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Bang, bang, bang.
Yoongi freezes upon hearing the knock on his front door. Well, it’s not so much a knock as it is the impulsive banging of someone using the cushy side of the palm instead of a simple, much more sensible, rattling of the knuckles.
Familiar. Too familiar.
There are other possibilities, Yoongi reasons. Just about anyone he knows could be pounding his door down in the middle of the night; really, it's a common occurrence in his life.
Bang, bang, bang.
“Ugh, just give me a fucking second,” Yoongi grouses loudly as he gets up from the couch, muting the highly uninteresting wildlife documentary he was snoozing over.
Bang, bang, bang again, and a “Yoongi…” muffled by the door, a whiny voice, deep and raw.
So unequivocally Taehyung.
“Shit…” Yoongi grumbles. Confirmation hits like a punch to the guts. He didn’t want to be right.
Taehyung is… problematic. To place it lightly.
Stalling with a hand on the doorknob, Yoongi takes a steadying breath that turns out utterly useless once he gets the door open; the air rushes out of him nonetheless.
“Hi,” Taehyung says simply, a smile uncovering teeth tinted pink by the blood in his mouth. He has this glint in his eyes like a mischievous child awaiting to be grounded.
A vivid flash of the past hits Yoongi like a freight train. He’s thrown back to their very first encounter on this very doorstep.
“I know you don't heal hunters, but you have to make an exception for this one,” Jin had said, a younger Taehyung hanging pitifully from his shoulder.
Yoongi had eyed him suspiciously. “Why?”
“He saved my life.”
Taehyung had greeted Yoongi in very much the same fashion; a cocky little smile, a mouth full of blood…
Why his cold, cold heart chose to betray him that night, Yoongi can't explain it still. Maybe he just felt compelled to do his job. Maybe he felt like he owed Jin a solid. Or maybe he simply fell under the young demon hunter's spell right then and there. Whatever the reason, it remained so unprofessional of him to step all over his principles like that. So unlike him.
Because, as far as Yoongi is concerned, demon hunters are shitheads. The whole lot of them.
Relenting with a sigh, Yoongi averts his eyes and points to one of his kitchen chairs. “Take a seat,” he says.
A year. A whole year came and went since the breakup, and seeing Taehyung on his doorstep still manages to make Yoongi’s heart double the pace. Problematic. As if Yoongi needs any confirmation of the hold Taehyung still has on his heart.
"Love what you did with the hair, by the way," Taehyung says with a wink—a bold attempt at breaking the tension when Yoongi knows full well he did absolutely nothing new to his hair. Same-old dark undercut as ever.
Why are you here? The question echoes in Yoongi’s mind loud enough to give him a headache but never reaches his lips. It’s futile. He knows why Taehyung is here. Above everything else is the unmistakable sign of demonic interference: the smell of sulfur clinging to the air, sticking to the inside of his nose.
“Take a seat,” Yoongi repeats coldly.
“Oh? Am I coming on too strong?”
Yoongi ignores him. "You'll fall on your face," he warns instead.
As if on cue, the smile slips off Taehyung's face, and he's overtaken by a violent coughing fit that forces him to double over, one arm around his torso. Yoongi has to step in, secure Taehyung’s body and drag him inside the house and into the designated chair. "Sit up straight," he orders, pushing him against the backrest. "Deep breaths."
Deep breaths are impossible. Signs of damage to the lungs—but Yoongi already suspected that. “How long since the injury?” he asks plainly, fingers around his wrist monitoring Taehyung’s pulse with an eye on his wall clock.
It’s easier to just tune into healer mode for now, treat him like he would any other patient. A professional headspace to keep uninvited feelings at bay. Safe.
“I don’t know,” Taehyung rasps.
"Approximate, then."
"I don't know," Taehyung reiterates. "An hour, maybe four? Who cares?”
Already, Yoongi feels his facade crack under the familiar fucking concern that grips his heart. He can’t stop himself from asking, “How many times have I told you to keep track?"
“Sorry if I got a little confused while crawling my way here under debilitating pain,” Taehyung coughs out.
The only acknowledgment Yoongi gives him is an unimpressed look. "Tell me what happened," he inquires instead. "Why are you alone? Where’s Jin?"
Taehyung grunts. "He was busy with something else," he explains. "I didn't need him for this. It was run-of-the-mill, Thursday-night hunting. Hellhound wreaking havoc in an underground parking lot, nothing fancy."
Why are you here, then? Yoongi doesn't ask again.
But Taehyung resumes with the coughing, gurgling, his whole body convulsing so violently Yoongi has to push him against the backrest again. It shakes him back into healer mode in an instant.
“Let me see,” is the only warning Taehyung gets before Yoongi pulls the hem of his shirt up, exposing his torso. “Hold this up for me,” he instructs, coaxing him to replace the hand holding the shirt with his own while he’s too busy catching his breath to attempt a witty comeback.
The whole exchange is rougher than he wants it to be, untactful, but Yoongi can’t seem to shake the air of awkwardness surrounding them. Maneuvering around Taehyung feels… familiar yet so stilted, like attempting to sing a song you used to know by heart but can’t quite remember the lyrics now.
A quick scan reveals a pink patch of flushed skin on the left side above the ribs.
A demon’s touch burns from the inside out, rarely leaving traces of injury on the surface of the skin. Yoongi has seen his fair share of internal damage. “You know the drill,” he says while dragging another chair right by Taehyung’s side and settling in, rolling up his sleeves. “Breathe,” he instructs before pressing both his palms directly to the burning patch of skin.
“Uh, hey—Easy,” Taehyung hisses. “Tickling me like this… I might get ideas.” The joke does nothing to hide how much pain he’s under; it shows in the tight lines of his face, cocky smile working double-time to hide it poorly.
Yoongi ignores him again in favour of whispering a quick soothing incantation, letting his hands glow softly against the skin.
Memories of the first time Taehyung witnessed his gift are impossible to drown. “Are you an angel?” he had asked groggily, blinking away exhaustion and pain.
This time, Taehyung simply releases a little sigh, sagging in relief against the chair while Yoongi works his magic. “Annoyed,” he points out after a moment that seems to stretch on forever. “That’s what your face is giving me.”
“You think?”
Chuckling to himself, Taehyung licks his bottom lip out of a nervous habit of his. “How’s your mom?” he asks conversationally, always knowing which button to push.
Yoongi’s answering grunt does not speak of his mother’s borderline harassing habit of reminding him of the wonderful months he shared with a charming demon hunter, how he was much more bearable as a human being back then. “I suspect you know exactly how she is,” Yoongi replies reluctantly. “In fact, I suspect she’s the one who told you I was back from Norway.”
“Fair. How’s Namjoon, then?”
Not detracting from his healing task—also, stubbornly not looking at Taehyung’s face—Yoongi gripes, “Enough with the small talk.”
“Sheesh. Someone’s in a bad mood.”
A sigh. “What do you want me to say, huh?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Taehyung shrugs, reinvigorated now that Yoongi has managed to calm down the burning to a mild itch. “Maybe, ‘Nice to see you, Tae. How’ve you been?’”
Yoongi is starting to regret ever making him sit on this damn chair in the first place. “I know how you are,” he says. “I just took your vitals.”
“You must be a little rusty, then,” Taehyung says, letting it float between them for a few seconds of loud silence before he sighs. “Your mom says you haven’t been sleeping well.”
“When have I ever?” Yoongi asks, eyebrows lifting in perplexity. And he really should know better than to poke the bear like this because Taehyung’s answer is so predictable.
“With me you have—”
“Taehyung.” It’s a warning.
“—Every night,” he barrels on, “like a baby.”
“Don’t.”
Taehyung heeds the warning this time—probably just because he gets what he wants by making Yoongi squirm. He changes the subject, pointing to the slowly healing injury under Yoongi’s magical care. “Got rammed into a corner,” he explains unpromptedly. “Got… distracted.”
"Seems like I'm not the only one getting rusty," Yoongi mutters pettily.
All jokes aside though, something is off. They’ve been here before. They’ve been here a lot. Taehyung barging in after a hunt, physically hurt and exhausted, was once a regular thing in Yoongi’s life. He knows what Taehyung sounds like after a hunt gone wrong. He’s heard the wisecracks and poor excuses a thousand times over.
This isn’t it.
Why are you here?
Eye contact is unavoidable when Taehyung guides Yoongi’s head up with graceful fingers under his chin. “Look at me, Yoongi,” he says. “You haven’t been looking properly.”
And now that he has to… Taehyung has seen better days. The golden of his skin a little greyer than usual, one of his eyes bloodshot. But underneath all the grime and crusted blood, it’s the lack of light in the depth of his eyes that’s the most concerning; an unsettling stillness there speaking louder than anything Taehyung could ever say.
Yoongi’s heart sinks low in his guts. Panic is not a state he knows well. He’s the cool-headed healer, always one step ahead, always in control even in desperate times… but this is Taehyung.
“You’re dying.” The words leave Yoongi like an inevitability only confirmed further by the relieved expression Taehyung gives him… like not having to announce it out loud makes it somehow less of a burden for him.
Everything suddenly makes so much more sense, the missing puzzle piece falling into place flawlessly. Taehyung wouldn't come to Yoongi for a simple wound; he just wouldn't. But if his soul has been weakened…
“What happened?” Yoongi presses, ignoring the way his heart squeezes painfully. “Taehyung.” A sharp breath. “What happened?”
“Well, you know how they say you should never hunt a demon with a broken heart?”
They say—Oh.
Demons latch on weaknesses offered to them, gnaw around the gash until it rips open, raw and bloody. They tear souls apart, creep in through cracks and feed off the vulnerable.
Broken heart.
“I did this to you,” Yoongi gasps out, mortifying realization just settling in.
If Yoongi hadn't left… He didn't have to leave. Why did he leave?
“Demons did this to me,” Taehyung corrects, all amusement gone from his tone this time, but his voice is muffled by the high-pitched ringing in Yoongi’s ears.
Because a year ago, Namjoon appeared with a job offer requiring Yoongi to move to Norway for a while. Because a year ago, the prospect of deepening his knowledge on medicinal runes and ancient spells seemed so important.
“Yoongi.” Taehyung sounds so distant.
Because a year ago, Yoongi was too much of a coward to tell Taehyung he wanted him to come along, stubborn pride forcing him to leave a part of himself behind in the process.
”Love,” Taehyung tries again, the pet name grabbing Yoongi’s attention in a heartbeat. “I’m sorry,” he adds, thumbing over prominent knuckles as he drags one of Yoongi’s hands away from his abdomen and up to his lips, the brush of a kiss there, soft—some would say out-of-character soft, but Yoongi knows better. “I don’t think I’m salvageable at this point.”
Yoongi frowns, breathes in deep—four seconds in, four seconds out. "I need to see," he says, reminding himself that Taehyung needs a healer right now. Not a tormented ex-boyfriend with an aching heart. He gets up and pushes his chair aside with a foot. "Tilt your head back," he instructs.
“My soul is tearing, Yoongi,” Taehyung says, his turn to frown. “I can feel it. There’s nothing you can do.”
“Tilt. Your head. Back,” Yoongi enunciates firmly, undeterred.
Taehyung does not try to protest further—which is unusual, but again not unprecedented when faced with Yoongi's stubbornness. He lets Yoongi cradle his face in both hands, allows a breath to wheeze out as he tilts his head back.
Eyes are the gateway to a person's soul, and so Yoongi needs to maintain steady eye contact for this. This way, it's possible to pry past layers of tissue and bones in search of the remnants of that light that makes Taehyung, Taehyung. The inspection is intended to be clinical, would've been if not for the way Yoongi has to lean into Taehyung's space, close enough so their noses are mere inches apart.
“Are you about to kiss me better?” Taehyung jokes, sounding a little breathless. He cocks his head to the side, eyesight shifting to Yoongi’s lips. “‘Cause I wouldn’t say no to that.”
“Shut up,” Yoongi gripes. “I’m trying to repair your soul.”
“Isn’t that impossible?”
"Do you think I've spent a year freezing my ass off in the cold dark ends of Norway for nothing? I've learned things. Now, stop talking. You're distracting me."
Ignoring the way Taehyung's eyes crinkle with fondness while still maintaining eye contact, Yoongi places one of his hands at the center of Taehyung's chest, lets magic build up there. There's a spell he can use. It's old and costly, but it might well be the only chance Taehyung has.
With a few words, Yoongi can reach for Taehyung's mangled soul and bind it to his own, give it a chance to mend, thread itself back together using Yoongi's life force. The procedure is meant to be taxing on the caster—or so Yoongi was taught. Taehyung's soul seems to call desperately for him, however, surrendering to the spell unguarded and trusting.
Warmth blooms inside Yoongi's chest and expands to all of his limbs until he feels himself becoming drowsy, sagging a little against Taehyung's body.
“You okay?” Taehyung asks, one arm circling Yoongi’s waist to keep him close.
“Your light is back,” Yoongi tells him, exhausted. Relieved. Happy. “I’ve restored it.”
The right corner of Taehyung’s mouth curls up. “That’s good.” He lays a hand over the one Yoongi has on his chest and squeezes softly. For a moment, they stay just like this, breathing each other in. Taehyung is playing with Yoongi’s wrist, rubbing lightly over his pulse point. Unfair how his hands remain so soft despite all the gruesome fights they’ve seen. “Where’s the bracelet I gave you?” he asks after a moment, looking down at their hands.
“What? I don’t know. In a box under my bed or something,”
Taehyung chuckles softly. “It’s a protection charm, Love. You have to keep it on for it to work.”
"I'm not the one who needs protection here," Yoongi quips just so he doesn't have to confess that the bracelet reminds him too much of the happy times they've shared. "I still can't believe you, Tae," he grits out, curbing the urge to punch Taehyung where he knows it'll hurt the most. "Most hunters don't let themselves become this vulnerable for a good reason, you know?"
Of course, Taehyung has never known the meaning of precaution, and so he laughs, open and loud in the tight space between them. “Wouldn’t be the first time my feelings for you got me in trouble,” he reasons. “Remember when Jin first learned about you and I hooking up? He threatened me with a skewer knife.”
Yoongi doesn’t remember. “He did? Why?”
“Thought I wasn’t being serious about us.” A huff. “Can you believe him? Me, not serious?”
“Mmhm. How crazy of him.”
“I’ve seen Jin fight legions of Hell with his bare hands.” Taehyung shudders dramatically. “I can barely imagine what he can do with cutlery. Now, that’s scary.”
Yoongi rolls his eyes. "You're insufferable."
“You love it.”
The back-and-forth is familiar, endearing; it steals a smile from Yoongi. Taehyung reaches up to brush his lips against his gently, and it suddenly feels like being able to come up for air after forcing himself underwater for so long. A splash of colours.
The kiss speaks of everything they're both too stubborn to tell each other. They’ve never been a perfect fit, but they were something good, an unspoken balance. Like this, it almost feels like there never was any distance between them—and maybe there wasn’t. Maybe Yoongi’s heart has always been here; home with Taehyung.
The spark is still there, just waiting to be healed.
“You’ll have to stay here for a while,” Yoongi informs, resting their foreheads together. “To heal,” he adds as an afterthought.
"You could just say you can't get enough of me," Taehyung offers, little puffs of breath hitting Yoongi's face as he chuckles. “Hey, they probably have demons to hunt in Norway too, right?”
“They do. Why?”
“There hasn't been a single day since you left where I didn't regret not asking to come with you.”
A confession. Taehyung is so fearless. Always has been. If Yoongi could gather enough courage now, he would tell him about the way his fingers itch to message him every time he has a rough night where he can’t sleep. He would tell him about regrets and loneliness and aching hearts. He would tell him that, despite all the ways they are different, Taehyung is always such a whirlwind of happiness in Yoongi's otherwise plain little life filled with duty and knowledge.
“I’ve missed you,” Yoongi tells him instead.