Chapter Text
The first time Yoongi had come to the forest beyond Camp Half-Blood had been an accident. He isn’t quite sure why the thoughts of somewhere safe had brought him to a forest filled with monsters, but he supposes the way of the dark spirits is unbeknownst even to him at times.
He’d been faced with the sight of a pack of Erymanthian boars as they surrounded a bunch of children with wide eyes and terrified cries. Yoongi had seen a single blonde boy wielding a sword with calm determination, shielding the children with his back. Brave, he’d thought then, brave but foolish. The boy hadn’t looked like a fighter, all long limbs and delicate features, and Yoongi knows better than to judge by appearance, but his stance was all wrong and his grip around the bronze sword white-knuckled.
He could’ve slipped away then, before they noticed him. Yoongi knew he should have, because helping out would only garner the attention he didn’t need nor want, but he’d seen something of himself in the ashen faces of the kids and knew he couldn’t walk away no matter how much he'd ached to. And besides, he’d much rather not have blood staining this forest, because Yoongi had already the appeal of the quiet scenery, nothing but trees and dappled sunlight in sight — staked his claim — and if he’s planning on coming back, he doesn’t want the weight of their deaths at the back of his mind.
Pulling his guns from the inside of his leather jacket felt more like going home than the Underworld ever had, the weight of the Stygian iron in his grip warm and alive beneath his palms. At the clicking sound of Yoongi unlocking them, blondie’s eyes turned to him, and soon enough, the children's frightened eyes find him too.
Too late to turn back now, Yoongi had decided, and aimed while he waited for the boars to notice him. It hadn’t taken long. Children of hell have a different aura — something horrible and enticing to the monsters under the bed, repulsive to mortals with purer blood.
The moment they turned, large heads swivelling over massive shoulders, Yoongi fired, only the sound of the quiet clicks of the triggers permeating the silence within the clearing. Clean, quick, and bloodless.
Silent.
The monsters fell from their head wounds, disintegrating into fire and ash. Yoongi had felt their deaths before they’d even hit the ground.
Tucking his weapons away, Yoongi had made to escape back into the shadows and disappear before the humans — or, rather, demigods — Yoongi thought he felt something undeniably golden about their souls — caught him and tried to… to thank him or something equally horrible, and consequently notice him for what he is.
He’d slipped back into the shadows, thinking of nothing but far away, ignoring the shout of “Wait!” that followed him through the dark.
Even after narrowly avoiding an unwanted encounter with the other demigods, Yoongi goes back, eventually. Something about that particular forest, the magic thrumming between the leaves and the rustle of life beneath the ground draws Yoongi in like a beacon.
And going back quickly becomes a habit. He sits under the trees, sometimes to listen to music, sometimes to clean his weapons, and other times simply to shut his eyes and fall asleep to the quiet hum of the forest.
Yoongi becomes aware that this forest is a passageway of sorts, where the blonde boy from that fateful first day comes around from time to time, followed by a pack of small, eager children trailing after him like little lost ducklings, but Yoongi is always careful to stay out of sight.
Sometimes, he’d take care of any monsters beforehand, moving ahead to get rid of them before they can cross paths with the children. If anyone were to ask, he’d tell them he’d done it simply because the monsters would interrupt his sleep.
If the blonde notices the mysterious absence of demon kind, he doesn’t say a word about it to the children, and Yoongi is always careful to leave before they can run into him.
Yoongi slips up, four months later.
Killing the monsters that disrupt his peace has become something like a habit — something he doesn’t even pause to think about anymore — but all it takes a giant snake that puts up more of a fight than usual to break the tentative cycle.
Yoongi barely escapes a nasty bite, only just scrambling out of the way in time after being thrown against a tree. He manages to kill it, with five straight shots down the creature’s throat, but lying there on the forest floor, feeling blood seep through his shoulder, Yoongi feels more irritated than successful. Peeling off one sleeve of his leather jacket, Yoongi hisses at the feeling of a gash stretching open.
Fuck.
A fang had sliced through his skin, and while Yoongi’s a got a quick healing factor, he’s only got some ambrosia on him, and he doesn’t think it will be very effective in curing poison — which, he’s almost certain lined the snake’s fangs.
Leaning his head back against the tree with a groan, Yoongi stares up at the sky, squinting from the rays of sun breaking through the overtops of the trees. He isn’t going to die, his connection with the Underworld tells him this much, but his vision is already blurring and there’s a numbing sensation spreading through his shoulder.
It certainly feels like he’s going to die.
Yoongi shuts his eyes, intent on catching his breath before shadow travelling elsewhere — he’s not quite sure where — to maybe sleep off his affliction, but that’s when he hears the chatter of young voices and the rustling of footsteps against dirt.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Of course, it’d be the blonde guy and his entourage of the day.
“It won’t be much further, but…” The man's voice trails off, likely due to the sight of Yoongi lying there in a pool of his own blood. Yoongi cracks one eyelid open in an attempt to glare him away, too exhausted to do much else. He curses his luck to the grave, knowing full well he needs help, but hating that he doesn’t have any other choice.
He hates it even more when the man runs over, crouching next to him with a worried frown. “Hey, are you okay? You’re… I never got to thank you that day.” He pauses to stem the flow of his words. “What happened here?”
“Giant snake,” Yoongi bites out. The children are watching them curiously, big eyes flicking between Yoongi’s face and the blood seeping into the forest floor, staining fallen leaves bright red. “You got anything for poison?”
The man sucks in a breath through his teeth. “You’ve been bitten?”
“Cut,” Yoongi corrects. Then he’s flinching away as the guy reaches out to touch him. The grip around his arm remains firm, but there’s an apologetic furrow to his fair brows.
“Sorry. I’m going to have to move you. I don’t have anything for the poison on me, but if it was a giant snake, I’ve got the antidote back at camp.”
Camp. Yoongi doesn’t like the sound of this. He eyes the tacky pink shirt adorned with the words Half-Blood Prince etched on the breast. Either a diehard Harry Potter nerd, or a fucking demigod. Yoongi isn’t liking the prospect of either.
But faced with death, many make terrible choices. Yoongi, demigod of death himself, is no exception.
He lets the man, Seokjin, son of Persephone, as he’s quickly informed, pull Yoongi’s arm over his shoulder to take his weight and lead him through the underbrush, leaving behind his sanctuary and quiet, curious and wary of the determination behind Seokjin’s eyes.
Fuck.
He should’ve never strayed from Hell.
Within two minutes of setting foot in the infirmary, Yoongi is quickly reaffirmed of his opinion on demigods.
It’s not that Yoongi hates them. He just… isn’t overly fond of associating with them, as more often than not, he finds that demigods, in general, are judgemental idiots.
Delirious from the poison and blood loss, Yoongi gravely tells the cowering nurses of his opinion. When they try to get him to drink the antidote, he kindly tells them where they can shove it. In the face of fearful and mistrustful looks of other demigods, Yoongi's reminded of how much he doesn’t fucking belong— anywhere, ever — no matter how hard he tries or how many of them he helps. They’ll never accept him the way they accept each other.
It’s his curse. Born to the god of death himself, Yoongi has lived with the stigma of being the harbinger of misfortune — the personification of evil and ill omens. He’ll never escape it.
Maybe dying from poison is a fitting way to go. At the very least, it isn’t nearly as painful as a lot of what he’s seen.
Yoongi, vision swimming and ice crawling up his shoulder, shoves aside the assistants with their wary eyes and furtive touches. They shrink away.
They’re afraid of him.
Of course they are. They always fucking are.
He doesn’t know why he’d let that Seokjin guy bring him here.
Perhaps it’d been because the blonde, at the very least, for all his carefully hidden mistrust, hadn’t been scared to touch him. He’d let his guard down — let himself think, for a moment, that maybe things could be different. He’d done nothing wrong to these people, after all.
He sits up on the bed, clutching at his head when the blood rushes south, leaving him dizzy and disoriented, and he has to pause to regain his bearings. Seokjin has re-entered the room, frozen at the entrance at the sight of a cursing Yoongi and the nurses, or whatever they are, huddled away fearfully on the other side of the room.
“Hey…” Seokjin begins carefully. “We’re just trying to help — ”
“Fuck you and your ‘help’,” Yoongi snarls, pulling himself to his feet. He stumbles a few steps, grabbing his jacket where it had been folded up on the back of a visitor chair. His father would have an antidote — he doesn’t have to say a fucking second longer, doesn’t have to deal with the crawling sensation of their fear and disgust —
And that’s when Yoongi’s heart stutters, stops, and kick-starts.
There’s a boy pushing his way past Seokjin into the room, ignoring Seokjin’s protests of “Jimin, no, it’s dangerous.” He’s got a head soft, ebony hair, and a small frame swimming in an oversized white Halfblood tee. His eyes are pretty, the prettiest Yoongi’s ever seen, and there’s something gentle about his face — something that eases the clenching of Yoongi’s chest and unravels him.
Then he’s speaking, and Yoongi sags a little where he’s standing, jacket falling from his grasp to a heap on the floor.
“It’s okay,” the boy is saying, gentle; coaxing. “You’re okay. No one’s going to hurt you here.”
He — Jimin, Yoongi tells himself distantly — could’ve been speaking alien-tongue, for all Yoongi cared. He’d still nod like it’d been the wisest thing he’s ever heard.
Jimin takes a step forward. And Yoongi, for once in his life, the first time in the entirety of his twenty-four years, doesn’t feel the need to take a step back.
There’s no fear.
Jimin, in the earnest widening of his eyes, isn’t scared. Pleading, a little worried, and maybe with a hint of a frown, but he isn’t scared.
And Yoongi couldn’t have gone anywhere if he’d wanted. Not when those lips — those eyes — are begging him not to.
“You’re okay. Please let us help.”
Yoongi nods, slow and unsteady. The boy reaches out, and Yoongi doesn’t pull away; lets himself be led back to the bed, where he lies down without taking his eyes away from the angelic face peering down at him anxiously.
One of the assistants makes her way over, vial clutched tightly in one hand, like she’s afraid Yoongi will grab it and chuck it out the window, or back at her — he doesn’t know or care.
“Only you,” Yoongi slurs, tongue feeling like lead in his mouth.
Jimin blinks a little in surprise, and the girl pauses uncertainly.
“Not anyone else.”
After a moment, Jimin seems to understand. With a gentle smile, he pries the antidote from the girl’s grip, who seems relieved to have it gone. She scurries out of the room, followed by the others. Only Seokjin remains, poised at the door like he’s ready to intervene at a moment’s notice, but calm enough that he probably understands that there’s no more need to.
Jimin helps Yoongi sit up, small hand holding the vial to Yoongi’s lips to help him drink it. He meets Yoongi’s eyes with a small smile. When it’s dried, he sets it aside and gets to work tugging up the hem of Yoongi’s shirt. Yoongi lets him, holding back a wince when his wound is stretched.
But the antidote is working already, and his vision is already steadying. It allows him to appreciate the small details of Jimin’s face in this proximity, the slight purse of his lips as he works to clean the cut.
Yoongi’s never felt this at ease in the presence of another person before — his father included.
He hadn’t thought it could be possible, for him to feel at ease next to someone — at least, not someone alive. He’d always felt more at peace next to the dead than the living. And he doesn’t know quite what it means that this boy can stay near him — how he can stand the crawling sensation of death that Yoongi no doubt makes him feel without a single flash of doubt or hesitation layering his actions.
Yoongi is fascinated, despite himself.
Jimin smooths his hands over the bandaid he plasters to Yoongi’s shoulder, making a tiny noise of satisfaction to accompany the movement.
“There! All done.”
He pulls away, and Yoongi is mystified at the feeling of disappointment that overtakes him. He wants this boy close, and if that isn’t the most puzzling sensation, he doesn’t know what is.
“How are you feeling?”
Dazed and more than a little smitten, Yoongi answers, “Better,” in a hoarse rasp.
Jimin reads the scratchiness of his voice for what it is. “I’ll get you some water. Stay put, okay?”
He’s got his hands on his hips, and Yoongi is overwhelmed with the need to please him. He nods, unable to work out an eloquent reply that varies from the pathetic, “Whatever you say,” that nearly slips past his lips.
He slumps back against the pillow behind his back as he watches Jimin leave, ducking under Seokjin’s arm. He’s short, Yoongi notes, doesn’t even have to bend far to get under. The fact sends another warm wave of… something through the pits of his stomach.
Yoongi wonders if they’d put something in his antidote — a fucking love potion or anything like it — to make him feel like such a fool.
He’d momentarily forgotten that Seokjin was still there and nearly jumps out of his skin when the blonde speaks up.
“You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.” They’re in the absence of others, and yet he doesn't bring up Yoongi’s little scene just moments prior.
Yoongi is grudgingly grateful. Seokjin’s gaze is nothing if not professional, but it’s not Jimin. He isn’t precisely warm nor cold. A strict neutral, Yoongi decides. Safe, but not a haven.
He isn’t asking for the latter, so Yoongi dips his head in acquiescence.
“I suppose we’re even, now,” Seokjin adds, and there’s something lighter sparking in the smile on his lips.
Yoongi snorts. “You don’t owe me a thing.”
Apparently it hadn’t been the response he’d expected, judging from Seokjin’s look of surprise, just before he schools it back to his default state of pleasant neutrality. “You saved us that day. And after that.”
“I didn’t do it for you.”
“I know. Who you did it for doesn’t change anything. You killed those monsters and protected the kids.” Somehow, beyond his professional smile, Yoongi sees a playful edge. “That practically gives you camp counsellor status here.”
At this, Yoongi barks a laugh. “You don’t want me counselling your kids. I’d only send them to an early grave.”
Seokjin considers this seriously. “Still, you're welcome to stay. You don’t have to do anything. Just stay.”
“… Why?”
“Because this is where you belong,” Seokjin tells him. Simple as that.
Only it isn’t so simple, because Yoongi has been told many things, and he knows a lie when he hears one.
He doesn’t belong anywhere, least of all here. Today was proof enough that he never will.
He turns away in clear dismissal, shutting his eyes.
Jimin still hasn’t returned with the water. He wants to stay awake, see Jimin’s face once more before he goes, but waves of black are dragging him under.
Seokjin murmurs something, right as Yoongi drifts off, and his voice lost to the darkness.
Yoongi wakes to an empty room and a glass of water sitting at his table. There’s a note beside it that says Thank you for letting me help! :) next to a little drawing of a what looks like a cartoon sheep with smiling eyes and round cheeks.
He drinks the water, and the slip of paper falls somewhere in the pockets of his leather jacket for safe-keeping.
Then Yoongi lets the shadows take him away.
It’s exactly one month later that Yoongi gathers the courage to go back to the forest, and to his displeasure and surprise, he’s met with Seokjin’s face almost immediately.
He reels backwards. “What the fuck — ”
“Is your wound healed up?” Seokjin interrupts. “Namjoon wanted to talk to you last time, but you disappeared so quickly. He wanted to make a proposition. How good are you with a bow?”
It’s a lot of information to take in. Yoongi narrows his eyes, taking a step back to regain his personal space. “Who the fuck is Namjoon?”
Seokjin takes a step forward. “The camp leader, son of Athena. I know you’re a good shot with a gun, but can you shoot an arrow?”
“I can shoot one into your foot, if you don’t get out of my face.”
Seokjin wisely does so. “What about a sword?”
“I’ve had training in everything,” Yoongi states flatly. He isn’t bragging, simply stating the facts. If Seokjin’s going to drill him in his weapons prowess, naming one at a time would take a fucking lot of time he isn’t willing to waste.
“You should come back to camp with me. We need someone like you.”
“… No one needs someone like me.”
At the self-decrepitation Yoongi hadn’t been able to filter from his words, a flash of something flickers across Seokjin’s face. It makes Yoongi scowl, fight off the itch to disappear just so he wouldn’t have to look at it.
“That's not true. We do. None of the camp leaders are really fighters. We have some talented kids, but…” Seokjin swallows, like he’s searching for the right thing to say. “No one to teach them.”
“Were you just standing around here waiting for me to show up?” Yoongi asks, changing the subject abruptly.
“I came not long ago, actually. You’re predictable. You always come around the afternoon when it’s warmest.”
Yoongi seethes a little at being read so easily. He hadn’t even noticed this pattern himself. He sets his jaw, deciding he should be more careful.
“Please don’t make that face. If you want to keep coming out here, I won’t disturb you. But I just wanted you to think about it… We always have a home for you at Camp Halfblood.”
“I’m the son of Hades,” Yoongi says, wondering if the fact hadn’t settled into Seokjin’s blonde head.
“And I’m the son of Persephone," Seokjin retorts. "We take care of our own here. Come and see for yourself.”
Yoongi sets his jaw in refutation.
“The… The children, the other day, in the infirmary. They didn’t know any better and they’re sorry,” Seokjin adds. “But there are some good kids here. Give it time. You’ll like it.”
“I hate kids.”
Seokjin gives him a look, like he knows. “Jimin’s been asking about you, too. He’s been down ever since you left without even a note. Worried.”
Yoongi schools his face from betraying any of his reaction to sole mention of the name.
Jimin had been worried. For him.
The fact that this means a fucking lot to Yoongi should be terrifying, but somehow, it isn’t.
Jimin had wanted him to stay?
“He’s got a soft heart. Delicate, that one,” Seokjin sighs theatrically. Yoongi knows well enough when he’s being played, but hell if Seokjin isn't good at it. “He said he left you a note but never got a response. Not even a goodbye.”
Yoongi knows even better a loss for what it is. He glares, just for propriety’s sake.
“You should come and tell him you’re okay at least, for his peace of mind if nothing else.”
“… Fucking hell. You get all your recruits like this?”
Seokjin is beaming, angelic and harmless and Yoongi doesn’t buy it for a second. “Camp is this way. You can spare a minute to talk to Namjoon too, right? Since you’re here and all.”
“I know the fucking way,” Yoongi mutters, stalking off. Seokjin follows at his heel, glee radiating off of him in waves.
Sons of Persephone, he decides, are all like their mother. Deceitful and sly; too cunning for their own good.
Yoongi never thought he’d be stepping foot in Camp Half-Blood ever again, but here he is, walking onto its soils of his own accord, boots crunching against gravel and dead leaves. He keeps his gaze focused pointedly ahead, avoiding the curious and wary stares of the children as he and Seokjin make their way through the grounds.
There’s a training field, from what he can see, where the kids are shooting arrows and the clang of metal against metal rings out periodically. Things get quiet when they pass through, and Yoongi grits his teeth and tries not to let it get to him.
He’s only here for Jimin. After that, he can leave and never look back, and not have the guilt of leaving things the way they are eat at him for the rest of his life.
Seokjin leads him into a cabin by the edge of the woods, far from prying eyes. Yoongi is relieved as they go inside, door falling shut behind them, shoving his hands in his pockets as he takes in his surroundings.
It’s homey, a little lived in, but isn’t messy like he’d expected for a place with so many beds. Luckily, it’s devoid of most its inhabitants, save for one man sitting at a table with a book open and glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. He glances up at their entrance before cracking a sheepish grin, cheeks dimpling with the force of it.
“You found him. Our mystery forest guardian,” he says in greeting, getting up and proffering a hand. Yoongi doesn’t take it. The smile doesn’t fall even as he lets his hand drop. “I’m Kim Namjoon. I run things around here.”
Son of Athena, memory provides. Yoongi gives a short nod. “Min Yoongi.”
Namjoon rubs the back of his head. “I’d hoped you’d come back, but now that you’re here, I’ve kind of forgotten what I wanted to say.”
Seokjin rolls his eyes fondly, settling down primly in a nearby chair. “You could tell him to stay, to start with.”
“Right…” Namjoon coughs into a fist. “Do you wanna sit? Something to drink?”
Yoongi waves off the offers in favour of getting right to the point. “I hear you wanted me to teach some brats how to fight?”
Namjoon splutters a little, thrown by the straightforwardness. Seokjin laughs as Namjoon shoots him a harried look. “S’that what you told him?”
Seokjin shrugs. “It’s true, isn’t it?”
“Well… Okay yeah, that’s… Yeah,” Namjoon finishes lamely.
“What’s in it for me?” Yoongi asks.
“… The satisfaction that comes with helping the future generations?”
Yoongi levels him an unimpressed look.
“Free lodging,” Namjoon amends.
Yoongi considers this. Perhaps it’d be nice, not to have to sleep in his room in the Underworld, where the mattress is hard and it feels more like a prison than anything, moans of the dead’s suffering filtering through the cavernous walls — echoing and torturous.
He nods slowly.
“And food,” Seokjin adds. “I’m a great cook.”
“Of course you are,” Yoongi mutters. Son of Persephone. He couldn’t forget if he tried, a little too well-acquainted with Persephone herself.
“We… A lot of kids die on the way here. They don’t make it to the gates,” Namjoon continues when he misinterprets the look on Yoongi’s face for hesitation. “The barrier’s protection from the monsters only extends so far, and they’re essentially defenseless until they get inside it. We don’t have escorts who can protect them, because the strongest fighters we have are Ares kids, who never even got proper training — ”
“Yeah, fine.”
“And they’re just kids — Wait. Wait, really?”
Yoongi would rather swallow his own tongue than tell Namjoon his heart had panged at the thought of children dying before they can even make it to camp. He thinks about what would’ve happened that day, to those kids who couldn’t have been more than ten, huddled in front of monsters with only Seokjin to defend them — Seokjin, who looks like he should be weilding a spatula or something in his hands rather than a sword.
“You rehearsed that story or something? Yeah, I’ll whip your brats into shape. But don’t expect me to be a great teacher.” I don’t know how to talk to people, let alone teach them shit.
“You don’t have to be great. They just have to learn how to protect themselves. Thank you,” Namjoon says, so evidently and openly relieved that Yoongi just grunts, uncomfortable being on the end of such blatant gratitude. “We have a cabin for Hades, actually. It’s always been more of a tribute than anything, since…” Hades isn’t technically allowed to have half-blood children hangs in the air unspoken. “… We don’t have any Hades kids. So you’ll have it all to yourself.”
That doesn’t sound half bad. “There better not be cobwebs and shit in there. I’m the god of the dead, but I’m not dead yet. If I wanted to sleep in a coffin, I’d go back to Hell.”
Namjoon winces. “I’ll get some kids to help you clean.”
“I bet Jimin would be happy to,” Seokjin pipes up.
Yoongi pretends he hadn’t perked up at the mention of the name; struggles to rein the interest off his face.
“Jimin?” Namjoon blinks, oblivious. “Well… I wouldn’t say he’d be happy since he doesn’t like getting his hands dirty, but… I guess he wouldn’t mind?”
“The only reason Yoongi came back was to see Jimin.”
Yoongi shoots Seokjin a warning look. Namjoon’s expression wizens abruptly, like he knows exactly why Yoongi would want to see Jimin again.
He doesn’t fucking know. None of them do.
But mercifully, he doesn’t say anything else on the matter, and Seokjin goes back to smiling blandly.
Yoongi narrows his eyes distrustingly.
“I’ll show you to the cabin first,” Namjoon says, gesturing to the door. “We’ll probably run into Jimin along the way. He’s usually either by his cabin or hanging around the training field at this time.”
“Whatever,” Yoongi mutters, masking his excitement with indifference. He’s not looking forward to walking by all those staring eyes again, but the prospect of even catching a glimpse of Jimin again is too enticing to let go.
Seokjin bids them goodbye as he heads the opposite way to the kitchens. Namjoon chatters as they head to the Hades cabin, giving Yoongi an impromptu tour of the camp, gesturing grandly at very obvious artefacts that don’t really need any explanation. Yoongi’s just grateful he doesn’t have to make small-talk.
“That’s the Ares cabin,” Namjoon says, gesturing at one of the buildings. There’s some shirtless kids sword-fighting in front of it, sweat-slicked and battle-hungry, as Ares kids are prone to being.
One of them glances over as they pass by and nearly gets his head sliced clean off, ducking underneath it just in time.
“Eyes on the game, Jeon!” the other kid taunts.
Jeon, or whatever his name is, scowls and throws himself back into the fight, jaw clenched with annoyance. Yoongi appraises their forms, and thinks that there’s potential — raw energy lining their movements, the Jeon kid especially, but they’re obviously untrained, moving by pure instinct and bloodlust.
“They’re terrible,” Yoongi comments, as they move along.
Namjoon shoots him a surprised look, like he hadn’t expected Yoongi to speak. “Uh… yeah. That’s kind of why we need you.”
“Who’s training them?”
“The older kids. They train the younger ones.”
Yoongi raises a brow. “Who trains the older ones?”
“Uh… the previous older ones.”
Yoongi appraises the taller man. “You any good with a sword?”
“I’m a mess,” Namjoon admits.
Yoongi nods, because he’d predicted as much.
“Aphrodite cabin,” Namjoon says, gesturing to the next one. There are a few girls sitting on the porch, just basking in the sunlight. They’re eerily beautiful, in a way that shouldn’t be possible at all, something unmistakably alluring about the set of their features. They stop their idle chatter to stare as they pass, and the urge to disappear rises up again, which Yoongi pushes down by sheer force of will.
Namjoon catches his line of sight. “The Aphrodite kids are alright. Intimidating at first, ‘cause it always seems like they’re judging you, but they’re alright. They take care of their own.”
They take care of their own. Seokjin had said the same thing, but it doesn’t ease any of the tension coiling in Yoongi’s gut.
He scoffs; doesn’t think he’ll ever take with them. He’s had some bad experiences in the past with Aphrodite herself and doesn’t think the apples fall very far from the tree. “They look terrified.”
“They’re curious,” Namjoon corrects before musing, “Huh. I guess Jimin’s not in right now. Might be at the Hermes cabin. Maybe Apollo, since we haven’t run into him…”
Yoongi’s steps falter, but he forces them to continue. “What?”
Namjoon glances at him. “What?”
“Jimin is… He’s an Aphrodite kid?” It makes sense, in a way. Jimin is beautiful — ridiculously beautiful. Ethereal. He should’ve known, actually. Yoongi doesn’t know why the fact surprises him — maybe because he’d met his mother and has some warped sense of reality that all Aphrodite kids are just as wrapped up in themselves as she is.
Namjoon laughs. “Yeah. What, did you think he was an Ares kid?”
“Just…” He’s nothing like his mother. “He doesn’t act like one. Aphrodite herself hadn’t given off the impression of being exactly nurturing.”
“You’ll soon come to find that birthright doesn’t dictate who you are,” Namjoon tells him mysteriously. “Well, that’s the Apollo cabin. Oh, turn here.” Namjoon leads him down a thin trail to some cabins in the back. “These are for the Big Three.”
“No Zeus or Poseidon kids?”
Namjoon shakes his head. “Nah. It can get pretty quiet here. You up for it?”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Yoongi snorts. “Guessing that shitty thing’s for Hades?”
“It’s not that bad,” Namjoon whines. Yoongi hadn’t known he had it in him to do that, but as always, looks can be deceiving. “We just need to clean it up a bit.”
Yoongi doesn’t respond, opting to climb the wooden stairs and hearing the rickety shake of them beneath his footfalls. Dust falls as he pries the door open, a silver skull the only indicator of Hades’ mark on the cabin. The interior is equally dusty, with all the cobwebs Yoongi had expected it would have, and he coughs, waving a hand before his face.
“Okay, maybe more than a bit,” Namjoon admits, coming up behind him.
Yoongi unhooks his sword from his belt, and Namjoon immediately leaps out of his way, eyes wide as saucers.
Yoongi levels him an flat look as he stalks past, back out of the building. Namjoon follows after brief hesitation.
“What are you going to do with that?”
“I’m going to murder everybody in this camp,” Yoongi states flatly.
“… Please tell me you’re joking.”
Namjoon looks honestly terrified, and Yoongi feels a little bad for messing with him, but thinks he had it coming, for acting so skittish in front of Yoongi when he’d been the one to invite him to stay.
“Yoongi? You were joking right? I swear, we’ll clean it up — ”
“Shut up for a second.”
Namjoon shuts up. For a second. “Look, it’s just some dust — ”
“Shut the fuck up. I’m not going to kill anyone, so chill out. But I might change my mind, if you keep yapping about it.”
Namjoon wisely shuts the fuck up.
Yoongi kicks at the dirt before sinking the tip of his sword facedown into the ground and shuts his eyes with concentration. He feels for the tendrils of darkness hiding beneath the surface and waits for the earth to tremble. Yoongi doesn’t move, sweat beading at his temples, until the first fingertip of a skeleton claws its way free to the surface.
“Holy shit,” he hears Namjoon mutter somewhere behind him.
Twenty skeletons claw their way free, and Namjoon falls to his ass as they stagger to the cabin, right past him. Yoongi would’ve laughed, but it’s kind of a sorry sight. And he’s still kind of pissed at how terrified Namjoon is of him, just like everyone else. He shouldn’t have expected anything less, but he’d hoped to be wrong about him.
It appears Jimin is the only anomaly.
But, a little voice niggles at him, if Jimin were to see Yoongi raise the undead like some sort of fucking grim reaper, would he still be unafraid?
The miniature army sets to work on the cabin, and it’s almost comical, to see a bunch of skeletons dusting and cleaning in broad daylight.
“Holy shit,” Namjoon says again. He’s looking at Yoongi, with a strange mixture of awe and terror. He hasn’t gotten to his feet. “I thought… I thought the rumours weren’t true.”
“Whatever you’ve heard about me,” Yoongi says, tucking his sword away. “All of what you’ve heard about me… You should believe it, if you know what’s good for you.”
Namjoon looks at him — really looks. “Even the ones that say you’ve killed people? Demigods? Humans?”
Yoongi doesn’t answer; stuffs his hands in his pockets of his dark wash jeans and turns away.
Lets the silence speak for him.
Namjoon doesn’t try to follow.
Yoongi’s just about reached the edge of the forest when he hears someone calling after him. It’s not either of Seokjin or Namjoon’s voices, but it’s definitely one he recognizes, so despite the urge to flee, Yoongi stops and pivots on his heel with resignation.
It’s Jimin.
He looks beautiful as he had the day they’d met — maybe more so, because this time, Yoongi isn’t delirious with poison-induced fever — and his cheeks are flushed as he rests his hands on his thighs to catch his breath. His hair is tousled, and Yoongi sees a hint of auburn in the roots where they catch sunlight.
His mouth feels dry, parched, and he can’t find the words of gratitude he’d wanted to tell him — can’t even find a damn hello.
Jimin is so close and Yoongi can’t breathe.
Luckily enough, Jimin speaks first. “Finally…” he pants. His voice is even prettier than Yoongi remembers it being. “Found you. Seokjin-hyung said you came back but I was worried you’d leave before I could.”
“I… I’m staying,” Yoongi admits, gruff and awkward. “Namjoon said… He wanted me to teach the kids. So. Here I am.” So fucking awkward.
But Jimin just smiles. He smiles, and Yoongi finds himself cracking a half-grin in response — what the fuck? “Really? That’s amazing. I’m glad.”
He wants Yoongi to stay. Jimin is glad he’s staying.
No one’s ever been glad for Yoongi’s presence. Grateful, maybe. Disgusted. But never glad.
It seems Jimin will be Yoongi’s first for many things.
“Yeah. Uh.” Yoongi looks to the sky for strength, then back at Jimin who’s watching patiently. “I’m sorry for just leaving like that. I got your note.” Kept it, he’s too embarrassed to admit. “I’m not used to staying in one place for long.”
“It’s okay. I understand.”
Of course he does, he’s fucking perfect.
“Still. You helped me and I just took off. So I thought I should come back and show you that I’m alive.” Yoongi spreads his arms in the universal ta-da.
He's rewarded with the knowledge that Jimin’s eyes curve into little crescents when he smiles big. And with it, the consequent sweaty palms stuttering heart, halting every beat and a half. Yoongi thinks a smile like that outshines even the true forms of the gods.
“You look better,” Jimin observes.
“I heal fast. But uh, thanks. For helping me.” Yoongi looks down at the ground, at his boots. Hates how his tongue seems to be in knots when he needs it most.
“You’re welcome,” Jimin says gently. Then, perhaps a little disappointed: “Were you just about to leave?”
“Uh… Just… going for a walk,” Yoongi lies, unsure and guilty for reasons he can’t decipher. “Needed to clear my head.”
Jimin hesitates for a moment before asking, “Do you mind if I join you?”
“… What?”
“It’s okay if you wanted to go alone! I totally understand. It’s just… I’ve been having a bad day. I kind of want to…” Jimin shrugs helplessly, not knowing how to finish and it’s only now that Yoongi notices that his eyes are slightly red-rimmed. Yoongi thinks anyone that makes a boy like this sad deserves a slow and painful death, and makes it a mission for himself to find out who’s responsible for it later.
He also curses himself for not noticing how off Jimin is in the first place, how he isn’t glowing quite like he had the first day, and the slight forced edge to his smile.
“There’s a clearing in the forest,” he says, a notch too loudly, and Jimin jumps a little, looking up with uncertain eyes. “I go there whenever I need some quiet. I… I could take you.”
He wonders if the offer sounds as lame as he feels it does.
But Jimin is smiling at him again, this time slow and shy and grateful, and so fucking beautiful. Yoongi thinks he’d probably do summersaults or a stupid jig on the spot — anything — if it meant Jimin never frowned again.
“There are monsters out there, and Namjoon-hyung says I shouldn’t leave camp…”
“He doesn’t have to know.”
Jimin laughs. The sight of it is even better than his smile, something Yoongi hadn’t thought possible. “Right. Right, okay. Lead the way.”
Instead of moving, Yoongi gazes meaningfully at the shadows by the trees. “There’s a faster way to get there. I mean… if you’re up for it.”
“Somehow, I think I’m going to regret asking. But is this in any way related to me potentially throwing up all over your shoes?”
Yoongi cracks a grin. “It’s called shadow-travel. I can get anywhere, as long as there’s light.” He pauses. “I’ve taken things with me. They’re perfectly fine on the other side.”
“Okay, sounds good. But what about, um… people?”
Yoongi stills, because…
Fuck.
He clearly hadn’t been thinking when he’d offered.
Showing off in front of Jimin is one thing, but this would probably put Jimin in more danger than it’s worth. He shouldn’t have —
“Oh, well. Looks like I’ll be the first!” Jimin chirps.
Yoongi is quick to assure, “You don’t have to — ”
“It sounds cool. I’ve always wanted to know what it would feel like to teleport, you know? Being a son of Aphrodite means I don’t really have anything special at all.” Not true, Yoongi thinks heatedly. Everything about you is special. “So how does it work? Do I…”
He edges closer, and when Yoongi stays put, he wraps a cautious hand around Yoongi’s arm, smiling and giggling to himself in a way that’s both shy and uncertain, and Yoongi’s heart positively melts in his chest. He doesn’t feel any urge to shift away, any urge to pry Jimin off. If anything, he wants him closer.
Another first.
Forcing his thoughts away from straying, Yoongi resists the urge to hold him back. “Hold on tight, and focus on me. Don’t close your eyes.”
Jimin nods, melding in against Yoongi’s side, and it’s addicting, the way his warmth spreads through Yoongi’s body; burns through his blood like a wildfire. Yoongi can’t remember the last time he’d touched a living being this way without any intention to kill.
The look on Jimin’s face is almost trusting, and Yoongi doesn’t know what to do with himself.
All he knows is that he can’t betray it.
Yoongi sucks in a breath, steeling his shoulders. Then he lets the shadows pull them away, envisioning the clearing in the forest. He makes sure to focus all his energy in taking Jimin to the other end, sparing little thought for much else.
It drains him a little more than he’d like to admit, taking along an extra person, but they emerge on the other end intact with no missing limbs, and Yoongi feels a little pride. He gives Jimin a quick look over, to make sure he’s okay — and he seems a winded, pupils blown and disoriented, but that was to be expected. Otherwise definitely okay.
More than okay.
“Alright?” he checks, drawing his arm back reluctantly.
“That was… That was…” Jimin shudders delicately. “It was cold.”
“Was it?” Yoongi has never felt the cold very well. “You can have my jacket when we go back.” Another pause. “Unless you’d rather walk — ”
“Oh, it wasn’t bad! Just different,” Jimin reassures him quickly. “How’d you learn to do that?”
“It just happened one day. Kind of like walking. I don't think I could explain it.”
Jimin just nods like get gets it. He’s gazing around at the clearing — Yoongi’s clearing — admiring but unobtrusive. Normally when people pass by, Yoongi feels the territorial urge to make sure they leave, but Jimin fits in with the streaming sunlight and arching branches like he belongs in their midst.
Yoongi’s never seen a more beautiful sight.
He settles down, leaning back against the trunk of an old oak, both to admire the view and to catch his breath.
“The kids would love it here,” Jimin says, caressing the petals of a pink flower.
“The monsters would love having them as snacks.”
Jimin shoots him a reprimanding look. “You know what I mean.”
Yoongi does — just doesn’t like the thought of sharing this with anyone else. “Maybe one day, when they’re strong enough,” he allows.
Jimin moves to sit next to Yoongi, cross-legged and close enough that their knees brush. He holds out a finger, coaxing at a sparrow that lands bravely about an arms-length away. The bird cocks its head to the side, hopping on its tiny legs, before fluttering its wings and perching upon Jimin’s outstretched finger. It’s Jimin’s blooming grin that takes Yoongi’s breath away.
Nothing special about him? Yoongi can’t believe how Jimin can be so blind to what he can do. Even the animals know.
“I don’t see any monsters around,” Jimin whispers, stroking the little feathered head.
You’re sitting right next to one.
“You don’t know what they look like,” he says instead.
Jimin frowns, like he’d heard what Yoongi chose not to say. As if sensing the change in the atmosphere, the sparrow flies away and Jimin drops his hand, letting it fall to his lap.
“You’re not a monster.”
“You barely know me.”
“I know enough,” Jimin disagrees. “Seokjin-hyung told me what you’ve done, to get the kids to camp safely. We haven’t had any casualties since you came.”
“I didn’t kill those monsters for them. I did it for myself, because they were in my way.” He doesn’t know why he’s so adamant on Jimin seeing him for what he is. He should just be grateful Jimin doesn’t see it yet — he should be fighting tooth and nail to make sure Jimin never sees that side of him. Yet here he is, trying to convince him to see him like everyone else does. Yoongi doesn’t understand it himself.
“You don’t believe that,” Jimin denies with a shake of his head.
“I do. And Namjoon made a mistake, asking me to stay.”
Jimin shakes his head again, but before he can protest, Yoongi continues. “He did. Because everyone dies eventually, and sooner, if they’re around me. You’ll realize this too, and then you’ll be begging me to leave.”
It’s quiet then, nothing but the soft intakes of breaths audible. Yoongi looks up, and Jimin is gazing at him with a look so filled with sadness that it makes a lump build in his throat, his hands tighten into fists. He shoves them into his jacket but he can’t look away.
He wants to be angry. He doesn’t need pity. Doesn’t even want it.
But Jimin isn’t pitying him — just looks so crestfallen and disbelieving; eyes watery and disappointed.
“You really believe that,” Jimin says quietly.
“… I know it.” He pretends his voice hadn’t cracked upon the words.
They fall into silence, and Yoongi thinks Jimin will want to leave, finally get what Yoongi’s trying to tell him — that he’s dangerous, and that he should stop being different from everyone else before Yoongi gets him hurt.
But then, Jimin, with his gaze held stubbornly to the floor, takes Yoongi’s hand in both of his smaller ones — softer ones, unlade with callouses unlike his — before placing something on his palm.
It’s cold metal against the warmth of Jimin’s skin, and Yoongi would choose the warmth every time. Jimin pulls away and Yoongi curls his fingers around the metal skull ring — the one he hadn’t remembered losing.
He stares at it, uncomprehending. “Where did you get this?”
“I took it, last time when you came. Because I knew you’d leave, and I thought…” Jimin glances up at Yoongi’s face a little nervously. “I thought you’d notice, and you’d come back for it.”
Yoongi hadn’t noticed, but he’d come back anyway. Not for the ring, but for Jimin. He thinks it’s the only good decision he’s ever made.
Yoongi takes Jimin’s hand, urging him to take the ring back. Jimin obeys albeit with confusion. “… Isn’t it important?”
“Yeah. It’s an heirloom. A gift from my father.”
Jimin’s eyes widen. “H-Hades…?” he squeaks.
Yoongi gives him a serious look. “It’s important,” he emphasizes. “Like, crazy important.”
“So you should take it back, and — ”
“Keep it for me.”
Jimin’s jaw clicks shut before opening again. “But…”
“Keep it. So if I ever disappear again, you’ll know that I’ll come back.” At Jimin’s awestruck face, Yoongi turns away, coughing with embarrassment. “For the ring, obviously.”
Then, unable to resist, he glances over, curious despite himself, to gauge Jimin’s response. Would he give it back?
Would he be —
Angry? Disgusted? Horrified?
But Jimin isn’t any of those things. Instead, he’s smiling like Yoongi had made him happy. And that smile — Yoongi hadn’t thought he still had it in him to make anyone smile. He’d made Jimin smile, though, and that’s… that’s something. It makes any embarrassment worth it.
“I’ll keep it safe.”
“You’d better.”
Then Jimin laughs, and that’s something too.
They head back to camp before sundown, Yoongi lending Jimin his leather jacket like he’d promised. Jimin stumbles a little when they materialize behind the Aphrodite cabin, but Yoongi rights him with a hand — a motion he recognizes to be a little unnecessary, but he can’t help it. He can’t help but want to touch Jimin, to stay close to his warmth like a moth drawn to a flame.
“Thanks,” Jimin says breathlessly.
They stare at each other, an awkwardness in the air that hadn’t been there before, with ducking heads and random shuffling of feet.
“Are you coming to dinner?” Jimin asks, just as Yoongi’s about to bid a hasty farewell and throw himself back into the comfortable embrace of solitude.
“… Dinner?”
“It’s bonfire night. We don’t have to sit with our houses, so it’s a lot more fun. There’ll be singing, and dancing, and — it just occurred to me that you’re probably not into any of those things.”
Yoongi laughs. He hasn’t done that in a while, and it feels good. He’d forgotten how good it could feel. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.” Jimin’s company is one thing. He’s not sure if he’s ready to face the music, literally and figuratively, and sit in the presence of so many people. He doesn’t want to make a fun night uncomfortable.
He’ll probably sit this one out. And all the future ones, on that note.
Jimin seems to know where his train of thought is headed. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. But next time, I’ll hold something else of yours hostage, and you’ll have no choice but to come.” He grins, cheeky and fucking adorable, and he’s slipping Yoongi’s ring onto one of his fingers before wiggling them teasingly at Yoongi’s face.
Yoongi pretends to be annoyed, but he thinks he might be smiling. He doesn’t know how to stop, now that he’s started — doesn’t know what Jimin’s doing to him.
“How’d you know which cabin was mine, anyway?” Jimin continues, oblivious to Yoongi’s inner turmoil. The sight of his ring on Jimin’s hand is… fucking incredible. He doesn’t get it. It’s not even like… It’s not even like it’s on his ring finger or anything. It’s a joke. Jimin’s joking, get it together Min Yoongi.
“Namjoon told me, when he was giving me a, uh, tour. Since I’m staying and all.”
“Right,” Jimin realizes. “When do you start teaching the kids?”
“Not sure,” because I ran out on Namjoon, like a fucking coward. Yoongi shrugs, shoving his hands into his pocket. “Tomorrow, I guess.”
“Oh, I’ve got to see this. I’m so gonna come watch.”
“Not gonna participate?”
Jimin gives him a wry look, before dissolving into giggles when he realizes Yoongi had been serious. “I’m really more of a dancer than a fighter.”
Yoongi can sort of see that. He doesn’t think he’d be able to teach Jimin properly anyway, always worried he’d give him a fucking paper cut or something. “You dance?”
“Yeah. I’m gonna dance tonight, actually, with some of my siblings. It’s a tradition to perform something at bonfires.”
Yoongi is already mentally devising a plan to watch the show from a distance.
“Anyway, I promised my friend I’d tutor him at math, so I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
Later?
Does that mean —
What does it mean?
Yoongi hopes he isn’t gaping as he waves Jimin off, going for a nonchalant goodbye, but Jimin gives him a boisterous wave, putting his whole body into it before dashing off, and it honestly makes Yoongi feel a little rude.
Yoongi watches after him; follows far enough to make sure Jimin gets to the Ares cabin safely, unable to shake the feeling of unwarranted and uncharacteristic protectiveness, before slipping back into the shadows to get back to his own cabin. There, he finds some of his undead army slacking, as most of the house has been cleaned up already. He has them walk off a distance before letting their bones collapse into fine dust.
The bed had been in good shape to start with, and now it looks to be pristine enough that Yoongi lets himself collapse onto it, the amount of energy he’d spent today finally taking its toll on him. He drifts off to the sight of Jimin’s smile behind his eyelids.
Bonfire is a loud affair. Yoongi hadn’t expected otherwise, but it’s still a bit of a shock to see all the kids gathered in one area, surrounding a huge blazing pit of fire. They’re not divided into little pockets of friends like Yoongi had presumed they would be — instead, they’re all loosely interacting, bright smiles and a warmth in the air that has nothing to do with the flames.
Yoongi thinks it had been a good choice for him not to join in. Not tonight — not when none but three faces are familiar, and his is likely unwelcome for two out of those.
Instead, Yoongi deigns to watch the event from the safe covers of the night as the festivities unfold. He catches sight of Jimin’s face amongst the crowd, laughing and beautiful, from where he’s seated between the Ares kid he’d passed by earlier today and a boy with a friendly smile and booming voice. Yoongi feels incredibly far away from it all.
A hideous specter of the night, creeping in the shadows, terrifying — different — unwanted.
It’s not an unfamiliar sensation, feeling like an outcast, but it’s harder than he’d thought it would be, sitting on the sidelines. He can’t imagine himself sitting among them, and he doesn’t think he’d exactly like to, but it’s another thing to be watching in from the outskirts.
Despite this, Yoongi settles down at the foot of an old pine tree, resting his arm against one knee, intent on staying only just long enough to see what he’d come to see.
The dancing only begins after food has been passed around, when everyone’s settled down enough and the atmosphere feels lighter — the warmth of the bonfire growing with each sacrifice made to the gods.
Jimin eventually disappears with a handful of other Aphrodite kids. Yoongi stares after him until he returns, having changed into a flashier outfit, clearly made specifically for him. They’re all beautiful, all the Aphrodite kids — undeniably so — but Yoongi only has eyes for Jimin.
It’s different — the low cut of Jimin’s shirt, the open patches of skin, the bare expanse of his back, each step jingling with the sound of metal anklets falling together and apart — his eyes are rimmed darker, and the innocent vibe he wears is shed like a second skin for something sultrier. The other campers meet the sight with anticipatory cheers.
Jimin is beautiful, and Yoongi can’t breathe.
A boy with a friendly dimpled grin counts down boisterously before strumming the first chords of his guitar, filling the night with music. To Yoongi’s surprise, the Ares kid is the first to sing along, the words spilling past his lips more gentle and coaxing than his appearance would presume.
It fills the night with a soothing calm, and then Jimin is dancing, silhouetted by the bonfire but brighter than its flames, and Yoongi memorizes the sight between every blink. He moves with the kind of grace that’s both measured and light — careless yet calculated — the kind of dancing that requires not a single ounce of concentration to focus upon.
And Yoongi falls the kind of fall no one is ever prepared for. The kind Yoongi’s only ever scoffed at — the kind he’d only ever heard about and never known he’d ever feel for himself.
Yoongi falls for Park Jimin, between the invisible stories woven between the tilts of his head, the sways of his hips and the silent melodies woven between the fingers still wearing Yoongi’s ring — and Yoongi, not for the first time in his life, feels fear.
It’s terrifying, to feel this kind of connection, knowing it would never be returned, and knowing that he of all people shouldn’t be able to feel it — to love someone without really even knowing them, and he curses Aphrodite for making it far too easy.
Curses himself for being so fucking weak. For coming here when he’d known he shouldn’t have.
For being too fucking weak to leave.
The dance ends with roaring applause and whistles. Yoongi claps along, slumped in on himself, head tilting back to rest against rough bark.
He should never have come.
Jimin goes back to his seat, ducking away from hair-ruffles and teasing cheek-pinches, the aura he’d assumed for the performance gone with the wind. Yoongi is both mystified and enraptured.
Wanting.
He’s always been too fucking greedy.
With this, Yoongi thinks he can leave. He’s seen what he’d come to, and he has no reason to lurk around like a spectre anymore. But before he can, Jimin cranes his neck over his shoulders to meet Yoongi’s eyes.
Electrifying.
Yoongi tenses involuntarily, the urge to flee kicking up unhampered, but he doesn’t. Not when Jimin’s casting him furtive glances before slipping away from the festivities the moment the others turn their attention away, creeping over to where Yoongi’s hidden just barely behind shadows and low-hanging branches.
He pauses about a foot away, before his eyes soften into something knowing and he comes closer to crouch by Yoongi’s legs.
“You came,” he says quietly.
Yoongi wets his lips and nods, eyes darting away before flicking back to Jimin’s face barely visible in the darkness. He smells like lilacs and summer, and it makes Yoongi feel abruptly warm.
“It’s a lot colder out here,” Jimin continues. “You should come closer to the fire.”
“I don’t really get cold,” Yoongi says, voice coming out gruffer than intended.
“Still...” Jimin gazes at him speculatively for several seconds, head tilted to the side like a small curious animal. “You know, you’ve got this whole ‘dark and mysterious creature of the night’ vibe going on, but I’m not sure if I buy it.”
Yoongi arches a brow, in surprise or amusement, he doesn’t know himself. “Well damn. And here I thought I’d been playing it to a tee.”
“You have. I’m just smarter than that.” Jimin smiles. “Besides... your eyes give you away.”
At this, the humour fades as quick as it had come. “My eyes,” he echoes.
Jimin nods, smile turning rueful. “They’re lonely.”
Yoongi looks away; plays with the rips in his jeans. “You seem to know a lot about that, then,” he mutters.
“Me?”
It’s difficult, to read Jimin’s face under this new lighting. He seems a lot more somber — not any less beautiful — but just that much more untouchable. Almost dream-like. “Loneliness.”
But Jimin’s lips parting with surprise isn’t lost on him. His eyes turn troubled in a way Yoongi hadn’t at all intended on drawing out. “Anyone who’s been alive for long knows enough about it.”
Yoongi doesn’t push him for more, knowing when he’d overstepped some invisible line. “I saw you dance,” he says, changing the subject. Maybe a bit too abruptly, but Jimin seems to welcome it — smile returning, soft and sweet. Yoongi’s more than a little relieved.
“Did you like it?”
“You were… Great — Amazing.” Yoongi clears his throat awkwardly. “It was… Amazing. Better than everyone else.”
Jimin laughs, head falling to his arms still wrapped around his knees. “Thank you,” he says, through giggles. “I’m not the best, but I’m working hard.”
“To me you were.”
Jimin’s lips twitch into another smile, and Yoongi colours.
“I mean… Objectively. Like… I don’t really know anything about dancing, but that thing you did with your arms.” Yoongi mimics the move extremely poorly, and Jimin’s laughter rings out a little louder this time. It sends a surge of pride through Yoongi, the sound of it. “It was great,” he finishes lamely.
“Just great?”
“No, it was… it was perfect — ”
“Relax, I’m just teasing.” Jimin giggles into his palm. “Now you’re giving me a whole new image of you.” He tilts his head to the other side in consideration. “Who are you really, Min Yoongi?”
Yoongi looks up from beneath his bangs, and something tells him there’d been a little more to the question than the lighthearted way it had been asked.
But before he can respond, he spots one of the guys from the campfire jogging over with calls of Jimin’s name, and before he can catch them together, or before Jimin can convince him to stay with the sheer force of the invisible hold he has over him, Yoongi slips away into the shadows, an apology lost somewhere in the dark in-between.
That night, as Yoongi lies there in wait of the dawn, he's haunted by images of pink lips turning blue with death.
Sleep doesn’t come for a long time.