Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The numbers on the paper in front of Jungkook glared back at him in a large black font, bolded and underlined. Last notice. No more extensions. 

Twisting a shaky hand through his hair, Jungkook tried to get a hold of himself. This was fine. He could do this. If he just … just pushed back his doctor’s appointment and cut down on the number of meals he had for the next few weeks, maybe if he picked up a few more shifts or tried to find a third job, surely somehow —

The realistic part of his brain lay in apathy, helplessly accepting the situation. No matter how many hours Jungkook worked, no matter how little he ate or how much he rearranged his budget, he was not going to make rent. The numbers wouldn’t add up. 

A dry, despairing sob caught in Jungkook’s throat, and he dropped the paper to cover his face with his hands. In the darkness, there were no bills or too-harsh fluorescent lights that aggravated his sleep-deprived migraine. Just the hollow ache of his stomach, and the burn of his dry eyes, and the endless pull of desolation. It would be so easy just to tip into that vat of swirling anxiety and insurmountable weakness, to let it spill over in quiet, gasping tears that he feared might never end. 

But. 

There just wasn’t time. There was work in an hour, he was supposed to use this time to try to find something he could eat with his damaged tongue, and he’d wanted to draw for just a few minutes. Pouring his emotions into his pencil and letting that guide him across the page was one of the few outlets Jungkook still allowed himself. He could spare a few short minutes and the cost of cheap pencils, at least. 

That wasn’t going to happen now, and perhaps it was for the best. Sketchbooks were expensive, and Jungkook would need a new one soon. The few pages he had left would probably best be saved for the days before he moved out. Moving meant hours searching for a place that would take someone with a payment record as bad as Jungkook’s and days deciding what was really worth taking from his meager possessions. The release of drawing would be his saving grace on those nights. 

If only he could turn back time, could flee back to the days when he run freely through the forest with his best friend at his side and fell asleep every night on silk sheets. Things had been so simple back then, when Jungkook could fill the endless hours trading secrets with other children and he never felt alone. 

Or maybe he could go back even further, to the days when he bounced laughingly on his father’s knee and his mother made it a point to tuck him into bed every night. No matter how busy they got, how important their engagements were, how many people needed their attention, Jungkook’s family had always had time for him. 

But that was before.

Before people started asking about his Talent. Before the testing. Before his ability to function as a normal human being was called into question. 

Before the constant stress and anxiety sharpened Jungkook’s smiles until he looked in the mirror one day and didn’t recognize the jagged expression that stared back at him. Before his lack of a Talent killed his early friendships.

A Talentless person was a dysfunctional human who would always need to rely on others to make up for their deficiencies. No one would ever respect Jungkook without a Talent, and given Jungkook’s original station… 

It invalidated his entire existence. With a mother who hardened visible light into solid structures, and a father who manipulated shadows to fight, spy, protect, and serve him in whatever way he needed, Jungkook’s Talent should surpass even their abilities. Strong and versatile Talents were a sign of his parents’ power and ability to accomplish their goals. A mark of superiority. 

Coming from such a lineage, Jungkook was a regrettable failure. 

As the days rolled by with no sign of Jungkook’s ability, his parents became frustrated. It became an obstacle to success, a defect . Jungkook would be helpless against challengers if the state of his Talent was not rectified, and his parents had no desire to stand between him and the world forever. Jungkook was supposed to be their mainstay in old age, and their pride during his youth. To accept that he would instead remain forever helpless left a bitter aftertaste. 

In fact, it was so acrid that his parents simply decided to wash it out, and Jungkook with it. His mother’s smiles became rarer, more strained and less genuine. His father’s early optimism gradually faded away to be replaced by belligerent anger and eventually cold indifferences. Then the day finally came where Jungkook was no longer welcome at home.

Maybe someday he could go back (his parents still needed an heir, after all), but they had no use for him for the foreseeable future. Maybe a few years supporting himself would teach Jungkook how real life worked, force him to learn to cope with his own shortcomings. 

Jungkook did not share their dubious optimism or their ability to reassign the blame for the situation. There was nothing he could do about his Talent, and helplessness had been a fruitless friend for years already by the time his parents exiled him. It only drew closer and became more familiar in the years since then. 

Now he welcomed it like the lifelong companion he knew it would be. Nothing about his lack of a Talent would ever change. There was no way to manifest the amount of money he would need for rent, or to magically make his bills disappear. Everything about the situation was out of Jungkook’s control. 

Acceptance, his other bosom friend slotted in behind the seething fear, pooling sadness, and low-simmering resentment. Jungkook took a deep breath. 

This was the situation he was given to work with. All he could do was pick himself up and do his best with what he had. 

The rickety chair wobbled dangerously as he pushed it away from the equally dilapidated table. Jungkook steadied it as he stood, praying that it would hold out until he could move on. The same prayer he said for himself every night. 

A new day would come. He just had to hold out until then. 

***

For all that Jungkook had learned to push aside and ignore emotional turmoil with nary a sign that they ever existed, physical issues were a bit more difficult to mask. Lightheadedness and stomach aches, he could work around. There had been plenty of times in his childhood that his parents had attempted to force his Talent to come out by taking away his dinner. Or breakfast. Or both, and also lunch. 

The shakes that came with too much caffeine, however, were another story. Caffeine had been a banned substance for him at home. Sleep deprivation was another way to coax out Talents, and Jungkook had never been allowed anything that might mitigate his suffering. 

Now that he was an adult and working at a coffee shop, he had a free supply of caffeine and no one to stop him from indulging. Well, indulging might be the wrong word. Jungkook didn’t chug espresso like it was the last bit of water in a draught because he enjoyed it, after all. His jobs just took a lot out of him, that’s all. Staying awake was sometimes too challenging without a little bit of a boost. 

Unfortunately, his body wasn’t exactly accustomed to consuming anything outside of the strict, healthy diet he’d followed as a child. While he was getting used to caffeine, it still wreaked havoc on his fine motor control. 

Most of the time, it wasn’t too much of an issue. Sure, a little bit of coffee often sloshed over the edges of cups onto his fingers, and yeah, maybe he needed to stop every few minutes and shake out his hands to try to still the tremors, but overall, it was nothing to be concerned about. 

Most of the time, he wasn’t spilling pipping hot coffee on a customer’s hands. 

“I’m-I’m so sorry! Here, let me—Oh, there’s some ice—”

“Hey, hey.” The very handsome man with a heart-shaped mouth who Jungkook had just burned reached out to gently grab his wrist and stop his panicked stuttering. “It’s ok, Bunny. I’m fine.”

“B-bunny?” The pet name was odd enough to stop Jungkook in his tracks, but only for a moment. “Sir, please let me get you some ice.”

“No need, I promise. Look.” The man held up a hand, completely unmarred and not even red. “It’s my Talent. I don’t burn, so there’s nothing to worry about.” A spark of flame jumped between his fingertips, and the man closed his hand quickly to hide it. 

Oh. Oh no . On one hand, Jungkook was thankful that he hadn’t hurt anyone with his own dazed clumsiness. On the other, any person with a fire Talent was not someone to cross. 

In this day and age, a powerful Talent usually came from generations of targeted breeding, and it meant high status in society. This man, who Jungkook had spilled coffee on like a weak ass idiot, was probably the wealthiest and most important customer this establishment had ever had. 

If he was lucky, Jungkook would be fired. Should he desire, this man could have Jungkook thrown in prison for even looking at him wrong, let alone attempting to hurt him. No matter how accidental the attempt was. 

The slight frown on the man’s face as he tugged on the wrist he still held did not bode well for Jungkook. “I can’t say the same about you, though.” 

For a moment, Jungkook had no idea what he was talking about. The same—? A gentle finger prodded a shiny red patch on the back of Jungkook’s hand, and he suddenly understood. Oh yes: the burns. Jungkook did, in fact, burn, and this wasn’t even the first time today that he’d spilled. 

“Ah, no such Talent for me,” he agreed, awkwardly tugging his hand back.

A second glance at the man’s face bubbled a sense of familiarity and presque vu that only heightened Jungkook’s anxiety.

“I’m not going to hurt you, bunny.” His lips pouted slightly as though offended. “There’s no need to be so scared.”

Jungkook was a little beyond scared at this moment. His brain had skipped straight back to that stage of weary, helpless acceptance. If this man wanted to hurt him, there was nothing Jungkook could do. That inkling of almost-recognition screamed alarm bells, but Jungkook’s body was too tired to react to the situation with the adrenaline and fear he should be feeling. 

At least if they threw him in prison, he would get to have a nap and a hot meal. 

“Bun, I’m pretty sure there’s better places to nap than a prison.” The tone was somewhat amused at Jungkook’s inane mumbling, but the look in the man’s eyes was more serious. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” Jungkook cut himself off with a shake of his head. Who cared what he meant to do? “My name’s Jungkook, not bunny, and I’m not shaking because I’m afraid.”

“Well mine is Hoseok, but you can call me Hobi if I can keep calling you bunny.”

Again, the name sparked something in Jungkook, but he couldn’t hold onto it. Just like he apparently couldn’t hold his tongue. “That’s very forward of you.” Someone shut Jungkook up. Please. 

“I think we passed the boundaries of ‘forward’ when I grabbed your hand, but I’m not too fussed either way. No one has ever accused me of being great with social boundaries.” Oh, that smile only emphasized the heart in Hoseok’s lips, and Jungkook much preferred that to the downturned frown of before. “They have accused me of being a little scary, though.” A pointed look at Jungkook's hands.

“No, I’m really just over-caffeinated.” Jungkook’s laugh came out more nervous than he would’ve liked as he flexed his fingers again. “I’m not used to it, so it affects me more than most people.”

“Why drink so much, then, if you don’t like it?” The arch of Hobi’s eyebrow was curious, but the quirk of his lips almost seemed … concerned? It was an expression that seemed out of place on his features, like Jungkook wasn’t used to seeing him that way. It was an odd sensation to have about someone that Jungkook couldn’t even remember meeting before. Perhaps he was someone famous? 

“It’s not that I don’t like it. Or, well, I don’t love espresso, to be honest, but I like the sweet drinks. I just … I wasn’t allowed before.”

Before his parents decided Jungkook wasn’t worth the time and money. Before hungry nights turned into hungry weeks, and fatigue from exercising turned into exhaustion from working. Before Jungkook worked two jobs and riffled through adds in his free time for a third. 

Hoseok’s other eyebrow shot up at that as well before he gave an exaggerated eye roll and exasperated sigh. “Over-controlling parents, right?” The commiseration on his face was completely foreign to Jungkook. No one had ever dared to speak anything but praise about his parents. 

“I swear, figuring out your own routine after years of having every second planned is terrifying. For a while, I became completely nocturnal when I first set my own schedule. Had to practically take shots of caffeine to make it to my morning classes.”

The art class Jungkook had tried out when he first left (got kicked out of) home had been in the morning. His adoration for the subject meant that getting up to go hadn’t even been a struggle despite Jungkook’s own preference for the night hours. At least until all the work started. 

Shoving down the tiny prick of jealousy, more loss and longing than bitterness, Jungkook smiled at Hoseok. “Ah, well, living on your own does take some getting used to.” 

“I have some experience with it if you ever want to talk.” A business card was slipped into Jungkook’s hand as Hoseok finally took his coffee. “Or if you just forget to grocery shop and want free food.” Despite the casual and almost teasing air, Hoseok’s expression was serious as he tapped the card. “Don’t hesitate. I’ve been there, I know how hard it can get.”

A part of Jungkook doubted that. Hoseok may have been through some struggles in his life, but his Talent was amazing and so very obvious. A jaded voice in the back of Jungkook’s head insisted that Hoseok couldn’t really know what Jungkook was going through. Wouldn’t understand the difficulty of finding and keeping multiple jobs. Would never truly know how deeply the utter disappointment and despair of a parent could cut. 

But that wasn’t necessarily true. Jungkook didn’t know Hoseok or anything about his life. Hoseok’s Talent had likely taken a lot of training to achieve even marginal control. The manifestation of such a … fiery Talent could also get very messy. No one knew what could trigger a Talent to emerge, and they often popped out at the worst of times. Accidents were common and could even be deadly. 

Besides, comparing suffering was not only an exercise in futility, but also unfair to both parties. Just because they’d gone through different things didn’t mean either of them had it any easier than the other. 

So he kept a firm hold on the paper, careful not to crinkle it, and bowed slightly. “Thank you, Hoseok-ssi.”

There was no chance that he would use the card. Hoseok was a complete stranger and Jungkook had talked to him all of once. Maybe he had kind intentions, but offering food to a random person was a very sketchy move. Jungkook had learned the hard way that sometimes it paid to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

Safety aside, something about his fire still tugged on Jungkook’s mind, telling him he was missing an important detail. There was always the possibility that this was another of his parents’ employees sent to check up on him. Hoseok didn’t belong here, and it was odd for him to conveniently show up while Jungkook was working.

While Jungkook had no intention of being rude, he knew better than to encourage Hoseok’s attention. 

“I hope I’ll see you again some time.”

With only a parting wave, Hoseok was gone, and Jungkook suddenly realized just how long he’d spent with a singular customer. His boss would usually have called him over by now to avoid holding up the line, but the other barista managing the orders hadn't so much as poked him. Shrugging off the oddity, Jungkook turned to look for the next order.

Instead, he found his boss staring at him. 

“You don’t want to get involved with Hoseok-ssi,” the man advised. “We all pretend not to know because it makes him more comfortable and therefore makes us safer, but it’s pretty hard to miss those matchstick fingers. That kind of society is different. Getting all tangled up in it will bring you nothing but heartache.”

A cold pit yawned in Jungkook’s stomach. Right. That society which he was no longer a part of because his lack of a Talent excluded him. That level of society where his parents might recognize him as their son.  

His boss was right. Jungkook should stay away.

The business card fluttered into the trash. 

***

The card was sitting on the counter when Jungkook walked into work the next day. At first, Jungkook thought someone must’ve mistakenly taken it out of the trash. Then Hoseok once again appeared on the other side of the counter. 

“One of my partners said you might need that.” 

Slightly more rested than he had been the day before, Jungkook knew why Hoseok seemed familiar, had placed him in the complex structure of the royal court and knew why he was important. This was the captain of the royal guard speaking to him. The leader of the Elite, a force of five (six, but the sixth was a secret) highly trained warriors who acted as everything from spies to assassins to body guards, was standing in the rundown little coffee shop where Jungkook worked. 

There was no condemnation or judgement in his face, just that strange understanding and pure sincerity. “We won’t bother you again, if that’s really what you want, but I don’t tend to ignore Joonie.”

On any other day, Jungkook would’ve sent him away without a thought. Now that he knew who Hoseok was, Jungkook was almost entirely certain that his parents had sent the man. It would be just like them, a signal of their control over every part of his life. No matter where he was, they could reach him at any time. 

As it was, his breath froze in his throat as he stared at the man Hoseok had brought with him. A quick google search the night before had helped Jungkook place Hoseok, and this newcomer along with him. 

Anger, despair, and hurt churned in his stomach. This was a dirty trick. Anyone else, and Jungkook would’ve sent them away without a second thought, would’ve forced them to reveal their manipulations by refusing to play into their false obliviousness. 

But this was Taehyung. 

Taehyung, who had been his first and best friend. Taehyung, who had chased him through the gardens and laughed as they rolled in the mud. Taehyung, who had braided a flower crown for Jungkook that Jungkook pressed and still kept with him every time he moved. 

Anyone else, and Jungkook could’ve said no. For Taehyung, he was helpless. Even the years of estrangement didn’t erase Jungkook’s love for the person who was at the center of most of his best memories. 

More than that, the expression on Taehyung’s face forced Jungkook to reconsider who had sent them. There was just nothing there. No caring, no deep interest, no twinkle of hidden knowledge. None of the emotions that must have lingered if Jungkook had meant anything at all to Taehyung. Only a bright, but superficial curiosity. 

Taehyung didn’t recognize him. 

If the Elite were coming to the shop purely because of their own interest in Jungkook, that would be expected. The Jungkook of Taehyung’s memories was a richly dressed, pampered child of around ten with a naive innocence. It would be impossible to see that boy in Jungkook’s gaunt, worn-down image. 

Jungkook himself had only recognized Taehyung because he found a clip of the man controlling the weather to compliment Hoseok’s use of fire. Weather elementals were as rare as fire-users. Unfortunately, Jungkook had no such unique Talent by which Taehyung might identify him. It was no great wonder that Taehyung didn’t know him after all these years. 

If Jungkook’s parents had sent them, however, Taehyung should’ve expected him. Years as a spy had undoubtedly taught Taehyung to lie flawlessly, but Jungkook fancied that he still knew the other man’s tells. Those little habits had formed during a childhood they shared and were almost impossible to fully eradicate.

No matter how little Taehyung cared for Jungkook after so long, he should still feel something, surely. His expression should give something away, even if it was just distaste for all the time he’d wasted on Jungkook only for Jungkook to turn out as such a failure. 

There was nothing. Not even the faintest glimmer of any real emotion as Taehyung met his gaze. 

“Oh, this is another one of my partners, Taehyung.” Jungkook had been staring long enough for Hoseok to feel the need to break the awkward silence that Jungkook hadn’t even registered. “We work together not too far from here, so we might start stopping in more regularly.”

Taehyung’s curiosity sharpened a little bit at Jungkook’s undeterred attention. A tiny line of confusion creased his forehead and his head cocked ever so slightly to the side.

It was just too real, like Taehyung had subconsciously picked up on Jungkook’s importance in the same way that Jungkook had on Hoseok’s the day before. 

“If that’s ok,” Hoseok tacked on when Jungkook still didn’t respond. 

One of his coworkers elbowed Jungkook and sent him a sharp look. 

“Of course.” The words came out maybe a little more crisp than Jungkook meant them to be. Hoseok didn’t back off at the customer-polite answer, likely because of Jungkook’s inability to take his eyes off of Taehyung and whatever odd expression must be twisting his face. “It would be nice to see you again.”

If Jungkook was speaking purely to Taehyung, no one had to know. Perhaps Taehyung did, though, because he nodded with growing intrigue. 

“Lovely!” Hoseok's bright enthusiasm finally made Jungkook look away. “I’ll have the Spotted Owl today, thanks!” 

There was no false familiarity this time as Jungkook made and delivered their drinks. Hoseok’s expression was also faintly baffled, and he hovered closer to Taehyung protectively. 

“I’ll see you again.” The words slipped out as Jungkook put down Taehyung’s drink. Again, they were too forward, too clearly directed at a man that he shouldn’t know, but Jungkook couldn’t help it. 

They’d had no goodbye last time. Taehyung was there one day and gone the next. If this was the last time Jungkook would see him this close in person, he needed at least some indication that it was the end. 

Tilting his head again, Taehyung met his eyes. “I’ll be back.”

Part of Jungkook didn’t believe him. Every fiber of his being wished it was true. 

***

While Taehyung didn’t come back in the next few weeks, Hoseok’s visits became nearly regular. Rarely did he come alone, and the crew of people he brought with him left Jungkook’s head spinning. 

The first companion was a tall man with incredibly broad shoulders who took one look at Jungkook and declared that he needed to eat more. Jungkook fed himself for a week with the tip that man left. 

Hoseok’s cat-eyed partner seemed suspicious not only of Jungkook, but of everyone in the shop. He never lingered long, grabbing his drink and retreating to a table even if Hoseok stayed to chat with Jungkook. 

A third man, small and lithe, looked at Jungkook like he was both a threat and a fascinating puzzle. His questions about Jungkook’s interaction with Taehyung were sharp and pointed, but he softened at Jungkook’s stammering embarrassment. “Taehyungie is very pretty,” was the man’s conclusion, a knowing smile on his lips. “Anyone would jump at the chance to see him every day.”

Despite his burning cheeks at the insulation, Jungkook nodded along. Taehyung was so far out of his league that they weren’t even playing the same game, but it was a better excuse than Jungkook could’ve come up with so he ran with it. 

For a few weeks, the four men were some of their most frequent customers. They never introduced themselves, but they didn’t have to. Now that Jungkook had recognized Hoseok, it was obvious who his companions were. This was the core of the royal guard, the Elite. No wonder they made Jungkook’s coworkers anxious. 

As much as he tried not to, Jungkook couldn’t help but start to get attached to Hoseok, Jimin, and Jin. Yoongi kept his distance, which made it easier for Jungkook to maintain his original stubborn desire to stay away from him. The others, however, drew him in no matter how he struggled to aloof. They were just so personable. Friendly, open, and kind, they tolerated Jungkook’s uncertain stuttering and seemed to genuinely grow to care for him. 

This did nothing to alleviate Jungkook’s suspicions. Jungkook had absolutely nothing to offer any of them beyond maybe a passing distraction from the complexity of palace life. There was nothing remarkable about Jungkook other than his awkwardness, and he wasn’t making any particular effort to encourage their advances. There was no logical reason for them to keep coming back. 

Unless they really had been sent by his parents. Just because Taehyung didn’t recognize Jungkook didn’t mean that they weren’t here for him. It just meant that Taehyung hadn’t been told who he was. 

The possibility lingered in the back of Jungkook’s mind every time one of the men entered the shop, but he couldn’t help liking them anyway. Slowly but surely, he grew to anticipate their visits. His head whipped up at each tinkle of the bell over the door, and a small, but sincere smile crossed his lips at the sight of them. Even knowing they might be spying on him, Jungkook gradually began to genuinely appreciate them.  

Perhaps it was because the rest of his life was so bleak. The hassle of finding a third job on top of the two he already had gave way to hours of mind-numbing, grueling work stocking shelves, and Jungkook was still barely paying his bills. It was enough to keep him off the streets but also enough to drive him near mad with lack of rest. 

So yes, maybe Jungkook was latching on to the few people in his life who he could pretend were actually interested in him, no matter their true intentions. Sue him. 

Besides, Taehyung hadn’t kept his promise to come back yet. Understandable, considering Jungkook’s rather creepy staring the first time, but he’d promised. Jungkook couldn’t help but put stock in those words, regardless of the fact that he hadn't seen the man in more than fifteen years. This was Taehyung. 

One other member of the Elite hadn't stopped by the shop yet: Kim Namjoon. His absence was unsurprising though, as his position within the Elite remained secret. Namjoon's Talent was useless in combat situations, more suited to strategizing and information gathering than actually carrying through with the plans. It was also valuable enough that his safety couldn’t be risked. The attention that the Elite drew would only endanger him, so his involvement was kept under wraps. That meant he couldn’t be seen in company with the others as often, and Jungkook hadn’t really expected to meet him. 

Jungkook preferred it that way. It was better not to be on Kim Namjoon’s radar.

***

They said that variety was the spice of life, and Jungkook tried to follow that principle whenever possible in picking up jobs. It was something he cursed himself for when his body screamed for rest, and he had to ignore it to stock shelves instead, but it kept him sane in the long run. 

Keeping multiple jobs where he manned the cash register was not only eternally boring, but also stressful. Dealing with customers could be straining on a good day, and Jungkook really preferred to have no more than one job that forced him to keep his “customer smile” at a time. 

His options were limited. With only a high school diploma and a failed stint in college to his name, it was difficult to find any job that paid more than minimum wage. And that was before the complication that was his lack of a Talent. Talentless workers were considered next to helpless, assigned the easiest jobs and always the first to be “let go” when finances got unstable. They just weren’t as capable as the average person. 

Combining both of the factors severely cut down on the number of jobs that Jungkook was “qualified” to apply for. Never mind that his education was actually stellar and encompassed a wide range of topics that gave him basic skills in many fields. Never mind that Jungkook had once been very strong. Never mind his ability to pick up new ideas and tasks quickly. It all came down to the fact that he was Talentless.

Finding two jobs that were relatively steady and didn’t ask too many questions about his Talent had been a trial. Getting a third was a nightmare, and Jungkook had been forced to go for something a bit more taxing than he would’ve desired. Stocking shelves might’ve been an easy enough job for someone who ate regularly, slept more than five odd hours, and didn’t have two other jobs, but Jungkook fit none of those characteristics. 

His constantly overtaxed body struggled to roll out of bed most of the time. Even light physical labor pushed him just that little bit too hard. Particularly when it was his second shift of the day, and he’d worked part of the night the day before. A quick nap around dawn didn’t make up for the sleep he’d missed. 

Fatigue blurred the shelves before him and even the box of cans in his hands. Each time he bent over to grab an item from the stocking cart, his vision went momentarily dark. 

It was during one of these brief blackouts that someone slammed into him. Already off balance from the weight of the box in his hands, Jungkook went flying. The clang of the metal cans against the floor, the shelves, and each other accompanied Jungkook down as he hit the ground hard. 

On another day, he would’ve been up and apologizing in a second. The “customer is always right” mantra had been beaten into his head so many times that it was second nature by this point to take full blame even when he was the one harmed. Jungkook couldn't afford to loose this job. 

His body, unfortunately, did not get that message. Black rushed before his eyes for several seconds more, and his ears rang at a deafening pitch. For some period of time, he simply lay there, trying to make sense of the unexpected impact. 

By the time he was able to comprehend what was going on around him again, there were hands on his body. Unused to being touched and mortified that he’d essentially collapsed in front of some stranger, Jungkook scrambled against the ground to push himself upright. 

“—on’t get up so fast. Take it easy.” 

The deep voice resonated in his ears, and there were big hands on his shoulders trying to push him back down. A concerned face swam into view above him, plump lips turned down into a pouting frown and forehead creased. 

Kind as it may seem for the man to stop and care about Jungkook, Jungkook couldn’t help but be annoyed. He’d just been standing there, doing his job, and this man had come out of nowhere to flatten him. How fast must he have been going? This was a store, not a race track. 

“I’m sorry.” Jungkook’s plastic tone was slightly less sincere than it should've been, but hopefully his awkward seated bow should soothe any ruffled feathers. “I didn’t see you coming.”

“No it was me, I was in a hurry and tripped. It’s my fault. Are you hurt?”

Well, at least the apology mean that Jungkook probably wasn’t going to be fired for this.

“Oh no, sir.” His back felt like one giant bruise, and he’d definitely hit his elbow on the way down, but Jungkook would live. Nothing bad enough to send him to a doctor, thank all the stars in the sky. Even the thought made his breath stutter, and Jungkook turned to the culprit to distract himself. 

The guy looked like an overworked college professor on a midnight run for wine after a long day of grading. A modicum of sympathy pulled at Jungkook’s heart at the dark circles under his eyes, but irritation still simmered on the back burner. It had been a very difficult day. Jungkook was running a bit low on patience. 

“Good, that’s good. I’m sorry again, but—”

A sheen seemed to pass over the man’s eyes. His body went stiff, and he stared through Jungkook. The expression lasted a mere second or two, but it was odd enough to have Jungkook pushing himself up in concern. 

“Are you—?”

“I have to go!” The words were blurted out and left behind since the man was halfway down the aisle already. “Sorry again!” 

Jungkook stared after him, watching dispassionately as the man nearly stumbled over his own feet again. Strange, but not the worst interaction Jungkook had ever had with a customer. 

Then the man took the corner a bit too sharply and knocked down half a display of jam. Most of the jars were sturdy, thankfully, and survived the trip. The loud shattering of the few that burst on impact with the ground shredded the last of Jungkook’s patience. 

“Sorry! I’m sorry!” The man didn’t even marginally slow down. 

Looking at the cans by his feet and the mess of glass-infested jam further down the aisle, anger finally hit. The man was a hurricane of destruction, injuring Jungkook and destroying a perfectly clean display within moments before he streaked off into the night. It took nearly an hour to get everything cleaned up. 

Jungkook cursed the man under his breath with every throb of his bruises.

***

The man was standing next to Hoseok in line the next morning at the coffee shop. At first, Jungkook almost thought he was hallucinating. The stress had eased out of the man’s posture by now, and he was dressed completely differently, like some kind of CEO or politician in a sharp suit. 

Hoseok had never brought anyone except the Elite with him to the coffee shop, and it was only Namjoon that Jungkook hadn’t seen yet. At this moment, Jungkook realized exactly who he had been cursing out in his head for a full hour last night. 

Even back Before, Jungkook had heard whispers about Namjoon. The brilliant young Lord with a Talent that allowed him to see into the future had still be in his teens when Jungkook left the palace. No one knew the exact extent of Namjoon’s Talent, but people said he used it for his business deals to increase his already fabulous wealth. A shark in the court, Namjoon was known to be cut-throat and vicious without any weaknesses. He was a feared man, and that was without the knowledge that he was part of the Elite. 

The bashful man before him didn’t fit that image at all. “I’m sorry again, about yesterday.” The image of Namjoon scuffing a foot on the ground, looking up through his eyelashes at Jungkook despite being taller than him by several centimeters made Jungkook’s brain blue screen. “I was in a bit of a rush and didn’t realize how close I was cutting things.” 

“I—You—It was no trouble.” Jungkook’s entire body tensed with shock and horror. Kim Namjoon. He’d been mentally execrating Kim Namjoon. 

“No, I didn’t even stop to make sure you were ok. My behavior was unconscionable.” 

The bluntness of the statement flustered Jungkook. Namjoon seemed genuinely apologetic, and Jungkook didn’t know what to do with that. A person like Namjoon shouldn’t feel beholden to Jungkook at all. If he so desired, Namjoon could crush Jungkook financially, politically, and probably physically without a second thought. Yet here he was, self-recrimination on his features and Hoseok, who Jungkook had tentatively begun to trust, by his side. 

“I was fine, really. Nothing to worry about.” Much as he tried, Jungkook was sure his attempt to reassure Namjoon fell a bit flat. Social interactions on an interpersonal level had never been his forte, and he was still shaken up.  

Something about Namjoon’s posture said that he didn’t really believe Jungkook, but he only smiled and nodded politely. 

“I don’t always have the best vision.” The strange sheen over Namjoon’s eyes the night before flashed through Jungkook’s mind bringing understanding with it. Namjoon saw the future, but no one had ever claimed that he could control what he saw or when he saw it. If his Talent happened to activate while he was walking … 

Meeting Namjoon’s eyes, Jungkook tried to convey his sincerity as he repeated, “It was no trouble.”

“Aish, you didn’t tell me that you met our bunny last night!” Hoseok’s cheery interruption startled both of them enough that they finally broke off the odd little staring contest that Jungkook hadn’t meant to start. “Is that why you decided to come along today?” 

Namjoon gave no answer, just watched Jungkook consideringly. That didn’t faze Hoseok, however, as the fire-user chatted to Jungkook about his day and delicately asked about Jungkook’s own life. While Namjoon didn’t strike Jungkook as a particularly silent type, he did seem like he thought about things very deeply, and he was lost in contemplation for most of the time Hoseok lingered in the shop. The subject of his rumination was unmistakable: his gaze never left Jungkook for more than a few seconds. 

Namjoon wasn’t the first of Hoseok’s friends who didn’t try to engage with Jungkook. Yoongi rarely spoke when he accompanied Hobi, and Taehyung had been very quiet in his single visit as well. There was something different with Namjoon, though. 

Taehyung had likely been weirded out by Jungkook’s social ineptitude, and Yoongi spared only enough attention to confirm that Jungkook wasn’t a threat. Namjoon expressed a clear interest in Jungkook, but also didn’t push him to converse or share anything about his life. Jungkook felt as though he was being picked apart and analyzed. 

What Namjoon was looking for with his sharp eyes and puzzled frown, Jungkook couldn't tell. For once, it didn’t overwhelm him. The drive to understand the motives and personality of a potential new companion was something Jungkook was well acquainted with. Of all of the members of the Elite, Namjoon’s reaction to Jungkook felt the most realistic and genuine. 

By the time the two of them left the shop, Jungkook hadn’t spoken a single word more to Namjoon. Somehow, he felt closer to the man because of it. 

***

Driving semi-trucks through the night over the weekend was arguably Jungkook’s least favorite job. The schedule forced him to spend the entire weekend away from home, often staying up at odd hours in order to make the deadline of the delivery, only to turn around and immediately return to his other two jobs the very next day. Establishing a sleeping routine, or any routine in general really, proved impossible when this job destroyed any semblance of structure that Jungkook managed to create during the week. 

Jungkook’s dislike of the job was only compounded by the fact that the long drives gave him far too much time to think. The roads were nearly empty during the dark hours, and worries and doubts whispered in Jungkook's brain the whole way. 

Recently, the trips had been full of ruminations on his relationship with the Elite. Their motives for befriending him still eluded Jungkook, but somehow they had befriended him. 

After that first painfully awkward visit, Namjoon visited the coffee shop regularly. Of all Hoseok’s friends, he was the first to start coming without Hobi to buffer. The others followed after him, and finally, finally , Taehyung returned. 

The day that the stormbringer walked back through the door had been anticlimactic. Taehyung didn’t recognize Jungkook any more than he had the first time he came. There was no immediate sense of familiarity or “rightness.” Over a decade has passed since they saw each other, and Taehyung wasn’t the same person he had been. 

Neither was Jungkook. The little boy he once was had been eroded away, worn down with each new loss and trial. It wasn’t so easy for Jungkook to make friends anymore. The trust he had so readily extended as a child came much more difficult now, took much longer to form and remained fragile even once it was established. 

That didn’t seem to matter to the Elite. While they each started to care about Jungkook as more than just a “friend” of Hobi, they respected Jungkook’s boundaries and didn’t push him. If Jungkook had had a hard day and couldn’t muster more than a tired smile for them, that was ok. If he cut himself off in the middle of a sentence because he decided that no, he was not ready to say that, they skillfully changed the topic. 

That consideration, more than anything else, finally nurtured a tiny, blooming trust in Jungkook. If the Elite had been sent by his parents, they wouldn’t have waited this long. They would seek out information like hound dogs sniffing through every crevice of Jungkook’s life. His parents didn’t know how to do anything else, and they wouldn’t have thought to shift tactics when that had always proven successful. 

As he fought off a yawn and switched on his blinker to change lanes, Jungkook couldn't help but wonder what the Elite saw in him. This way of communication, bonding at a slow, but steady pace as they mutually pursued a relationship, was entirely foreign to Jungkook, and he knew he wasn’t good at it. He spent too much time listening and not enough talking. The things he shared weren’t as interesting or as deep as what the others seemed to feel comfortable telling him. 

Nevertheless, they kept coming back. The dynamic of their interactions shifted as each of them started to actually get to know Jungkook and vice versa. Their visits became more frequent until it was rare to go a single day without seeing at least one of them.

It was as terrifying as it was intoxicating. The depth of intimacy and true affection that Jungkook was starting to develop for the Elite breathed color back into his life. There was something to look forwards to almost every day, someone who would be excited to see him. Jungkook craved that and couldn’t help but lean into it when it was given so freely. 

It had reached a point where the coffee shop was no longer an appropriate venue for them to talk. For one thing, Jungkook did actually work there. On slow days, it was easy to spend upwards of half an hour talking to the others. When business picked up, however, getting a word in edgewise could be impossible. More than that, the topics they pursued were no longer so impersonal that they could be openly shared in a short conversation or in such a public setting. 

Even now, Jungkook had no idea what he had done to earn the privilege of their trust, and he thought about that regularly on these long drives. The possibility that he might ruin it all for himself purely because of his own social ineptitude and his inability to return the same level of vulnerability haunted him. Each new step towards putting faith in them came with difficulty. Jungkook constantly worried that he would falter at the wrong moment and lose it all. 

It had almost happened the first time Jimin had invited Jungkook out to lunch. He’d wanted to refuse, probably would’ve, if not for the fact that Jimin looked upset. Jimin didn’t seem to want to talk about that when they met up, though, and they spent the entire meal chatting about their shared love of dance instead. At first, helplessness at his inability to get Jimin to open up plagued Jungkook. By the end of the meal, that worry had melted away. Jimin didn't need a shoulder to cry on. The company was enough. 

That had been a turning point in his relationship with the Elite, and Jungkook could have so easily missed it entirely. The others were emboldened that first successful shared meal and took it in turns to ask Jungkook to meet outside of work. Jungkook’s work severely limited his freetime, but he made space for the Elite. There were quick breakfasts with Taehyung, afternoon strolls with Namjoon, picnics with Hoseok, late night caffeine runs with Jimin, and trips to food markets with Jin. 

They had their stumbling points, of course. Jungkook’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel, and he cringed at the memory of how long it had taken for Taehyung to move past their first meeting. While he was working with a blank slate for the rest of the Elite, Jungkook had history with Taehyung. That shaped Jungkook’s approach to the weather elemental and what he expected of their relationship, even if Taehyung didn’t realize it. 

Forgetting the days they had spent together as children would be impossible, and Jungkook had no desire to. At the same time, he couldn’t expect Taehyung to even resemble his twelve-year-old self. Negotiating that gap was awkward for Jungkook, which made it awkward for Taehyung as well.

Taehyung wasn’t oblivious, and he knew Jungkook had reacted differently to him than to anyone else. Unlike Jimin, he had seen the expression on Jungkook’s face and couldn’t brush it off as mere attraction. Jungkook was also acutely aware that he’d made Taehyung uncomfortable. 

Every interaction was stilted, and Taehyung was the last, bar Yoongi, to get Jungkook alone. In the end, Taehyung’s curiosity won out. They’d barely sat down at the restaurant when the stormbringer bluntly asked why Jungkook always looked at him oddly. 

For a long moment, Jungkook couldn’t answer. The almost obstinate expression on Taehyung’s face was so familiar, exactly identical to the look he used to get when his parents tried to drag him home and Taehyung wanted to stay with Jungkook for just a few more minutes. 

Jungkook’s chest ached. “You remind me of someone who was very dear.”

The smallest hint of a melancholic grey passed over Taehyung’s eyes as he considered Jungkook. “Tell me about him.”

The words had flooded out like they’d been crowding in Jungkook’s chest, just waiting for permission. It had been years since Jungkook allowed himself to think too deeply about Taehyung, and longer since he’d spoken about him to anyone else. 

Perhaps it should’ve been odd to commemorate Taehyung to Taehyung, but it had settled something between them. Made it easier for Jungkook to differentiate between the child he’d loved and the man who reacted to his own description with no recognition. They had been different people then, and Jungkook couldn’t build a new relationship off of the crumbled base of their old one. 

What that meeting had done for Taehyung, Jungkook couldn’t guess. The expression on his face had been thoughtful and oddly endeared by the time they parted ways. He’d looked at Jungkook with a new warmth. To be fair, it was probably the most Jungkook had said to Taehyung since the older man walked back into his life. 

Turning off the highway into the truck stop where he would stay for the night, Jungkook wondered what he’d said that had change Taehyung’s impression enough for the stormbringer to want to deepen their friendship. Again the reason why any of them had an interest in Jungkook plagued him. Jungkook was nothing special and had nothing to offer the Elite. Talentless and unable even to adequately care for himself, Jungkook couldn’t fathom what they got out of forming a bond with him. 

For years now, Jungkook had thought that he finally understood the world. People acted according to their own advantage, even if it hurt those around them. It was survival instinct, and Jungkook couldn’t fault them for following their natural and logical inclinations.

The connection he was building with the Elite wasn’t logical. No matter how he wracked his brain, Jungkook couldn’t think of a single reason why they would choose to be associated with him. 

Why had Hoseok ever looked twice at Jungkook in the first place? Why did they keep coming back when Jungkook was nothing more than distantly polite to them at first? It was so much effort to put into a perfect stranger on a whim, especially once they realized how useless Jungkook was.  

The questions haunted him, lingering at the edges of every outing, the quiet nights in that gradually grew more frequent, and of course these lonely drives. Shutting off the truck and laying down to nap for just long enough to get him through the rest of the drive, Jungkook resolved never to ask. He wasn’t sure he would be able to stomach the answer. 

***

Life didn’t pause just so Jungkook could spend time with the Elite. His schedule, already ripped to shreds by that third job, tore a bit more each minute he devoted to them. There was very little room for flexibility, and the Elite kept just as odd of hours as Jungkook did, so they often met at night. 

That was perfectly fine with Jungkook; sleep never came easy, and he tossed and turned with overcritical thoughts for far too long before he dropped off. That voice of recrimination seemed quieter after staying up too late with his hyungs. 

That also might be purely due to exhaustion. Even before Jungkook had something to fill his free time other than sketching and trying not to focus on how out of control his life had spun, Jungkook wasn’t getting enough sleep. Now it was fifteen minute naps snatched on the bus between jobs, dozing off with his head in Taehyung’s lap during movie night, and finally crashing a few hours whenever he had a marginally longer break. 

The world wore Jungkook down. Fatigue hunched his shoulders and made it increasingly taxing to drag himself to work every morning. Perhaps that was why he missed the hand slipping into his pocket when he was on his way home from a post-midnight shift. 

A stranger stumbled into him, shoulder-checking Jungkook and continuing without so much as a sorry. Too tired to do more than steady his own footing and spare a brief irritated thought, Jungkook didn’t even look up. At least they weren’t big enough to send him to the ground like Namjoon had done, he mused with a wry humor. 

“Ah, ah, ah.” The familiar, but unexpected voice stopped Jungkook in his tracks. His mind buzzed with muzzily confused excitement at the prospect of seeing Jin, even though he couldn’t compute why his Hyung was here, holding the wrist of the man who had just bumped into Jungkook. “I think you have something that doesn’t belong to you.”

Jimin scowled at Jin’s side, plucking Jungkook wallet (holy shit, that was his next week of meals in there, what if his Hyungs hadn’t been there, and Jungkook lost that money, what would he even do ?) from the stranger. Jungkook hadn’t even realized it was missing. 

“You won’t be doing this again now, will you?" The saccharine sweetness of Jimin's tone matched the way he smiled with too many teeth. "Because it would be such a shame if you happened to try it on the wrong person. You might get hurt, you know?”

Jimin was such a small man, but there was no mistaking him for harmless. Something almost predatory reared in him as he looked at the thief. Something cold and ruthless and vengeful. 

“Oh, I’m sure he’s smarter than that,” Jin purred, voice deeper than Jungkook had ever heard it and edged with knives. 

Part of Jungkook was fascinated with this new side of his hyungs, the side that he knew dominated most of their lives. These were not the same men who giggled uncontrollably at Namjoon’s clumsiness or held Jungkook's hand so gently. The Royal guard stood before him now. His hyungs had never brought their work into their interactions with Jungkook, and part of him wanted to see how far they would take it. 

A greater part, however, sympathized with the thief. This part of town was far from the clean streets and beautiful buildings of the city center. Everyone needed money in the slums, and Jungkook couldn’t begrudge this man for trying to support himself by whatever means necessary. If Jungkook wasn’t so close to being homeless himself, he might’ve offered the man a bit of money. 

As it was, he could only remonstrate with his hyungs. “Let him go, he didn’t hurt me.” 

All eyes snapped to him immediately. Jungkook shuffled nervously, unused to being the center of attention. It had become easier to handle people in general since Jungkook started talking to the Elite, but they made sure Jungkook was comfortable at all times. If they saw that he was getting overwhelmed, as he usually did when everyone focused on him, they accommodated that discomfort. 

Tonight, Jungkook was too tired to care very much. He knew what he wanted and he intended to get it. Hyungs rarely denied him anyway, and while Jungkook would never take advantage of that for himself, he was willing to do it for someone else. 

“I just want to go home, Hyung.” Deliberately pouting, he crept closer to tuck himself into Jimin’s side. 

Both of them softened at that gesture, the fondness in their eyes bringing a soft pink tint to Jungkook’s cheeks. It was easier than it probably should be to just let go and allow himself to be vulnerable in front of them. Jungkook hadn’t realized that they had reached this point yet, achieved this level of trust. 

Just as he predicted, Jin’s grip loosened at Jungkook’s request. His gaze lingered softly on Jungkook for a moment longer, then hardened as he turned back to the thief. “This was just an accident, right?”

A mutinous irritation danced behind the man’s eyes, but he clearly understood that he was in over his head here. With a sullen nod, he yanked his wrist back from Jin. Exerting none of his considerable strength, Jin let him. 

“Best be on your way, then, before we start to think that it wasn’t such an innocent mistake.”

No one would be stupid enough to ignore that suggestion. The man shot off and was halfway down the street by the time Jin approached and set a hand on Jungkook’s hip.

“Aish, you should be more careful, darling.” The reprimand had no fire behind it, just the twinkle of worry in Jin’s tone. “We’re just lucky that Jimin and I happened to be passing through.”

That statement was the final straw for Jungkook, because he knew how Jin’s luck worked. An unpredictable asset that assisted Jin in ways that were often beyond his comprehension at the time, Luck was Jin's Talent. One factor remained consistent: it only worked to the advantage of Jin and those was fond of.

If Jin’s Talent had worked to keep Jungkook out of trouble, that meant that Jin cared deeply about Jungkook. Jungkook was too exhausted to keep silently wondering why. 

“I don’t understand. Why are you here?”

Cocking his head, Jin studied him with a knowing glint in his eye. Jungkook didn’t understand the silent sympathy behind that expression, but this wasn’t his first time seeing it. 

Sometimes, when Jin thought no one was looking, his proud posture collapsed and hunched in on itself, and the veneer of his placid personality fell away for true pain. On those days, Jungkook was a bit more gentle, calmer, more forward with his affection. Everyone needed to know they were wanted sometimes. 

Today was the first time Jungkook allowed himself to show that same vulnerability and ask so plainly for reassurance. 

“Well, Jiminie and I decided to go for a walk tonight, and this direction just felt right to me.”

Jungkook shook his head impatiently. 

“No, why are you here? With me? Why has Hoseok been so kind to me, and why did the rest of you bother with me at all? I have nothing to offer you.”

Jimin’s body stiffed behind him, and his chest expanded as though ready to tell Jungkook exactly what he thought of that statement. A quelling look from Jin stopped him in his tracks. “Kind isn’t a word most people usually associate with Hobi.” Jin spoke slowly, as though considering every word.

“That’s not very fair, Hyung,” Jimin interrupted. His arms wrapped tighter around Jungkook’s waist, still a bit petulant that he hadn’t been allowed to scold Jungkook’s self-deprecation as he usually did. “Hyung can’t help that his Talent is so conspicuous or how people view it.”

“I didn’t say it was fair, I’m just stating a fact. No matter how Hoseok presents himself, people tend to find him intimidating.”

Taken aback, Jungkook tried to make that fit with his own experience of Hoseok. That sounded nothing like the man he’d met. Of Course he knew that Hoseok, the head of the Royal guard, could be intimidating, but that wasn’t how the fire-starter carried himself in everyday life. Hoseok cultivated an impression of intensity, but nothing as overt and threatening as these two seemed to be intimating. 

“It isn’t often that our Hobi takes enough of a shine to someone that he’s nice right of the bat,” Jin continued. “Last time he did, we got Yoongi from the deal. We all trust his judgment, and at first, that was why we agreed to meet you.”

That … actually did make sense. Jungkook had done nothing to catch their attention, but that didn’t matter because it had nothing to do with Jungkook. Their bond with Hoseok led them to try to form a relationship with Jungkook despite his reticence.

Jin’s grip on his hip became harsher. “That does not mean that we merely took his lead with no thought of our own, though. We followed Hoseok to meet you, but we came back for you. At first it was idle curiosity, but the more we got to know you, the more we started to like you for you .”

“For your kindness.” One of Jimin’s arms released Jungkook’s waist to tuck the wallet into Jungkook’s hand, encouraging him to close his fingers around it. “For your ability to tell when we’re having a bad day and just need quiet time. For your pretty smile and the way you pick flowers to give Namjoon.” 

“For your intelligence,” Jin continued. “For your sense of humor and your genuine concern for us as people. Don’t underestimate the contribution that you make to our friendship in time, thought, and affection. Those are the most valuable things you can give to another person, and they’re often in short supply.” 

It struck Jungkook that making new friends must be very difficult for the six of them. They held so much power, were so famous and wealthy. That left them at a huge risk of being taken advantage of. Many people would be willing to fake affection for the benefits that a friend of the Elite might accrue.

Ironic though it was, Jungkook’s initial coldness towards them might’ve been exactly what they needed to pique their interest. Despite recognizing them, Jungkook didn’t make a fuss over them, and he never asked them for anything. First hand experience had taught Jungkook that these were promising signs in a potential friend. 

Jungkook hadn't purposely changed his behavior, his reserve was simply a factor of his own lack of confidence and social awkwardness. Being himself had somehow made him more appealing to them. 

“Hyung is right,” Jimin said. “It may not feel like you’ve done much for us, but there’s no unit to measure the effort and care that people put into their relationships. Regardless of why we decided to meet you, that isn’t something that can be faked.

“You would have to ask Hobi why he found you so intriguing to begin with, but I personally think you remind him of himself.”

Jungkook’s mouth fell open. “Me?” No part of him at all resembled Hoseok in all his brilliant light and confidence. 

“Hyung has worked hard to get where he is.” A sad frown pulled at Jimin’s lips. “It’s easy to lose yourself in the struggle of just existing and to watch the world passively while you tread water trying to keep your head afloat. You didn’t do that. Even knowing that Hyung is upper-class and could significantly change your life for the better or worse, you spoke back to him and refused to simply take advantage of what he was offering. That kind of determination and independence is rare.”

No one had ever called Jungkook independent in his life. Talentless meant helpless. How could he ever be independent? 

Except. Well. Jimin was right. It would’ve been so easy to take Hoseok up on that original offer of food, but Jungkook had refused. Some may call it pride, but Jungkook had no pride. Not since he tested Talentless and became unable to fill the role he was born for. No, Jungkook just refused to rely on anyone else like that, especially if it meant turning back towards the palace. 

Some of that stemmed from his lack of self-esteem (why should he take up resources that other people might need or deserve more), but the greater portion grew from Jungkook’s long standing drive to prove that he was not, in fact, useless. Talent or no, he could support himself and conduct his own affairs just like any other person. Wasn’t that the definition of independence? 

If that was the reason behind Hoseok's pursuit, his approach of visiting regularly, but allowing Jungkook to set the pace of their interactions suddenly made much more sense. It emphasized Jungkook’s agency and allowed him to maintain that independence. Hoseok had picked up on a value that Jungkook didn’t even know he had and structured their relationship in order to honor that. The thought filled his chest with an incredible warmth and fondness. 

“You could ask him, if you came home with us tonight," Jin offered with a bit of hesitation. While Jungkook had been to their various apartments several times (Jin, Hoseok, and Yoongi’s shared flat more than the others), he had never stayed the night. 

“If I come home with you tonight, all I’m going to be doing is sleeping.” 

It was too late for that kind of discussion, and Jungkook needed to think through what Jin and Jimin had said before anyone gave him more information to process.

Jimin’s chuckle rumbled through their joined chests. “You’re going to become the next Yoongi-hyung, if you keep this up.”

“I’m not the next anyone. Except maybe the next body in the gutter if I don’t get some sleep before my next shift.”

Jin’s loud laugh rang through the deserted street, but it was Jimin who answered. “I see you are the next Yoongi-hyung, then. Under that logic, food is undoubtedly necessary before you sleep. Hobi-hyung is making us a snack already, so hopefully that means it will be edible.”

Letting go of Jungkook’s waist, Jimin grabbed his wrist and began to lead him down the street. 

“Never eat anything Namjoon cooks for you," he said seriously. "As much as I love the man, the food poisoning isn’t worth protecting his feelings.” 

With the return of the more casual mood, Jungkook’s overtaxed body made its opinion once more. His stomach ached hollowly, and his thoughts grew foggy again now that the adrenaline had faded. Jin had probably just saved him from at least three more breakdowns about finances, and Jimin’s hold around his wrist was comfortingly tight, just the right amount of pressure to be reassuring rather than painful. Jimin was a force of nature when he wanted something. Jungkook’s best bet would be to follow without question. 

The familiar sense of helpless acceptance washed over Jungkook. For the first time in what felt like years, it was not also hopeless. 

***

Staying the night at Jin, Hoseok, and Yoongi’s apartment changed things. There was a level of familiarity and comfort with a person that only came from passing out and drooling all over their sheets only to wake up in the morning and find them arguing about whose turn it was to drop off the dry cleaning. Jungkook felt more settled, more secure in a way that scared him after so long on his own. 

Instead of confronting that feeling like a responsible adult, Jungkook chose to ignore it. There were other things to focus on, namely his work, his hyungs, and the only one still mostly unknown: Yoongi. 

While the others had actively tried to coax out time and conversation from Jungkook, Yoongi was more standoffish. By no means did Jungkook get the impression that Yoongi disliked him, but neither of them had put in the effort to become more than passingly familiar. A slight distance hung between them that was slowly being erased in Jungkook’s relationship with all the others. 

Since he was spending more time at the apartment, Jungkook naturally saw a lot more of Yoongi. At first, he was afraid his presence might make Yoongi uncomfortable. Jin and Hoseok wouldn’t invite Jungkook to their home so much if Yoongi didn’t want him there, though. The fact that he was regularly invited to spend time and even stay in their apartment (since it was close to all three of Jungkook’s jobs) told Jungkook that Yoongi at least didn’t mind his presence. 

It quickly became apparent to him that Yoongi wasn’t necessarily avoiding him, so much as he was as socially awkward as Jungkook. Yoongi didn’t know how to go about making friends now that he no longer considered Jungkook a threat. Unfortunately, Jungkook wasn’t any more confident in that arena, so they orbited around each other, friendly enough and happy to share space, but not close. 

Which was ironic because Jungkook and Yoongi did actually have several things in common. Neither of them had a functional sleep schedule, and both were raging introverts. Jungkook also got the sense that Yoongi had gone through some financial difficulties in the past. 

It was the small things: the way Yoongi almost cringed when Hoseok threw out expired food; his tiny obsession with hot showers; how everyone looked to Yoongi when they needed to know if something fit within their budget. 

Almost more tellingly, Yoongi had clearly experienced some sort of discrimination due to his Talent. If Jungkook could recognize the signs of monetary struggles, he was practically fine-tuned to pick up evidence of Talent related issues. To anyone without the shared background of trauma (medical trauma, sensitivity to certain comments, difficult familial relationships) Yoongi would seem like just an average person. 

To Jungkook, the scars were livid and impossible to hide. 

Jungkook had hoped to never see that kind of hurt in someone that he cared for, but it also bound them with iron tendrils. As Jungkook categorized Yoongi’s behavior and recognized their similar pasts, Yoongi was doing the same. 

Their relationship formed slowly, not through conversation in the beginning. There were evenings staring blankly at a drama that they were both too tired to follow. Mornings of sharing the kitchen to prepare breakfast for Jin and Hoseok. Late nights when they both stumbled in during the A.M. hours and sat silently in the kitchen, too anxious to sleep. 

Eventually, words started to trickle into the void between them. Pleasantries and small talk were superfluous, so they mostly communicated in blunt, disconnected snippets. 

“You should sleep.”

“I haven’t eaten today.”

“Jimin’s having a bad day and needs extra love.”

Somehow, it was easier to be honest with Yoongi, and Yoongi was honest with Jungkook in return. For all that he’d come to know Yoongi last out of all of them, Jungkook felt the least need to hide himself from Yoongi. 

Yoongi, unlike the others, understood what it was like to be damned from birth by a Talent you couldn’t control. They both knew first hand how insurmountable the daily tasks of a normal life could be with a less than desirable Talent. 

It wasn’t a simple matter of social status. Talents decided everything from which career path a person should take to their salary in their chosen field. Most people found ways to use their Talent on the job, and if your skill wasn’t applicable, it lowered your “value” as an employee. 

This was reflected in pay, work assignments, and even interactions between fellow workers. Those without “useful” Talents had the most grueling tasks that no one else wanted, and their efforts tended to go unacknowledged. 

Everything from grocery prices to rent was subject to duplication at least, if people found out about your Talent, and simple necessities could quickly become impossible to afford. Some businesses refused to service those with particularly undesirable Talents. 

All of this bigotry Yoongi had weathered early in life just as Jungkook had. The only difference was that he found a way to repurpose his Talent to become a part of the most respected section of the Royal guard. Jungkook had no such option. 

As Jungkook and Yoongi got more and more comfortable with each other and started to find ways to connect and communicate, Jungkook seriously considered asking how Yoongi had managed before joining the guard. There had to be something Jungkook was missing. The financial pressure was mounting again now that winter was coming and the cold with it. Heating, even for an apartment as small and infrequently used as Jungkook’s, contributed a significant amount to the bills. 

On one of Jungkook’s few free mornings, an opportunity finally presented itself. His shift last night had run long, so Jungkook had stayed in his hyungs' apartment rather than make the trek back to his own. Hoseok and Jin had already left for work, and Jungkook assumed that Yoongi had gone with them. 

Although he wanted nothing more than to enjoy the rare lazy morning, the heavy weight of the letters of notice in his backpack eventually weighed Jungkook down so much that he spread them out in another vain attempt at finding a solution. 

No matter how he puzzled over his expense books, Jungkook just couldn’t figure out how to make ends meet. He’d managed to make rent last month, by some miracle, but that was a feat he had no confidence in his ability to repeat. It was getting colder. 

One hand wove through his curls and tugged lightly while he regarded the letters in frustration. A hesitant knock on the doorframe startled him before he could get completely lost in the helplessness that always seemed to choke him when it came to bills. 

Scrambling to collect all of his papers, Jungkook flushed. Yoongi’s hours weren’t as predictable as the others. While Jin and Hoseok were obvious public figures, Yoongi tended to stay in the shadows, only appearing when he was needed. His work behind closed doors allowed the Elite to function as effectively as they did, but few people were aware of how much he contributed. It also forced him to work odd hours that could change at a moment’s notice. Just Jungkook’s luck that they happened to be cut short today. 

“I-I’m sorry,” Jungkook stuttered, dropping more letters than he managed to put away in his haste. Tears pricked as Yoongi bent to help and inadvertently got a good look at exactly what Jungkook was dealing with. 

For a second, Yoongi was silent as he read the paper over. Then the corners of his mouth tipped down in a frown, and he said, “This is a lot for that side of town. Talent taxing should be illegal.”

And that was it. Jungkook was exhausted, and his chest ached with anxiety. Quiet tears finally slipped down his cheeks as he fell onto his butt and abandoned the papers. 

Talent taxing was the street term for jacking the price sky high for a person with a weak Talent. Jungkook had been dealing with it since he was seventeen, and it disgusted him that Yoongi could recognize that particular addendum to the bill so easily. The landlord was trying to be subtle about it, hiding it under the label “upkeep fee.” People with no useful Talent obviously needed more help maintaining the property, after all. It was only fair. 

It was discrimination, and it made Jungkook sick that Yoongi had experienced it too. 

“How did you do it?” Jungkook finally asked the question that had been on his mind for weeks, crumbling a few bills under his fists in a vain attempt to control his emotions. “I don’t— no matter what I try or how many jobs I get, it’s never enough. How did you manage, with your Talent?”

Yoongi had still not shared his Talent, nor was it public knowledge, and Jungkook would never push, but that question of how …  Jungkook would take literally any advice at this point. Anything. 

For a moment, Yoongi didn’t answer. He also didn’t need clarification, however, and finally sank down to sit next to Jungkook on the floor. 

“I’m very lucky to have several amazing friends who taught me how to help myself.” Gentle hands guided Jungkook’s head to rest against Yoongi’s shoulder and a solid arm wrapped around his waist. Yoongi thoughtfully ignored the way his shirt quickly became soaked with Jungkook’s tears. 

“It wasn’t really any one thing, but a collection of several. The most important, of course, was finding a workplace with strict policies against Talent discrimination.” 

Shocked out of his tears, Jungkook sat bolt upright and leaned way too far into Yoongi’s space. “Those exist?”

In all of the many, many places Jungkook had worked, no one had even pretended that Talent was immaterial. The idea that there were places where Talent wasn’t even considered was mind boggling. 

Then again, his jobs had largely been chosen for him. For all that Jungkook did the work of searching out possible employment himself, the final decision had always been made by others. His parents weren’t quite willing to give up that level of control on Jungkook’s schedule and income. 

They did always do him the courtesy of choosing from a list that Jungkook offered, though. If all of the options Jungkook came up with had rules against Talent discrimination … A tiny flutter of hope beat at his chest. 

“They’re rare,” Yoongi admitted, “but I can help you find a few if you give me an idea of your skillset.”

“I … have a resume?” It came out as more questioning than Jungkook meant it to, but Jungkook was still reeling. “I can show you …”

He trailed off, digging through the papers that surrounded them for the copy of his resume that he had taken to carrying around with him. 

And so he and Yoongi ended up sitting on the ground in front of the couch, going over the finer points of Jungkook’s work experience. As extensive as Jungkook’s work experience was, it took him nearly two hours to explain the full extent of his capabilities to Yoongi. A further hour or so of guided internet searches under Yoongi’s capable hands followed. 

By the time they paused for lunch, Jungkook was simultaneously drained and buzzing with a foreign excitement and, dare he say it, hope. Some of these places didn’t even ask their employee’s Talents, and the rest of them promised a base salary that easily doubled what Jungkook made at his most lucrative job. 

“You have a lot of skills and work experience,” Yoongi said as he stood and stretched leisurely. “I can give you some resources for business that I think might be a good fit, but you already have everything you need just with your own merits.” He extended a hand to help Jungkook up. 

“You’re not helpless, Jungkook-ah. You just needed a few pointers towards the right direction.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, Jungkook thought maybe that was something he could believe. He had a plan with a good chance of success, and he had far more control in the decision process than usual. 

Taking Yoongi’s hand, Jungkook heaved himself up and surveyed the pile of bills once more but also the laptop screen with at least ten tabs open to possible job opportunities. That black cloud of resignation and defeat Jungkook had been living under for nearly as long as he could remember finally lightened a little bit. 

The sense of agency that had slowly blossomed as he bumbled his way through making friends took root in this new possibility of becoming financially stable for the first time ever. 

Jungkook was not helpless. It was an idea that he could get used to. 

Chapter Text

Jungkook’s early childhood was a golden glow of games in the garden, silk clothing, and tables overflowing with food. Jungkook had laughed freely, played with his friends, and learned everything that caught his fancy. 

In his very earliest memories, his parents featured prominently. The delighted smile on his mother’s face when Jungkook burst into her bedroom at night and demanded a hug. The proud smirk his father wore when Jungkook excelled in every physical activity he tried. 

Jungkook had not shown a Talent from birth. That wasn’t particularly rare, really. Some Talents were so specific that they didn’t come into play until much later in a child’s life. Others were so powerful and destructive that an infant would never be able to control them. 

In the beginning, Jungkook imagined his lack of a visible Talent had occasioned joy as a promising sign that some strong ability was brewing just below the surface, waiting for the moment that Jungkook was physically capable of handling it. 

But the years rolled by, and no Talent made itself known. By the time he was six, people started to get concerned. 

His parents’ smiles grew stiff and their hugs stiffer. Synthetic approval layered over disappointed expectations and growing confusion. There had been a sense of anxiety and uncertainty whenever his parents visited. Their presence became increasingly rare, and Jungkook struggled to feel an emotional connection even when they appeared physical. His parents loomed in the background, ever more detached as the years went by. 

Just after Jungkook’s tenth birthday, it occurred to them that Jungkook might be purposely suppressing his Talent. No child of theirs could be Talentless, of course, so Jungkook must be deliberately holding back. 

It was at this point that Jungkook’s life was first thrown entirely off course. 

Even as his parents slowly withdrew, they had always made sure that Jungkook was well cared for and surrounded by friends and attendants who could provide him companionship. These people had become Jungkook’s mainstay, the boey that he could cling to in the storm of loneliness that rose whenever it occurred to Jungkook that he hadn’t seen his parents in days. His friends, Taehyung in particular, meant everything to Jungkook. He’d found comfort in the fact that they’d stayed even when his parents no longer seemed to want him.

Everything changed overnight. 

One day he had more playmates than he could keep up with, and the next his world was empty. Garden, playroom, sitting room, classroom all sat bare of the friends who had kept him company since infancy. 

At first, Jungkook had thought it was all some strange dream. What else was he supposed to assume when all the people in his life vanished with no explanation? His tutor, the only person left behind, ignored all questions about Jungkook’s peers and lectured as though the scratch of expensive fountain pens and the sighs of his bored pupils weren’t missing. 

Jungkook drifted through the day in an odd sort of haze, not entirely convinced that he was awake even as hunger gnawed at his belly, and his chest tightened strangely. A sinister sort of tension hung suspended, like the whole world was waiting for something that Jungkook hadn’t been cued in on. 

Every part of his being ached for Taehyung. Sure, Jungkook had other friends, but Taehyung was different. Jungkook relied on Taehyung. His hyung chased people away when they teased Jungkook for his lack of a Talent and crept through the long corridors of the palace to sneak into bed with Jungkook on nights when Jungkook was feeling particularly lonely. 

More than any of the others, Taehyung loved Jungkook. It was one of the few truths that had always remained immutable as the rest of the world shifted around (shifted away from) Jungkook. 

His absence was like missing a limb. Each time Jungkook turned, expecting to find his best friend at his elbow only to meet empty air, Jungkook’s mind retreated further from his body. Everything spiraled detached, and nothing felt quite real. 

By evening, all Jungkook wanted to do was sleep. If he slept in a dream, surely he would wake up in the real world, right? Everything would go back to normal. It had to. The confusion and fearful anticipation couldn’t go on much longer. 

Picking listlessly at his dinner, Jungkook asked to be put to bed early for the first time that night. As a child who had always been active and engaged in so many activities that he whined incessantly about bedtime, this was out of character enough that his friends would’ve frowned, and his trusted servant might’ve checked him for a fever. 

But there was no one except his tutor, who had taken over dressing him in the morning and now readied him for bed with a similar level of professional disinterest. 

No one until the tutor left his room and held the door open for Jungkook's parents on the way out. 

The condescending smile on his father’s face would never fade from Jungkook’s mind. As young as Jungkook was, a bubble of dread popped in his stomach at the sight. His hands twisted in his sheet before he could stop himself, and the world become dim and distant.

“Now Jungkookie.” His mother, sweeping in with a flare of dyed silk and cloying perfume, her pout a twisted mockery of sympathy. “I suppose you’ve figured out by now what’s happened.”

Numb, frozen with a growing awareness of his own situation, Jungkook shook his head. 

His mother frowned. “A shame. I thought you were cleverer than that.” 

She’d once praised him for just that, prattling endless to anyone within hearing that her little boy was the cleverest in the land. Perhaps it should shock him to hear her take that back now, but Jungkook had long since accepted that she no longer cared about his intelligence. Not when his Talent was so much more important. 

A single thorn of aching ice crept through Jungkook’s chest, but nothing more. 

His father patted her hand comfortingly. “We’ve spoken to you many times about your Talent, Jungkook-ah.” 

His body felt disconnected and frozen, but a bolt of pure, terrifying clarity lit Jungkook’s mind. 

“I understand wanting to keep it secret for a dramatic reveal, darling, but this has really gone on too long.” Saccharine, simpering sincerity dripped from his mother’s tone. “People are starting to ask questions, and we need to know.”

“But I—I don’t know what my Talent it.” His stutter had been trained out of him long ago, and his parents both frowned at it now. Or perhaps at the lack of cooperation. Or maybe just at his existence in general. It was hard to tell, sometimes, why they were upset with him. 

“Jungkook, we’re not asking you to use it yet, and no one else has to know. Don’t you trust your parents?” 

An insidious voice in the back of Jungkook’s mind asked how he was supposed to trust when he saw them maybe a few times a month. Maybe if they still loved him like they had when he was younger, Jungkook might want to share things with them. That didn’t seem like something his father would want to hear, so Jungkook kept it to himself. 

“It’s hiding,” he offered instead, reciting the words he’d so often been told. “It doesn’t want to come out yet.”

The temperature in the room dropped. His parents both scowled. 

“I see.” His mother’s tone was frigid. The glow of his nightlight became sharper, hardened into razor sharp peaks. The shadows whorled just behind them, agitated and threatening to become corporeal. “Well, I’m sure it will come out eventually. No one likes to play with someone who’s hiding things, after all. You’ll probably get lonely.”

A strand of darkness curled around Jungkook’s chest. Perhaps his father’s talent. Perhaps his own mind, recoiling in dread though he was too young to truly recognize the threat. 

“You can let us know whenever your Talent feels like coming out.” The assurance rang false because his father’s posture had shifted. Withdrawn. 

A plastic smile bounced ghoulishly between the two of them, malformed in the uncanny lighting.

“Sleep well, Jungkook.” 

They were gone as soon as they had come. In and out of his life as concisely as surgeons making precise cuts that drastically altered the whole.

As the door clicked closed behind them, Jungkook wondered for the thousandth time what he’d done wrong. Why didn’t they want to be around him anymore? There was his Talent, of course, but Jungkook couldn’t control that. Surely they didn’t expect him to? There had to be something more, something he was missing that he’d done wrong and could maybe fix. 

Something that would make them love him again. 

The empty pull of useless frustration at watching his parents walk away was already familiar for Jungkook, but this time was different. This time, they’d taken something else with them. 

Jungkook never saw his friends again. 

***

Air wheezed thinly through Jungkook’s lungs, catching and stuttering on the yawning pit of emptiness and loss that only grew with each passing year. He hadn’t dreamed of that night in a while. Not since he’d started spending so much time around his new friends, at least. 

They’d started to bridge a gap, healing over old wounds with their pure-hearted care for him and soothing aches Jungkook had never allowed himself to even acknowledge. The nightmares had faded in the face of relationships he’d only ever daydreamed about. 

Perhaps his parents’ calls had triggered it. They’d been more frequent recently, and he’d found them more irritating than anything, but the subconscious was a funny thing. It could dredge up even the most well-hidden anxieties into terrible technicolor. 

At this moment, Jungkook remembered none of that. He was that tiny child alone in a huge bed staring at a nightlight that could be weaponized against him. That was the last night he used a nightlight. In fact, it was the last night for a lot of things. 

The last night of his childhood, really. 

Jungkook’s friends had only been the first thing to go. His toys followed. Then his sports equipment. His pocket money. 

His food.

Hunger was a foreign in beast that became a constant companion, gnawing away at Jungkook’s stomach until all that was left was a hole where he was used to the tightness of decadent meals. That night had only been the first in a series of nights in the pitch black, too numb to cry but too empty to sleep. 

Eventually, his parents conceded. Rail thin and confined to his bed with weakness, Jungkook clearly wasn’t hiding a Talent. 

Things did not get better. 

A gasping whimper tore from his chest at the thought. Empty (always empty, why was he so empty?) lungs begged and struggled. The first shiver set off a trembling that quaked his entire frame. 

His delicate constitution didn’t handle stress well. It was only natural, after all, that someone in his condition would not be able to live a normal life as a functioning member of society. There was no great mystery to his ill-health. Not once they understand what was really wrong with him. 

Talentless. 

Doctors murmured the word hesitantly, expressions a dizzying kaleidoscope of pity, contempt, anxiety, apology. They all knew the ramifications. 

Jungkook hadn’t. An ominous inkling pinched at the back of his mind, but nothing concrete. He’d learned. 

Just like he’d learned to pull himself back together after nightmare-induced anxiety attacks. It should be rote by this time, a routine that Jungkook shouldn’t even need to think about, except he wasn’t in his own space, and he hadn’t had this dream in a long time, and there were people here— 

“Hey now.” Taehyung’s face swam into view above him, softened with concern. 

Raw from the memory and confused by the juxtaposition of Taehyung in both dream and reality, Jungkook couldn’t decide whether he wanted to latch on to his Hyung and never let go or push Taehyung away. 

His presence was so wildly out of place even now that Jungkook’s head spun. Flickers of the child who had once been Jungkook’s best friend superimposed themselves over the man he was learning to love once more. His chest tightened like a clamp. 

“You’re going to make yourself pass out if you keep this up, little one. You need to breathe.”

A steady hand fell on his sternum, a counterpoint against the crush of Jungkook’s panic. Jungkook couldn’t help but grab Taehyung’s wrist, pressing that hand harder into his own skin and using it to ground himself. The urge to make sure Hyung stayed close won out over the hurt of being abandoned. 

He wasn’t alone anymore. It may have taken years, but Jungkook had found people willing to accept him for who he was. Jungkook had found Taehyung again. 

They wouldn’t want you if they knew. The thought, usually a pernicious undertone, rang clearly through the haze of confusion. Ironically, it shocked Jungkook into taking a breath. 

Was that really true? Over the last few months, these men had been nothing but kind to him. All six of them supported Jungkook in any way possible, from helping him with interview processes to feeding Jungkook on nights when he would’ve gone hungry. 

Experience had taught Jungkook that people deserted him the moment they found out that he was Talentless, but it seemed like a disservice to his Hyungs to imagine that they would do the same thing. They didn’t judge Yoongi for his Talent and tolerated the danger of a friend like Hoseok who could literally light them all on fire. They’d given Jungkook no reason to doubt them. 

Still Jungkook expected the other shoe to fall at any moment. A large part of him hated himself for it. Anger bubbled in his chest, and his grip on Taehyung’s wrist tightened. 

Taehyung’s other palm cupped his face and tapped lightly. He didn’t speak, but gently guided Jungkook’s free hand to his own heart. “Breathe with me.”

Taehyung’s chest expanded, Jungkook’s following involuntarily, almost instinctively. Taehyung might not know about their shared childhood, but Jungkook did. Trusting Taehyung came easier than breathing some days. 

“Talents are dumb.” The words echoed through time. Taehyung’s face blurred before Jungkook’s eyes again, rounding out and pretty lips twisting into an annoyed scowl. “Just because I can control the weather doesn’t mean anything.” Lichtenberg figures crawled across his cheeks in glowing lines, burning electric blue with Taehyung’s irritable mood, but fading just as quickly. “I wish I was like you, Jungkookie. You never have to worry about hurting anyone.”

No, Jungkook just had to worry about being hurt. 

Back then, no one would've dared to lay a hand on Jungkook. Back then, Jungkook set his hand on Taehyung’s face and watched the barely contained lightning flicker until the cobalt faded from Taehyung’s eyes to be replaced by a dark, cloudy grey. 

Those eyes were brown now, Taehyung’s power held firmly in check after years of training his Talent. They still looked the same to Jungkook. 

So like all those years ago, they sat together. Taehyung held him firmly, asked if Jungkook wanted to talk about it, but Jungkook just shook his head and nestled a bit closer. 

So Taehyung offered to speak, and out came a story. The story of a boy Taehyung had once known who he thought of when he saw Jungkook. A child living in the lap of luxury, but showing no Talent. A friend Taehyung still missed. 

Why Taehyung chose to tell Jungkook about his long lost companion, about Jungkook himself even if Taehyung didn’t recognize him, Jungkook may never know. Maybe he had said something in his dream. Maybe Taehyung was feeling nostalgic. A melancholic light heather, the color of the entire world on a winter day, drifted lazily across Taehyung’s eyes as he got lost in his thoughts. 

The narrative jumped and shifted. Backwards, to the days when Jungkook and a tiny Taehyung had played endlessly in the summer sun. Forwards to the day he met Jin. Prodded ever onwards as Jungkook nudged him with little questions away from a past they could never recapture and towards a future that they could hope to share. 

Eventually, a hint of pure blue, the sky on the most serene of days, stole quietly over Taehyung’s irises. A tiny glimmer of accomplishment and the beginnings of assurance nestled in Jungkook’s stomach. Jungkook was Talentless, but to Taehyung, that had never mattered. 

***

The stroke of a brush against high-quality canvas was a pleasure that Jungkook had almost forgotten. Paint glided smoothly, following the flick of his wrist and the path of his thoughts in wandering swirls and short, forceful ticks. Natural lighting bathed the room in a soft, ever-fading glow as the evening slowly progressed towards dusk. 

It was easy to get lost in the techniques he’d practiced so many times, even when applying them in an entirely unique way. The spill of creativity captured Jungkook so deeply that he barely noticed the others coming and going in the background. 

Hobi had invited him over to paint, and they’d worked on their own pieces for a bit until Hoseok eventually got tired of the activity and wandered off. Involved in his work, Jungkook didn’t even really notice when Hoseok left. A part of him thought that was the whole point, as far as Hoseok was concerned. 

His hyungs had been encouraging him to branch out and get back into some of his hobbies recently. Hoseok in particular gently nudged him to think about quitting another one of his jobs so he could have a bit of extra time to himself. 

Now that he had a steady work with the not-for-profit animal shelter that Yoongi had helped him find, Jungkook had quit the weekend truck driving gig. This gave him more free time and let him sleep more, not to mention the boom in his finances. As it turned out, two jobs were more than enough to support a person, if Talent taxing was taken out of the equation. At the shelter along, Jungkook made enough to keep him in his apartment and even buy his food. 

Still, the idea of giving up an extra income made his entire body go cold and shaky.

Jungkook had enough money, there was no reason for the quietly bubbling fissure of anxiety every time he thought about buying anything nonessential, but he couldn’t help it. Maybe once he had a little bit saved up, he would scale things back to only one job, he told himself. Maybe when he didn’t still feel the need to meticulously count every bill out and keep track of each receipt, Jungkook would start reducing the hours he worked. 

For now, he contented himself and the others with the odd morning or afternoon off and by taking their advice to pick up a few side activities that were not work related. 

All six of them introduced Jungkook to their hobbies, asking for Jungkook’s help or coaxing him to try the things they loved. Taehyung spent an afternoon teaching Jungkook how to use his camera for photography, Namjoon showed Jungkook his favorite hiking trails, and Jimin took him out dancing. Jungkook enjoyed every moment he spent with them, leaning once more how to make himself happy and nurture relationships so that they bloomed into deep mutual friendships. 

Today, the activity was painting, but it had taken a while for Jungkook to admit that his heart lay in creation. It was Hoseok who first put art supplies in his hands and asked Jungkook to practice drawing with him. They had only spent about an hour together that first time, but it was enough for Hoseok to understand that he’d hit upon an old love. His expression when he caught sight of Jungkook’s sketch of all seven of them together opened up with shock, then shuttered with something close to sadness. 

Jungkook wasn’t the only one who had been forced to give up a beloved hobby because of matters beyond his control. Hoseok, who had been dragged away from a career as a choreographer in favor of a “real” job in the royal army, knew that Jungkook’s skill was hard won through long hours and represented a passion that had not been given up willingly. 

It took nearly a month of Hoseok’s support to slowly convince Jungkook to pick up a paintbrush once more. It became their go to bonding activity, although Hoseok sometimes got called away suddenly, like today, and left Jungkook alone in front of his work. 

One corner of the apartment Hobi shared with Jin and Yoongi was converted into a small workspace for their paintings, and Jungkook had almost cried when he first saw it. Jungkook’s apartment had absolutely no semblance of natural lighting, and he’d made a comment a few days before about the difficulties of shading in an area that was already so shady. 

Jungkooks’ first instinct was to protest the gesture. He was a talentless nobody in art as much as he was with real Talents. They shouldn’t have to alter their home for his inane interest in painting, especially when he was already taking up space by sleeping over so often. The thought went unvoiced because he had the sneaking suspicion that Jin wouldn’t think much of it, and Jungkook refused to be so ungrateful as to not use the area they had dedicated for his enjoyment. 

A small, wry smile crossed his lips as he guided the brush through a particularly intricate curl and thought about how his hyungs exclaimed over his skill, praising his “talents.”

Talentless as he was, Jungkook struggled not to correct them. At first, he even thought they were mocking him. It quickly became obvious that their definition of “talented” was just different than his own. They used talent in its ancient definition to mean “skill.” People could have multiple talents that they worked to develop, not just the one Talent they were born with. 

They oohed and ahhed over the way that Jungkook could sketch an entire portrait of someone within an hour, but seemed oddly unimpressed by Talents. The general disenchantment with the “hype” slowly lulled Jungkook into a rising confidence and stability beyond anything he had experienced before. 

When Jimin exclaimed over the skill of his favorite Talentless dancer, Jungkook noticed. That time Namjoon hired a Talentless worker lingered in Jungkook's mind. 

The fragile hope that maybe they wouldn’t care, that they liked Jungkook enough to overlook his lack of a Talent grew by the day, and he’d contemplated telling them several times. No matter how sure he was that his Talent wouldn’t make a difference to them, telling them ran the risk of alienating the only friends he had. It wasn't worth the risk. 

Especially since it hadn’t worked out for him in the past. 

His fingers clenched around the paintbrush, and one stroke veered a bit too high at the thought. Pausing to consider how he could work the errant stroke into a coherent part of the whole, Jungkook told himself to take things one step at a time. 

His trust for his hyungs had already progressed so far. The idea that they might have been sent by his parents barely even crossed his mind anymore, and he was really starting to believe that they genuinely cared for him. Jungkook could wait until the time felt right to tell them that he was Talentless. 

For now, he cherished the time with them, building relationships and trust slowly and naturally. Their interest in his “talents” and the time they spent exploring mutual hobbies only hastened the process. Jungkook’s painting corner was a particularly popular setting for the little “dates” that they set up with each other. Each of them tried their hand at creation, Jungkook providing little pointers as they went. 

Taehyung’s paintings were abstract and interesting in their interlocking shapes. Hobi’s were simple and tended to include words. Namjoon painted landscapes, and Jimin liked to experiment with color. Jin hung around with snacks and praise, but abstained from joining in. Something sad lingered in his eyes when Jungkook offered him a canvas, so poignant even in its silence that Jungkook stopped asking after the first few times. 

Which is why Jin successfully caught Jungkook’s attention when he wandered over to the canvas Hoseok had abandoned a while ago and picked up the brush. The broad swoop of a cloud trailed off half-finished as Jungkook’s focus shifted.

For a few moments, Jin ignored him and toyed with the materials, running his finger along the bristles, then poking lightly at a happy orange that had never made its way onto Hoseok’s canvas. Jungkook watched him quietly, waiting. Jin wouldn’t interrupt him for no reason, and the contemplative, slightly closed off expression on his face was unfamiliar. 

“You’re very talented.”

The world seemed to freeze around him. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard it from them, but this was somehow different. Jin’s attitude was different. The gentle encouragement and true admiration were absent, replaced by something heavier, more final, less happy. 

“There was a time when I would’ve done anything for that sort of talent.”

The noise from the street below cut off, no whisper of air caressed Jungkook’s skin, not a single breath lifted his chest. 

Jungkook’s brush hit the ground. 

Jin didn’t even look up, slashing the orange across Hoseok’s pallet in a streak that would’ve been cheerful if it wasn’t so jagged. 

“For any sort of talent.”

This was a bad day, Jungkook realized. Not for himself (well it hadn’t been until thirty seconds ago) but for Jin. The vacant, blank, cold expression on his face spoke of dissociation, pain so deep and well hidden that even Jin sometimes forgot it was there. Or pretended to, at least. 

Jin’s Talent was luck. Things just seemed to go right when he was around. If it was going to rain, Jin would find an umbrella. He’d never been late to anything in his life. No matter the circumstances, things just arranged themselves to Jin’s benefit. 

Part of the reason that the six of them were able to maintain their lifestyle was because Jin would never hurt for money. A lottery ticket was all he needed if he got a bit short on cash. Everything from the home they lived in to the clothes they wore was affected by Jin’s talent. No one ignored a tip or gut feeling from the oldest. 

It was an exceptionally powerful Talent. The ability to be the “one in a million” every single time let Jin do things that other people couldn’t. Applications ranged from things as simple as choosing a restaurant that would have no wait to complex military operations that could only be planned so far before fate had to take over. With Jin present, things were never really left to chance. 

A powerful Talent did not always mean an obvious one, though. How lucky did one have to be before others started to realize something more was at play? How many coincidences made a pattern? 

Further complicating the issue was that Jin’s luck relied partially on his own interests. If Jin didn’t care, his luck rarely held. As a child, Jin had wanted toys, friends, sweets, free time. Jin had been like any other child, and his exceptional luck had never had consequences serious enough for it to be noticed. 

Jungkook had read the reports on Jin’s background and childhood, and he knew that it had taken years before Jin’s Talent was identified. It was part of the reason why Jungkook’s parents had held onto their hope that Jungkook might just have a hidden Talent for so many years. When a man who would grow into one of the most valuable and sought after Talents in the world had spent most of his life thinking he was Talentless, there was hope that Jungkook might do the same. 

Regardless of how lucky Jin was, that didn't erase the years that he had spent thinking he had no Talent. This was the first time that Jungkook had seen such blatant proof of how living “without” a Talent had impacted his hyung. 

“I was never very talented at anything, you know.” The blank look behind Jin’s eyes dulled further as he set the paintbrush down. His posture was unnaturally straight, but he couldn’t look at Jungkook. “My parents had me try everything. Dancing, all forms of art and music, sports, scholastic training in subjects most people have never heard of. Anything that might conceivably trigger a latent Talent.”

Jungkook knew. Some talents were incredibly specific and showed themselves only with particular subjects or triggers. Children who didn’t have an obvious Talent were often introduced to an incredible whirlwind of stimuli, both negative and positive, in the hopes of happening upon the one thing that would bring out their Talent. 

Jungkook recognized Yoongi as someone who had struggled with their Talent partially because Yoongi had also been subjected to the bedlam of Talent experimentation. There were certain triggers that Jungkook knew from his own exposure therapy. Reactions that rang a little bit too familiar. 

Jin was different. His parents must fall into the group that believed professional testing was abusive (and they weren’t wrong) which meant they would only subject him to possible positive experiences. More proof of Jin's luck. 

Still, that growing sense of failure and dislocation must’ve dogged Jin as well. No matter how accepting and encouraging his parents had been, Jin would’ve been shunned and looked down upon by the wider community. 

On most days, Jungkook couldn’t even tell. Today, the bitterness of a lost childhood sat in the lines of Jin’s forehead and the lifeless expression of his eyes. 

“No matter how many things I tried, I was just never good at anything. You should treasure your talent.”

Jungkook jerked back like he’d been slapped. The sympathetic ache in his chest for Jin’s pain suddenly burst into the roaring inferno of his own trauma. 

“I am not Talented.”

His voice came out sharper than intended, cracking across the space between them with an authoritative tone that was entirely foreign to him. Even that didn’t pierce Jin’s mental fog. 

“Oh I wasn’t talking about your Talent.” A shake of the head and the dismissive wave of a hand. “I know about that. Takes one to know one, after all, and your experience is closer to Yoongi’s than I think either of you realizes. Watching the two of you is like a mirror sometimes.”

Too shocked to even gasp, Jungkook starred. Jin knew? When—? Did that mean everyone else knew? Jungkook’s entire world flipped, and he staggered back a few steps. Jin didn’t even seem to notice, still talking like he hadn’t just shattered Jungkook’s perspective of his relationship with the others, and also of himself. 

They knew he was Talentless, and they still commented on his skills. Jungkook had been working on incorporating their definition of talent, but they really thought a Talentless person could have talents. They’d said it all along, but it was shocking to have it applied to Jungkook himself. 

“No, I’m talking about this.” Jin reached out to run a finger along the top of the canvas. “I’m talking about how you have the ability to pick up any skill you want, no matter the discipline. It takes you a few moments to learn things that I couldn’t even imagine mastering.”

Jin's thumb caressed the corner of the painting and dropped away. It was out of his reach despite the fact that he could physically touch it. 

“It never mattered how much effort I put in, I never had the talent for any of this. My Talent actually prohibits skill building. I’m continuously haunted by beginner’s luck, and that precludes learning the techniques necessary for more difficult and precise work. Luck can only get you so far, and mine holds me back from developing real talent.”

Jungkook frowned, but didn’t interrupt. That ... couldn't be right. Many skills included a degree of luck, sure, but luck couldn’t replace craft and practice. Jin’s skills, talents, were many and varied. Not all of them could rely on his luck. 

“The funny thing about living Talentless is that it makes you appreciate other people’s talents more. Maybe from jealousy, maybe from a sick kind of self-hatred, and maybe just because it’s easier to appreciate something when you’ve never experienced it. The skill level is so beyond you that it becomes incomprehensible and therefore mystifying.”

It was all three. The aching familiarity of those emotions stuck in Jungkook’s throat.

“More than that, it gives you a unique appreciation for the talents that people develop outside of their Talent. Everyone has a Talent. Very, very few people have the courage to step outside of their own expertise to try something they’re going to be bad at. I spent years trying to become skilled in various areas with success in only a few. 

“When they finally figured out my Talent, it was … devastating. It invalidated every accomplishment I ever made in my life. How can I ever know what I’ve done with my own hard work and skill when my Talent makes everything easier for me automatically? It changed my entire outlook on life and my perception of myself.

“The skills that you have, the athleticism you so carefully curate, the eye for artistry, the techniques you spent hours on, those are real talents. What we have, what I have is a pale imitation, devoid of effort and accomplishment alike.”

Jungkook took a few minutes. Breathed. Searched his canvas for the skill that Jin saw so clearly and his heart for how to respond. 

After all that Jin had said, Jungkook very well could react with anger. The callousness with which Jin spoke about the most difficult aspect of Jungkook’s life, the thing that had cost him his family and his home, the curse that had doomed him to years of pain and suffering, was insensitive to the point of insult. Jungkook had every right to be upset. 

Somehow, that outrage was missing. Jungkook was in the best place physically and mentally that he’d been since he was a very small child, and Jin had contributed heavily to that developement. Jin was always there when Jungkook froze before the fridge, overwhelmed by the amount of food inside (more than he could ever afford, how could he take someone else’s food, he should just leave, no one wanted him here, and—). Jin’s arms always welcomed him with silent support when Jungkook couldn’t make the words come out, and Jin’s hands opened the door to his apartment for Jungkook when he took Jungkook into his home. 

The least Jungkook could do was try to be there for Jin’s bad days in return. 

“Hyung, you are not talentless.”

The bitterness in Jin’s snort was ugly, not a sound Jungkook had ever heard from Jin before. “No, I’ll always have my luck.”

“You will. But you’ll also always have those talents you spent years developing.”

“They’re fake. It-it means nothing because my luck made it easier every step of the way.” That emptiness in Jin’s eyes filled with loss and despair. “I can never really become skilled at anything.”

“The years you put into it are real, Hyung. I’ve heard you sing. I’ve seen you dance and watched you fight. You think all of that is just luck?” Jungkook couldn’t help the disbelieving shake of his head. Jin’s voice alone was trained through long hard hours, to say nothing of his acting skills or culinary efforts.

“Luck can only get you so far. You said it yourself. At a certain point, you can only move forwards with immense effort and dedication. Just because your luck gave you an edge in the beginning does not mean that all of the time you put into bettering yourself was wasted. The mere fact that it took that much time proves that your accomplishments are not because of your Talent, even if they are complemented by it.” 

Jin cocked his head, considering. The sharp gleam flickered back into his eyes, and for the first time since he walked in, Jin seemed to recognize Jungkook as a person rather than a voice in his head to argue with. There was a hint of surprise and regret on his features, but also compassion, a growing warmth of affection, and eagerness, as though he’d just been offered an opportunity that he’d been waiting for. 

“So you’re saying that I’m talented because I put in the work to develop skills in several different areas?

Something about Jin’s tone made Jungkook hesitate for a moment, trying to trace the note of burgeoning victory. The use of the word “talented” also threw him. Something about flipping the conversation, trying to help Jin fight off the self-doubt for the first time, gave Jungkook a new appreciation of what his hyungs meant when they talked about talent. “Yes. You have many different talents and you shouldn’t devalue them," he said. 

A shark’s smile spread over Jin’s face and his eyes finally shone with their full intelligence and vitality. “So you must realize that you are incredibly talented yourself.”

Oh. The unexpected reversal made Jungkook flinch slightly, looking down and shuffling his feet. 

“That’s different. I’m—You know. I have no Talent.”

“Jungkookie.” A soft hand lifted his chin to face Jin’s gentle firmness. “It is not different. Just because I happen to have a Talent in an area where you lack one does not invalidate all your other skills.”

His head was tilted so he could see his own painting, splashes of soft pinks and vibrant greens spilling out around coral clouds and the glimmer of a blue river. The sunset over a river in a meadow filled with life. Individual blades of grass painstakingly configured under carefully blended pastel skies. Hours that he’d spent adding details and years developing the technique behind them. 

“Are you going to tell me that isn’t talent?”

Jungkook would never have a Talent. He’d accepted that by now. His parents’ dreams were lost and any hope of regaining his old life had faded into oblivion. 

But…maybe Jin was right. Maybe talent was something different, something more than just one gift given at birth. 

“I—I guess it could be.”

Jungkook had skills. The many jobs he worked, the classes he’d been forced to take, the sports he worked at until he was ready to throw up, each of them had trained Jungkook, added to his abilities and expertise. 

“You are incredibly talented in so many ways, Jungkook-ah. Don’t let the one exception dominate your entire perception of yourself.” 

It wasn’t as simple as that. Jungkook’s lack of a Talent affected every part of his existence, from interpersonal relationships to work opportunities. Society would label Jungkook as talentless no matter how Jungkook thought of himself. 

On the other hand, society was not something Jungkook had ever been very concerned about. Being shunned by the world for something he couldn’t control from such a young age meant that Jungkook had long ago detached himself so that he wouldn’t be completely swallowed by self-hatred. 

What mattered was Namjoon’s praise. Jimin’s hugs. Yoongi’s advice and support. What mattered was that there were people in Jungkook’s life who accepted him and chose to build a relationship with him. People who sincerely did not care that his abilities didn’t rely on, complement, or relate in any way to a Talent. 

Jungkook would never have a Talent, but that didn’t mean he lacked competency in a variety of arenas. 

There was one skill that Jungkook was learning to develop and treasure above all others: the ability to connect with his hyungs even when they were having a bad day. The proud smile on Jin’s face as he wound an arm around Jungkook’s waist spoke volumes. The little tremor in his voice when he buried his face in Jungkook’s hair and whispered a quiet “Thank you for listening, Jungkookie,” said more still. 

Maybe Jungkook wasn’t entirely talentless.