Chapter Text
Jungkook rubbed the bridge of his nose, fingertips pressing into the corners of his eyes. He shook his head. That helped a little more. The next band started playing, so he sank into the sound, returning to his drink.
It was good in a way that only Namjoon seemed to be capable of. It was supposed to be a simple drink, but it was executed so flawlessly you’d swear it was an expensive cocktail.
The music filling the room was great. Namjoon hadn’t changed much. Warm, witty and casually brilliant. He could still pour rainbow shots off a single shaker and was happy to perform the trick the minute Taehyung arrived.
Two hours vanished the moment Taehyung sat down at the bar. Time twisted around Taehyung’s stories of everything Jungkook had missed. How he’d finally launched his luxury line. How he wanted to run it from Korea. He still moved his hands when he talked, animated and classy.
He talked about wanting a necklace and earring set. Something as an anchor for his brand, if he was willing to take the commission. Jungkook told him he’d like to try. It might take time, but he wanted to give it a shot.
“Four years and you’re still batting your lashes at the oblivious bartender?” Jungkook teased, elbow nudging Taehyung with a grin when Namjoon passed by serving another guest.
“He’s not that oblivious,” Taehyung announced proudly. Namjoon’s face turned red, and he pretended his attention was entirely on the colourful drink he was trying to make. “We’re getting married next year,”
Jungkook couldn’t stop the grin that lit up his face. “I’m happy for you!” There was no shock or question. It was more like this was always how it was supposed to be, and the world finally caught up. “Ring?” he asked, already leaning forward.
Taehyung’s smile was huge as he put his hand on display.
“Damn, that’s pretty,” Jungkook sighed dreamily.
“I learned good taste from you,” Namjoon smiled, leaning on the counter, proud and still a little pink.
The ring was beautiful. It was so… Taehyung. Big, vintage, a little loud. Something to wrap around a part of him and hold him, even if Namjoon wasn’t there. So Taehyung would always know Namjoon was thinking about him, loved him. Knew him well enough that he could give him something he’d cherish forever. Even when they were apart.
Then…
It felt like Jimin was there.
Not really there.
But with him.
The bar stool beside him was Jimin’s seat. That corner of the counter was where he always put his drink down. The view of the room he had when looking over Jimin’s shoulder was still the same.
Jimin wasn’t sitting beside him.
But it didn’t mean there wasn’t joy here. There were traces of it everywhere.
This had been their place. It was their place. Every Friday after class. This was Jungkook’s spot. This was Jungkook’s drink.
There was happiness when Jimin was here. There was happiness now that he was gone.
It was different. Sure, thinking of Jimin wasn’t happy. Of course it wasn’t. Grief had carved out a hollow in his chest, but it didn’t erase any of the time they had.
Keep them in your memory.
Wasn’t that the saying?
“It’s a perfect ring,” Jungkook whispered, voice cracking a little as he squeezed Taehyung’s hand.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
Jungkook gazed at his workbench. There were a few scattered pieces he’d tried to start over the last year, but nothing had stuck. Gold chains left unwound, chunks of wax blocked out, but nothing had been carved into them.
He opened the small drawer containing most of his unfinished work. These had at least made it to metal, but stayed undetailed, unpolished and unmastered.
He picked up the piece he’d been working on when Jimin had vanished out of his life.
It didn’t ache to hold it now. It was bittersweet. When he made it, he’d wanted to try making something different. Not something for Jimin, but something about him. Every bit of love he’d felt in that moment encased in silver. Like the moon. The beauty of how it moved from darkness to light and back again.
The same way it ran down Jimin’s back.
The feeling was warm in his chest. Not the thought of Jimin’s face or his grace.
It was the way it felt to hear him laugh on rainy mornings. The thankfulness at seeing him reading his books, knowing he could be anywhere in the world, yet he chose to be there. On their couch. How lucky he felt when Jimin would set a cup of coffee next to him when he was working. It was how the entire world lit up every time they said, ‘I love you’.
Glowing like the moon and moving like the softest mist.
He remembered it all so perfectly.
He put the piece on his table and pulled over his sketch book.
Time vanished.
It was Hoseok’s light voice that pulled him from his hyperfocus. He shook his head to reset his attention and put his pencil down. “Sorry, hyung. What was that?”
Hoseok gave him a thrilled, heart-shaped smile. “You’re drawing again.”
Jungkook blinked at him owlishly, then looked back at his page, covered in iterations of a necklace design. He’d only wanted to get the idea down, but he guessed this did count as starting to draw again.
He flipped back through the pages, looking over half a dozen different pieces, each with a few different versions. He even had some circled as ‘final’.
“I like it,” Hoseok approved, taking Jungkook’s square ruler from its place and setting it beside him. “It’s different from your usual style.”
Jungkook looked at the tool thoughtfully for a moment, debating, before taking it and lining it up against the first design. It’d been months since he’d worked almost a full day and still wanted to continue. “I only made things that looked good on him for so long,” he replied. “I want to make something else.”
“What are you thinking?”
Jungkook smiled, jotting down numbers. He was happy with it. Delicate and graceful. Made with curves to catch the light. Elegant foggy trails intertwined around settings for small moonstones. He hadn’t used moonstone before, but he’d wanted to try for a year, and there was a first time for everything. “I want to make something about him. Not for him.”
Hoseok chuckled, passing him the stone gauge when he reached for it. “About time. I was starting to think that guy had drained the creativity out of you.”
“It did feel like that,” Jungkook smiled faintly. “But he gave me so much of it first. I want to thank him for that.”
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
He was one piece short of finishing the collection. A simple necklace had been the first one he finished. The others came easily. The matching earrings, studs, statement piece, bracelet… before he knew it-
There were twelve.
He wanted thirteen.
He decided, maybe, it was time to finish the one in the drawer. He couldn’t set it on Jimin to show the world like he wanted. But he could still put it on display for everyone to see. If this collection captured all his emotions of the last four years, then that would be the perfect centrepiece. He’d poured everything into it. It was the design that inspired most of the others, and it had watched everything from the start.
It was close to being done. He’d almost finished polishing, and the settings were ready for gems.
When he’d offered Taehyung the first few pieces as his commission, it felt like he wasn’t done yet. He still had more to say. So he’d proposed an idea. A full collection.
It might not make the typical 7-piece minimum and it definitely couldn’t be done with a firm deadline. It would have to be more of a ‘this should be ready in three weeks, you can make your plans now’ -line.
None of the designer brands he used to work with would ever agree to something like that. But Taehyung was more than happy to give him a safety net and let him try.
The fashion world had gone crazy when V’s dropped a teaser of the first necklace and earring set. Spring: Leannán sídhe.
The set had been embraced so far. The first pictures of it appeared the week before in magazines and high-profile fashion blogs.
Critics called it timeless. Ethereal. Everyone wanted to know why Jungkook had vanished from the scene, only to reappear under a new brand that had almost no runway presence. They were perplexed at how up-and-coming V’s managed to snag Jeon Jungkook at all. Let alone an exclusive collection.
Truthfully, Taehyung couldn’t cover the production cost on his own. Even with a limited run of a few hundred pieces. But that didn’t matter to any of them. Seokjin cut an at-cost deal for all the gemstones. Hoseok didn’t charge for the master castings, and Jungkook covered the upfront manufacturing cost.
It was good.
It was good for everyone.
His new problem was his poor agent having to fend off other brands trying to bid on his future work. Honestly? Jungkook would’ve been happy to never talk to them again.
The official gallery event was announced for the end of the month. He wasn’t excited for it yet. He wasn’t sure if he would be. But he knew it would make him happy when the time came, showing all the beautiful things alive in his memory. Things he still longed for, but he was able to hold dear. Things that killed him but made him feel alive.
Leannán sídhe.
He nearly slipped the file when there was a wild screech. The death knell wailing of a frantic set of rings from the doorbell. By the time the surprise wore off, whoever it was had taken to pounding. “Yeah, I’m coming,” he called. The alarm hadn’t triggered, so the camera must’ve recognized the face. Seokjin? Did he forget the key? Was it an emergency?
“Are you okay? What’s… wrong…?”
The thing-
…man from the club stood there, eyes red. His lip trembled exactly like Jimin’s used to.
They looked like mirror images.
But it wasn’t his Jimin.
He couldn’t place it. Everything was just... off. Not quite the same eyes, not quite the same nose. The expression was identical. It was like seeing two similar photos overlaid and they didn’t line up.
“Jungkook,” he pleaded gently, “Can I come in?”
Jungkook stared at him. It was like an optical illusion picture that looked like one thing, but if you thought about it, it looked like something else. Then your mind flipped back and forth between them, even if you didn’t want it to.
Two faces and a vase.
Honestly?
It was terrifying.
“Yeah…” he hesitated, stepping back. “I guess so?”
The man didn’t step forward. He stood there on the threshold, biting his lip. “Can I?” he repeated. “I promise. If you tell me to leave, I will.”
Jungkook scrunched up his nose, confused. “…sure.”
He stepped inside.
No.
It stepped inside.
Jungkook didn’t know what he was seeing. Nothing was threatening about the way it looked. Or unnatural in how it moved. But something down to his bones screamed: It wasn’t human. He didn’t know how he knew. He just did.
It was the same sick feeling of staring too long at a bird and suddenly knowing you were looking at a dinosaur. How did no one see it? It was so obvious.
The man… it? They?
The thing- was fretting now.
Shifting from foot to foot restlessly in a way that was all too familiar. Hands shaking like they wanted to reach for him but didn’t dare. “Are you okay?” it asked, stumbling over the words, giving them a staccato clip. “Are you weak? Can you think clearly? Do you hurt?”
It made Jungkook’s vision bend. It was like trying to watch a 3D movie without the glasses. He winced, blinking hard, trying to get it to line up, but it wouldn’t. Yet- watching it agonize and hearing them ramble, Jungkook knew.
This was Jimin.
Even if it didn't make sense.
The look was wrong. The face was wrong. But it was how the thing moved. The way it wrung their hands by only rubbing its ring finger. In how it couldn’t stop shifting nervously on its feet. That unique way the accent slipped out when it was upset.
“Jimin?” Jungkook blurted. It felt like the stupidest question on earth.
The thing froze. Its head shot up, quickly and desperately. Only now appearing to notice through its pain that there was something wrong.
“Yes.” It replied with quiet urgency, eyes brimming. “I know it’s- you don’t… Just listen, please.”
It took a deep breath, forcing itself to calm. “On our first date, you wore a tiger eye pendant because it made you feel brave.”
The lines on their face smoothed out like static clearing.
“We went to a café on Yeonhui Road once, and I spilled coffee on my jeans. You handed me wipes and told me, ‘A gay man is always prepared.’ I laughed so hard, I fell out of my chair, and you grinned the entire time.”
The two misaligned faces folded into one. The blur sharpened.
“Yeah,” Jimin murmured, a tight grimace turning into something bittersweet. He turned up his sleeve, showing the locked gold bracelet gleaming flush against his wrist. “It’s me.”
The longer Jungkook believed it, the clearer Jimin became.
He could see it now. Changed hairstyle. Different clothes. The same face he knew so well.
Jungkook slowly nodded. It didn’t hurt to look at him anymore. Not in the same way. What hurt now was how it still made his chest feel full seeing Jimin looking at him like that. As if Jungkook was the only thing on earth that mattered.
“I’m okay,” Jungkook said softly, eyes never leaving his face. The one thing he had longed to tell him and conceded he’d never get the chance to.
The tension eased out of Jimin. Leaving him looking sorrowful and drained.
Jungkook held out his hands, showing him how easy it was to do. That there was no shake or weakness. “See?”
Jimin opened his mouth, but Jungkook beat him to it. “I got out of bed today,” he continued, heart thumping. Maybe there was no reason to do it, but he needed to do it anyway. “I walked. I talked to people. I laughed. I’m eating again. I’m working again.”
It was a list of quiet victories. Each one a small battle in a war of attrition. But they were his.
“I’m okay,” he reassured again. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“It is,” Jimin whispered, anguish spilling through every syllable. “I did it.”
Jungkook swallowed hard. He didn’t know what scared him more. How certain he sounded, or how utterly human the guilt felt coming from something that wasn’t.
“Jimin,” Jungkook soothed gently, “We made a joke out of it. But I think you believed it more than I realized-”
“I do,” Jimin’s sad smile was timeless. He lifted his hand, curling it delicately like he could catch Jungkook in his palm. “I am leannán sídhe. And I came to kill you.”
Jungkook knew it was true.
“I didn’t even lie to myself,” Jimin continued, his fingers trembling where they hovered midair, too afraid to reach out. “I know what happens. That’s what I do. That’s what I am. I find artists like you. Bright things. I tell them all the things they want to believe. All the right things they need to hear.”
It was haunting how he looked so eternal, and so human all at once. “They create. They burn. And I eat it. Every piece they shower on me, every sleepless night, every piece of soul cut out and poured into their work. And they all call it love.”
An empty, quiet laugh slipped out of him. “It’s always like that. I hunt them, and I fuel them, and I ruin them.” His voice cracked. “And I hunted you. You gave me everything, and I loved you.”
The ache in Jungkook’s chest made him feel like he’d rather be crushed alive.
Jimin’s eyes squeezed shut like it hurt to speak. “I loved you. So much. And I still didn’t stop. Isn’t that fucked up? Not even when I could see you withering in front of me. I knew what would happen. I let it happen anyway.
“I love you,” he choked, devastated. “And I was going to let you die.”
His eyes lifted, raw and pleading. “I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t. You…” A long silence followed. Jimin’s chest heaved once. “I thought if I left, I could keep you safe. You’d get better. A wreck, but you’d be alive.”
Jungkook’s breath snagged in his throat.
“I saw the promo photos today,” Jimin went on. “The moonstones. The mist. The name. I’m- I was scared it didn’t work at all. I thought you were still under. That all I did was drag it out, and you were still going to-”
“Jimin,” Jungkook interrupted, tenderly as he could, “I’m fine. I’m not sick. The collection… It’s not something you left behind. I did it for me. Everything’s okay. I promise.”
Jimin swallowed. His movement slowed but didn’t stop.
“Everything’s okay,” Jungkook consoled again, steadying himself as much as he was trying to steady Jimin. “I promise. I know you’re scared. Me too.” He lifted his hands tentatively, unsure if he was allowed to touch him. “But I’m fine. You’re not hurting me. I promise. Just… tell me what’s going on.”
Stilling slowly, Jimin wrapped his arms so tightly around himself that they pressed into his own shoulder blades as if he were trying to rub his own back. It was something Jungkook had never seen him do, and it didn’t sit well. “The only way to break a cycle is to start another.” He explained, voice hushed. “It begins once I’ve taken hold of a new patron. It won’t stop until there’s nothing left to take. Then it starts over again.”
It starts over.
A slow chill crawled up Jungkook’s back.
Over and over.
One.
Two
three
four…
…five…
One.
How many times? To how many people?
“There wasn’t a lot of time,” Jimin shivered, eyes flicking away. “It can take years to find and hunt a new artist. I needed one fast. So I went to someone I already knew. Strong-willed and not interested in romance. Stubborn enough to hold on for a while.”
Jungkook already knew. The thought had crept into his mind the moment Jimin said there wasn’t time.
Something flipped a few months back. He’s been prolific lately.
“You and Yoongi- ?” Jungkook hesitated.
“Cut a deal,” Jimin said quietly. “He’s serving as my patron. Temporarily. Until I can charm a permanent one.”
“What happens to him?”
Jimin didn’t answer. He turned instead, tugging down the collar of his shirt. A crescent moon.
Only one. Fainter than Jungkook remembered. Its near black lines were a touch bluer, curved delicately beneath the skin of his neck. “The same thing,” Jimin admitted. “His work will thrive. His focus will narrow. Then… it’ll burn out.”
They die young.
Jungkook’s hand moved before he could stop himself. His fingers hovered just above the mark. “Where did mine go?”
Jimin took a breath and pulled off his shirt. The blue moon faded from view. Another weld up. This time, with the more purple hue that Jungkook remembered so vividly. Then, four more surfaced, appearing one by one like bruises coaxed from deep under the skin.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
He let out a shuddering breath. “What happens after five?”
“They vanish,” Jimin’s expression twisted. “Once the fifth appears, it’s only a matter of time. When there’s nothing left to feed it, the marks disappear. Then it starts again.” His voice cracked. “That’s why I’m scared. I thought I didn’t end it. That it’s still happening. That you're still-”
“I’m not,” Jungkook cut in gently. “What inspired me wasn’t you. It’s not like that.”
His hand pressed lightly against the center of Jimin’s back, smiling fondly at the full moon visible between his fingers. “It was my memory. All me. Remembering what it felt like to love you. That’s what’s making me want to create.”
Jungkook trailed the tips of his fingers along them slowly, one at a time. Mapping out the phases like he’d done so many times before. He knew this view. From pool parties, soft showers and long nights where they never slept at all.
He traced years of moments from beginning to end.
Jimin wasn’t shaking anymore. His breathing was hitched and shallow, but it seemed more exhaustion than fear. Like he might fall down any minute. Jungkook slid his arms around him, chest pressed over Jimin’s spine until they fit like they always had. There wasn’t any numbness or weakness. He could do it again. Tuck him in safely like he could before.
“I’m not inspired because you have some ability,” Jungkook murmured. “I’m inspired by you. Us. You being gone didn’t erase all the good things about you being here.”
Fingers curled gently over his wrists. Jimin was quiet, as if proving to himself the arms weren’t skin and bone.
“Yeah, it hurt,” Jungkook admitted. “But there was happiness too. A lot of it. It didn’t go anywhere.”
His chin dipped until his nose touched Jimin’s temple. The scent was familiar. Clean and cool, like the soap they used to share.
“Sure, you’re not here,” he went on, “but it doesn’t mean Hotel La Lune stopped being my favourite show. Or that our bar’s not fun. I like your books because the stories kick ass. Not because you left them on the table,” A soft breath left him. “Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it all.”
Jimin shuddered softly. A half-choked breath broke, setting loose the tears he tried to hold in. Jungkook didn’t push him.
“I don’t need you next to me to love you,” Jungkook added. “That’s not what love is. Just because you left doesn’t mean you’re not still here. You’re everywhere.”
Jimin’s head dropped. “You told me…” he started, voice thin like he was confessing a crime, “The night I left, you said you’d rather lose the feeling in your hands than lose me.”
Jungkook hummed. The memory of it stirred, vaguely. It was something he’d thought a lot, but wasn’t sure if he’d ever said it aloud. He remembered the dizziness. That maybe someone was crying. He remembered the way Jimin had looked when he’d touched his face, and it all went dark.
“You told me you wanted to marry me,” Jimin whispered. “That if the last thing you ever made was a ring for me, you’d be happy.”
Blood rushed in Jungkook’s ears. His face burned. “It was true,” he murmured. “It still is.”
Jimin leaned back enough to fully settle against his chest. “I really do love you,” he confessed, barely audible.
Jungkook brushed a quiet smile against Jimin’s shoulder.
“It started shallow,” Jimin continued. “Like I always fake. But one day I came over and you were on the couch playing something with creepy lighting and bug sounds. You looked up and said, ‘Hyung, this game is about silk moth folklore. You’d like it.’”
He paused, breath catching again.
“You restarted the whole thing just so I could see it,” he went on. “And I realized I wasn’t pretending I cared. I did. I wanted to sit next to you and just… be. You remembered something I liked and you wanted to share it with me. You tried things for me. Mythology. Whiskey. You let me be as weird as I wanted.”
Jimin squeezed his arm. “You’re the only artist who ever tried to give some of it back. You gave me a pencil and- and…”
“-I told you if you want a collection fit for a warrior queen, you gotta show me what a warrior queen wears,” Jungkook smiled. He remembered it. How Jimin looked at him like he’d suggested that they set the house on fire for ambiance. “You told me I was out of my mind.”
Jimin laughed. It was short and sharp, but still a laugh.
“Then you spent two hours arguing about armour versus jewels,” Jungkook added. “You made more moodboards than I did. You know- I think you made more moodboards in a year than I did in my entire life.”
“We made so many pretty things,” Jimin sighed, bittersweet. “I made so many pretty things.”
His fingers tightened over Jungkook’s wrists like he was trying to hang onto a ledge. “You inspire me,” Jimin breathed, devastated. “And it kills me. My leannán sídhe.”
“Don’t.” Jungkook held him tighter, his forehead pressed into the back of Jimin’s neck.
“I stay with you, I hurt you. And it kills me,” Jimin whispered into the stillness.
Jungkook didn’t argue. But he didn’t agree either.
“I don’t have anything on my own,” Jimin went on, unsteady. “I don’t start anything. I don’t have a shape. No spark, no… whatever it is that makes you pick up a pencil. I don’t make. I take. I always have.”
“You loved me,” Jungkook murmured, lips brushing against the curve of his ear. “That wasn’t taking.”
“That’s the cruellest part,” Jimin replied, sounding worn out. “It only made it worse.”
Jungkook’s arms wrapped low around him, holding Jimin close like he could shield him from everything beyond this moment. He didn’t need to memorize the way Jimin fit against him. He already knew, but he stayed there like he was trying to anyway. Jimin was still. Jungkook could feel him breathing. Like the weight of Jungkook’s body was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.
“I know what I am,” Jimin muttered eventually, voice hushed, “I’m nothing without a patron. I don’t have a face. Or a form. I only looked like ‘Jimin’ because that your vision of beauty.”
He turned in his arms, eyes full of tears, and a smile so sorrowful it was haunting. His hands lifted to Jungkook’s face, thumbs brushing beneath his eyes. “I become whatever someone wants most. For you, I became an ethereal man. But there have been times I was a powerhouse. I’ve looked like so many women. I’ve been a cat three damn times. Once I was a bird!
“You see me as ‘Jimin’ because you were my patron. But I’ve already moved on. I have a new face. I look like ‘Jimin’ as Yoongi remembers me. I don’t get to create. I’m a canvas.”
Jungkook saw the waiver pulse over Jimin’s face again. That strange overlay that didn’t quite match. Like a frame skipping. Two faces.
Three.
Four.
Five.
One.
Jungkook held on anyway. Arms steady. Hands warm against the curve of Jimin’s back. “You said it yourself, what you do is shallow. You’re still the same. You laugh during horror movies, and you hate seaweed soup. You can look like you.”
“But I don’t have a ‘me,’ Jungkook.” His voice cracked like ice on a lake. “There’s no base shape. No original. I am whatever they want most. I’ve never been anything else. That’s what I am.”
The quiet between them pulsed again, wide and strange. It felt like standing on the edge of something ancient.
Jimin stepped back. Just far enough to put an inch between them. Just far enough for fear to creep in again. “You still see ‘Jimin’. You think you know what I look like. But I don’t look like anything.”
Jungkook blinked slowly, taking in every word, every fracture in them. “So your shape changes. I don’t care-”
Something in Jimin’s face broke so suddenly, Jungkook could almost hear it. “You should,” he said, harsh and trembling. Drawing away a few steps until Jungkook could only hold onto his wrist like he might vanish again. “You should care. You should run. I’m not- Jungkook, I’m not some creature from a fairytale with a crown and glowing skin. I am what’s left when everything else in an artist has been consumed. I’m the thing behind the face. And it’s ugly.”
The word hit like a drop of water in hot oil. Too stabbing. Too much. Everywhere at once. It didn’t feel like self-pity. It felt like a warning, and Jungkook wasn’t sure what he meant by it.
He felt it, though.
Jimin shook his head in a quick, hard motion. “You think I’m better than I am. But I know what I am and what I do.”
“Then what are you?” Jungkook asked, the plea spilling before he could stop it. “Jim- leannán sídhe, who are you?”
The question seemed to hold them both still.
Jimin didn’t move. Didn’t answer right away.
He only held his gaze.
Jungkook’s hands didn’t falter.
“I'll show you,” Jimin whispered. “Let me show you what I really am. Just me.”
“Okay,” he murmured. “Show me,” His fingers slipped free, letting Jimin drift from his hold.
Before Jungkook’s eyes, he faded away. Disappearing into a shifting fog that seemed to get pulled out of the very air surrounding him. Then the formless mist sank, pooling to the floor.
And started spreading.
And it spread and spread and spread.
Jungkook didn’t know what else to do but back up, watching it in terror. Where was Jimin? What had he done?
It turned thick and opaque, an impenetrable wall of blank white fog building higher and higher on the floor where Jimin had been. Jungkook strained, expecting something like a ghost to appear. A faceless veiled person or a cloudy wraith, its face hidden by a shadowy cloak. But he saw nothing.
His eyes went wide, sucking in a rattled breath when he noticed it move.
A formless thing. Lifting what Jungkook presumed to be its head and shoulders from the churning liquid mist. Like something rising out of brackish water. With its nebulous white shape in the vaguest suggestion of a human shape. Unknowable. Waiting to see what form it would take when the thick water fell off. Jungkook was only sure that it was a head because of the two pitch black pits of nothingness. By the way they tilted and lingered, it was clear they were eyes.
It was luminescent like the glow of the moon, and it washed over everything in the room, leaving a lingering mist.
Jungkook got the impression it was breathing.
It rose and sank slowly. Drawing itself in, becoming dense and thick until its reach over the room had all but pulled away. Then slowly relaxing, letting itself become translucent and fold over everything again. Turning the walls into forests. Chairs to thrones. Lights into the electric glow of the far future. Concrete into the sun-baked ground of the distant past. And back again.
Inspiration.
In all its horror and beauty. Brillant and all-consuming. The poison that gave life to creation. Just as wild and uncontainable as the first day it crept in to haunt the minds of man. The terrible thing that whispered curiosity and venom, gifting the world and ruining lives.
Jungkook could see it running over him like it did everything in the room, but it felt like nothing. No weight or temperature. No movement of air or along his skin. But he could see it cling to his legs and slip through his fingers.
For an overwhelming moment, he thought he was looking at a concept given shape. Then his memory corrected him. This was far worse. This was a creature made from a concept. It was alive. Aos sí. Fae. An unknowable being.
Grief came as a woman wailing a warning.
Bravery as a laughing, smiling warrior.
Power was a regal, ruthless queen.
Death came with his head detached from his heart.
And inspiration…
Inspiration was a beautiful, remorseless killer that drained your life away.
Jungkook watched it in fascination. It moved like thought. Shifting, curling, uncoiling again. This strange and otherworldly creature that covered everything and felt like nothing. He thought maybe it should feel like it had some sort of weight or presence. Maybe a hum of fear or wonder. Instead-
It simply… was.
It lived there.
It had never left.
Jungkook wasn’t sure how to talk to it. He didn’t want to presume it perceived the way he did. So, he mirrored it. Tipping his head at the same angle that the two black pits were tilted. He smiled softly.
The dark spots straightened, watching back.
That made him grin wider. “Hi,” he beamed.
It folded in on itself, eyes vanishing before reappearing closer to the floor.
“You know, hyung,” Jungkook grinned. “I don’t think you know me as well as you think you do. If you showed up to the bar like this, I would've signed in blood on the dotted line.”
The being rose tall before it let go like a sigh, sinking and falling away into shadow. A shifted wolf, broad-shouldered and black, paced behind the trees made of jewelry cabinets. Dragging its claws along them as it stalked. Behind Jungkook, just out of the edge of his sight, he knew a vampire cloaked in cold stone halls was leaning close to bare teeth over the curve of his neck. Deep in the dark, a horned fae king presided over his court from the throne that was once a work stool. Jungkook knew each one. “Flirt,” he teased. “You're here putting me on blast; you've got your favourites too.”
For the briefest of moments, a man with a thorned spear stood in the mist—his own face looking back at him, except with red hair. A hero’s name whispered from another time.
As fast as it appeared, it vanished. Swept away fast into white mist as the being quickly curled back together. “No, you don't!” Jungkook laughed, finger stabbing the air where the warrior had stood. “I saw that!”
The fog swirled inward again, dark spots drifting inside before they emerged. Lingering in the dense cloud with no shape to speak of.
“You know,” Jungkook hummed, “When we go to the bar again, you’re gonna have to apologize to Namjoon-hyung. I think he was missing Taehyung way too much when he met you.”
The black spots shifted, turning away, disappearing into an apparition of Taehyung that strolled in a lazy circle. The same way Taehyung always did when he was thinking. It lifted its head with an identical big boxy smile. Eyes black and blank like when Jungkook had seen from across the bar. Its lips moved. Jungkook could hear Taehyung’s voice, disjointed from the motion, but he couldn’t catch what it said.
“Okay, now you’re just showing off!” he laughed.
The not-quite-Taehyung laughed without a sound. Black eyes closing and sinking back into the mist like a long exhale. When it drew back together, it was closer; those pits of black were the only anchor for its shape.
“You might be the most talented artist I've ever met.” Jungkook crooned.
If it did have some kind of visible reaction, Jungkook couldn't tell. It existed there, watching him. Maybe. It could have been looking anywhere, and he'd never know.
Still, he chose to believe it was least listening as it was holding its breath.
“See?” He assured, voice easy, as though he was talking to him from across their kitchen table. “You can create fine on your own. I didn’t want to see you as Taehyung, but you did it just for fun. You remember our stories.” A teasing smile crossed his lips. “Your stories.”
The eyes vanished. Ducking down. Fog pooled outward once more, turning the floor to emerald-green grass and ocean pebbles. Cold salt water rolled in over his feet up to his knees.
Jungkook chuckled, recognizing it instantly. It was an expression so distinctly Jimin that it was cute. An indignant huff and a slip of his accent.
He bent down, feeling the wave as it rushed through his fingers back out to sea, watching the light dance on the ripples until the floor reappeared from under the fine mist. The aoi sí gathered itself once more, drawing its walls of fog close.
It reformed itself into a vague shape. Not so much closer as it was leaning toward him.
Mist drifted around it the way it would over a frigid ocean under the dawn. The same unconscious shifting when boredom or nerves kept Jimin from being still. So that’s where it came from. He was an ever-moving brush.
“You’re still you,” Jungkook promised, serene in the way he offered the words. “I’m not scared. I’m fine, so are you.” He opened his arms comfortingly, “You don’t have to make up anything.”
The being sank, spreading over the room again, yet this time it formed nothing. It simply gravitated toward him. “Try to keep remembering instead,” he urged, smiling as he watched it advance. “Don’t remember me. If you were happy, remember the you who was with me.”
He reached down into the vapour until his hands vanished from his sight. “Hell, remember all the things that made you happy when you were with the other people you think about,” he encouraged, his voice turning softer. “All those memories that stayed after they were gone made you, you. That isn’t a curse. That’s what it means to love someone.” Jungkook smiled, warm and sure, “You move forward. You let them go.”
The hand that caught his arm was not one Jungkook remembered. The fingers weren’t elegant and long. These ones were small and dainty. But he knew the curve of the arms that folded into his grasp better than he knew his own.
The formless shape lifted, head and shoulders breaking from the churning fog. Jungkook braced, helping it rise, the fog cascading off in slow streams like water. The more it stood, the more it became.
Eyes.
Hair.
Face.
Jimin.
Only with so many tiny new details that he wanted to keep forever. His jaw line remained a sliver sharper. Cute moles dotted his face. The legs he was unsteadily trying to get up on were athletic and lean. All right beside the things he knew so well. Crescent brown eyes, full lips, the familiar slope of his shoulders. How his bare waist felt under his palm as he helped him stand. Steadying him until the full misty shroud was gone, having taken its shape.
“Hi.” Jimin greeted with a small smile.
A laugh escaped before Jungkook could help it. “Hi.” His arms closed around him fully, and Jimin leaned in, settling solid and warm against him.
Jungkook sank with him, letting them drop to the floor in a shared collapse. Standing felt impossible for either of them at the moment. Instead, he rested against the workbench and gathered Jimin into his lap.
Jimin had his arms outstretched and his fingers splayed, grinning like he was looking at a long-lost friend. Jungkook rested his chin on the crook of Jimin’s neck.
“From this time I was with a blacksmith,” Jimin explained without needing to be asked.
With a small nod, Jungkook pointed toward his legs with his chin. Bare like the rest of him, “These?”
Jimin wiggled his toes. Some were bent and calloused, but he admired them like they were hung with gold. “A composer,” he explained brightly. “He wrote ballets, and I’d dance for him. Never on stage, just for him. When he was asleep, I’d do it more. No music, I’d just dance.”
“And these?” Jungkook teased, poking one of the new moles decorating his face.
“A make-up artist,” Jimin replied with a quick grin. “They enjoyed covering them up. Fuck them, I always thought they were cute.”
A laugh swept through Jungkook as he kissed one after the other, “They are. They’re so cute.”
It made Jimin laugh too, leaning heavily into Jungkook. The way he did when it made him tip right out of his chair.
Jungkook ran his hand down Jimin’s back, finding what hadn’t changed. The purple-hued moons curved down his spine, and Jungkook traced each-
-One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
“What will happen to these?”
“If I make you my patron again?” Jimin sighed, into the touch. “The last one will finish taking what it wants, then it will start all over again. You’ll get that rush that builds more and more. Then you’ll start to fade.”
Jungkook pressed his lips to the crescent at the nape of Jimin’s neck, holding them there. He thought for a while, rubbing soothing circles on Jimin’s skin. “Are Yoongi’s the same? They’ll stay even if you’re gone?”
“Until he is,” came the quiet reply.
“But he’ll get better, right? Like I did.”
“He should. As long as I take hold of another patron.”
A thoughtful sound escaped Jungkook, curiosity swirling in his mind. “So- what if you still worked with him sometimes?”
“You want to time-share me??” Jimin practically shrieked.
“Okay, hear me out- ”
Jimin pursed his lips incredulously. An arched eyebrow was his only reply.
Jungkook combed his fingers through Jimin’s hair, dropping light kisses along the curve of his ear. “I can love you just as much from across the city… or Japan- or Paris. Wherever.” He tugged Jimin closer until their chests pressed. “I’ve still got all your memories with me. We’ll see each other again,”
He brushed a soft kiss to the corner of Jimin’s mouth. “We don’t have to be glued together every second. If I start getting sick, we take a break.” His forehead rested against Jimin’s temple, letting their breath mingle. “We can always video call. Or play games on Discord.”
Cupping his cheek, Jungkook pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “We can still inspire each other… even from a little distance.”
“That… would be nice.” Jimin laced his arms around Jungkook’s neck, smiling. “I’d like to visit home more.”
“Yeah,” Jungkook chuckled, “Something tells me that meeting your family isn’t going to go well.”
“What are you talking about?” Jimin cooed, “My sister will love you!”
“Love to put my blood in a caldron, maybe.”
“She shows affection in wyrd ways.” Jimin managed, failing to bite back the snicker.
Laughing hard, Jungkook squeezed him by the waist, “God, I missed you.”
“Missed you too.” Feeling Jimin press his forehead told him everything was okay, everything was fine.
“Hey,” Jungkook smiled, “I have something for you.”
Jimin tipped his head curiously. Jungkook reached up, blindly fumbling around the desktop until his fingers brushed polished metal. He grabbed it and settled back on the floor.
Suddenly, he was incredibly nervous. Minutes ago, he watched the world get repainted. But now he was sick with fear over one small piece of jewelry. “It’s not finished yet.” He admitted, “I think I’ll have to resize it too. But it’s yours if you want it.”
He uncurled his fist. A delicate silver ring rested in his palm.
Jimin’s breath caught.
“I thought-” Jungkook’s throat tightened, making his voice crack, and he had to pause to find it again, “I love you. More than anything. Knowing you, even for a little while, is worth more than anything I could ever create.” He could feel Jimin trembling in his arms when he offered it to him. He swallowed, but he didn’t succeed at stopping the tears. “If I never make anything again after this ring, I’ll still be happy.”
“Size 13?” Jimin sniffled, rubbing the tears off Jungkook’s cheeks.
Jungkook gave him a watery grin. “Of course,”
Lifting his hand, Jimin looked at it with his brow furrowed.
Then he gave his fingers a sharp shake. Jungkook blinked, puzzled.
When he stopped and examined it closely, a smile as brilliant as the moon rose on his face. He displayed it for Jungkook proudly, “Size 13!”
Leaning closer, Jungkook searched for the difference. While the rest of his hand hadn't changed at all, his ring finger shifted in size. Barely noticeable.
Then it hit him.
No matter how small it was.
Jimin made it on his own.
It wasn’t a shape he’d seen or something he remembered.
It was something he’d created for himself.
His own victory. Small, but wholly his.
Enough that when Jungkook slipped it on, it fit like it was always meant to. The silver wrapped around in misty waves, making it look ephemeral. Five settings awaited their moonstones, but even without them, it was still beautiful.
“It’s a perfect ring,” Jimin breathed, fighting back the tears.
“Everything I’ve ever felt for you is in that ring,” Jungkook told him quietly. “So you know I’m always with you.”
“Jungkookie, you can’t let this be the last thing you make.” Jimin smiled, snuggling up against him, their hands clutched together to his chest. “You still have to make two more.”
Jungkook buried his face in Jimin’s hair, holding him tight as the words. “Yeah, I can do that.”
“I love you,” Jimin whispered, lips warm against his skin.
“Love you too.”
He savoured tucking Jimin’s hair behind his ear. Being able to press their noses together. To run his hands down his shoulders. How it felt to kiss his lips over and over. Fireworks could have gone off, and it wouldn’t be better than this. Just them, curled up there in the quiet.
“Jungkook-ah?”
He hummed without opening his eyes.
Jimin shifted in his arms, that slow ebb-and-flow movement he always had when nervous. It felt even more precious now, like it belonged to them alone. “I… can we make cookies?”
Jungkook lifted his head, blinking at him, “Cookies?”
A rush of red flared into Jimin’s cheeks. He was fidgeting with the ring on his finger. It turned easily, just like Jungkook intended. Perfect for playing with. “That night… when I left.” Jimin paused, “We’d started making cookies, but we had to stop because you weren’t feeling well. We said we’d finish in the morning, but…” his words faded.
“Yeah.” Jungkook grinned widely. “I’d like that. We have to finish Fatal Frame 3, too.”
“I… already finished it.” Jimin’s sheepish smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I got an emulator. But I do want to finish it with you.”
“I caved too,” Jungkook confessed with equal sheepishness. “Did you like the end?”
“Yeah. I think I cried for an hour. Sweeter than I thought it would be,”
“New game plus for the hidden ending- with coffee and cookie dough?” Jungkook asked hopefully.
“Of course!”
Jungkook’s hand rose to cup his jaw, thumb brushing lightly over skin. When their lips met again, he let the soaring rush in his chest pour into the deep kiss.
Pulling back, he thought Jimin had never looked more beautiful. Lips swollen, glowing, wearing nothing but a half-finished ring.
Until he saw him splayed out on the kitchen floor in nothing but the same ring and floured fingerprints. That image would live in him forever.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
Jungkook took another sip of whiskey and winced. Though he tried stupidly hard not to. Not in a place this expensive, covered in cameras and curated couture. A launch party wasn’t the best place to be seen looking like his mouth was full of bonfire smoke.
“If you hate it so much, stop trying to drink it,” Taehyung teased, sliding up to him and switching their glasses. You’re not going to magically like it.”
Apparently, he’d failed.
“Me liking it isn’t the point,” Jungkook smiled, “You let Namjoon drag you hiking and you don’t complain.”
“My poor feet are happy that it makes him happy.”
They clinked their glasses together in unspoken solidarity.
“I’ve been hiding from my publicist all night because of you,” Taehyung grumbled. “They’re pleading with me to give them anything other than Collection 9.”
“Oh, good,” Jungkook grinned, “means they’re leaving me alone,”
“Jungkook-ah, if you’re going to keep the name locked up until the gallery doors open, you could have at least given me a season. Restarting the collection numbers was cruel enough.”
That was true. Technically, adding Jimin as an artist under his studio didn’t require a clean slate. But they wanted to. Collection One, winter: Kitsune.
Next Collection Two, spring: Selkie.
Then Collection Three, summer: Coyote…
The last had been Collection Eight, fall: Anansi. It had been praised for how flawlessly it captured the theme. Jimin had done every step, sketch to master.
“I didn’t even tell Jimin the name,” Jungkook flashed a sly smile. “What makes you think I’ll tell anyone. And it can’t have a season.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Taehyung waved a hand in mock irritation. “You worked on it for over two years. It better be fit for Cleopatra.”
It would be his first solo collection since what came to be called Collection Zero, spring: Leannán sídhe. But it didn’t feel like it was a solo project. It was something he’d worked on in pieces whenever Jimin was in an ‘away’ part of the cycle.
“Well, when you work on something only three weeks at a time, it goes slow,” Jungkook replied.
Taking a sip of whiskey, Taehyung smirked over the edge of his glass. “Speaking of,” he nodded toward the dessert table. Hoseok had Seokjin by the arm, towing him along. Seokjin’s ears blazed red, but he let himself get pulled. “Think Seokjin-hyung’s told him yet?”
“Oh, not a chance in hell.” Jungkook nearly laughed into his drink. “But he’s gonna have to soon. The fourth moon’s starting to show.”
“You think he regrets it?”
“That he gets three weeks a year to rant to someone about how diamonds are a scam while he speed cuts through hundreds of them? No. That he asked Jimin to prove he was supernatural? Every single day he has to look Hoseok in the eye.”
A warm smile spread across Taehyung’s face as he watched the two bicker. “Well, there’s no way Hoseok is chickening out this cycle. Seokjin and Namjoon have had their turns. I’m still coming down from mine.”
“Yeah, but you cheat the system by using your three weeks to plan the whole year.”
“Not my fault the rest of you don’t get a rush from starting a fresh project.”
It was a beneficial solution to a dangerous problem. If every tattoo that rose from under Jimin’s skin marked a set amount of life taken from Jungkook, it meant he only had to gain it back before it drained him out.
Yoongi had been their benchmark.
Only one moon had appeared for him, so when Jimin let go, they’d timed it: from the crash to being fully functional again. It was close to two weeks, but they bumped it to three for safety.
The moons didn’t appear on a fixed schedule. Busy, productive stretches made them surface faster. Slower seasons dragged them out. But one thing stayed constant: when the next moon showed, it was someone else’s turn to keep Jimin company while Jungkook rested. The rhythm kept him from getting sick.
One.
Two.
One.
Three.
One.
Four.
One.
Five.
Letting Jimin go never got easier, but it was worth having him longer.
The first cycle through had been clumsy- artists fumbling through what to do when Jimin’s energy took hold of them.
Namjoon didn’t know where to put the excess and turned into an anxious, uncoordinated mess. Jimin and Taehyung had to convince him it was fine to simply enjoy waking up feeling rested, practice a few mixing tricks and go for a bike ride. Seokjin burned through his backlog, then wandered aimlessly before it dawned on him, he could chew through mountains of tedious prep work without suffering. Taehyung started way too much, finished nothing and crashed brutally.
But it worked.
By the time the fifth moon appeared, Jungkook still felt fine.
It didn’t stop them from walking on eggshells until all the tattoos vanished. Starting over.
A new cycle.
Now, on their third, it ran like clockwork.
Jungkook didn’t blame Hoseok for being freaked out at first. And while Hoseok loved Jimin, he also couldn’t get through an episode of the X-Files without looking away, let alone let something take hold of him. But this time, he was determined. Jimin had promised to add spurs to every piece where artists had forgotten, and Hoseok was already cherishing three weeks of uninterrupted metalwork.
“You three are down,” Jungkook chuckled, “and Yoongi called dibs on moon five to kick off recording his new album. Jimin’s looking forward to it. So Hoseok’s taking this moon come hell or high water.”
“Seokjin will either have to tell him,” Taehyung mused, “or pray Hoseok doesn’t ask to see what everyone wants most.”
Jungkook let his gaze sweep the room until it landed on the crescent moon he adored. “He might get a few extra days. Even if the moon shows, we still want the rest of next week before we have to be apart.”
Taehyung bumped his shoulder fondly, “It’s an important week. If you were ever gonna bend the rule, it’d be now.”
Across the room, Jimin was laughing with a pair of strangers whose names Jungkook had no hope of remembering. Jimin was a master of working the crowd. Every word that left his lips was always perfectly tailored.
When he turned and their gazes met, his crescent eyes lit up. A smile bloomed across his face, and he lifted his hand in greeting. Jungkook blew him a kiss, grinning when Jimin started laughing. Light flashed on the silver ring around his finger. Every day, Jungkook kept thinking this was the most beautiful he’d ever seen him.
“Geumein.” Jungkook said softly.
Taehyung glanced over, puzzled. “Jimin?”
Jungkook shook his head, “Juh-mean,” he corrected. “It’s the way you’d say it in Gaelic.”
Taehyung let out a low whistle with an entertained smile. “You named the collection after him? That’s one hell of a wedding present.”
Jungkook grinned, “It worked the first time.”