Chapter Text
Jeon Jungkook had learned early on that some questions simply never had answers.
The mark on his chest was one of them.
It sat just above his heart, slightly to the left, as if whoever (or whatever) had placed it there had known exactly where it belonged. He’d had it for as long as he could remember. According to his mother, it had been there when he was born, faint at first, like a bruise beneath the skin, then slowly darkening into something more defined as he grew older.
No one could ever explain it.
Doctors had scanned it, prodded it, photographed it under different lights. Dermatologists muttered about rare birthmarks. One particularly enthusiastic specialist had suggested it might be a form of congenital chimerism. A mystic his grandmother once dragged him to had gone quiet upon seeing it, face pale, before changing the subject entirely.
The mark itself was strange, beautiful, even. A stylized, almost calligraphic shape, curling and sharp at the same time, like some kind of creature coiled in on itself. Jungkook had once traced it in the mirror, trying to make sense of the lines, but it never resolved into anything familiar. It wasn’t painful. It didn’t glow or move or do anything dramatic.
It just existed. Like a question written into his skin.
Most days, Jungkook forgot about it. Life had a way of demanding attention elsewhere.
He was twenty-one, a university student juggling deadline, part-time work, and the constant low-level exhaustion that came with trying to build a future in a world that already felt crowded. Film studies had seemed like a good idea when he’d enrolled, less because he dreamed of fame and more because he loved stories. Loved how light and sound and movement could come together to make people feel something real.
He liked being behind the camera. Liked observing. Liked capturing moments that other people missed.
That tendency to watch, to notice, had always been part of him. It was probably why he fit so well with Jimin and Taehyung, despite how different they were on the surface.
They’d met during their first year, thrown together by a group project that had gone spectacularly off the rails. Jungkook still remembered Jimin arguing passionately about symbolism in a recent popular film while Taehyung leaned back in his chair, contributing exactly one sentence every ten minutes, (and somehow still getting the highest marks).
Somehow, they’d stuck.
Jimin was warmth incarnate, bright smiles, sharp wit, and an emotional intelligence that bordered on invasive. He was affectionate in a way that ignored personal space entirely, clinging to Jungkook’s arm when he laughed, draping himself over Taehyung’s shoulder when he was tired. People sometimes mistook that softness for weakness. They were always wrong.
Taehyung, on the other hand, was quiet in a way that carried weight. He didn’t speak unless he meant to, but when he did, people listened. There was something steady about him, something grounding. He walked like he knew exactly where he was going, even when he claimed he didn’t.
Together, they were…a lot.
Jungkook often found himself in the middle, quite literally and figuratively. Jimin on one side, Taehyung on the other, their energies balancing in a way that made him feel anchored. Safe. It was a strange thing to think about, that safety, but it was real.
There were other things about them too. Things that the rest of the world might not notice at first glance.
Jimin had a habit of pressing his nose briefly to Jungkook’s shoulder when they hugged, inhaling like he was committing the scent to memory. Taehyung positioned himself instinctively between them and crowded spaces, gaze sharp and alert whenever someone got too close. But they never really talked about it openly.
In this world, mythical creatures weren’t myths. They were rare, regulated, and depending on the species either heavily romanticized or quietly feared. Werewolves fell somewhere in the middle. Common enough that most people knew one, controlled enough that society had learned to adapt.
Jimin was an omega. Taehyung was an alpha. While Jungkook was just… human.
That dynamic shaped things in subtle ways. Jimin was sensitive to moods, emotions rolling off him in waves. Taehyung’s protectiveness was instinctive, a constant low hum beneath his calm exterior.
And Jungkook? Jungkook was the constant.
The normal one. The human anchor that kept them grounded in a world that was slowly, inevitably changing. He didn’t resent that role, if anything, he liked it.
Life felt… manageable.
That afternoon, they sprawled across the grass outside one of the main campus buildings, backpacks discarded, the sun warm against their backs. Jimin lay on his stomach, feet kicking idly as he scrolled through his phone.
“You guys,” Jimin said, voice vibrating with excitement. “You have to hear this!”
Taehyung hummed in response, eyes half-closed behind his sunglasses. Jungkook leaned back on his hands, glancing over.
“Hear what?”
“There’s a film crew setting up near the old arts district,” Jimin said. “Like, a big one. People are saying it’s a major production.”
Jungkook shrugged. “That happens all the time.”
“Yes, buuuuut” Jimin grinned, eyes sparkling. “The rumour is the lead actor is Kim Seokjin.”
That got Taehyung’s attention.
He lifted his head slightly. “The dragon?”
Jimin rolled onto his side, nodding enthusiastically. “THE dragon. THE actor. The one who’s been around forever but somehow looks like he hasn’t aged a day.”
Jungkook felt a flicker of interest despite himself. Kim Seokjin was impossible to ignore, even if you weren’t a fan. An ancient dragon, openly so, and one of the most famous actors in the country. His presence in any project was a guarantee of attention.
“I’ve seen his films,” Jungkook said. “He’s good.”
“That’s it?” Jimin gasped dramatically. “Just good!?”
“He’s talented,” Jungkook amended. “I like his work.”
Taehyung snorted softly. “That’s a bit of an understatement.”
Jimin shot Jungkook an accusing look. “Do you have any idea how lucky we are if he’s actually nearby? Dragons don’t just show up places.”
“That’s because there are, like, three of them left,” Jungkook said dryly.
“Exactly!” Jimin said. “Which makes this huge.”
Jungkook watched the clouds drift overhead, listening to their banter, feeling that familiar sense of being slightly outside the excitement. He admired Seokjin’s work. Respected it. But idolisation had never come easily to him.
People were people. Even dragons.
Still, there was something…strange about the idea of Seokjin being nearby. Not unsettling. Just…a subtle tension beneath his ribs, like anticipation without an object.
He ignored it.
That evening, as Jungkook showered in his small apartment, steam fogging the mirror, his gaze drifted unconsciously to the mark on his chest. Water traced the lines, making them stand out darker against his skin.
For a moment, something flickered. It wasn’t anything physical like light or movement, just more of a feeling, like something was watching over him.
Jungkook frowned, shaking his head as he shut off the water. He dried himself off, pulled on a shirt, and dismissed the thought as leftover curiosity sparked by Jimin’s rumours.
He had assignments due. A presentation to prepare. A life that was, by all accounts, normal.
He didn’t know that somewhere in the same city, ancient instincts were beginning to stir. Didn’t know that the mark he’d lived with all his life was more than a mystery. Didn’t know that his ordinary life had an expiration date.
For now, Jungkook slept easily, unaware that fate: old, patient, and impossibly powerful, had finally begun to move.