”

“I regret defending him. I regret ever being on his side. I regret… fuck. Jeongguk. How much longer?!”

“Jimin,” Yeonjun holds his shoulder and pushes him against the car seat. “I need you to listen to me right now, okay? Are you listening? Jimin, stop crying. Stop letting your emotions fuck this up. Stop imagining the worst possible scenarios in your head. Kid, you’re going into battle, okay? I need you to treat this one the same you’ve treated every other battle in your life. You prepared, right? To face the Humdrum? Well, you’re facing him now. Now. What’s the strategy, Jimin? How will you face him? Say it.”

“Kill or be killed,” Jimin whispers, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

“Kill or be killed,” Yeonjun repeats, his hollowed eyes boring into Jimin’s soul. “I need you to forget about everyone else, okay? I need you to focus on that bastard, and I need you to kill him, no matter what. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“Kill or be killed,” Yeonjun says again. “Nothing else matters.”

It’s easier said than done. The other battles had no consequence. It was either they were slashed in two at the end of Jimin’s blade, burnt to a crisp by Jimin’s bursting magic, or they’d manage to get a lucky strike at Jimin’s body which never truly happened. There was only one drawback, that they might kill Jimin, and Jimin never considered it too big of a deal. He was born to die, anyway.

This battle has a consequence. This battle has Jeongguk on the other side, used as bait, kidnapped and possibly tortured, kept alive at the brink only to make it a show of punishing Jimin. Jimin dreads what he’ll find when he reaches Jeongguk, dreads what they’ll do to Jeongguk to punish him. This battle risks too much, too much for Jimin to keep it aside and do what he’s always done.

Because Jimin may die, that’s always been promised. But if Jeongguk dies, the world will burn down.

Jimin will burn it down. All of it.

He wipes away his tears and stares at the road outside, catching the sight of The Mage’s army station at the top of a hill in Ilsan. There you are, you fucking bastard, he thinks to himself.

“Why are you sacrificing yourself?” Jimin asks after a moment of calming himself down, the magic finally sparking inside his veins.

“It’s not sacrificing if I’m paying for my sins.”

Jimin thinks about that, about paying for one’s sins. Maybe this is how the universe is punishing him for siding with the fucking tyrant all along, maybe Jimin’s sins are being paid by Jeongguk. If Jeongguk dies tonight, no one but Jimin will be to blame. He shakes his head and forces himself to stay blank, willing more and more of his magic by every passing minute. It comes slowly, torturously.

“You’re right. It’s not a sacrifice,” he says, at last, more for himself than anyone else. “It’s a sentence.”

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The world is blurry, his head hurts, but Jeongguk’s nose picks up the scent of smoke and he’s screaming through the pain while opening his eyes to confirm his intuition.

They don't open. The pain doubles. The smell of smoke grows stronger.

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The path uphill is covered in a breath, Choi Yeonjun holding onto Jimin’s back as he runs at the speed of lightning. It leaves Jimin a little dizzy, but he has no time to focus on it. He pushes through, entering a narrow pathway between rows of bushy trees and utter darkness until he spots a flicker of fire in the near distance.

Fire. He runs towards it and finds two fire torches lit beside a wooden door, guarded by two large men, a large dome hall behind them.

Jimin mutters the spell for his sword, but the hilt doesn’t appear. Yoongi’s father was right, they don’t want to kill him. They just want to kill the boy who he lives through. He braces himself before he lunges forward and snaps the two guards’ necks in a mere second.

“Jimin,” Yeonjun grabs his arm and turns him away from the dead bodies and the entrance of The Mage’s dome where he hopefully stood with his army. He doesn’t sound panicked, but there’s a strange tightness in his voice that sets Jimin off the edge. “Is your magic back?”

“I don’t know,” Jimin replies in all honesty. There are just pitiful sparks under his skin, as though his magic is flickering and going out.

“Alright,” Yeonjun nods. “Do you know what to do?”

“Kill or be killed.”

“Jimin,” Yeonjun shakes his head. “Please don’t die. Please live, please let him live.”

“If he dies,” Jimin says, before setting his jaw and charging towards the door. “Then everyone dies with him.”

“You’re here at last,” The Mage tsks at the sight of Jimin’s approaching figure, his fingers releasing the lock on the crown of Jeongguk’s head from a seemingly painful grip, Jeongguk’s head lulling back to hang between his shoulders as though he’s still passed out.

They’ve chained his hands to rods on either side, holding him up by the chains, even if there’s not an ounce of consciousness in him. Jimin feels his magic tingle under his skin, steadily, coming to him gradually the more he watches Jeongguk’s blood drip down from his temple before his figure.

His blood boils, but it’s more grief than anger.

“Sir,” Jimin tastes bile in his mouth. “Let him go.”

“Ha!” The Mage laughs, then motions for four men standing at the entrance of the dome. “Burn the vampire.”

Jimin panics, thinking he’s referring to Jeongguk, lunging forward on impulse that has The Mage casting a shield between them to hurl Jimin back into place with a violent impact against Jimin’s chest that renders him breathless.

But he wasn’t referring to Jeongguk as no guard moved near him, he was referring to Yeonjun. Jimin freezes and then turns around sharply to meet Yeonjun’s sullen hollowed eyes for a split second before he’s set aflame.

It’s simple, a millisecond long, just the slightest flicker of the fire torch set a little too close to his shoulder, and he catches on fire as flash paper would. There’s a moment when his eyes are glued to Jimin’s, a sad smile on his face, and then he’s turned to smoke.

Cremated to ashes before Jimin’s eyes.

“No!” he hears a scream, probably his own, kneeling before the pavement colored ashes in his hands, the dust slipping through his fingers like sand would, floating in the air like dreary snowflakes.

“Now that this one hurdle is crossed,” The Mage comments off-handedly.

“Why?” Jimin barks through gritted teeth, startling the guards before him with a quick stand and facing forwards again, his eyes never once deviating from Jeongguk’s figure in fear of missing any twitch of his limbs.

“Why?” The Mage barks out another hideous laugh, following Jimin’s gaze and kicking Jeongguk in the gut and earning petty satisfaction from his passed out grunt. “I don’t remember raising an idiot.”

“You didn’t raise me,” Jimin snaps.

“Oh, but I did give you a life to live,” The Mage smiles, wrinkly and ugly, urging Jimin to stake his blade right into the space between his eyes. “Or did you forget that when the vampire seduced you?”

“He didn’t.”

“Come on, Jimin. Just confess that you were derailed by this abomination. Let’s cremate him right here, let’s march off and burn his house next!”

“Where is his father? Vera? His aunt?”

The Mage tilts his head. “Ah, so you jumped ships, is that it? They fed you once so now you’re ready to turn on your own father? So devoted after a fucking dinner?”

“You’re not my father,” Jimin says, and his tongue burns. But the anger is too fierce, the fear is overwhelming, and all of it overrules whatever guilt that manages to break through. Jeongguk kneels there with his head hanging between his shoulders, bleeding out. The urge to kill only grows. “You’ve never been my father.”

“What?” The Mage scoffs. “I saved you from that hell, Jimin. I gave you the life you’re living.”

“You sent me back to that hell every summer!” Jimin yells now, his magic surging, but it’s still not enough. He still doesn’t feel as though he’d go off, which makes him cry out because this is the only time he needs to. “You brought me here as a weapon, nothing else. Don’t you dare pretend it’s anything else.”

“You’re foolish,” The Mage tsks again, waving his hand at Jimin’s outburst. “Young blood, it runs hot. I understand that, I really do. But did you need to conspire against me? For this? For this vampire? Choosing this abomination over me?”

He spits out, the rows and rows of men surrounding his position in the center of the dome, voicing their support. Jimin can’t even count them.

“You hurt him,” Jimin says at last. “You hurt the Normals. You hurt his mother. You were so obsessed with the idea of gaining power that you forgot all about what’s right and what’s wrong. You made up The Humdrum just so you could get away with your crimes.”

“And you, dear Jimin, were meant to support me either way.”

“That’s impossible,” Jimin shakes his head.

“It wasn’t impossible before,” The Mage raises his voice, a membrane of magic surrounding him with his outrage. “It wasn’t impossible when I sent you to do my dirty work. Always so docile, always at the tip of my foot ready for any command. What changed, Jimin? Was it him? Did he change you?”

“No.”

“Ah, so it was, wasn’t it?” The Mage tsks again, the sound piercing through Jimin like a million blades.

“It wasn’t!”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” The Mage casts on Jimin, sending a sheer flood of lava down Jimin’s nerves that has him falling forward on his knees with a sharp cry. “See that, son? ”

“It… It wasn’t…” and Jimin’s insides burn all the more harshly as he continues to lie.

“Look at you, fighting for a monster. The pain you’re in,” The Mage fakes a frown. “So heartbreaking. How about we fix that?”

Before Jimin even has the chance to stand back up or to speak, The Mage mutters a chant to summon his magical sword, gold plated metal glimmering with simmering fiery magic, and raises it with a pause to have Jimin’s attention before he stakes the blade through Jeongguk’s heart.

The scream that echoes around the dome may either be his or Jeongguk’s, Jimin can’t be sure.

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

When the blade pierces through Jeongguk, he’s violently stabbed back to consciousness, only to fade away with Jimin’s teary face screaming out his name as his last sight.

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“No! NO!” Jimin shrieks, and his magic burns under his skin. He’s floating in the air all of a sudden, skin burning still but not in a way that renders him weak and helpless. He’s burning with power now, a power that’s hungry for destruction.

“What?” The Mage freezes. “Is that…?”

“How dare you!” Jimin screams with magic, the spell not one that he casts intentionally, but one that lunges the anger out of him through giant fiery hands that fly forward at the speed of a cheetah and capture The Mage’s body in a fierce enough grip that leaves him choking for air. The Mage struggles and cries out, but the giant hands remain relentless around his body. “How dare you hurt him!”

The army starts to panic now, fretting with their spears and looking towards each other for guidance. Jimin supposes they were instructed not to intervene by The Mage, thinking Jimin would take his punishment like a docile watchdog, that he won’t retaliate, that he won’t even have the magic to retaliate.

Perhaps in an alternate world where they didn’t take Jeongguk from him, he might have. Perhaps if they didn’t kill the love of his life right before his eyes, if they didn’t harm the only person who makes Jimin truly live, if they simply tortured and killed Jimin instead of ripping his heart in a million pieces, he would’ve accepted it all. Like a docile watchdog, like the man he was brought up to be.

In this world, however, they went too far.

His magic is there, burning and craving bloodlust, just the way he needs it. It’s late, it’s so devastatingly late, but it’s stronger than ever, and Jimin no longer has anything holding him back.

Not loyalty. Not responsibility. Not guilt. All of that died with Jeongguk.

“K-Kill… him!” The Mage manages to choke out to command his army, and in the blink of an eye, fifty or so soldiers are charging towards Jimin with raised weapons that look about ready to cut him up in a million pieces.

But he isn’t afraid. Not anymore.

He promised himself. If Jeongguk dies, the world will burn.

And Jimin is ready to burn it. He’s ready to burn with it. That was the plan all along.

He’s in anguish that it’s not Jeongguk’s fire he’s burning in. That the flames are not blue and purple, but blinding yellow and far from as hot as Jeongguk’s fire. He’s in anguish that he still breathes while Jeongguk doesn’t. He’s in anguish that someone other than Jeongguk gets to kill him, when all his life he prepared to die by Jeongguk and Jeongguk’s hands only.

The universe is cruel. But at the moment, Jimin is crueler.

The giant magic hands running out of Jimin’s sides stay glued onto The Mage, while the weight of Jimin’s sword finally appears at his hip. He grabs the hilt, feels the way it burns, sees the way it shines with orange and yellow flames, and then he buries the blade into the nearest body.

He hears a gurgle before blood drips down his sleek blade, a crack of crushed bones following suit, and Jimin is left insane with a strong craving for more.

There are sparks of golden and orange and red all around him, but Jimin isn’t afraid. For once in his life, he’s fucking glad to go off. For once, he wants the world to fucking end by his grace. To end it all.

He slings his sword again, slashing through the river of bodies flooding in to hold him back, splatters of red all around his sight as though the sky is raining blood. Nothing is holding Jimin back anymore. No morals, no sense of loyalty, no purpose.

They took Jeongguk. He lost Jeongguk.

Nothing matters anymore.

“And on my head,” Jimin roars out, inventing spells as his swords slings in all directions over and over at the speed of lightning, with sparks of lightning, burning every single body it connects to as though lightning has struck it from within the opening skies. “You shall taste my wrath, you shall feel my fury, you shall die at the first touch of my blade!”

The once large army that was running towards him now falls before Jimin on their knees, rows and rows of treacherous and cruel men and women, their necks craning up to glare at Jimin’s burning figure, their breaths suffocated by the forced submission of his relentless magic. They kneel before Jimin’s will, waiting for their punishments.

“You shall pay for your sins, you shall burn by my word!”

And then the entire army is set aflame.

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Jeongguk can smell burning flesh. The pain in his head is still there, but it’s nothing in comparison to the pain in his chest. He can’t move, he can’t even raise his head to see where the flames are coming from and why the smell of smoke is no longer there. Maybe it was overpowered by burning flesh. Maybe it’s Jeongguk’s flesh that’s burning, the fiery sword cremating him torturously slowly as though he’s being vehemently punished for being already dead. Maybe he can’t smell the smoke because Jeongguk is dead at last, completely, and his ghost doesn’t have the ability to catch Jimin’s scent anymore.

It’s the second thought that makes him scream out in agony, even though no sound comes out. He screams again, louder, piercing through his head, and no sound comes out yet still.

“And you shall not hurt what is mine!”

He hears Jimin’s scream echoing around the dome, thick with magic, and the hollowness in his chest left by The Mage’s sword fills up with a strong push. He gasps, hurls forward, falls back. The pain is greater than before, stronger with the way it churns in his belly and twists his veins. But this time it doesn’t come with the impediment of never subsiding. This time it comes with the intensity that promises to heal. This time when Jeongguk opens his eyes, Jimin isn’t crying or screaming anymore.

This time, Jimin is burning.

And the world is burning with him.

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Jimin!” The Mage chokes violently, clawing at his chest that continues to get crushed under the giant hands running out from Jimin’s side, functioning at Jimin’s will. Jimin steps over the burning bodies and nears The Mage, his magic so exceedingly strong that it shatters whatever shield he set up to keep Jimin away. “Stop— Jimin, stop!”

“This is for the pain you caused,” Jimin’s voice booms, his veins run with lava, his vision blinded all around except for a sharp focus on The Mage’s choking figure, glaring at him as though Jimin’s life depends on it, and he promises himself that will not move until The Mage breathes his last breaths. For saving the world, for Jeongguk. “For the hurt you birthed, For the sorrow you enticed, For the loss you brought.”

The Mage chants his own spells, but his hands grow blue from the strain of his own magic being overruled by Jimin before he’s yelping out in sheer agony. The sound only encourages Jimin to crush him further.

“You will never hurt again. You will never hurt anyone again!”

And then the two giant hands release The Mage, allowing him a second worth of relief, before they’re slamming back together in a fierce thundering clap and crushing his body from his skull to toe. The loud single crack of two hundred and six bones turned to dust at once doesn’t soothe Jimin the way he expected it to, but when his body falls limp on the ground, in nothing but skin and fat and blood of burst arteries flowing out from every possible exit, Jimin’s magic sweeps back inside him and leaves a faint trail of smoke behind it.

There The Mage lays dead before him, and behind him, his army has long burnt down.

And it does nothing to fill the hollowness inside Jimin’s chest.

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Jeongguk blinks at the sight of The Mage’s body lying shattered in the middle of the dome, and at Jimin standing above it with a ghastly expression on his face.

Like he’s not Jimin. Like he’s someone else, and Jimin is far, far away.

He tries to move, to run to Jimin and bring him back, but his hands remain restrained and burning — because those bastards shackled him with silver. Jeongguk is still too weak to cry out, weaker to process what the fuck just happened before him, and he’s opening his mouth to let out a pitiful yelp but nothing comes out.

Then, as though Jimin sensed his pain, Jimin’s head snapped back into his direction and a million emotions ran through his face.

Grief? Relief? Sorrow? Happiness? Jeongguk can’t label it through the bleariness of his tears, can’t even be sure if any of this is real or just a loop of hell he’s stuck in after dying, but he knows that Jimin is running towards him at the speed of lightning.

His Jimin is running towards him.

In the next moment, Jeongguk is falling forward into Jimin’s chest, being hugged as though the world was ending, being crushed into a snug grip that grounds his soul looming between the world of the living and the world of the dead, and Jeongguk doesn’t mind the hell loop as much anymore. The world’s ending has finally come to an end.

The world was ending. Then Jimin saved it, the way he was always meant to.

“You’re alive!” Jimin is yelling, Jimin is crying, Jimin is shaking all over. “You’re alive, Jeongguk! You’re alive!”

“Great welcome back,” Jeongguk remarks, thinking it will come out cocky and sassy. Instead, his voice breaks through the middle and he begins to cough into Jimin’s chest.

“Shut up! Don’t speak,” Jimin sobs. “Come back to me, healed and glorious.”

“That’s not—” Jeongguk heaves out uncomfortably as Jimin’s magic surges into his back, breathing life into him. He wants to say that the spell doesn’t exist, he wants to complain that he doesn’t want to be a labrat for Jimin magical experiments. But Jimin, he doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t pause, he doesn’t stutter. He just sobs. “Shit, Jimin.”

“Glory be to thee,” Jimin sobs again, harder than ever. “One who can’t leave before the other. One who sticks by my side until the end of time. I bound you to me, and me to you!”

That, Jeongguk thinks with a lazy grin, is definitely a confession.

Chapter Text

If there’s one thing Jimin’s learned in all twenty years of his life, it’s that he’s always been fated to Jeon Jeongguk.

There isn’t even a cliché work-of-the-universe behind this lesson, it’s a bit more than that.

Jimin was abandoned the day he was born, he has yet to find out who his parents were and why they left him at the gate of an orphanage with the rain pouring in his casket, and Jimin written over his forearm with a sharpie. He has yet to figure out where or how this much magic within came to him, and why it’s so untamable yet so loyal to one vampire, and why his parents threw him out instead of keeping him as a golden prize that any other mage would. He doubts they were considerate people, or if they cared enough to ponder over him being the Chosen One, or if they were even mages. He even doubts if they’re still alive.

All his life, he overlooked a lot of things he was forced to face. He was always taught that whatever happens is the decisions made by the universe, which is the biggest bullshit excuse for being terrible humans when he thinks over it. He overlooked mistreatment, bullying, ignorance, abandonment. His friends always thought he’s full of vengeance and rage, that his frequent going off debacles come from the repressed feelings of never being given an identity since birth. And when he was given one, he was made into a weapon instead of a son.

Jimin appreciates this psychoanalyzing even if it’s nowhere near the truth.

The truth is, Jimin doesn’t know what he’s meant to feel regarding all that. He can’t miss what he’s never had, so the idea of loathing two faceless beings who conceived him is almost ridiculous to him. As per The Mage, Jimin has long given up the idea that he owed him anything. Jeongguk had been right all along. He’s always right, that fucker. The Mage didn’t do anything for him that the universe wouldn’t have done, either way, The Mage didn’t make what he was already born with. Jimin was chosen. Jimin is the Chosen One. The fact that his all-bound fate brought his father’s demise is not as grievous as it should be, and for once Jimin doesn’t mind it. He doesn’t regret it, he doesn’t feel overwhelmed with guilt. He puffs his chest and breathes out deeply, for a job well done. He wonders if that makes him prone to apathy, killing his own father. He wonders if it’s even too bad.

Then he decides it’s brilliant just the way it is. That he’ll do it all over again if he could. Because Jeongguk is safe. He’s unconscious, he’s deathly pale, he’s cold whenever Jimin steps away from his sleeping figure. But he’s safe. Breathing. Alive.

“Progress?” Taehyung asks about Jeongguk every day when they meet in the evenings on the football field for sparring.

“Just thirsty,” Jimin always says.

“And you? What about the immortality?”

“Still very much immortal, Tae.”

It’s been a week and Jeongguk has yet to wake. But it’s fine, they’ll be fine. Jimin knows it better than anything else. They were always meant to be okay, all the cruelty of the universe is now being compensated for. It has to.

And the truth is, Jimin may have been chosen to save the World of Mages, which he did in a way, but his intentions were to save Jeongguk all along. It’s merely a bonus that the world is saved along with him.

Which he knows well enough to be a shitty thing to say, but the fact of the matter is that Jimin is no hero.

Jimin was ready to split the world into two, to fight a war under the villain. He was ready to give it all up and sacrifice his honor for the sake of his debts. He’s known all along that it wasn’t a noble belief, although it is what it is. The universe should’ve picked someone more selfless, it’s not Jimin’s fault.

And the truth is that he didn’t think of the world itself until it was Jeongguk in concern. The truth is that Jimin may have saved the world from the Humdrum, who was the man he’d been protecting all along, of what he was expected to do all along. But it was Jeongguk who led him to it.

No one will believe him when he says this: that it was Jeongguk who somehow saved the world. Jimin simply saved the only person he loves.

In a twisted way, Jimin’s entire world was a whirlwind of antagonist trouble and self-sacrificing for the wrong side until Jeongguk broke down his walls and organized the mess. It was nothing but kill this, kill that, prepare all your life to kill yourself, until Jeongguk dug down deep and carved a way out for Jimin. Nothing ever made sense, then Jimin saw Jeongguk — the real Jeon Jeongguk — and everything set into place by itself. Like he was always meant to do just that.

It started with the fact that Jimin’s magic was ruthlessly against the idea of hurting Jeongguk, instead, it served Jeongguk whenever he needed aid. Then came the notion where it flowed into Jeongguk like it belonged to him more than it belonged to Jimin. Then Jimin sat down and fucking thought about what all their eight years together actually meant to him. Then he realized just how stupidly devoted he’s been to Jeongguk all along, and how now he refuses to live in any other way.

So yes, in a non-cliché and non-heroic way, Jimin believes that he’s been fated to Jeongguk all along. That he was chosen, but only and only to love, and to respect, and to cherish Jeon Jeongguk. That it wasn’t him or his magic, but his love for Jeongguk that saved the world.

Which, he considers in a romantic way, is really fucking amazing.

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

When Jeongguk wakes, he’s in his dorm room. On Jimin’s bed, judging by the soft smell of smoke functioning as a membrane around his peachy scent. The room is lit by the sun primarily, the window is shut to keep the cold out, the bed is warm beneath him.

He groans from a dull ache on the side of his torso as he manages to sit up. Not a single speck of his consciousness is aware of how he got there and why he was alone and what the fuck happened once he passed out in Jimin’s arms, which was enough to surge a mild injection of panic through him in the form of urgent fidgeting under the sheets — until Jimin is storming through the door as disheveled as ever, wrestling a fat chicken between his arms.

“Jimin?” Jeongguk’s voice is hoarse and barely above a whisper. Although none of that is enough to leave him unheard.

Jimin freezes as the bird continues to flap in his arms and scratch up whatever skin it finds, before there’s another one of those blinding eye smiles greeting Jeongguk without any hesitation. His heart flutters against his ribcage, and Jeongguk makes a mental note to get used to this as he’s managing to smile back.

“You’re up,” Jimin says, cheeks stretched apart as much as possible. There’s hesitation in his gaze, which doesn’t exactly soothe Jeongguk. “I brought you dinner.”

“Dinner,” Jeongguk gapes.

“You were complaining about cat fur last night,” Jimin explains, the chicken struggling more than ever. “So I got you a feisty chicken tonight. I think it knows it’s gonna be drained any moment.”

He laughs, chest vibrating and face gleaming and all sappy and lovestruck. And it’s only then that Jeongguk feels the spiky thirst in his throat, gradually running up his temple to push him over the edge of insanity. He motions to Jimin to bring the chicken closer, his fangs filling into his mouth in the meantime, and he doesn’t pause with embarrassment anymore before sinking them into the helpless creature.

“Wicked,” Jimin whispers from beside him in utter fascination. Jeongguk shoots him a shut up glare because his mouth is preoccupied.

Once he’s fed, Jeongguk looks at Jimin and takes him in.

His curls are as wild as ever, his skin heated tan and no longer deathly cold when it was the last time they were in their dorm, his eye smile still so fucking comforting. There’s a faint pink blush brushing over his cheeks the more Jeongguk stares at him, all the while watching his hands curl and uncurl at his sides as though he’s fighting off the urge to touch Jeongguk.

He stares at Jimin who simply stares back, waiting for each other to make the first move.

But Jeongguk waits, just to confirm if this is real or not.

“Can I… Can I touch you?” Jimin asks gingerly after several silent moments pass between them, biting his bottom lip.

“Why are you asking?”

“Because you’ve… Well,” Jimin nods to himself. “You wouldn’t remember it. That’s fine.”

“Remember what?” Jeongguk asks, his eyes never once deviating from Jimin’s figure. “Remember what, Jimin?”

It was as though Jimin instead of Park was all Jimin needed.

He reaches forward, his hands threading into Jeongguk’s greasy hair as he ducks down and cradles Jeongguk’s head into his belly with a deep relieved sigh. He hugs Jeongguk tight, warm, like he’s overflowing with love and he doesn’t know what to do about it but he can’t smother Jeongguk with it either. Jeongguk can’t decide if he wants him to or not, then decides maybe he will want him to later. But not yet, at least. Not when he’s just come back from the land of the dead.

“You’ve been out of it for weeks,” Jimin mumbles slowly into his hair, breathing in as deeply as possible perhaps in an attempt to calm himself. “Your vampire thirst has kept you up, but you weren’t really yourself. You told me not to touch you. I think you were scared you’d hurt me.”

“Did I?” Jeongguk swallows thickly, the fresh blood intake heating up his cold skin.

“No, of course not. You’d never hurt me.”

“I have.”

“No,” Jimin pulls back and raises Jeongguk’s head to look into his eyes. “You haven’t.”

“What… What happened? The Mage?”

“Gone,” Jimin grins, but it’s not genuine. It holds a lilt of sadness behind it. “We’re free now.”

“Gone,” Jeongguk echoes. “Are you…”

“I’m okay,” Jimin pulls him in and hugs him tighter. “We’re okay.”

“And… the rest?”

“You think you’re okay for a walk?” Jimin asks instead. Jeongguk nods wordlessly but prefers to shower first.

It’s the last week of January, but the weather is far from drearily cold.

The birds chirp, the sky is clear, the dew on the football field’s grass is frozen into flakes and it crunches pleasantly under their shoes as they walk along the span of greenery. The weather has never been this clear in Watford for the past eight years, regardless of the time of the year. It was as though it was cursed with eternal heavy clouds, with bone-chilling winds, with constant darkness looming over the entire school. Jeongguk used to study weathering spells so he could cure Watford of this suffocating greyness, to bring about the blue skies of Busan here, but they all advised him not to waste his magic since it wasn’t enough.

Perhaps Jimin found those spells and casted them for him.

The skies have never been this gracious over them. The wind has never been this fresh. The pathways have never been this enjoyable to walk on. The clarity in his sight and in his lungs makes Jeongguk believe in the idea that their ancestors, that his mother, have been granted peace.

Watford is free at last.

“Have I ever told you how much I adore this field?” Jimin asks well into their walk, silently walking beside each other with their hands conjoined and comfortable peace set between them as they breathed in the fresh air.

“No, but I figured as much with how you spent more time on the bleachers watching me practice instead of in your classes,” Jeongguk snickers. “Spying on me built a bond between you two? Do I get credit for this too?”

“Of course,” Jimin grins, playing along with the sarcasm but with sincerity behind his words. “This was on my list of things I’d miss once I leave Watford.”

Once I leave Watford, and the sudden realization that they’re graduating this year sets heavily onto Jeongguk’s shoulders.

It’s not as though he forgot. On the contrary, it’s the only thing Jeongguk thought about all year long. The only thing that forced Jeongguk into a constant state of dread and restlessness. How this is the last year before they graduate, before the war commences, before he loses Jimin forever.

There’s no war anymore. Jimin isn’t going anywhere. And Jeongguk is suddenly hit with the fact that he never even planned an alternate plan for himself. As though he never expected to survive, even if he lived and Jimin didn’t. There was no winning the war, even if Jeongguk won, he’d lose. He’s won now, and he doesn’t know how to go about his life anymore.

He doesn’t need to become the handsome cruel vampire who breaks hearts. And he’s far from becoming a ghost existing solely to haunt Park Jimin. Now, he has no plan at all.

He pauses and thumps down onto the bleachers, having Jimin blink down at him before he mimics Jeongguk too. He wants to express that he’s stressed, that he has no idea what he’ll do or where he’ll go or how the fuck is he supposed to live now that he has no plans or ambitions or career choices before him when graduation is right on the corner.

But when he looks into Jimin’s baby-brown orbs, all his worries shrink into nothing.

“You’re doing that blinking thing with your eyes.”

“What blinking thing?”

“The thing you do when you’re anxious,” Jimin smiles, bumping his shoulder against Jeongguk. “Overthinking. I get it.”

“Do you?” Jeongguk huffs, despite himself. “I thought you didn’t like thinking.”

“Yeah, well,” Jimin chuckles. “That’s all I do now that everything is fixed.”

“What about?”

“A future,” Jimin nods. Smiles wider. Connects their eyes. “A future with you. Our future.”

“Oh,” Jeongguk says, embarrassingly stunned.

It’s not as though he expected anything else from Jimin after all they’ve been through. But hearing it out loud, having all his buried desires and his waved off dreams coming to his reality, all in the fucking flesh of Park Jimin, it’s a little overwhelming. The good kind. The kind that leaves Jeongguk minutely breathless and his gaze left hazy with the sudden urge to kiss Jimin stupid.

“Oh?” Jimin laughs. “You gotta start having more faith in my love for you.”

“I have,” Jeongguk argues. “I do. It’s just… new.”

“Need time to adjust?”

“Yes,” Jeongguk says, giving Jimin a small smile. “But don’t pull away. Please.”

“I don’t plan to.”

Jimin walks with him some more, all the way into the Whispering Forest that was burnt down entirely from Jimin’s outburst back in the fifth year against the chimera. Jeongguk expected the forest to stay barren and burnt, and was majorly surprised to find it already blooming again.

The trees were already half-grown, the bushes thicker than before, the grass greener with a healthy scent to them that leaves Jeongguk’s head feeling fresh and renewed. The Whispering Forest came back to life, like it was starting over with them.

“This…” Jeongguk gapes. “How did it recover?”

“Taehyung thinks it’s because I meant no harm to it,” Jimin explains. “I visited it the next day of… The day at the dome… When I brought you back and you were— Well. And it began blooming ever since. Like the forest knows my intentions and chooses to give me another chance.”

“Everything is about you, isn’t it?” Jeongguk says, but there’s no bite to it. He says it with fascination and utmost pride.

“I suppose that’s the curse for saving you.”

“You mean saving the world,” Jeongguk corrects.

“No. Just you.”

“You’re an idiot,” Jeongguk shakes his head and ducks down to touch the already blooming weeds and the fragrant red and black roses blooming along with it. “It’s more beautiful than before.”

“Jeongguk,” Jimin calls after a moment, but Jeongguk doesn’t look behind him. He simply hums in acknowledgment as he breathes in the roses’ scents. “I know you still need time to… adjust. And we’re still very new at this whole boyfriend thing. But the Spring Ball is next month and I was wondering— I was hoping… I thought it’d be nice if you… If we—”

“Spit it out, Jimin.”

Jeongguk speaks softly before he turns to find Jimin bent on one knee with his sword laid over both his hands in the same gesture the Park lineage holds them up during weddings in the World of Mages. It’s a sight that sets Jeongguk’s insanity off its hinges, that Jimin would perform the Park lineage’s customs of courting so openly, without any hesitations before he goes down on his knees and binds himself to Jeongguk. He thinks perhaps he doesn’t know, perhaps it’s all a mere coincidence, but the look on Jimin's face is determined and so full of love that there’s no space for doubt.

It’s a proposal.

Jeongguk freezes in his post as he stares down at Jimin. He can’t even bring himself to speak.

“Truthfully, I intended a more… permanent sort of proposal whenever you woke up. First, it was the thought of losing you, then I actually almost lost you, so I didn’t plan on wasting any more time. But— Everyone said I’m rushing, and that we're really young. Plus, you do need time. We need time. I hear that loud and clear. Although it’s foolish, isn’t it? To pretend like this isn’t what it is. That my magic isn’t bound to you, that we aren’t fated to be together since the fucking start and that I have anything else but you to live through. It’s— It’s foolish to beat around the bush, so. My sword, dear Jeongguk, is all that’s left to offer. And even though it’s already served you, I wanted to make this gesture. You know, like, officially. As a Park. Like I… Like I want to announce that I’m very willingly yours. But I can do all this again later, and we need time. Yes. So for now, I’ll just,” Jimin breathes in deeply after his messy and stuttering monologue. “Here little birdie.”

There’s a sudden flock of canaries circling their figures, singing out in their melodious tunes while Jeongguk watches them with a dumbfounded expression. The yellows of their tiny bodies are like polka dots against the premature green trees, and it’s a sight so gorgeous that it knocks whatever breath is left in Jeongguk’s lungs after Jimin swept him off his feet. The forest sings around them, lulling their hearts into the most peaceful state possible, urging them to become one.

“Jimin…” he’s speechless, he’s stunned, he’s so in love. “Oh my god.”

“I was told grand gestures are appreciated,” Jimin smiles. “And I wanted the best for you. Want. Always. Jeongguk-ah, will you be my date to the Spring Ball?”

He wants to laugh, first and foremost. Not in a mocking sense, but in a delirious delighted sense. That hey, you’re offering me your sword, this isn’t for a stupid ball, but Jeongguk can’t even fathom a laugh. He’s so stunned that all Jeongguk manages to do is thump down onto his knees in front of Jimin’s already kneeling figure, curling his arms around Jimin’s torso, locking his gaze with Jimin’s baby-brown orbs.

The kind of brown he sees his future in.

“Yes,” he speaks, watery and full of vulnerability. The faint scar from the sword in his chest throbs, but that may just be Jeongguk’s beating heart. “Fuck, Jimin. I’d love to. Ball first, the other thing later. Yes. A million times yes.”

The smile that Jimin gives him is just as blinding and just as warm as ever, and he seals the promise with a soft kiss.

They’re laying in the middle of the forest, softly panting. Jimin lies on Jeongguk’s outstretched arm with his fingers softly stroking Jeongguk’s scar as they watch the sunset wash over the skies with blankets of pastel pink and orange, the birds chirping softly now as they prepare for slumber.

Jeongguk doesn’t bother buttoning up his clothes, they’re all alone in the forest that is officially theirs. Has been from the start. Come to think of it, the entire world is theirs. The universe bends for them. This is Jimin and Jeongguk’s world, and they plan to take full advantage of that.

“I was hoping to hold this off,” Jimin says, still minutely breathless, Jeongguk humming in response. “But my stomach aches from keeping a secret so here it is: I think I’m immortal now.”

“What?!”

Jeongguk sits up and Jimin follows him, buttoning his pants in the process and scratching the back of his neck as Jeongguk’s gaze turns from confused to inquisitive to downright demanding for an explanation.

“Okay so,” Jimin clears his throat. “I was sparring with Taehyung and Namjoon and Seokjin. Ever since I freed them from the tower, they’ve been infuriatingly inseparable and annoyingly obsessed with wanting to learn combat. Something about puny magic not being enough to protect each other. So I offered to help.”

“The point, Jimin.”

“Right. I handed Taehyung a sword while we practiced—”

“You offered an amateur a sword?!”

“You’re an amateur who attacked me with one,” Jimin states, effectively shutting Jeongguk up. “The point! He cut my thigh on accident— stop overreacting! He cut my thigh and…”

“And?”

“Well,” Jimin swallowed. “It healed.”

“So?” Jeonggguk asked, annoyance apparent in his tone. He doesn’t want to agitate Jimin, but you don’t claim you’re immortal after hot reconciliation sex and expect the other to react nonchalantly.

“It healed as in, Tae didn’t have to cast any healing spell. As in it clogged up, scarred, and vanished before he could even whip out his wand.”

Jeongguk stares at Jimin’s hesitant expression as he takes in his words.

“Healed like… my wounds do?”

Jimin pulled Jeongguk’s wand from his sleeve and slashed a cut through his palm via the sharp tip. It healed before it even had the chance to drip blood, and Jeongguk gasped at the sight of it.

“Like a vampire, yeah.”

“Oh my fucking god,” Jeongguk whispers. “I turned you, didn’t I? Oh god!”

“What—” Jimin blinks, then chuckles. “No, you stupid idiot. You didn’t turn me. At least I don’t think so, judging by the thought of drinking still making me gag.”

“Then…”

“It was the spell I cast to bring you back,” Jimin sighs with the explanation. “That’s what Namjoon says. The one where I bound myself to you and vice versa. You know. If you remember.”

“I remember,” Jeongguk says. I bound you to me, and me to you! That spell. Fucking hell. “And since I’m immortal…”

“That makes me immortal too,” Jimin shrugs, like this, is no fucking deal at all, while Jeongguk begins to panic.

Jeongguk remembers when he was ten and had just learned what immortality meant. That he was to live while everyone dear to him died. That the world would continue spinning, that the clocks will tick, that time will move forward for days then years then centuries, but Jeongguk will stay the same. It was a terrifying idea back then, and not much has changed today.

It was one of the fears Jeongguk still holds, that one day time will show it’s true cruel colors and he'll eventually have to let go of their newfound peaceful present to Jimin’s old age and passing. He put off the idea, considered that it’s not worth fretting over until it’ll be on their heads. They still had a lifetime together.

Now, Jimin tells him they’ll have more. And more. And if one of them happens to die, the other will die with him. They’ve always been fated to live together, but Jimin went the extra mile to bound them together in death too.

Fuck.

“Why are you not bothered?” Jeongguk snaps. “This is… You’ll live forever. That doesn’t— Doesn’t scare you?”

“Scare me?” Jimin frowns, hand reaching to tuck a lock of Jeongguk’s hair behind his ear. “I don’t know. An eternity and more with you doesn’t sound like a bad thing.”

Those words hit Jeongguk right in the core of his brain, easily depicted by the way he blinks at Jimin, laughs out loud like a madman, and then pounces onto Jimin as though there’s no tomorrow.

There is. They have an eternity left. Maybe even longer. 

Watford changes brick to brick.

Jeongguk is told soon enough that The Mage was replaced by his father, Jeon Junseok, and he couldn’t be more proud of it. He was also told that it was solely Jimin’s decision, and the World Of Mages abided by the Chosen One’s words without any objections. Taehyung excitedly explained how it was always more fitting for him to rule the school he built with his bare hands alongside Jeon Jungmi, but the tyrant shoved him aside. Now, the rightful owner of Watford has been restored, and with him comes a new life to Watford.

The wards are stricter than ever, everyone in support of The Mage — including Yoongi’s father, the librarian — were given the chance to plead a pardon. Those who did were forgiven and kept on their posts to help better Watford. Those who didn’t were locked up in the dungeons. Yoongi’s father was, unfortunately, one of them, although he stays imprisoned at the hospital for the time being due to heinous injuries somehow unaffected by healing spells.

“It’s hell, Jeongguk,” Namjoon says as they sit during their shared break time outside the Main Office. Jeongguk tried to get them all to visit Jeon Jungmi’s office, but the doors remained shut after Jimin walked in behind Jeongguk. Everyone was perplexed, and none had enough energy to strike up a new theory on spot.

Instead, Namjoon starts narrating the time they stayed locked up in the dungeons by The Mage for not more than twenty-four hours before they were rescued by Jimin. Their crime was compiling evidence against The Mage, which truth be told, was far from illegal. But it’s not like The Mage ever cared about the law. He was the law.

Now he’s dead, Jeongguk remembers with fierce satisfaction.

“Hell?” Jeongguk inquires.

“The walls, they give your frostbite if you touch them accidentally,” Namjoon continues. “The ground was molten lava beneath us. There was no air, or light, or any sound except for the agonizing screams of the other prisoners as well as our own. One more day there, and we’d have gone insane. Thank god for Jimin.”

“Thank god for Jimin indeed,” Seokjin adds, arm draping over Namjoon’s shoulders and resting over him. Jeongguk raises an eyebrow at the gesture, eyes darting to check for Taehyung’s reaction, but what he finds stuns him even more. Taehyung looks at Namjoon and Seokjin like they hung the stars for him. Interesting, he makes a mental note to question Seokjin about this change later.

“Yes,” Jeongguk smirks, eyes then following Jimin who was playing with one of the stray female cats on Watford’s grounds, unknown or uncaring of how the world sings his praises. “Thank god for Jimin.”

It’s not long after that Jeongguk is summoned by the headmaster of Watford.

He steps into the Main Office, his mother’s office — his father’s office now. The thought makes him grin so wide, his entire body flooding with a giddy feeling. He tries to conceal his smile and maintain his stoic dignity, but his face remains relentless.

Perhaps that’s what happiness feels like, the utter emotion that everything is finally good.

The office is as brilliant as ever. Stacks of knowledge circle the walls for as high as the eye can reach, the atmosphere warm with the torchlights lighted against the roof, the feeling of homeliness never ceasing to appease Jeongguk. It’s an office with every corner and every nook marked by his mother’s presence. It’s heaven on Earth.

“Father,” Jeongguk calls, and his father raises his head from behind his desk to meet Jeongguk’s smile. He holds a photo frame in his hands, a picture of his mother with eight-year-old Jeongguk in her lap. He turns it around and smiles with pride, as though he’s holding the entire world in his hands.

As though his world has always been Jungmi and Jeongguk.

“Do you remember this?” his father asks, urging Jeongguk to step closer. “You were eight, chubby and so heavy to lift. It was the phase where you started to get intense sweet cravings, and your mother used to chastise you for getting cavities.”

“And I used to say I can spell them away,” Jeongguk laughs, eyes slightly damp all of a sudden. He remembers that day — in fact, it’s one of the only few days he remembers from his childhood. His aunt says it’s the trauma messing with his memories, but Jeongguk doesn’t mind it so much anymore. He’s sufficiently happy with whatever he remembers of his mother.

Her calloused hands against Jeongguk’s cheeks, fire-throwers as she called them. Her lavender and oak scent, from the shampoos she made herself and taught Jeongguk to do so too, after which he invented his cedar and bergamot scented shampoo and perfumes. Her honey-dipped voice, which used to sing Jeongguk to sleep and sing him awake, would sometimes turn huskier when she taught him spells. Her food, that was always too bland but what he ate up without complaints because it made her smile.

God, he misses her so much. But it doesn’t hurt as much as it once did. When he visits her in the catacombs now, he doesn’t hurt as much as he always did. Perhaps it’s because Jimin always visits with him.

“Do you think she’s at peace now?” Jeongguk can’t help but ask, reaching for the frame and stroking her image with his thumb.

“Why wouldn’t she be?”

“Because it wasn’t me,” Jeongguk says, unsure where this confession came from but unwilling to mask it. “I didn’t avenge her. Jimin did.”

“What’s the difference?” his father asks with an amused laugh. “Your mother’s spirit clearly doesn’t see one.”

The more Jeongguk thinks over it, the more it makes sense. There is no difference, after all.

Jeongguk starts planning for his post-graduation life.

And he can’t come up with anything worthwhile. There’s a list he compiles:

1. Rockstar. He can be the immortal Illuminati star who can throw the entire world off its hinges, it’ll be entertaining but tardy.
2. Doctor. For some godforsaken reason ever since Jimin explained how his magic feels, like a sharp pang of melted wax before it freezes and soothes over, he’s wanted to explore the field of medicine.
3. Marry Jimin. Wait— What?
4. Football star. He could be the world’s most feared goalie, although that would be unfair against the powerless Normals.
5. The beautiful and relentless heartbreaker vampire who breaks the hearts of boys looking like Park Jimin. But that plan is no longer needed.
6. Jimin’s husband. How the fuck is that a career path and why does it keep appearing out of nowhere?
7. Open an orphanage after infiltrating the entire Normal system with magic and making sure every orphan is treated right. Unethical, but more ethical than anything.
8. A professor. Although Jeongguk doesn’t have quite the patience for it. Studying is fun, teaching isn’t.
9. Ask Jimin and follow his lead.

“Actually,” Jimin mutters. “I was thinking, what if we don’t leave?”

“Huh?”

“Like…” Jimin sits up against the headboard, Jeongguk follows. The sheets slip off their naked torsos, but neither of them is cold. Jimin’s warmth keeps them moderately comfortable, anywhere, everywhere. “What if we just join the faculty?”

“As teachers?”

“God, no,” Jimin laughs, hand reaching to tuck one of Jeongguk’s locks behind his ear. “I mean in administration. Your father offered it to me, after they thought I was the correct fit to lead it, you know, The Mage’s fucking Heir so Watford somehow belonged to me or something? Even though these idiots should’ve offered it to someone who has a fucking clue about how to run it. I looked your dad dead in the eye and asked him to take over instead.”

Jeongguk laughs at that, at how predictable Jimin is sometimes, at how unnerved he is by power or fame or the idea of being someone important. He says he wants nothing but to be by Jeongguk’s side, and Jeongguk relates to it wholeheartedly.

“So he suggested admin instead?”

“He said if we don’t have any plans, we can always join Watford. As in, like, handle the councils and the board of directors, set reforms, keep it guarded. Stuff like that.”

“Do you want to?”

“You’ll have to eventually,” Jimin explains. “You’re a Jeon, this place is your legacy. And you’re immortal, which no one has a bloody problem with anymore. This,” Jimin motions around them with an exaggerated wave of his arm. “Is yours for as long as either of you exist. So, I mean, I have no problem handling this place with you.”

Jeongguk thinks over Jimin’s words for a moment, contemplating if perhaps this is the right career choice. If perhaps this is what his mother will want from him.

“Is there nothing you want to do?”

“Not really,” Jimin shrugs. “Whatever I need is right here. No use going anywhere else.”

Jeongguk thinks about that more, about having all he needs being right here, in their eight-year-old dorm room, on Jimin’s bed that smells more like cedar and bergamot than his peachy smokey scent. He considers it for a moment, imagining a life where he’s the headmaster of Watford, where his mother’s office is his office, where all the World of Mages greets him with a sir instead of watching him inquisitively and gossiping behind his back.

He’ll never have to fear being outed again, Jimin took care of that for him. He’ll never have to hide who is again, Jimin made them all accept him. The boy that was promised to end him was the one who saved him in the end. It’s the best love story Jeongguk can think of.

He smiles as he tucks his face into the crook of Jimin’s neck, sighing out softly before his lips latch onto the already marked skin there.

“I want to travel the world,” Jeongguk says, at last, pushing Jimin flat onto the bed and climbing on top of him as their hips begin to rock against each other. “I want to visit all the wonders of the world and fuck on top of them.”

Jimin giggles beneath him, muttering something about Jeongguk being the eighth wonder of the world. He doesn’t question it, he sinks down onto Jimin’s cock, gasps, and giggles before making sure all his love is conveyed through the bounce of his thighs the way it always is.

Finals’ week passes out with a blur. For Jeongguk, at least. Jimin stays frustrated the whole time, messing up his already untamable curls while Jeongguk watches him with delight.

He used to enjoy the sight of Jimin huffing and puffing, of his frustration that made smoke leak from his pores and clog up the entire room. But back then, along with the delight, came the hopeless desire to calm him down and help him through it, which eventually was followed by the utter sadness of being caught in a one-sided pining love fated to never be returned.

Now, he can. Now, he’s allowed to calm Jimin down, and love him, and cherish him. Most of the time he chooses to tease him, though.

“You know,” Jimin grumbles. “As my boyfriend, you’re responsible to help me. If I fail, they won’t let me leave.”

“They’ll kick you out even if you fail.”

“That’s untrue!” Jimin whines, flipping the page of his potions workbook. “This is so fucking stupid.”

“Maybe it’s not the book that’s fucking stupid.”

“Are you calling me stupid?”

“I’m calling you fucking stupid.”

“I hate your guts.”

“I love your face.”

“Fuck off,” Jimin grumbles again, more whiny than upset.

“Hey,” Jeongguk calls at last as he stands from his post and makes way onto Jimin’s lap, pushing the book away. “What’s the potion for making someone really horny?”

“Unbelievable,” Jimin huffs with a sharp shake of his head.

“You know the one,” Jeongguk encourages. “When spells don’t work, how will you rile me up?”

“As if any extra help is needed.”

“Imagine a scenario where you’re transformed into a slug but want to make love to me and I find your ickery skin repulsive. What will you do to turn me on, Chosen One?”

Jimin huffs, but it’s contradictory in the way his arms loop around Jeongguk’s waist and pull him into his chest.

“I’ll have to mix… eh,” he strains his brain, scrunches his nose, puffs his cheeks. “A dose of crumpled Crocus sativus, with a little of Kaempferia parviflora and… uh… Mondia whitei!”

“That’s brilliant,” Jeongguk smiles, leaning down for a tender kiss ending with a bite to Jimin’s lower lip. “Although that heavy of a dose will leave me horny for years. Not hours.”

“The more the merrier for my sluggish boner.”

“Now,” Jeongguk lifts his leg and properly straddles Jimin, brushing their groins together. “What’s the potion for ending a plague?”

Jimin gets the rest of the answers right only because he’s rewarded with a fierce kiss every single time. The innovative training is worth it in the end, because Jimin passes with moderately good grades.

When Jeongguk graduates at the top of their class, Jimin rewards him with an all night long service.

The Spring Ball is more magnificent than Jeongguk imagined.

Taehyung truly pulled every possible string for this function. Jimin mentioned how he’s been waiting for the ball for ages, had this childhood fantasy of proposing to Namjoon with a wide banner hung from the second floor of the West Wing. He pulled that off too, Jeongguk enjoyed the sight of Namjoon a sputtering and blushing mess as the entire school cheered on them and Taehyung flew down from the roof to drop on one knee and ask Namjoon out for the dance. All the while the loudest cheer in the crowd was Seokjin’s.

Jimin was snickering beside him the entire time, gloating about his proposal being so much better and private, and Jeongguk may be biased but he completely agrees.

The Ball itself though, it’s held in their usual dining hall. The roof is magiced open for the starry sky to shine on them, and the bare antique walls are painted by the very students to express what Watford was to them all these years through their sloppily refined art. Jeongguk grumbled the entire time while Jimin held his hand and painted their personal masterpiece over the walls, all the while keeping Jeongguk blindfolded. When he removed the cloth and watched the end result, it was a night sky full of stars, with twinkle twinkle little star written at the bottom of it.

If he cried, it’s no one’s business. Jimin made sure of that.

The tables are thrown outside and are replaced with a dance floor, a disco ball hanging from where hung the wooden chandelier, the main stage where all teachers dined now turned into a stage for Arctic Monkeys to perform.

Jeongguk shrieks like a fanboy when he sees them, and Jimin pulls him towards the band to get an autograph while Jeongguk stands frozen and star-struck. When Alex Turner smirks at Jeongguk’s fanboying, a part of Jeongguk’s soul dies and revives back to life.

Jimin is giddy throughout the evening. He laughs without abandon, pulling Jeongguk here, then there, kissing him without any care for the crowd whenever he feels like it, keeping him glued to his chest, chatting about with everyone who approaches them while his hand doesn’t cease stroking Jeongguk’s back. Jeongguk is a bit dizzy because of Jimin’s enthusiastic attention and utmost refusal to tone down the PDA, but he doesn’t dare complain.

This is the night of their graduation and they have a flight to Tokyo in the morning. It’ll be their last night at Watford for a while. So he lets Jimin indulge within its walls, and he indulges with him just as much. Last time they enjoy this place as students before a new batch of mages run in, crowds their space, takes up their dorm. Jimin seems as though he desperately wants to live it all, to breathe in all of Watford before it changes for them forever, and Jeongguk doesn’t have to force himself to feel the same.

Once they hit the dance floor, positively drunk from the spiked punch, the night begins to pass by in a blur.

The sun is rising but the band hasn’t tired. The students, however, have long given up on the hyper dancing along with the alternative rock music and have now grabbed onto their partners for a wordlessly declared slow dance time. Number One Party Anthem plays in the background while Jeongguk holds Jimin as though he’s holding the entire world in his arms. Which, arguably, he is.

Jeongguk spots Namjoon being tossed to and fro between Seokjin and Taehyung, the three caught in a gentle hug by the end and swaying with their eyes closed. On the other corner, he spots Hoseok dragging a grumbling Yoongi onto the dance floor, who effectively shuts up the minute Hoseok pulls him into himself by Yoongi’s waist. And on the furthest corner, he finds his aunt chatting up a pink-haired woman whose curls fall till her knees. He snickers to himself.

“What’s amusing you, my dearest star in the sky?” Jimin whispers, lifting his head from where it was buried into Jeongguk’s neck and connecting their eyes, their legs still gently swaying side to side while their arms pulled tighter against each other. If the sappy romantic titles fluster Jeongguk, it’s only an encouragement to Jimin to do so more.

“My aunt’s gay.”

“I guess it runs in the family,” Jimin laughs, head thrown back, all pretty plush lips and full cheeks. Absolutely gorgeous.

“Are you tired?” Jeongguk asks after a moment, their foreheads joined and their noses slot together as they nuzzle into each other with soft sighs.

“Hm,” Jimin replies. “But I don’t wanna move. This is nice.”

"Getting comfortable, Park?"

"My idée fixe has come to me at last. I'm beyond comfortable."

“Yeah,” Jeongguk smiles, eyes fluttered shut with his arms pulling Jimin impossibly closer. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Jimin replies without any hesitation. “I haven’t been better since the day I was born. What about you?”

“Alive at last,” Jeongguk grins. Jimin grins back. Their teeth clash together before their lips mold into each other.

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

That night — that morning — when Jimin pulls Jeongguk into their dorm room, he promises himself to make the most out of it.

“It’s our last night here,” Jimin says, shoving his tongue down Jeongguk’s throat as much as possible. “I wanna try something.”

“Anything,” Jeongguk gasps into his mouth, hastily pulling their suits off before Jimin grows frustrated enough to rip them off.

“I love how much you want me,” Jimin grins, lifting Jeongguk in his arms to have his legs wrap around Jimin’s hips once they’re rid of all the unnecessary clothing.

“You say that like it’s not mutual,” Jeongguk smirks, staring down at Jimin as he’s being carried to his own bed. Why they never thought to join the beds together is beyond Jimin, but he loves this arrangement.

“It’s very much mutual,” Jimin says as he drops Jeongguk onto the bed, his long black locks splaying over his pillow, his face contorted into a blissed out expression even before Jimin’s done anything. He loves this, he loves how much he wants Jeongguk, loves how the want only grows by every day, loves how the fluttering feeling in his chest is like the first time every time.

He doesn’t give Jeongguk a chance to speak before he’s flipping the vampire onto his stomach, setting a pillow under his hips for him to rut against.

“What—”

“Wanna eat your ass,” Jimin’s voice is husky enough to be unfamiliar to his own ears, so it’s only natural that Jeongguk groans out loud and ruts over the pillow at the sound. Jimin’s hands slide down Jeongguk’s quivering sides before they settle onto each ass cheek, pulling them apart to expose his pink hole. He leans down and kisses it, “Been thinking about it, tongue-fucking you. Making you come on my tongue. Fuck. Clean as a whistle.”

The first lap of Jimin’s tongue over Jeongguk’s hole has him screaming out in pleasure, so much so that they have to spell their dorm silent, yet again. He withers and begs, squirming under Jimin’s mercy, and he feels it more than knows how it’s the most precious thing in the world to be so equally wanted by someone you want. Jimin, he’s definitely the universe’s favorite.

That night — that morning — Jeongguk comes twice, one orgasm strong, the other stronger, and passes out before Jimin even has the chance to urge him for a shower. They’re late for their flight, but thank god for magic.

Tokyo is prettier than the media portrayed it to be.

Which is fair, in all honesty. Jimin never believed the media anyway, he hates the facades and the way it never seems to do any justice to the things worth being appreciated. He walks down the streets, the sky bathed in pastel pink, Jeongguk adorned in pastel pink, his own heart blooming into a pastel pink.

Romance has ruined him.

“Romance has evolved you,” Jeongguk counters, ever ready to hear Jimin think out loud. “You should thank me every day for making you a better man.”

“Right,” Jimin scoffs before he starts singing you make me wanna be a better man from Snow Flower by V. He’s playful in his bickering, but he believes every word as though they’re the words of the gospel. Jeon Jeongguk is holy, after all. His words are no less. “Do you have any plans for dinner? I’m starving.”

“Yeah, we’ll need to hunt some dogs first.”

“Dogs?” Jimin fakes a shriek. “So you did drain Mr. Muffins!”

“For the last time—” but Jeongguk doesn’t complete his sentence.

He stops in his tracks, his hand tugging Jimin to himself before their lips join in a passionate kiss, the street buzzing right through their unbothered forms.

“Don’t make me drain you, Chosen One.”

“Pardon me,” Jimin grins. “But I’m kinda into that.”

Jeongguk smiles wide, bright, as though he holds all the life in the universe in that one simple smile. Jimin is convinced he does.