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During long winter nights when the glimmering stars cover the endless indigo sky and the moon appears to be closer than it really is, the still surface of the black water becomes a mirror of the soul. City lights – yellow and red and blue – dance across the expanse of the ocean, creating an image of a long forgotten paradise with lost souls roaming its streets in search of last chances for redemption.
Jimin leans over the railing on the dock and looks down at his reflection, but the water is too dark and all he manages to see are dim lights of the lamps scattered around the port.
“Haven’t we agreed that you’d stop doing that?” a voice says, somewhere behind him.
Jimin laughs, bubbly and childlike, innocent, almost, and pushes himself up. His eyes land on a figure clad in leather and dark denim, on dirty blonde hair and eyes the color of molten lava.
“The same can be said to you, Yoongi,” Jimin says, not taking his eyes of the blue fire Yoongi is cradling in his hands, flames licking his fingers like snakes. It’s mesmerizing – absolute control over one of the most unstable elements, but Yoongi does it with ease. When he wraps his fingers around it, the fire dies out. Jimin blinks as white smoke slips past Yoongi’s fingers before dispersing into thin air.
Yoongi looks at him, a crooked smile gracing his features, and says “I’m not doing it any longer.”
- - -
When Jimin first met him, he thought that Yoongi was the wind. One moment gentle, caressing his skin with long fingers, and the next moment violent and brutal, destroying everything in his path.
But Yoongi never snapped, never lost his balance no matter how hard Jimin tried to push him over the edge, testing his limits, teasing him because Jimin was water, sometimes a calm sea, often a playful stream, rarely a tsunami.
Water and wind usually get along. All great storms were combination of the two and Jimin wanted them to be one.
- - -
Yoongi runs his finger along the rim of the porcelain cup as he waits for Jimin to come. The green tea has turned cold, Jimin is late.
The small café not far away from the beach is closing in less than an hour and all guests who are still chatting and enjoying their beverages are regular customers. All except Yoongi.
If he were the one to pick a place, he would never choose this one because it is too close to the water; the air is an odd mixture of sea salt and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. It makes him sick, but Jimin loves this place and the caramel mocha they make.
The bell above the entrance signals the arrival of a new customer and Yoongi looks up from his cup. When his eyes meet Jimin’s blue ones, Jimin smiles and approaches him, a little bounce in his steps. He’s wearing an oversized blue hoodie; his hands are tucked in the pockets. His hair is messy like he woke up not an hour ago and Yoongi wants to reach out and comb his fingers through Jimin’s hair, but he doesn’t. Instead he curls his fingers around the cup, managing to glare at Jimin with false annoyance.
“You’re late. My tea is cold.”
Jimin sits across from him, reaches out his hand to snatch Yoongi’s drink. Their fingers touch and jolts of electricity run all the way from their fingertips to their hearts. Yoongi briefly wonders if he’ll ever get used to it because Jimin’s skin is cold like glaciers, like ice and snow. Like water.
He can see Jimin’s cheeks turning red as he ducks his head and takes a careful sip.
“It’s not so bad,” he says and Yoongi snickers. “If you don’t like it cold, you can always heat it up.”
“Jimin, you know that we can’t use out powers like that.”
Jimin hums in response before taking another sip. Yoongi forgot to add sugar, again. When he puts the cup down, Yoongi sees frost creating patters on the sky blue porcelain.
“And you know we never followed rules.”
- - -
If they did follow rules, they wouldn’t be at this place together.
People with too much water in their being like Jimin and people with fire in their veins like Yoongi rarely crossed paths and when they did, it was never with a happy outcome.
But there was something thrilling in defying the rules and Jimin wanted to break all of them with Yoongi.
- - -
Yoongi opens the lighter and watches for a few seconds as the flame dances in the air before the wind blows it off. Cursing under his breath, he closes the silver lighter with a click.
“It’s my first time seeing this,” Jimin muses, his feet dangling above the water.
It’s the middle of winter, air crisp, water cold like his skin and his slightly blue lips. Yoongi wants to make him warm.
“Seeing what?” he grunts in response as the wind picks up.
“Element disobeying —”
“I’m not wind,” Yoongi cuts him off and Jimin throws his head back, looking at Yoongi who appears to be upside-down. For a heartbeat, things fall out of sync and maybe it’s better this way.
Yoongi shoves the lighter in the pocket of his bomber jacket and Jimin watches him step forward, shielding his hands from the wind. Bangs fall into his eyes, but he doesn’t seem to notice, too focused on the way his skin is warming up before the sparks start flying.
Jimin hears thunder in the distance and prays that it doesn’t rain because the fire that starts on Yoongi’s palms and spreads slowly across his hands is mesmerizing. The flames are blue, the color of burning alcohol. They swirl around Yoongi’s fingers like snakes and he caresses them, gently like a lover would.
His eyes light up too, with a darker color, molten lava, maybe. Jimin was never too good with colors, but Yoongi’s eyes are reflecting the fire burning in his hands and Jimin wishes that he knew some better words to describe what he sees.
The fire crackles, sends sparks flying into the air and Yoongi smiles, running his fingers over the flames before they retreat into his left hand, gather on his palm. The flame is becoming brighter and brighter, blue turning to purple then red and the fire starts resembling a candle, but much more warmer.
He approaches Jimin, squats beside him and lets the flames illuminate their faces. Jimin’s cheeks are rosy from the biting wind and the fire in Yoongi’s hands. He reaches out towards the flames before he remembers that he could still get burnt. His fingers freeze in mid-air and he bites his lips.
Yoongi cocks his head and says “Go ahead. I won’t burn you.”
Jimin looks at him, searching answers in eyes the color of liquid gold. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. It’s usually the water that destroys the fire and not the other way around.”
Yoongi’s words are true and Jimin nods before touching the flames. They sway in the wind, moving away from his cold fingers like they’re trying to escape and he frowns.
Yoongi laughs, low and husky, before wrapping his fingers around Jimin’s wrist and guiding his hand. This time, the flames reach out to greet him, kissing his fingertips tenderly, tickling his skin. It’s warm and oddly pleasant, being engulfed by flames.
Maybe he can, too, burn with Yoongi.
- - -
Kissing Yoongi is like kissing the sun and Jimin feels himself melting just like Icarus, but his fall will be a peaceful one because the ocean will embrace him, hug him tightly and never let go because the water is eternal. It never ceases to exist, it only changes shape. That’s why Jimin can be cold like ice one moment and warm like light summer rain the next.
Yoongi will never get used to it, no matter how many times he kisses Jimin, no matter how many times he holds Jimin close and feels his skin warming up under his touch.
When Jimin runs his fingers up Yoongi’s spine, over the ridges, Yoongi shivers and Jimin presses his lips against the soft skin behind Yoongi’s ear.
“I like this. The way you react to me,” he whispers and Yoongi turns his head just enough to kiss him. Lips on lips, careful not to bruise, not to bite even though Jimin looks gorgeous with rosy, warm lips.
- - -
Jimin opens the tap and lets the water run for a few seconds before gathering some of it in his hands. It’s lukewarm, always lukewarm and as it slips through the cracks between his fingers, it turns to ice.
As the pieces fall into the sink, melting in contact with metal and warm air, Yoongi comes to the kitchen, leans on the doorframe and watches as Jimin runs his hands through the water, turning it to ice for a minute, freezing it in mid-air. He rarely has the chance to see Jimin like this – blue eyes as dark as the depths of the ocean, lips pursed in concentration as his hands work magic of their own.
Long before Yoongi learnt how to manipulate fire, he heard the legend about people who had too much of one element in their body, people destined to spend their life alone because sometimes holding power means losing those close to you, one way or the other. At that time, he didn’t think much of it. The story was the same as any other urban legends – lots of pretty words and no truth, something that could be sold to hungry tourists willing to turn over every rock in search of interesting stories. But then Yoongi turned eighteen and started playing with fire.
Compared to Yoongi who is often careless and doesn’t really care about his ability, Jimin is graceful as he wills the water to move, to dance as it freezes, turning into ice or snow, and Yoongi can’t stop watching him. When Jimin catches him staring, all the water suspended in the air until that moment falls on ceramic tiles. On Jimin, too. Cold, icy rain pierces his skin like needles, but Jimin pays no attention to it, too focused on Yoongi.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters. “About the mess. It’s been a while since I did that.”
“But you’re always on the beach. I met you there.”
“Yeah, but I can’t control that amount of water without causing trouble or getting myself drenched.”
Yoongi laughs.
Jimin flinches, moves a step back. He remembers doing something like this when he was a kid. He remembers his father grounding him and calling him a freak. But Yoongi only smiles. Reaches out his hand to ruffle Jimin’s wet hair.
“I want to see more,” he says. “Please show me more.”
“Okay,” he nods, albeit a little hesitant. He’s water, Yoongi’s fire. The two shouldn’t mix. “But you have to promise me that you won’t touch it. I’m not as good as you. It’ll melt.”
Jimin’s control isn’t perfect not because he’s weak, but because perfection requires practice and Jimin has never really had enough time to spend in nurturing his power.
Showing it to Yoongi makes him nervous even though his fingers are itching to move, to feel the smooth texture of ice sculptures. He takes a deep breath, looks away from Yoongi and starts.
Water flies towards the ceiling, raining from the ground to the sky, before drops turn to snowflakes.
- - -
Small things make life beautiful so Jimin learns how to cherish them before they slip between his fingers like water does sometimes. He wraps his fingers around Yoongi’s warm ones and feels destiny pulling them close until they become one entity. He lets Yoongi ignite the fire inside him that has been dormant for a very, very long time.
He sees changes in Yoongi, too. They’re reshaping each other, teaching each other how to nurture what they have because even though they can control two opposite elements, they’re not elements themselves and Yoongi can burn brightly even in Jimin’s presence because Jimin will never put out his fire.
- - -
It’s always been easy, playing with fire, letting the flames swallow him whole and being reborn again, but Yoongi is tired of it. Of having control over his death, choosing when to live and when to die.
He cradles the flame on his palm, watches it sways in the cold wind and waits. At the docks, by the sea. It’s not his favorite place, but it is Jimin’s and who is Yoongi to deny him what his heart yearns for.
Jimin comes long after the sun has set, long after the lamps started illuminating the city with milky lights. It’s almost completely dark, at the pier, and Jimin approaches him with careful steps.
“It looks pretty,” he says, thinking about the flame in Yoongi’s palm.
“But not as pretty as you,” Yoongi responds looking away from the fire. Jimin smiles, bright.
No matter how mesmerizing the flames are, blue and red and orange, they aren’t quite like Jimin, aren’t quite as warm and Yoongi would trade all futures he has left for one present with Jimin, so he closes his fingers, lets the fire die out, before lifting his hand to cup Jimin’s cheek. His fingers are warm and Jimin leans into the touch just like Icarus moved closer to the sun many centuries ago.