Chapter Text
Soft tingling echoes across barren white walls, the ringing of bells following the sound, as small feet pad against the floor. The lift from the ground in a slight hop, white fabric billowing out around them.
Deft fingers catch on a blinding windowsill, the figure floating back to the ground, sheer fabric swamping around it with the motion of landing.
A quiet sigh slips past plush pink lips, pale blue eyes blinking off into the nothingness Byron the window. Starch white, pitch black, all nothing.
"Talk to me..." A soft melodious voice speaks, one finger tracing a meaningless pattern against the windowsill. No answer comes of course, only the slight tinkling of what seems to be laughter.
"No...? Boo..." The voice pitches up, and then down in defeat, before the petite male turns on his heel and marches away, arms crossed over his chest. "Can't even make it interesting, huh?" There is a sharper edge to his voice as he plops down in the middle of the floor, the room devoid of any furniture or decoration.
If he truly wished for more it could be brought to life with the snap of his fingers, pastel pink magic underneath his fingertips, but at the moment he was feeling too sulky to care. So drawn into his own thoughts in fact, that he doesn't hear the click of the door, or the sound of what seems to be rather thunderous footsteps.
He groans, burying his head into his hands, and can hear laughter in response to that. He knew that laugh anywhere, squeaky in nature, but he didn't expect anyone else.
"Do you really have to do that? You know I like it to be quiet here, but you stomp around like an elephant every time."
"Oh, you wound me, truly, Jiminie." The male looks up, rolling his eyes at the man across from him, who at the moment, has a hand pressed against his heart as if he had been shot - could even be shot - dramatic in every gesture.
"It's too quiet anyways." The drama king waves a hand in dismissal, although surveys the room in a second, his brow pinching in concern.
"What's this? Not feeling very creative today?"
He paces over to the other, squatting down next to him, and light reaching to card his fingers through fluffy strands of pink hair.
"No... I just..." A beat, and then silence.
"You just what, Jimin?" He presses, fingers stilling in their movements.
Jimin shrugs, lower lip jutting out in just the slightest of pouts. "I'm just bored, Jin."
Jin pulls away with an exaggerated sigh, the hand that was so gentle in its ministrations before now smacking the back of his head.
"Aish, that's it? You kids these days." Jin tsks, and Jimin snorts, lips pulling up in the minimum of a smile.
"I'm older than you. Way older."
Jin scoffs, moving to stand. "Yes, you keep trying to convince yourself that." He stretches an arm out, setting a hand on his hip. "I certainly act older than you. Besides, who would look after you if I didn't?" The words slip out before he can truly think them over, and he regrets it when the smile drops from Jimin's face.
"You don't have to." Is all Jimin says, voice suddenly icy and splintering as he turns away. Jin winces, teeth worrying against his bottom lip.
"I didn't mean it like..." He trails off, realizing that even the barest bones of noise has slipped away, jingling and tingling fading into pure silence. It was almost suffocating, and he clears his throat fingers fiddling away with his much too tight collar, a golden choker keeping it situated there.
"Get out, Seokjin." His excuses further fall through the floor with these next words, and Jin nods his head, backing up slowly, although hesitant in his movements.
"Alright... Be sure to check what tomorrow brings, Minnie."
He knows Jimin doesn't need the reminder as he closes the door behind himself, the handle disappearing from view.
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Tomorrow brings nothing. At least, in Jimin's eyes, it truly is nothing. When he shuts them he is lost to his own world, a flurry and rushed storm of power weighing heavy against his chest, strings tightly tied to his wrists and his ankles, the quiet giggling of the stars bursting into an explosion of sound as the vision is flashed to him.
It's the same things it always is. The sun will rise in one place, it will fall in another, and the humans will continue to go about their mundane lives, the animals will continue with the cycle of life. It begins, and for some it ends, the spindly fingers of death wrapping around throats.
He had long since grown jaded to the mundane things that could be considered "life". Even death could no longer phase him, and the memory he once had of being frightened by just how many perished each day; had dwindled to nothing.
He could remember and look back through any point of time, the stars guiding his hand, the strings of fate weaving tighter and tighter.
But Jimin did not want to look back towards any of his own memories. He knows he had his own beginning at some point, perhaps a point where "life" seemed so interesting, and unique and new. Now he pays it no heed. He has no life, just as he has no death. No beginning, no middle, and no end to the story, wrapped around thousands of years until he might suffocate under the threads.
The only thing that was of importance to him was his duty, the one bestowed upon him by the very stars who constantly ignored him, leaving him trapped with these pleas of human emotions and feelings.
He supposed they truly came back to surface with the light after a long hollow stretch of time; wherein he was introduced to Seokjin.
Seokjin was born as a "Messenger of the Gods" all wide and curious eyes, and a kind of sass that Jimin had only ever seen in the likes of humans.
Seokjin seemed oddly human to him, despite the wings clipped to his sandals, and the choker which was chained around his neck, the very proof of being something used by the Gods; Seokjin belonged to the Gods.
The Gods liked to chide Jimin, shove the stars out from where they had surrounded him, and demand he act in tune with them. He was supposed to be one of them.
He refused. He was a teller of time, a seer of fate, wrapped up in the many strings of it all.
He was no God. He could only see, and he could not act. The future that was laid out for him to see was the future that would come to be. He thinks... There must have been a time in which he attempted to change this.
The stars block his way, and he cannot see it, staring into a black abyss, and he surrenders to the fate given to himself.
He couldn't change it, and despite Seokjin's best efforts to convince him to act otherwise, he has come to accept what was only stifling, fate itself.
Time had grown stagnant, and so have those feelings he thought might have once existed.
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"Y'know today I spoke to a human, Jiminie." Jin declares proudly, pinky held out elegantly to the side as he clutches onto the teacup that was manifested through Jimin's magic.
Jimin splutters and chokes on his own tea, the cups almost short circuiting with the shock he feels, tea hot and scalding on his tongue.
He knew this was coming. He knew this was coming. He knew it...
Yet he still has a hand wavering near his burned lips, Jin lightly patting his back until his coughing ceases.
"They are interesting. You should consider leaving the realm once in a while." The messenger continues smoothly, a gentle smile in place on his almost too majestic face. Jimin clutches the handle of his teacup, small fingers shaking around it.
So that's what this was about.
He slams it down and Jin jumps from besides him in surprise, watching as the cup vanishes in a harsh outflow of flowing pink light.
"What- What's wrong...?" He falters, and then falls silent, throat suddenly dry as an icy blue gaze pierces through him. If there was one thing he had never intended to do, it was make the other angry.
"You cannot, Seokjin." There was his full name again, heavy and burdened on Jimin's swollen lips. "You know it is forbidden to just speak to any human, and yet you do it anyways?" Jin winces, reaching a hand out, but the pink haired male only twitches away from his touch, lips twisting down in a frown, eyes narrowing in cold anger, with the slightest hint of concern weaved between his shaking fingers.
"It was just once-" Jin starts to protest, but falls silent when Jimin rounds on him.
"You know that's not true!" He spits, and Jin reels back, an anxious fluttering pounding in his chest. He knew Jimin would never hurt him, but that didn't make him any less nervous, to possibly awaken the true power of someone who seemed so serene and peaceful, and yet someone who seemed to be pacing closer and closer to the edge of that temperament, ready to jump into the fire and snap with one wrong word.
"Jin, you cannot." Jimin stresses, petite fingers reaching to grapple and grab Jin's own. He is staring at him intensely now, almost pleading. "You are only allowed to speak to those closest to the Gods. The priests, the ones who hold the power in the churches, the ones who run the shrines. That's it. Not just some..." He trails off, noticing the flash of pain in dark almond optics. No... He wasn't...
The smaller tugs his hands away as if seeing that hurt had burned him, head tilting to study the floor, fists curling up around the sheer white fabric of his sleeves.
"I just... You know what they can do, Seokjin."
Jin swallows thickly, a pang of guilt piercing through him at the almost broken tone to Jimin's voice. He hadn't meant to react that way, but it just came through, the feeling of being controlled, of being told what to do, by someone who had never treated him like that before, never.
Yet he supposed his fate was already being controlled, and Jimin already must know what it is.
Seokjin folds his hands in his lap, also looking to the floor.
"What will they do...?"
He dares to ask, and all he gets in response is a high pitched laugh from Jimin.
"You know I can't tell you..."
Seokjin doesn't mention the human incident again.
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The next day the Gods demand to speak with him. The next day he cannot refuse. He already knew he couldn't refuse, and bows to it easily, falling to his knees to grace fate itself with his presence.
He is fast in his pacing with speaking to the Gods, fabric fluttering behind him, white ribbons tied around his wrists, and permanent stars speckled on his right cheekbone, stretched out around his eye.
He was a sight to behold, bathed in pure white, layers of draping robes and puffed out edges, sparkles and stars glittering throughout the steam of silky fabric and almost see through cotton. Layer upon layer, but he never felt the heat, for this place had no heat, just as it had no cold.
Jimin never cared to change his outfit, just as he had grown bored with changing the room he manifests. The Gods would not care either, although there surely could be distaste towards his bare feet, only silver jewelry adorning his ankles.
There were more important manners to discuss.
So he lies, saying Seokjin only spoke with the most benevolent of priests. He knows they ask him because he spends the most time with Jin. He knows they will believe him. He already knew it, and walks away just as steadily as he entered.
Sometimes he wonders if the Gods are fools. Powerful as they may be, none of them know the strings of fate as he does, none of them answer or understand the stars as he does.
He could lie his way through his vast and never ending eternity. Yet he doesn't.
When fate declares he lies, then he will lie. When it declares he doesn't, then he doesn't.
Jin seems to be in higher spirits the next day, and once again encourages him towards going to the realm of the humans.
Jimin refuses, just as he knew he would.
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"I cannot believe this!" Jin is squabbling something fierce today, all red skin, and intense hand movements.
"Jimin, can you believe this?!"
Jimin only hums in agreement, knowing full well that Jin is not going to calm anytime soon. He didn't even need the stars to tell him so, he already knew Jin too well. It wasn't even that Jin was truly angry, just frustrated.
"Suga? I mean, really?! They don't need another Messenger, they have me!" Jin gestures wildly to himself, before returning to his pacing, only narrowly avoiding Jimin who is seated on the floor, legs tucked beneath him.
"They praise him as if he is a God! He's just lazy though! I'm the only Messenger! I have been the only Messenger ever! And he doesn't even respect me! Aish- that kid -!"
Jimin parts his lips, almost ready to reject this statement, but the words die on the tip of his tongue. Jin was hardly the first messenger ever, but he didn't need to know that. He would be too caught up in his rant to care what Jimin said anyways.
"This Suga is so lazy he told me he wants to be a rock in his next life!" Jin's veins are practically jutting out of his neck at this point, cheeks red, and ears aflame, and fists now planted firmly on his hips, before he throws his arms out.
"A rock, Jimin! A rock!"
Jimin nods again, an almost false sympathy accompanying the hum that follows. Jin pays it no heed, and continues to wear down the floor and his sandals with his relentless pacing.
Jimin tunes him out at some point, and Jin does not even notice, only shouting about how Suga is a stupid nickname, and this Yoongi can give him his job back at anytime.
Not as if it was ever truly taken. Simply sharing the burden now, they would.
Jimin decides to do Suga a favor later, and peaks beyond the usual tomorrow, drawing the threads out more and more, through thousands upon thousands of years. The session is a long one, taking much time to sort it all out.
When he finishes weaving through fate and peeking into the future he only returns with a pounding head, and no fortunate news for Yoongi.
Sadly, it did not seem as if fate wanted him to be a rock in any next life.
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A gentle knock sounds on the door, before it creaks open, light footsteps following it.
Jimin almost expects loud stomping about, but is grateful when it does not come. He turns over on the bed he had just barely been able to manifest, groaning and burying his head in his arms. There is a tentative poke to his side and he jumps upright, regretting it when his vision swims.
"Ah, Minnie... You really shouldn't overdo it you know." Cue Jin's fretting voice as he jumps onto the bed, ignoring the pink haired male's whine, and the dipping of the bed with his added weight.
"What's the matter...?" He coos, reaching to rest a hand on Jimin's neck, soft fingers gently pressing against it.
Jimin shakes his head, offering no answer. If he told Jin that he had drained himself to the point of feeling physically ill, just so that he could see if Suga would get the honor of becoming a rock, then Jin was going to have an aneurysm and die, possibly before his time, although Jimin was too weak to check right now.
"Hmm...?" Jin prompts, completely oblivious, as usual.
"Nothing..." He mumbles, shifting to lay against the covers again, and returning to pushing his head into the crook of his arm, eyes fluttering shut.
"It doesn't seem like nothing." Jin's fingers press a little harder and Jimin squirms with his grip, before sighing, and relenting.
"Nothing... 'M head just hurts..." His voice is muffled, but Jin seems to understand anyways, humming softly and gently massaging his neck. It was nice, and his stiffened body relaxes a little as Jin continues with his ministrations.
Unfortunately it does not last, and Jimin can practically hear the devious grin on the other's face.
"Jimiiiin~"
No, not trustworthy at all.
The pink haired male huffs, pushing himself to sit up, and glowers over his shoulder at Jin. "What the heck do you want?" He grumbles, voice rough and quiet.
Jin leans forward, grin widening even more, as he pokes Jimin's cheek.
"Maybe you would feel better if you went to the human world with me today. No. Noooo...?" He draws out the last word and Jimin heaves a great sighs, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes.
Gods, why did he put up with this?
It must be fate.
"No, Seokjin." He snaps, and rolls over onto his side, grabbing a corner of the blanket and tugging it up over him as Jin stumbles back, almost off the side of the bed.
"Jimin! Come on!" Jin recovers and pounces on him, tugging on the blanket, even as Jimin growls from the back of his throat.
"I said no!" It comes out as more of a whine than he had meant it to, and the following pout does little to help his case, as Jin melts into cooing, pinching his cheeks and fawning over how cute he is.
Jimin lightly shoves him away, feeling frustrated and tired, and mostly tired, and really tired, and he was just tired and didn't want to deal with this.
"Jin..." He moans, burying his head in his hands as his stomach turns. Jin stops goofing off, grin diminishing into a concerned frown.
"Please... Not today..."
Jin is quiet, as if considering his, before reaching to lightly place a hand on his shoulder. Then he leans in, and softly, ever so softly, whispers into his ear.
"Please Jimin...? Just for a few minutes? It's not as if you are forbidden."
When there is no argument from the other, Jin presses on, lightly squeezing his shoulder.
"Hey, it might really make you feel better. How long have you been stuck in this realm anyways? In these rooms you create? A thousand, maybe five thousand years?"
"Make that at least ten thousand." Jimin mumbles, sounding as exhausted as he looks, and no longer sure if he can even bother to argue with Jin on this.
If that number bothers Jin he doesn't show it, instead tugging Jimin in close to him, breaking out into another easy smile, as if it just comes so naturally to him.
"Yeah, exactly! You need some fresh air!"
Jimin pulls away from him, looking and feeling reluctant, a certain weight seeming to sink into his stomach, and press against his lungs.
"Fine."
He agrees for the first time in what may be just a part of his forever.
Jimin doesn't know if he was supposed to do this, and despite the sudden swarm of feelings, a part of him knows, that yes, yes he was.
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"Jimin it's fine, can we just go?" Jin is whining again, and for a second Jimin has to wonder if he is really more than three thousand years old. Jin still acted like a child, and probably always would.
"I know I just..." He sighs, the threads unraveling around him as he lets them go, stars blinking away with them as they fade from existence.
"If you keep checking to see what happens that ruins the fun of it!"
Jimin shrugs, mostly because he didn't see how this could ever be fun anyways. "I said I know... But... I don't want us to be in danger."
Jin shrugs this time, tossing an arm over his shoulder, and smirking. "Okay, but say we were meant to get hurt... Or be in danger..." He pauses for effect, and Jimin rolls his eyes skyward. "We couldn't change it anyways, right?"
Oh...
Oh.
Damn, if Jimin didn't hate how right he was.
"Okay fine." He snaps, practically bristling under his friend's touch. "Just hurry up already!"
Jin gapes at him, eyes widening in his confusion. "Now hold on, why should I have to do it, I'm pretty sure you..."
The look he receives silences him.
"Actually you have a point. I am more experienced at this." The Messanger says, almost smug, as he extends a hand in front of him. Light begins to glow around his fingertips, his source of power coming to life. The light slowly starts to expand, twisting and bending until Jimin can see an image through it.
One of the other realms.
The realm of humans, the realm of animals, of hunters and warriors, and kings and queens, of priests, and worshippers and monsters alike.
Jimin feels as if the air in his lungs has been sucked away, as if his forever, and his nothingness, his lack of beginning, and a middle, and an end has ended.
He wants to take his agreement back so badly, and he doesn't even realize he is trembling until Jin turns his gaze away from the portal he is concentrating on making, instead looking at Jimin with wide and fearful eyes, concern warm and glazed inbetween.
Jin is speaking now, and the portal is sparking, and this doesn't seem right, this can't be right, this can't be how it was written, right? Or was it, and the pure cold panic coursing through his veins was keeping him from seeing that?
"Jimin!" Jin reaches a hand out to touch him, fingers ghosting against his wrist, and in this moment the portal snaps with a bigger spark than before and Jin yelps as the magic starts to spiral out of control.
He could have stopped it. He could- But Jimin can't move, not even able to understand the heaving of his chest, or the warmth against his cheeks, or the struggle to breathe, or even the strange flecks of black in his vision.
He couldn't...
He couldn't remember the last time he felt like this.
The magic explodes in a flare of white, and his vision succumbs to black.