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When Jimin finds himself on the immaculate corridors of the Busan St. Mary’s Hospital, he blindly reaches for his phone. Nurses are scurrying around, patients are wheeled along, and there are vacant eyed family members slumped in chairs, so this is, without a doubt, a hospital.
The location on his phone agrees with him, but more importantly, his name popping up on the map next to it confirms that he’s supposed to be here.
“Huh.” Jimin shrugs and pockets his phone. These things are never wrong, so there must be people meant to find solace in each other here somewhere.
He feels the air for a moment, looks for auras and sniffs for endorphins. Most of the time, he’s naturally pulled towards the new couple, their chemistry pungent to him like flowers in a cemetery.
Contrary to popular belief, it’s not Jimin or any other “Cupid” making people fall in love with each other. The potential for true love is there already, but humans are fickle things; have the attention span of a raven in a room full of diamonds.
Much like his brother Fate, Jimin merely stirs them in the right direction, opening their eyes and making them see past the shiny things. Unlike Taehyung though, he is far less patient and way more flexible.
He lets himself be carried down the corridor and into an elevator. He rides two floors up in the company of a doctor and her assistant, both going down a list of patients, but none of their conditions novel sounding.
He checks the informative board when he steps out. He expected orthopedics, maybe something with therapy, even considered neurology, but when he reads “Oncology” he’s confused like never before in his infinite life.
Jimin unglues his eyes from the letters and starts walking where the energy calls. His form is not visible nor tangible to humans if he doesn’t wish for otherwise, but he finds himself considering letting himself be seen. There are too many people flocking on this floor and it’s inevitable that they pass through his body every odd step.
Thankfully though, Jimin’s senses spike up and like alarms going off, he finds himself stopping in front of a room. It reads 1301 and he walks through it before he gets a headache from the onslaught of questions plaguing it.
Needless to say, it gets worse.
“Oh, what the fuck.”
From the bed end where he’s standing watch, Jeongguk turns to him with not even a hint of surprise betraying his stupidly chiseled face. “Jimin. Hey. What are you doing here?”
Jimin gapes, appalled as he searches for his supposed target, but there’s only one human in the room. On the bed Jeongguk’s guarding, there’s a young woman sleeping. She looks pale and frail, ill in short, and though Jimin possesses no abilities of the kind, he can quite literally smell the death on her. Or maybe it’s just Jeongguk.
“I was called here,” Jimin finally answers. “What are you doing here?”
Jeongguk’s eyes shift back to the woman. “I was called here too. I think it’s obvious why.” Short human seconds tick by before his brows deepen into a frown. His gaze shoots back to Jimin. “You have the wrong room,” he accuses.
Jimin scoffs at Jeongguk’s rude tone. It’s been centuries, but the Grim Reaper hasn’t matured a day it would seem. “It’s not like I pick favorites, Jeongguk. I was led here, same as you were.”
Jeongguk turns to him fully then, his hands falling into the pockets of his long, predictably black coat. Jimin gives him a shameless once over. He looks as good as always, and Jimin can admit he’s been missing him. Last time they saw each other it was during a war or some genocide – Jimin doesn’t really remember human events, but he does remember the feeling of Jeongguk at the pinnacle of his strength. He can especially remember how well that power filled him up.
Jeongguk sighs as he cards a hand through his hair, and the gesture has more memories springing up. Jimin is reminded how wavy it gets when it’s longer, a particularly hot summer in Greece coming to mind, humid and sleepless. Jimin had been busy back then, but Jeongguk was mainly free, so they could steal a few days together.
“Let’s get coffee and sort this out.”
Jimin grins. “How awfully romantic of you, Grim-ah.”
Jeongguk returns the smile, albeit weaker, but just as genuine. “You’d know all about it, Eros.”
They go to the bathroom first, switching to their human forms, because they’d rather not have anyone disturb their privacy by walking straight through them. Jeongguk leads Jimin through the crowd with a hand at the small of his back, and Jimin thinks it’s sad how familiar he has become with every hospital on Earth.
The canteen is as full as expected, but after ordering two excuses to catch up, they find an empty table tucked into a lone corner.
“So when were you called?”
Jimin’s biggest weakness is that he’s not good at masking feelings, not as well as Jeongguk is at any rate. He’s made to be transparent, so he can’t stop his face from clouding with disappointment at Jeongguk’s clinical approach. “I just arrived. Maybe five minutes ago. I’m still confused with my presence here, but I was never wrong before.”
Jeongguk’s lips quirk. “Always right, I’m aware.”
Jimin scoffs. “That’s not what I – “
“I’ve been here for about an hour. The girl is dying, there’s no mistake there.”
Jimin pouts, but his arguments don’t dwindle out. “There has to be a loophole then. Who’s with her? Any friends? Best friends? Distant relatives?”
“You’re gross.”
“Right. Go ahead and pretend we didn’t both live in Ancient Grecian times.”
“I only bedded you though.”
“Not the point. Now answer my question.”
Jeongguk rolls his eyes and makes sure to take a long sip from his coffee even though he hates it with a passion. Spiting Jimin is on his job description just as much as chaperoning souls to the Underworld is.
“Her parents are here.”
“Okay.”
“She has an older brother.”
“Go on.”
“He came with his girlfriend.”
“Who else? …Unless?”
And then Jeongguk sags, all will to joke around leaving him. “I don’t know, Jimin. She has a lot of friends visiting her. But either way, I really doubt she’s going to find her soulmate on her death bed.”
Jimin smiles as he looks at Jeongguk – at the way his hair falls over his cheeks, and at the way coffee stained his lips. At how his black shirt clings to his chest, muscle to bone, heart as dead as his. “More tragic things have happened, Jeongguk.” He puts his hand on the table between them, leaves it there. “Maybe it’s her last moment of happiness. I’m here for a reason.”
Jeongguk straightens up and crosses his arms, but he looks no more assertive than he was a second ago. His eyes steal a glimpse of the offered hand before finding their way back to Jimin’s. “There has to be a way to check this. One of us is wrong and you know mistakes of the kind are gravely punishable. You could be – they could – “
Jimin retracts his hand and his smile turns bitter. “You assume I’m the one who’s wrong.”
“My girl is dying. I’m only stating facts.”
Jimin stands up at that. Truth be told, he didn’t care about this at all. He’s seldom selfish, but it’s even rarer that he sees Jeongguk. Sometimes, if they’re lucky enough and if Taehyung pulls a few strings, they can meet by sheer serendipity once a century. They’re not interdicted from seeing each other, but their paths are dictated by the humans’ lives. They don’t live outside of it no matter how much they stretch chance. Jimin only wanted a few minutes alone with Jeongguk, Love and Death be damned. But it seems like Jeongguk doesn’t share the sentiment and Jimin should have long gotten used to it.
“Fine. Let’s go and wait, see who’s the one being punished.”
Jeongguk follows close behind, but doesn’t say anything anymore. Jimin feels his presence – it’s always been heavy, suffocating, and unpleasant, but he’s learned to look past it. Jimin had to dig for years, had to uncover layer upon layer of senseless darkness until he finally found it. Jeongguk has a soul like any of them. It’s nothing special – it’s even dimmed down and weak as to not fall prey to emotions and pain of any kind – but Jimin never cared. Because that shard of soul is the only thing that is purely Jeongguk, his essence, his flicker of light, and Jimin always –
“Don’t leave.”
Shamefully relieved, Jimin stops and turns around. Jeongguk is a black rock amidst a river of white coats, and he’s happy they’re wearing their human suits. Happy he can feel the coldness of Jeongguk’s fingers where they splay on his cheek.
“After all this is done, don’t leave. Stay for a little longer. No one will know.”
Jimin knows that to be true. No one will care either. But Jimin doesn’t want another wonderful memory of Jeongguk, doesn’t want that to be the only thing he will live off of for another century.
Jeongguk has never been capable of feeling much, even less showing it, but Jimin has learned how to read him too. He knows it by the shimmering light in his eyes, by the stubborn press of his lips, and by the way his fingers dig into his cheek – how much he longs for it. Jeongguk misses him too.
And that already is a wonderful memory.
Jimin closes his eyes and turns his face into Jeongguk’s palm, presses his lips there, the taste of souls always lingering behind. “Okay.”
“You’ll stay?”
“I will.”
Jeongguk’s touch is phantom again, and so is Jimin.
They return to the girl’s room being packed with family members and friends. She’s awake now and everyone is huddled around her, holding each other and crying some more hysterically than others.
Jimin’s never been fond of these displays, nor did he have to partake in many human cycles of the kind. It’s the heartbreak that gets him. It’s like poison to him, the opposite force that smothers his Love slowly and mercilessly.
Perhaps, Jeongguk’s role is fitting in Jimin’s life, as much as Death belongs in the Life that Love brings.
“Not much longer now,” Jeongguk says, but he makes no move to get ready. He takes Jimin’s hand instead and walks them to the furthest corner of the room. Jimin doesn’t know what Jeongguk is doing, but he feels eons better – like he’s untouchable to Death.
“Thank you.”
Jeongguk doesn’t reply, but Jimin can feel his grip tightening around his fingers.
Death happens before their very eyes. Jimin can’t see souls, but he can feel auras and energies, and this girl is still fighting Jeongguk with all her might. It makes him laugh under his breath. “Perhaps, it was your mistake in the first place. She has energy to last her another lifetime. Isn’t she giving you grief?”
Jeongguk grunts, not reacting to his teasing, but when Jimin looks up at him he sees it’s because his eyes have become void. “It’s time.”
Jimin steps back, allowing Jeongguk to fulfill his duty. His own responsibilities catch up to him and Jimin shakes off his dream-like haze. If the girl was not his target, perhaps someone in the room was supposed to be all along. Grief brings people together, but Jimin doesn’t see any fit. There’s no spark anywhere, no potential, most of them already tied up to someone else.
It’s the first time Jimin feels dread. What if Jeongguk was right? What if he really messed up and –
“It’s done.”
Jeongguk comes back into focus. He’s standing in front of him again, but he has a girl next to him now. She isn’t paying them any mind though, her horrified eyes stuck on her grieving family and friends.
Jimin feels pity and understands then how important it is for Grim Reapers to not feel at all. He’s grateful too. “You need to deliver her,” he reminds Jeongguk, almost sure he must have forgotten with his earlier request. “I can stay, but you – you won’t be able to come back.”
Jeongguk smiles faintly and clutches the girl’s shoulder, the air behind him beginning to ripple into a black vortex. “We’re in a hospital, Jimin-ssi. I’ll always find my way back to you.”
They vanish with that and Jimin is glad they did before they could hear the giddiness of his delighted laugh.
It’s two hours later and the room has been cleared out. Nurses came and went, leaving everything spotless, like nothing ever happened.
Detachedly, Jimin realizes how truly insignificant and temporary human lives are. He wonders what makes life worth living for them. Is it material things and money? Their jobs? Career choices? Hobbies? Passions? Family? Friends and relationships? Love? Sex? Their fucked-up fantasies?
But then again, ignoring the obvious, how is Jimin any different? He has a job. Has friends he can call family. He has hobbies too. He likes things, he dislikes things. He has a conscience. Has a soul.
He can’t die though, and it’s funny how death is an obstacle to Jimin. Ironic how dying would be the only thing bringing him closer to Jeongguk.
Death can’t touch Jimin, and Love can’t touch Jeongguk. Bigger tragedies have happened, but Jimin can’t think of greater ones.
He’s still waiting for Jeongguk, and he would forever if he could, but right now it’s really not out of his own volition.
The call is still there; Jimin’s job is not done. It’s not rare for his powers to act up earlier than the moment beckons, so Jimin can rest assured that no one will be punished at least.
The relief is short lived. Jimin feels a familiar tingle spread through his body. He straightens up and swivels around, looking for the source of it. Panic is a foreign feeling to him, but desperation is slinking into him steadily.
The fulfillment of the bond – it’s here. His target – they must be here somewhere, maybe on the hallway, maybe bellow him, but they couldn’t –
There’s no bonding without his intervention.
His throat clogs up and he clutches at his chest. It’s constricting him, there’s no air. Something’s wrong. Something’s terribly, terribly wrong. This is no bonding, this is –
The door is slammed open then. Winded, Jimin peers up alarmed and his worry only escalates when he sees Jeongguk there, barely holding himself against the doorframe, his coat gone and his shirt ripped open at the front.
“Jeongguk?” And Jimin runs to him, catching him around the middle before he can collapse. “What happened to you? Why are you like this? What did you do?!”
But Jimin knows what he did already. Recognizes the change in his aura. Noticed the lack of tattoo on his chest, the scar it left behind.
Jeongguk’s smiling, he’s radiating happiness, he’s all but glowing as he clutches at Jimin’s upper arms. “Can you feel it already? Jimin-ah, can you feel it? Tell me.”
Jimin drags Jeongguk to the bed, carefully letting him fall against the pillow, but Jeongguk remains sitting, not letting go of his hands. He places them on his own chest instead, right above his heart. “Feel it.”
Jimin’s heart twists in agony when he can feel Jeongguk’s beating. He understands then. He understands everything. His eyes blur and they’re watery. Jimin doesn’t know what that means, but he doesn’t care of the reason his words are breathless when he shouts them. “The girl – she was your mistake. You took her – you took her on purpose, though it wasn’t her time.”
Jeongguk kisses him and Jimin hates how different it feels. How good, how full, how tangible, how Jeongguk. But above all else, Jimin hates how right it feels, like everything is finally falling together as it was always meant to be.
He shoves into Jeongguk’s shoulders. “You’ll become nothing, don’t you get it? They stripped you of your duties, they banished you, you’re nothing…nothing but a human. You’re mortal, Jeongguk-ah. Why did you do that?” He feels lost and like he lost everything suddenly. He can’t make sense of anything and he doesn’t want to; doesn't want to believe any of it.
But it's right there, beneath his palm and all around him.
Jimin knows what love feels like. He knows its shapes and colors and scents. It’s a wonderful thing, truly. He’s lived it through nearly all the humans who walked this Earth. And yet –
“I’d rather live one day loving you, than an eternity not being able to.”
- no love can compare to the love Jeongguk holds for him.
The calling has stopped.