Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Taehyung stands in his bathroom with a sulk, looking at the mirror as if he's in a staring contest with his own reflection. 

That’s not the occasion, though. 

He's trying to identify where the cool air that sprays over his skin is coming from.

It's been like this for a while now. Every single day right after he gets up from bed, even before he can brush his teeth, he stands in front of the cabinet and stays still like he will figure the whole thing out by magic.

He has spent more minutes than he's proud of leaning his head closer to the door jamb just to see his hair standing to an end, one of the only pieces of evidence that he’s not hallucinating. The wind is not only seen by him, it's felt. If he didn’t live in a street so busy at any time of the day, maybe he could even hear it. 

Maybe the sound would lull him. He likes the sound of the wind.

That if—if this particular wind didn't drive him insane.

Taehyung would like to say he's one of the skeptical kinds; that he belongs to the group of people who only believes in the biological existence of humans that are born, grow up and die. But the truth is that he believes in every sort of unrealistic thing: fairies, elves, witches, ghosts, aliens, prize draws, and even peaceful revolutions. Maybe unicorns too, but this one he’s only willing to admit after three or more glasses of flavored soju. Given that, it’s not weird if the first logical explanation that crosses his mind is that the wind happens to be the coldness of a ghost’s soul. 

Finding some rationality amongst the insanity, however, he soothes himself by thinking that a ghost would have no reason to haunt his bathroom of all places, having any other room in his apartment at their disposal. 

That makes total sense. 

But he’s chill now. He only cares, like, 20% about it currently. 

Hence it is totally incomprehensible when he applies an unnecessary strength to opening the cabinet behind his mirror and almost breaks it, having only intended to pick up his toothbrush. 

It forces the cabinet to tilt just a bit, but it’s enough for Taehyung to feel the coldness dancing straight towards his face.

Mhm.

With his index finger, he carefully reaches to push it more to the right. He immediately retracts his hand with a loud gasp at the notice of a wall only two meters away from where he's standing. 

The cabinet sways lightly for a moment and comes to a halt, still allowing Taehyung to see that there is a whole damn room behind his bathroom wall.

Taehyung has watched Parasite. He's watched Housebound and Within, too, the latter being terrible as a movie but still enough to keep him up all night for a whole week. He only managed to sleep again when he nearly begged Yoongi to sleep over, coming to the agreement that his friend would sleep in Taehyung's bedroom but that they definitely weren't going to cuddle him. 

Yoongi did cuddle him. 

So all things considered, Taehyung can't tell why on Earth he finds it a good idea to take his cabinet off of the nail and settle it on the floor of his bathroom.

Taehyung stares into the perfectly squared frame of the hole on his wall. Slowly, he draws near to it and leans over his sink. He can feel his hands shaking where they meet with the cold marble for leverage, propping his head on the hole with the intent to find out what is on the other side.

There's nothing. It's a plain room, identical to his own bathroom in size, it seems—except that it's empty. There's a hole in a wall where it's supposed to be a door, but further than that, all he can see is pitch black.

The first logical choice would be to take a step back, place the cabinet back (or maybe get some wood clapboards to seal it more resolutely), and call his landlord to have a very heated conversation with her.

Taehyung isn't exactly what one would call a logical person. 

Instead, he walks to his bedroom, gets his phone, and opens his group chat with Sana, Seokjin and Yoongi.

Taehyung [09:05:19]:

hey

anyone up to record a cursed tiktok with potential blood and gore if ghosts have progressed past the inability of holding hammers

ultimate tsundere [09:07:02]:

...

absolutely fucking no

Half an hour later, Taehyung opens his front door to meet Yoongi.

"I thought you had turned my irrecusable invitation down." Taehyung closes the door behind him. Yoongi lets out a heavy sigh.

"Well, Seokjin-nim didn't. I can't just let both of you die and leave me here to suffer the consequences of the climate changes on my own," Yoongi states nonchalantly. Their eyes roam over the apartment, finding everything strangely normal. "What are you up to now?"

"Wait for hyung and I'll explain it all, just—", he stops mid-sentence, flinching violently at the sound of his doorbell, earning a distrustful rise of Yoongi's eyebrow at his flagrantly scared overreaction. 

Seokjin gets in without waiting for Taehyung to get the door open anyway. 

"How you like that, huh?" It's the first thing he says before slowly and dramatically spinning on his ankles to show them the khaki Hawaiian shirt he's wearing. "Put on my Ghostbusters outfit and all." 

Taehyung forgets how terrified he is for a second as he shakes his head, laughing and clapping his hands in approval. Yoongi pinches the bridge of their nose, promptly getting their hand out of the way when Seokjin draws closer to give a peck on their lips. 

"So," Taehyung starts, heading to the bathroom followed by the others. Seokjin's fear is clear underneath the layers of amusement as he hops quite haltingly while Yoongi literally has to drag their feet in Taehyung's trail. "I'm gonna need your help. Morally and physically, I guess."

When they get there, Taehyung doesn't need to say a thing. They immediately spot the hole on the wall and Yoongi frowns, lips parted as they narrow their eyes at it. 

"What… the fuck," Seokjin mumbles, and only then does he seem to acknowledge the potential danger, dread finally taking over his features. 

Taehyung unlocks his phone and starts recording a video with the front-facing camera, "So, I've been feeling a cold blow in my bathroom for weeks now," he says, positioning himself right in front of the hole to show the hustle in his hair. He gawks dramatically at it, eyebrows bouncing up and down. "Today I finally figured out that there is a hole behind my mirror and god knows where it leads to. Well, god and soon it will be me, too—"

"You got to be fucking kidding me," Yoongi's voice meddles in.

"Yoongi-nim!" Taehyung whines, pausing the recording. His thumb stops hovering over the trash can on the screen and he smiles, excitedly turning to them, "Actually, that was good! It's organic, it won't look rehearsed."

"What?" Yoongi says in dismay. They tap their arm on Seokjin's chest. "Babe, please, help me with this. Tell him this is insane and we need to call the fire department or whatever." 

"This is all wrong," Seokjin starts and Taehyung sees Yoongi's countenance softening in relief, only for a brief second before he berates, "The storytelling is awful! You can't just jump right to the hole."

"That's what he said," Taehyung quips. 

Yoongi groans.

Seokjin doesn't bother, going on, "You have to set the mood, you know? Create an aura of a mystery first." 

Yoongi watches in awe, mouth agape as Seokjin crouches on the floor to pick up the mirror and place it back on the wall.

"Do you think it's better if you film it or…?" Taehyung asks, pacing around the tiny space of the bathroom to find the perfect position. 

"No, keep going. You were right, it's more organic if you do it," Seokjin answers and Taehyung nods, eyebrows creased in deep consideration.

Yoongi shakes their head, storming out of the bathroom and mumbling that they won't be part of that insanity. 

As soon as they hear Taehyung's voice again, they get back. 

Taehyung seems to understand the aura of mystery suggested by Seokjin as basically faffing, because the one minute he spent before becomes three now. He hands the phone to Seokjin so the hole can be dramatically revealed, wiggling his eyebrows once again as he says, "I think it's time for us to find out what is there on the other side." 

"Funny of you to talk like there will be an audience. You won't be able to upload this on TikTok when you're dead," Yoongi says when Taehyung stops recording. 

Taehyung's only answer is to roll his eyes. He puts his phone on the sink, opening the cabinet to get a roll of black plastic bags. He gets a few of them and rips them apart, asking for Seokjin's help to wrap it around him with a string, making a shield out of it to protect him from the dust.

"Mhm, okay," his eyes scan the bathroom while he wears one of those blue masks made for construction workers. "I need a weapon now." 

"A hammer?" Yoongi blurts out and lowers their gaze when the others look at him, rubbing an earlobe with their fingers with feigned casualty.  

"I don't have one. Gay people doesn't know how to hammer a nail, Yoongi-nim."

"Here," Seokjin takes a step further into the bathroom and removes the curtain rod from the wall, tossing the shower curtain carelessly on the floor. "Use this."

"This?" Taehyung takes it from Seokjin's hand, wincing at it with disdain. "This can't kill anything!"

"Suitable, then. Neither can you." Seokjin pats his shoulder.    

Taehyung doesn't spare him an answer. Seokjin's right, after all. If he dedicates more than two seconds of his attention to that, he'll come to his senses and realize he's about to go into a suicide mission. So, he doesn't.  

Instead, he gives his phone to Seokjin and grabs the chop on the wall for leverage, planting a foot on the sink and praying for it not to crack. Anyway, if it does, his landlord will still have a lot more explanations to provide than he'll do.  

"Here I go!" Taehyung announces excitedly to the camera—

And doesn't make it through the wall.

It takes him four attempts in different positions and a few locks of his hair attached to the nail; but ten minutes later he's practically opening a split on his way to the other side, feeling the muscles of his thighs burn in complaint. When he has his phone in one hand and the curtain rod in the other, he starts recording it again and the flashlight reveals a whole other apartment.

He takes two tentative steps further and hears Seokjin's voice yelling from the bathroom, "Is everything alright? I know it probably isn't the best timing, but just so you know, if you die, I'm keeping your PlayStation 5. After I cry a lot, for sure. In fact, the video game is mandatory to help me through my mourning process." 

"How considerate to let me know," Taehyung turns to yell back, wryly. "I'm not dying! There's no one here! It's just an old, abandoned apartment."

He puts all his efforts on making his voice come out steady, at least more than the quivering grip of his hand around the curtain rod. At every step, the old wooden floor cracks loudly and spurs a shiver to run down his spine. 

Taehyung briefly thinks there's no reason to lie and say that the cold temperature of the apartment is the one to blame for how he's shaking and shivering since no one is watching him, but well—later there will be. And knowing how people on the internet are entertained by dumb people who make decisions that could get them killed on a whim, it probably will be tons of them. 

There clearly isn't anyone in the apartment. At least not anyone alive. The style of wallpaper shows that either no one lived there for the last 30 years, or whoever did recently had a terrible taste in decoration. 

Taehyung remembers why he's wandering around in the first place and says, "It looks like no one's lived here for a while. There's only a toilet in the middle of the living room," he points the camera at it, hearing his own voice echoing eerily. "Disappointing, really." 

He might be joking, but the truth is that he's relieved for being so thankfully underwhelmed. The more distant the sound of Seokjin's voice gets, stronger is the creeping fear that boils in his stomach—like he's slowly letting go of the last thing that grants him the minimal sense of protection.  

The apartment is a perfect copy of his. The kitchen is just as empty as the living room, the tiles on the wall grimy and greasy enough for him to retch. He quickly walks away from it and shots the flashlight to the bedroom, the last room available for him to explore. 

He catches a glimpse of a wardrobe. Something very likely to be his unyielding (dangerous) curiosity is drawing him to the only furniture left behind, but there's definitely more. Taehyung doesn't say it out loud to the camera because there's only so much delusion that would sound funny, but he swears he can hear the sound of cicadas screaming and the gust of wind through the trees. It's an infeasible occurrence in the heart of one of the buzziest neighborhoods in Seoul, he's aware of that—so he sticks to the explanation that it might be coming from a neighbor's television and forces himself to ignore it.

Taehyung settles upon verbalizing his inner battle out loud, "Should I open the wardrobe? Shouldn't I?" He goes silent for a moment, trying to focus on any realistic sound coming from it. Beside the nature ones, he hears nothing but his own breath, noticing it's heavy and fast paced by now. He squeezes his eyes shut, and in a rush of momentary courage, he drags the sliding door open in a jolt. 

No frightening sound. 

Nothing happens at all.

Taehyung opens his eyes carefully, still afraid he'll be met with a clown smiling maniacally at him. He doesn't. The wardrobe is mostly empty, only two suits left hanging in there and smelling like mothballs. 

He darts the flashlight to the floor and finds a beautiful fluted vase. 

The color reminds him of love-in-a-mist. For some reason, the tip of his fingers itches to touch it. 

He doesn't say anything to the camera anymore. He can't tell why yet, but he knows he'll edit this part out of the recordings. He bends down to pick it from the floor without even giving it a second thought. 

Still, nothing happens. He's not glad about being underwhelmed this time. 

Taehyung notices now that the sounds of insects and trees have come to an end, endorsing his theory that some neighbor must've basically turned it off. In a moment of poor judgment, he sniffles the vase—and it weirdly smells like tea made out of peach blossoms. He hadn't expected something so presumably old to smell this nicely. 

Distantly, he hears Seokjin's voice faintly calling his name. Even from afar, Taehyung can catch the concern behind his tone. He decides it's time for him to declare his little adventure finished and go back to the comfort of home. 

"Well, people, sorry to let you down," he says, walking back to his bathroom and sounding much more tranquil now. "Good news is that I'll probably get a fat discount on my rent."

When he gets back to the hole, Seokjin tsks in clear disappointment while Yoongi tosses their hair back with a relieved sigh. Taehyung passes on the improvised weapon, the vase and his phone so he can use his free hands to go through the hole. It's significantly harder without the sink for him to gain momentum. He almost somersaults over it, but somehow he manages to land on his bathroom floor again. Ungraciously and properly filmed by Seokjin.  

"What is this?" Seokjin turns the vase upside down to take a good look at all of its sides. Taehyung snatches it from him, only realizing he's probably done it harsher than he intended when he shifts his gaze from the object to the inquisitive look in both of his friends' faces. 

"Mhm, it's the only thing I've found. This and a toilet, but I already have one, so," he tries to joke, but it doesn't land. They must notice how strained he sounds. 

"Are you keeping it? What if it's cursed?" Yoongi questions and Taehyung holds it tighter onto his chest, protectively. Their attention is drawn to the motion and he gets too self-conscious, softening his grip around it thereafter. 

(Maybe it is cursed, indeed.)

"Imagine if I worried about keeping cursed things," Taehyung starts walking towards the living room, prompting his friends to follow suit in a dismissive demeanor, "I wouldn't be friends with you in the first place." 

"Wait. Is that it?" Seokjin stops on his track and turns around to point an accusatory finger at Taehyung. "You interrupted my breakfast to come all the way here and… that's it?"

"You literally live three buildings away from here," Taehyung states with a bored tone and settles the vase on his dining table. He doesn't take his eyes from it for more than a whole second. Not when he takes his mask off, nor when he wryly says to Seokjin, "Sorry for disappointing you. Next time I'll assure there's a coven happening behind my wall, that they impale me and offer my guts to their goddess. Until then, you’ll have to stick to MapleStory. Goodbye.”

He unceremoniously pushes Seokjin towards the door and gives Yoongi an apologetic smile.

Then, just like that, he’s alone again.

He wants to be, and there's an obvious reason why. It verges on frightening how fast he snaps to look at the vase again. 

Taehyung can’t bring himself to explain it, but he feels drawn to the object in a way. 

Like when you step into a crowded party and simply know exactly in which direction you need to follow to get to the bar. Except that in a party he knows what’s pulling him closer—the magical calling of the booze. In this case, he has no idea of what's so enthralling about it. 

Taehyung starts tiptoeing towards the vase. He halts on his track and winces when it occurs to him the careful way he's been walking in, not knowing why he was doing it in the first place. He reaches for the vase and shakes it with its finish turned to the ground. 

Dust falls from it and makes him sneeze, but that’s all. 

A stupid idea crosses his mind. Before he can hold himself back, he’s rubbing his palm over the pottery, which only results in covering his palm in dirt and a sequence of at least six more mastodontic sneezes. He snorts, grumpy, and then he stomps to his bedroom, tossing the vase on his desk. He sits on his bed and crosses his arms childishly, hating how oddly lured by it he is still.

After what feels like hours staring at the vase, it comes to him that life won't wait for his obsession to pass and he still has to finish an illustration job that's due this week. It takes him more than it usually does to make some progress as his eyes keep swinging back to the vase, but he eventually settles for the progress he's made and calls it a day. After grabbing lunch four hours later than he probably should've, he decides the only way he can be distracted from that bottle is to exchange it for another. He grabs his wallet and leaves his apartment, returning a few minutes later with a pack of beers in his possession. 

Taehyung  firmly believes the word lightweight was formerly created to address one of his ancestors. And, for that, it's no surprise he's already shit-faced enough to be talking to the bottle after only three bottles of beer.

"C'mon," he says, staring intently at it. "I know there's something odd about you. Last time I was so inexplicably attracted to something was in fifth grade when I wanted to hold hands with the girl known for her father kidnapping everyone who dared to get near her." He pauses, eyes glancing around his bedroom in a thoughtful fashion. "Yeah, maybe that should've taught me a thing or two." 

(It evidently didn't.)

That becomes very clear as he decides to keep exploring the thing through his senses. He’s tried touching it, has been staring at it—the time could've come for him to go for his hearing. Taehyung leads the vase to his ear, it drags out an instant response from him.

He jolts on his bed, utterly startled, fumbling with the vase on his hands like it's a burning potato. As seconds pass, he seems to be struck with realization about what just happened and tosses the object on his sheets, scooting over towards the edge of his bed until he falters and collapses to the ground, butt-first. 

And yet, Taehyung thinks he needs a recheck.

Once, it can be a trick of his brain. A mix of booze and longing getting the best of him and taking him exactly to the secluded corners of his memory where what he misses the most is stored. 

But twice would make it unmistakingly real.

And that's why he needs to reach for the vase one more time, to confirm if he will hear again what he heard not only seconds ago, but also at the empty apartment. 

He doesn't find it in him to do so, though. He remains there, splattered on the floor like a starfish, because he simply doesn't know what the hell he will do with this if it turns out to be true.

Reluctantly and after the count of exactly twelve deep breaths, he crawls towards his bed, to where the vase is quietly resting against his pillow. He winces at the sight, aware of the change of pillowcase he'll have to arrange later as he can spot the dust smudged on the fabric. 

Like ripping off a band-aid, he grabs the vase in a quick motion, squeezing his eyes shut. His features smoothly relax when he connects the bottle finish to his ear—

And he hears it again.

It sounds like his grandparents' farm in Daegu.

From a considerable distance, but it does. It sounds like he's hearing it from afar, instead of being in his usual position of sitting by his grandfather's feet as he told him stories about the elder's childhood. It lacks the sound of his voice and the scent of tea his grandmother always boiled in late afternoons—

And only then he realizes the scent of the vase makes sense too. It smells like his grandmothers' peach blossom tea.  

Nonetheless—the cicadas are singing, the wind is bustling, the birds are chirping, and it sounds like home.

Dangerously so. That's why he retreats his shaking hands, carefully settling the vase on the floor. The memory shoots a rush of happiness in his veins, looking forward to calling his family when he isn't so tipsy and roundly disturbed. Amongst the feelings of elation, the fact that he definitely shouldn't be hearing sounds coming out of a damn old bottle gets him unsettled and completely distraught. Something tells him maybe it's about time to appeal to his friends, to some weirdo who runs a website with creepypastas or even to a priest, but Taehyung decides against any of it.

It must be the alcohol again that urges him to his feet and towards the kitchen—or at least that's what he uses to soothe himself, refusing to admit he could come up with that idea by any normal and sober circumstance. Either way, he ends up grabbing a washcloth and hurriedly pacing back to his bedroom, kneeling on the floor as he fiercely wipes the vase. 

It has to be the alcohol that's reminding Taehyung that maybe there's still one sense left to explore. 

When the cleansing is done, he holds it in his cupped hands like it's the most precious thing he ever laid his eyes on, in a very contrasting demeanor to all the curses he's mentally casting on it.  

"I'd say I can't believe I'm about to do this just for effect, but we both know that isn't true." He sighs, staring intently at the bottle. "At least you won't be able to say I drooled all over you and ran away crying like Seungyoun did." 

Just like before, he decides on putting an end to his misery as fast as it is possible. Before Taehyung can second guess it, his eyelids flutter and he kisses the vase. It's more suitable to say he gives it a peck, truthfully. As fast as the flap of the wings of a hummingbird, so fast one misses it in the blink of an eye. 

It's not as fast as the peck itself, but—

Something starts to happen.

The moment right after doesn't even stretch enough to make it possible for embarrassment to waver over him. The bottle trembles in Taehyung's hands, subtly at first, but increasingly frantic at each moment. His eyes widen again as his voice comes out in a symphony of frightened groans, and later Taehyung surely will be thankful for the attentive part of his brain that leads him into placing the bottle carefully on the floor instead of throwing it to the other side of the room like he really wants to.

He clutches onto his chair, shamefully hiding his figure behind it while the bottle keeps hopping, fluttering and spinning on the floor as if it has a life of its own. His nails most definitely will leave crescent moons on the leather of the chair, courtesy of how he tightens his grip at the sight of some blue smoke that starts to come out of the bottle.  

Surprisingly enough, Taehyung has never been under actually risky situations, as much as he apparently puts a lot of effort on that—hence it's easy to say this is the most frightened he's been so far in his life. And then again, it could always be on the beer, but it's more likely that's not the real reason why his bladder feels so heavy all of sudden. 

Smoke keeps fogging up his bedroom, working efficiently with the scent of peaches to cloud his senses. 

For a moment, his sense of self-preservation rings loudly on his brain, alarmed by the prospect that it might be the end of line for him. It might be how he dies, suffocated by a mysterious mist that comes out of a bottle he only found because he wanted to investigate if there were ghosts in an abandoned apartment. 

(Putting it like that, actually—well. 

It sounds like a very plausible death.)

If this will be how he dies, he thinks, at least he wants to have some record of it, some proof of what happened so it won't be an irresolvable enigma. He glances around for his phone, to be met with the desperating discovery that it's long forgotten on his bedside table. He would need to cross his bedroom to reach it, getting unsafely close to the vase in the process. So before Taehyung can figure something out, he deems it useless to even try. 

Because he swears he sees a figure squeezing its way out of the bottle,  which can only mean he died back when he went to the abandoned apartment, and that now supernatural beings are having a good time by torturing him—

That would be the only reasonable explanation for the fact that there definitely is a person standing in the middle of his bedroom now. 

The fog slowly begins to dissipate, granting Taehyung a proper look at them. Their head moves, but not as fast as their eyes, wandering all over the room, bulged with glaring curiosity. They spin on their axis until they halt to a stop, finally spotting Taehyung embarrassingly crouched behind a chair.

Their expression shifts in interest, giving place to something rather entertained. 

A small part of Taehyung's brain is aware of how dumb he probably looks right now, with mouth agape and drool making its way to trickle down his chin at any given moment—a reaction worth of someone staring at a living angel. He gives it to him that it isn't that much of an odd reaction, then. Some unknown creature did appear in the middle of his room without a proper explanation.

And as much as it might not be an angel, even if they hadn't appeared before Taehyung out of nowhere, Taehyung would know they're magical regardless.

They can't be from this world.  

Their outfit sells this out, in a way. Maybe in anyone else it would look like they're ready for a Halloween party, but they make it look genuine. Taehyung can feel their magic filling every atom in his bedroom, coming all the way from the white garment with crystals that look like they've been carefully placed, one by one. It's loose, so it might deceive you at the first look, making them seem bigger than they are, but soon the transparency from the puffed sleeves and the pant legs are showing they're slender but toned at the same time.

The snippet of skin that their cropped top leaves for Taehyung to catch is definitely magical. 

(Taehyung might be actually drooling a little by now.)

Their face looks like a spell itself. They're sharp and soft at the same time, fierce but not too rough, cute but not too naive. Taehyung has always related the gray color to rain or sorrow in his works, but their silver hair has him wanting to add a new meaning to it. The color looks celestial, devine. It works to give them a particular sort of beauty that reminds him of good wishes, crossed fingers and kissing wounds better.

Taehyung shakes his head and squints at them.

Maybe there really is a spell on their features.

They don't look bothered by the sudden shift in Taehyung's stance. They only tilt their head at Taehyung and lift an eyebrow, a move the latter hopes he properly reads as an invitation. 

Taehyung has annoyed the wrong people a few times throughout his life, but it will be particularly disastrous if he vexes what seems to be a magical being. 

Feeling his legs wobble like jello, Taehyung carefully pushes the chair aside and takes a tentative step towards the creature.

They move, crossing their ankles and arms at the same time. It's a subtle move, but it's enough for Taehyung to flinch and halt in his tracks right away. Their features soften, then, and Taehyung is immediately washed over with a peculiar comforting feeling. He doesn't know if that part is literally magical or if that's just the effect of their gentle eyes staring at his. Eyes that feel like having your hands held while getting into the cold sea for the first time, giving you the needed warm courage to step in.

The only problem is that sometimes said courage might get in the way of his reasoning and stop him from thinking straight before opening his mouth.

This happens to be exactly one of those times.

"What are your pronouns?" Taehyung blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind.

Yoongi is a non-binary person. Taehyung met them after they set their pronouns preferences, and as he didn't know about them, he accidentally called Yoongi by the wrong pronouns. And as much as they reassured him it was fine, the mistake stuck to Taehyung's mind and he promised he'd be more careful from then on. He started subtly avoiding the usage of binary terms to address people until they eventually picked up on it and specified what they were and preferred. 

None of what's happening right now is exactly subtle, but one has to take into account that Taehyung's neurons are pretty much as scrambled as eggs at the moment.

The creature blinks at him, lips jutted out in a cute, confused pout. "What?"

"Yeah, um. Like." Taehyung scratches his nape. "How should I refer to you?"

"Usually, I should be the one calling you Master, but I guess Your Magnificence would be good for a change," they joke, smiling coyly. 

"No, that's not what I—" Taehyung runs a hand over his face, sighing deeply. When he looks up at them again, the slight frown is back in their eyebrows, like they've grasped the seriousness of it or Taehyung's nervousness. Or both. "I'm asking if you go for he, she, or they… you know?”

"Oh. Okay." They stare at the ceiling, considering for a moment. "He will do it, I guess," he decides and Taehyung nods in acknowledgment. Silence envelopes them softly, just as a consequence of the previous subject being done, but something in Taehyung's stomach still churns with uneasiness. Probably it's brought on by the weight of his magical gaze on him, scrutinizing his whole figure from top to bottom. There's nothing besides glaring curiosity in the way he's looking at Taehyung's clothes, but in comparison to the creature's, he feels painfully underdressed.

"Is there something wrong?" Taehyung questions tentatively, smoothing the lines of his printed dress shirt.

"No. It's just that if I didn't know I spent a couple of decades in that bottle, your clothes would make me think we're in the 70s." He giggles. Taehyung doesn't know if it was supposed to come off as an offense, but he takes it anyway, mouth gaping in outrage. Before he can protest, he's talking again, tiny hands running over his perfectly neat outfit, "Glad I put on my nicest clothes. I imagined I was about to get the hell out of there when it started feeling like an earthquake was taking place in my room, thank you very much," he teases, but there's no actual bite to his words. Taehyung feels kind of dizzy at being scolded, anyway. "You're really fussy, huh?"

Taehyung's about to apologize for messing with his bottle when the whole thing registers to him again.

He messed with his bottle.

And he came out of said bottle.

Magically. 

With magical smoke and magical glitter and magical scent of peaches and magical beauty and magical all. 

"You're a… genius," he mutters dully, as if he's trying to convince himself of his own words. Said genius winces in confusion. "There is a genius in my bedroom."

He gently nods his head, joining his palms together under his chin.

"No, sweetie, I'm a genie."

"Yeah, that's what I said." He waves his hand and the genie's lips press into a tight line. "It doesn't make any sense, I rubbed your bottle and then nothing happened and—" Taehyung pauses, face twisted in a mix of awe and perplexity. "Why do you even come out of the bottle with a kiss?"

"Because I'm a Libra." He shrugs. He's cute when he does it, makes him look smaller. The corner of his lips turn downwards in an unapologetic-and-yet-apologetical beginning of a smile, and Taehyung's one hundred percent sure that cats would have this exact look on their faces when they were accused of breaking things if they were human. 

"Do magical creatures have astrological signs?"

"Sort of. I was trapped in a bottle in October, so." He shrugs one more time, and Taehyung refrains himself from jumping and yelling you did it again like an endeared maniac.  

Taehyung really doesn't want to mess it up. 

"How long ago has this been?" He asks without thinking much.

The genie's expression darkens like clouds hiding the Sun at sudden and Taehyung knows he has messed it up anyhow. 

"Why would you ask that? This is unbelievably impolite," he admonishes, hands in his waist. Taehyung proceeds to beg for his pardon in every single word he knows, but the genie looks away and crosses his arms childishly. He must sense the honest regret in Taehyung's ramble, because he glances at him after a while and offers, although quite begrudgingly, "450 years ago. But for your information, I'm a young adult in genie's years, right?"

"Alright, no, of course I believe you, I was just curious, I wasn't trying to pull an ageist card with you or anything," he babbles, hands gesturing wildly in front of his body.  The genie seems to relax, yet coming off as a tad distrustful, and Taehyung can't really blame him. He's still addressing him as genie, even if mentally, and made the mistake of asking how old he is even before he had the decency to ask his name. He hopes he won't point it out when he finally does it, "So, what's your name?" 

The genie huffs out a laugh. It's far from being a sardonic sound, and it throws Taehyung off. He didn't expect him to laugh so fully—with his throat and eyes and body and so, so similar to the first gust of warm air when you step into a sheltered place in winter. He unceremoniously sits in Taehyung's bed, crumbling a little to the side. 

His eyes keep hidden behind tiny crescents as he asks with the same touch of amusement that colors his laugh, "You ask the most unprecedented questions, did you know that?"

"I'm asking the first question in the book," Taehyung counters, completely lost.

"Well, in your book, maybe. Usually people go first to ask how many wishes I can grant them."

And oh—

Oh.

Taehyung is run over by a sudden rush of sorrow to know that the genie isn't used to people asking the most trivial things because they always put what they want from him in the first place. But he doesn't want to be that person and assume a patronizing figure that explains to the genie how sad that actually is, not when he looks so blissfully careless about it. Taehyung doesn't want to pop his bubble while he goes on fully rambling, oblivious to all the noise inside Taehyung's head, "...for some reason, a lot of people seem to think I can only grant three. Why's even that?", eyebrows knitted together in deep consideration. 

Taehyung clears his throat, intent on acting as nonchalant as possible. 

"There's this thing, huh? Wishes." He chuckles, maybe a little too nervously. "I thought we were joking." 

"Who's joking? We? I wasn't joking—" The genie asks, so endearingly confused it physically pains Taehyung, but also works as a reminder that he might not understand everything he says. Taehyung waves a dismissive hand and his shoulders slump down, quite frustrated. He takes a mental note that it will be better if he just explains things to him. If he's a secular being who's capable of shrieking himself inside of a vase, he might as well understand figures of speech. "Okay. My name is Jimin, by the way. What about you?"

Taehyung likes the name. If his memory isn't failing on him, it means a very higher wisdom. He evaluates that it sort of suits him. Well, sure there is the detail that he doesn't seem to know a lot of things, but Taehyung's sure he must've gathered a lot of knowledge through all these years. It suits him. 

But it doesn't even matter that much, because Jimin's smiling at him, and Taehyung's taken aback by how it almost looks mundane, simply friendly. It makes what's happening feel easier despite the nagging acknowledgement in the back of Taehyung's mind that keeps reminding him this is absolutely insane. And since he keeps ignoring it, Taehyung isn't wary about Jimin, about everything he could possibly do to him. 

He's far more concerned with the fact that the genie's suspiciousness seems to have vanished away, that now he's holding himself like he's almost completely at ease.

"I'm Taehyung. Nice to meet you, Jimin." He bows at him, assuming that's probably the most proper thing to do. Something crosses his mind and gets in the way of his polite smile, widening his eyes. "You look like you're my age—"

A scoff cuts him short.

"Please. I look younger than you."

"Right. You look around my age, but you're like. A lot older." Jimin scowls and Taehyung hurries to finish his train of reasoning before he can cause any more damage. "Okay, what I'm trying to ask is if I should call you hyung." 

The previous displeasure in Jimin’s impeccable features gives place to every single expression related to bewilderment that Taehyung has ever witnessed—but in a span of five seconds, tops. 

Taehyung notices the pout taking over Jimin’s lips over again. It’ll probably be a regular occurrence whenever he’s confused about something, which means he ought to get used to it. Because he’s focusing solely on the way Jimin's lips move as the words come out of his mouth instead of focusing on what they mean, and he will be looking like an idiot if he asks Jimin to repeat what he says every five minutes. 

When he forces his mind to tune on the sound of it, Jimin’s in the middle of something like, “...honorifics, I only addressed Namjoon-hyung like that, and the last time I talked to him was what? Joseon Dynasty hadn’t fallen yet? I don’t think that would be appropriate, we should stick to the usual. Officially, people go for servant, and I would’ve gotten into that part if you hadn’t shot me with a bunch of questions.” Taehyung is so thrown off by the amount of awful information he just shared with such casualty he almost doesn’t notice the sudden mock in his tone. “As I would’ve introduced if you'd let me, I’m your servant for the whole eternity, yada yada yada. I'll live with the sole purpose of making your wishes come true full-time. Any further questions?"

"Yeah, since you've asked, I have one. How can I make that stop?" Taehyung questions with a raised finger, visibly aghast. Jimin's eyes go thrice in size. "Can I free you or something? Because everything you just said is… terrible. And against a dozen labor laws, at least."

Jimin looks at Taehyung like he asked him to kill the president with a piece of lego. 

"I never got into that part. I guess so? Yeah, I think you could wish for me to be free—" Jimin stops mid-sentence, brows furrowed as if he can’t even make it up. "You want to free me? For real?"

"Yeah? Why wouldn't I?"

"Did you hear the part about infinite wishes for eternity?" He retorts, sounding squeaky.

"Did you hear the part about eternal servitude?"

Jimin gets up from the bed and starts pacing around the confined space between Taehyung’s bed and his desk, sparing him some glances once in a while, like he can’t believe him. Like he’s making a fool of himself for considering this possibility, anticipating the moment when Taehyung will confess he’s pranking him, wish for endless beer and a woman with unrealistic breast size.

He stops and turns at Taehyung with a weird thrilling aura around him, resembling too much a teenager that’s intent to go skinny-dipping before the cops can arrive to seem trustful.

"Okay, here’s the thing: I have no clue at all of what might happen to me. Maybe it won’t work, maybe I'll just turn into dust. Who knows!” Jimin claps his hands, borderline amuck. The frightening smile on his face is no different. “Only one way to see it, huh?"

"I won't turn you to dust!" Taehyung protests, a headache already building up at the prospect of explaining to his therapist that he was responsible for bringing a genie to life and killing him in the very short range of ten minutes, only a few days after they had a very enlightening session where he concluded that chaos only kept finding him because he kept sending it his live location.

"Honey, I don't really think I’ll turn into dust, I am messing with you." Jimin dismisses it with a wave of his hand. Taehyung has two itches—one for the pet name and how he drops it ever so casually, and other for how Jimin sounds like he doesn’t believe his own words and is just trying to talk him into it. "The worst case scenario is that nothing happens and I keep attached to you for the three decades you have left."

"Three?" Taehyung squeals with raging offense. 

"There are seven empty bottles of Coke over there." Jimin gestures wearily to Taehyung’s desk. "You won't be making it through your fifties." 

"You know what? You're rude and I don't want you around. I'm freeing you," he states decisively, only a tone away from pettiness. "I wish you're free and don't have to serve anyone ever again." 

Taehyung isn't bad-mannered. He's open and honest, but he always manages to balance audacity and thoughtfulness towards other people's feelings, speaking his mind but doing his best not to hurt anyone along the way. Hence it's not surprising that he regrets his impulsive words right away, or at least the part where he offended Jimin. However, it fades away as fast as it comes. 

Jimin doesn't look offended. Not the feeblest hint of hurt flashes across his features, remaining rather unfazed. 

"Alright, then, if you insist," he easily agrees, affected in every bit.

Taehyung narrows his eyes threateningly at him as he realizes he's been set up.

Jimin straightens his posture and bends his arms, shaping a square before his torso. 

He winks both eyes at the same time and—it's cute.

Taehyung is still mad at the genie for manipulating him, though. So it's cute, but in an annoying way. Like a skank kind of cute. It stinks, so you get angry because your nose stings but it doesn't change the fact that it's still cute. 

(Except that Jimin is cute and annoying and smells good. The only way he stinks is metaphorically speaking.)

His mind fleeing to the genie's scent makes it occur to him that he isn't feeling the peachy scent right now. There's no fog, no earthquake, no evidence whatsoever that could signal a magical wish coming true.

"Did it work?" He asks, hesitant. Jimin seems to be wondering just the same, scanning his body for any apparent changes. 

"I don't know," he says, tone skeptical. "Make a wish. Let's test it." 

Taehyung panics.

It always happens when anyone asks literally anything out of the blue. His favorite color? Blue-ish gray. His favorite ice cream flavor? Chocolate flake. Those are information he has stored in the most shallow part of his mental archive, that would be easy to access in theory. But try to ask it out of nowhere and watch his head go blank—or even worse, watch it come up with something distressingly stupid. It still haunts him to this day the incident when his teacher asked his father's name in fourth grade and he answered Seo Taiji. 

His eyes roam over his bedroom in a frenzy, like a clock is ticking and Jimin's gonna slap the shit out of him if he doesn't answer it in the next second. Barely five seconds have passed, but it feels like ages as he uselessly tries to rummage his brain for something he wants and ends up zeroing in Jimin's expectant look. 

He's not that far from screaming when his salvation comes in the form of cheap curtains.

Looking at them, he remembers how thin and ineffectual they are, how they don't prevent the first rays of sunlight from barging through the windows and disturbing his sleep by burning his skin—and he knows what he wants. 

He grins, proud at himself for finally coming to a conclusion. "Okay."

Jimin squints, stunned.

"This is not a magic trick, honey, I'm not asking you to think of a number. I need you to verbalize it."

"Oh. Oh! Okay." Taehyung grimaces, embarrassed. "Right. I want black-out curtains."

Taehyung can't even fathom anymore if the genie looks annoyed, bored, perplexed or a weird amalgamation of all three.

"Really?"

"Listen, I unwittingly wake up at 7AM every day because of them and this side of the building faces the East—" 

"Fine," Jimin cuts off. 

Annoyed. 

Definitely annoyed. 

He gasps, then, startling Taehyung only for a moment before his gaped mouth is stretching to the widest smile he swears he's ever seen. 

"But hey, did you see what happened? You asked for something, and I didn't feel compelled to do it!" Jimin covers his mouth with a hand, but his eyes still convey all the amazement that's pouring from him, starry and unbelieving. He proceeds to put a hand over where Taehyung supposes his heart might be. "Usually, I would feel this crushing force hurting me until I finally made it come true, but now… we're talking casually! And I didn't make it! And I'm perfectly fine!" He hops where he's standing, one foot repeatedly hitting the floor after the other, and so so so cute. "I'm free!" 

Jimin launches himself towards Taehyung, arms wrapping around his body in a side hug before he starts jumping and spinning and giggling. Taehyung doesn't meet his reaction, and he wishes he could say that he's caught by surprise or that he's not that comfortable with physical touch, specially when it's offered by strangers, but—

The truth is that he's auto-inflicting his stiffness, forcing himself to stay still as he lets the genie maneuver him because he still hasn't let go of the fact that Jimin said he's going to die at an early age.

"That's nice," he grumbles when Jimin eventually stops celebrating. "I'm happy for you." 

Taehyung makes the mistake to forget that Jimin's been reading people at least five more times than Taehyung's been poorly concealing his emotions.

The genie gives him a lopsided smile, all cheeks and pursed lips and cute. 

"Sorry about what I said before, don't take it too seriously." Jimin cups Taehyung's face. This time, when he flinches, it is because he isn't expecting the touch. He isn't expecting to melt and lean into it. "Medicine has made a lot of progress and you're probably gonna make it to your 60s. 65 sounds highly unlikely, but who knows." 

Taehyung sulks and brushes his hands off, taking a step back.

Jimin gathers his belongings—which consists basically of his bottle—, and cautiously proceeds to head to the living room. The act feels like when the credits start rolling in and you fully register that it's the end. For the past few minutes, everything has been so fast and unexpected and magical that Taehyung forgot about such mundane things as farewells. Amidst the haze of things, he didn't stop to consider what would happen after he freed Jimin, didn't stop to consider that there would be no reason for the genie to stick around.

It pricks funnily. Taehyung doesn't like it.

Jimin stops by his entrance door and shoves his bottle in his pocket. Half of it remains visible through the fabric while the other half doesn't fit, and Taehyung wonders if it would be stupid to warn a magical creature about pickpockets.

"Well, it was a pleasure meeting you. I will be forever grateful for what you've done for me." Jimin smiles so sincerely that Taehyung's awestruck for a moment, both for the grace of it and for the unbidden wave of emotion that overcomes him. "Goodbye, Mast—" He cuts himself off, jaw hanging open. "Did you see that too? I was about to call you Master, but you're not my master! Besides, I just realized I've never said goodbye to any Master before, because they normally die in infuriatingly dumb ways!" Jimin hops again, does a gawky dance that has an endeared smile springing up on Taehyung's lips on its own accord. 

Jimin takes a deep breath. He beams, perhaps for the last time Taehyung will ever see it, so he allows himself to bask in it for a moment or two.

"I'm free!" Jimin sing-songs, reaching for the door handle. "Goodbye, Taehyung-ah!" 

And just like that—the genie's gone and Taehyung's alone in his apartment again.

Two hours later, Taehyung hears someone ring his doorbell. 

"Hello! I'm back!" Jimin's chirpy voice greets him when he flings the door open.

Taehyung didn't even have the time to mourn the genie's absence. Truthfully, he's not sure if he even processed his presence, to begin with. Maybe in three days or some, he'd be starting to recognize the extent of the supernatural experience he's been through, so he could finally miss Jimin's obnoxious figure a week from now. 

Apparently, that won't be happening.

Because Jimin's obnoxious figure can't be missed if it's very much sauntering across his living room and having a seat at his couch as if he's familiar with the place. 

He takes a sip of a yellow-ish juice and leans to settle it on Taehyung's coffee table, returning to a dainty sitting position, legs crossed and hands carefully intertwined over his knees. 

It occurs to Taehyung—

There's too much color. 

Besides whatever the hell he's drinking, there's a green button in his crop top that reads greenpeace. Handmade bracelets hang loosely around his wrists, a blue baseball hat brings the logo for Taehyung's favorite fried chicken place, and not to mention all the trinkets nearly pouring from his pockets.

Some sort of traffic jam gets the countless questions that Taehyung wants to make stuck in his throat. He uselessly points to the accessories, but Jimin seemingly has something else in mind to address.

"Funny story. It seems I have nowhere else to go," he announces with a tight-lipped smile.  

Taehyung doesn't catch it at first. Nor at second or at third. He just stares at Jimin, expecting he'll elaborate, and gives up when he figures he won't. 

"You can go, like… literally anywhere."

Jimin shifts on the couch, his smile wavering until it disappears completely. 

"Um, here's this thing. I already had a suspicion because, you see," he clears his throat, averting Taehyung's gaze. He looks oddly embarrassed. "When I bid my farewell to you, I mentalized that I wanted to be at this waterfall in Brazil, but I kept rooted in your bedroom—"

"Yeah, been there. That can happen." 

"Yeah. Right. But as I didn't want to make a fool out of myself, I walked out of the door." Jimin looks at Taehyung again, scrunches his nose and then his shoulders. "Apparently… I can't do any magic now I'm free."

Taehyung gasps in shock, quickly making a beeline towards Jimin and sitting on the coffee table before him. His skin instantly crawls, chest tightening for assuming he's responsible for it in some way since he was the one to free the genie. 

"Are you sure?" Taehyung bites his lips, head going full steam to come up with a solution as guilt grows at each second. "Do you feel… I don't know, powerless?"

"No, I don't feel any different. That's why I can see there's something odd about this," he answers, and Taehyung can't wrap his mind around how calm Jimin is when he himself is on the verge of freaking out.

"If you miss your powers, can't I just wish that you go back to being a genie?" Taehyung suggests, Jimin promptly pursing his lips as if the idea displeases him.

He snaps his fingers, mood changing in the spur of a second thanks to the optimism sparked off by an idea. 

"Let's revisit what you just said about wishing things." He holds one of Taehyung's hands between his own, fogging his thoughts momentarily. "I need you to wish for something again. Anything."  

This time, Taehyung isn't caught on the hop.

"I want black-out curtains."

Jimin lets go of his hands, sighing wearily. 

"You're a man on a mission, huh?" He taunts, getting in his Genie Position. 

Jimin blinks—and Taehyung stops breathing.

He stares at Taehyung with an inquisitive look, eyebrows shooting up to the top of his forehead.

Reluctantly and with careful steps, Taehyung walks towards his bedroom. It isn't an exaggeration to say he's even more afraid now than he was at the abandoned apartment, now he's afraid to find out that Jimin's magic has been taken from him. He pries into the room, practically yelling as he catches sight of the sea themed curtains, hardly caring about the fact that it's definitely made for kids at that point. 

"It worked!" He turns back to the living room punching the air and smiling widely, but Jimin doesn't meet much of his excitement. 

"Cool," he offers with a strained smile. "Now look." 

Jimin closes his eyes and winces as if he's doing a lot of effort, arms set in his traditional position. He proceeds to blink furiously then, head banging back and forth in a way that scares Taehyung and makes him worry about his neck to the same extent.

"What are you trying to do?" He asks, approaching Jimin like he'd do to an enraged stray cat.

"I'm trying to fill your apartment with water and turn it into an aquarium," he says, plainly, still blinking hectically.

Taehyung lets out a strangled sound. 

"Nah-ah-ah-ah, no, do not do that," he begs, grabbing Jimin by the shoulders. "Hey, 's fine." Jimin peers one eye open at him, lips pouting in a beak. "You still can do your magic."

"I knew it was too good to be true." Jimin slumps back on the couch, defeated. "I knew I couldn't get away with it so easily. I feared that I could only grant other people's wishes, but not my own. That way I would be free, but not really." He smiles sadly, not meeting his eyes in the slightest. "The entity who cursed me really thought it through." 

Taehyung gives him a once over, standing straight on his feet.

"Wait. If you can't wish for things, where did this all come from?"

Jimin giggles, the first signal of genuine joy that he shows for the past few minutes.

"Turns out that apparently I'm a pretty person around here." He stretches his arms out, scanning himself proudly. "People kept giving me things for free." 

Taehyung gets quite frankly desperate at first, wondering if it was even free indeed or if Jimin robbed someone by accident, wonders if he should lecture him on accepting drinks from strangers—but it all can wait for now. There's still a bigger problem hovering between them, begging their attention. And even if it isn't that serious, even if Jimin didn't lose his powers completely, the feeling that the blame is on Taehyung is still creeping in, gnawing his insides and urging him to do something.

He sits by Jimin's side on the couch, adopting the same posture he did back when he tried to convince his landlord to rent the apartment despite the fact that he lacked a guarantor or a permanent salary.

"So, I have this whacky, crazy, loco idea in my mind," Taehyung forces out a chuckle to dissipate the tension, but the crease between Jimin's eyebrows deepens. He gulps down. "What about… It's just an idea that occurred to me. Like. What if—you can say no, obviously. I'd scratch your back and you'd scratch mine." 

Confusion takes over Jimin's face, but he twists his spine a little anyway. "Right now, you mean? But why?"

"No!" Taehyung hides the rubor in his cheeks with both hands. He's failing miserably to pick the right words, but he's too scared that Jimin might understand it the wrong way to do it any better. He doesn't want Jimin to think he's trying to take advantage of him, not when helping him and fixing the mess he made is the only thing crossing his mind. He rips the band-aid before he can make it worse, "What I'm trying to say is—we could exchange favors. I can make your own wishes for you, and in return you grant me mine too." 

"Okay." Jimin nods.

"That's it?" Taehyung's jaw goes slack.

"Yeah." Jimin nods again, confused at the man's shock. "It sounds like a fair agreement. We all win."   

"Cool! Yeah, that's what I thought!" Taehyung's worried countenance breaks into a wide smile. He shifts subtly towards Jimin, refraining himself at the last second. He's not sure if they'll be crossing any boundaries if they seal their agreement by hugging even though Jimin has literally jumped on him before. He's coming to terms with the fact that he forgets about basic social etiquette when he's around Jimin, and it's unsettling how it probably has more to do with the fact that he's the most gorgeous being he's ever seen than with him having the power of making Taehyung evaporate in the blink of an eye.

(After all, the second one isn't actually an option, unless Jimin finds someone to wish it for him. 

It's definitely his face.)

"I guess I'll be sticking around," Jimin announces, eyes unabashedly inspecting Taehyung's apartment. 

"Wait, what. You want to be like… my roommate?"

Jimin's head turns back at him. "What's a roommate?"

"Someone with whom you share the same apartment so you can split the bills and spend less money."

"I thought this was called marriage," Jimin argues, not a trace of a joke in his tone.

"Yeah, that too. But no, this is different. In marriage, you do this too, but you love the person with whom you live." Taehyung reconsiders for a moment, raising his index finger. "Actually, not necessarily —" 

"I'm severely confused."

Taehyung shakes his head and waves his hands at the same time, making a mental note to pick his words more carefully when introducing Jimin to some concepts. "All you need to know is that it's normal for friends to live together, but they either share a room with different beds or have their own bedrooms. I don't have a place for you to sleep." 

Jimin jumps to his feet, hands on his waist like he's an action figure or something. He folds his arms before him and blinks with a frisky smile dancing around his lips, but it takes no time for it to vanish.

He rolls his eyes.

"Shit, I keep forgetting about that." He beckons his head to Taehyung. "I was trying to do a dramatic outing but… um… can you do me a little help, maybe?"

Taehyung bats his long eyelashes at him in confusion before finally keeping up with his intentions. Or at least thinking he does. He decides he’ll aim at the option that doesn’t end with a bed unfittingly arranged in the middle of his living room and pray for the best. 

"I wish for you to go back to your bottle?" His uncertainty that he might've gotten it wrong makes it come off as a question, but Jimin smiles thankfully and blinks again. Taehyung is just as grateful. 

This time, the same fog from before begins to enwrap the genie until he's barely visible anymore. Taehyung hears the thud of the vase falling from his pocket, the fog shrinking and shrinking into a tinier cloud that whirlwinds as it gets inside the bottle. 

And then Jimin's gone for the second time.

Taehyung bends forward, hands on his thighs as he squints at the vase, marveling at the fact that Jimin's not gone gone this time. He's gone, but he's still at Taehyung's home—in what must be his own home, except that it's inside such a small object, out of the range of Seoul's real estate speculation powers and therefore probably a thousand times better than Taehyung's second-rate apartment.

He snorts at himself.  

"Well, I guess this will do."