Chapter Text
A bell chimed as Jimin stepped through the bookstore’s front door, a familiar sound that had an unconscious smile spreading across his lips.
“Ah, Jimin,” a low voice called, dragging Jimin’s attention to the cashier’s desk nestled between two towering bookshelves. “I see you’re back again.”
He smiled at the old shopkeeper, whom he’d known since he was a child running between the aisles, far too young to understand the appeal of the stacks and stacks of books scattered about.
“I just couldn’t stay away.”
Jimin’s smile was carved out of sunshine, delicately placed beneath warm brown eyes and soft skin that seemed to twinkle in the light. He was, truly, the epitome of wonder; kind to everyone, even those who didn't deserve it, always loving, always eager to help. Everyone loved Jimin, and they were right to.
Carefully, Jimin held out the book clutched in his palm, fervently thanking the shopkeeper for lending it to him. Again. All he was given in return was a kind pat on the shoulder, a ‘thank you’ for bringing it back safe and sound, and an offer of whichever novel Jimin wished to take home with him to devour that evening. Jimin had an awful habit of reading through a book too quickly— the thought that he should savor the story always nagged at the back of his head, but the faster he read, the more he could read. He just always wanted more, more, more.
Jimin ended up shuffling back out into the street with an armful of books and a warm farewell from the owner. As he started his slow walk back to his house, Jimin was stopped by many a person hoping to help him carry his stories back home, maybe share a cup of tea in his living room, steal a kiss before they left . . . But Jimin simply denied them with a polite smile and a ‘no, thank you’.
The Town Pride, Jaehoon, however, was relentless. He followed Jimin everywhere he went, reaching out to touch with eager fingers, brushing Jimin’s hair back even if he wanted it forward, always breathing in Jimin’s personal space without so much as a second thought.
“Jiminnie, I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
A sour taste filled Jimin’s mouth as he walked, picking up his pace as he heard a second set of footsteps matching with his. “You seem to have found me,” Jimin replied curtly.
Jaehoon hummed, “It would’ve been much easier if you didn’t always rush around. The day is twenty-four hours long, Jiminnie, that’s more than enough for whatever activities you want.”
“I like to do as much as I can in my twenty-four hours, thank you,” Jimin ground his teeth together, jaw clenching.
“Well, I—“
Jimin stopped at his front door, casting a brief glance to Jaehoon over his shoulder as he said, “Wonderful talking with you, but I must be going now. Have a lovely day.”
He shut his door with a loud clunk, relaxing against the hard wood with a sigh of relief.
Wandering over to his table, Jimin let loose all of the books he’d had clutched to his chest, stretching out his sore arms as he stepped over to his fireplace, bending own to set the longs alight as he shivered in the house’s cool confines.
Jaehoon was exhausting. Enough so that Jimin often wondered what desperate measures he might resort to if he ever found himself needing freedom. It made him shiver to think of Jaehoon’s intentions.
He’d been squatting in front of the stone hearth for longer than he intended, lost in thought, briefly wondering why he hadn’t lit the fire with unconscious reflex.
“Oh,” Jimin mumbled, resting his hands on his thighs. “I forgot to get flint.” He quietly cursed himself, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palms.
All right, Jimin thought to himself. No harm in going to the market a second time.
With a sigh, Jimin got back on his feet, reluctantly heading back over to the door, yanking it open and stepping out into the brisk twilight air. Curling into himself, Jimin tugged his door closed and hurried back up the path he’d only just walked down.
He was only a few steps past the point of no return when he froze, ears straining, eyes widening to stare though the heavily setting darkness. Dammit, Jimin hissed, quickly glancing over his shoulder, frantically searching for a corner just dark enough to hide in. The sound of Jaehoon’s short laugh poured into his ears. Jimin gritted his teeth, desperate to avoid another nauseating encounter.
Quickly, Jimin scurried into the bakery alleyway, carelessly hopping over the stone wall at the end, dropping down over the threshold of the dark wood without even noticing.
When Jimin was young, the woods were strictly forbidden. He’d gotten lost once when he was younger, tearing away from his mother to go scampering after an unlucky gray bunny. It took him a few hours (and many, many tears) before he’d found his way back, red-rimmed eyes and a scraped knee from tripping over a fallen trunk.
Last time he’d wandered through the wood, it was alarmingly dark, and that was during the day. Now, it was night, and Jimin had made the mistake of not looking forward as he stumbled into the forest. He was too busy staring over his shoulder, making sure he wasn’t being followed. Before Jimin knew it, he was lost again. Frantic, Jimin spun around, squinting back in the direction he thought he’d just come, looking this way and that, staring through the darkness, suddenly running, arms pumping, chest heaving; his legs ached, hot tears pricking the inner corners of his eyes.
Jimin slowed to a full stop, panting as he stared at the vast expanse of night-shrouded trees in front of him, to both sides, scattered around every inch of him. With a deep breath, Jimin let out a strangled sob, scalding tears burning their way down his cheeks. He was lost, lost— so, so lost.
Stumbling forward again, Jimin’s lip quivered. He walked forward blindly, sight inhibited both by his tear-blurred vision as well as the scarce early-evening light. With a bold step forward, Jimin yelped, foot catching on a stray branch; Jimin scrambled to catch his balance, stumbling backwards until he fell, landing on the ground with a pathetic thunk, skull thwacking off the frozen ground. Jimin’s eyes buzzed, hot colors flashing in front of his face until they gently slipped shut. Sitting against the trunk of a foreign tree, Jimin went limp.
———
His head hurt.
Christ, so did his arm.
Both arms, actually. And his leg.
Or, rather, both legs.
To put it bluntly: every inch of Jimin seemed to ache.
Even as he tried to blink his eyes open, they burned. A lot like when he used to space out staring at the sky when he was younger, eyeing the bright sky until his drying eyes would fill with tears that stung as he blinked them away.
Jimin stared up at a ceiling that wasn’t his own. At first, letting his head loll to the side, Jimin thought he was wrapped up in Jaehoon’s house, the warm cream walls strikingly similar. But when he looked down, Jimin’s fragile body covered by silken sheets and velvety blankets, so soft to the touch that it was almost like Jimin wasn’t touching them at all.
He wanted to worry about where he was, who’d brought him here, how long he’d been sleeping, if he could leave . . . But he was so tired, and his head ached the longer he tried to keep his eyes open. Maybe it was just better to drift back off than —
“Oh, thank god,” a soft voice breathed from Jimin’s side. “I was so worried.”
Conjuring up what energy he had, Jimin turned his head, and blinked his eyes open, catching sight of a small, fragile-looking boy who couldn’t have been much older than Jimin himself.
Swallowing thickly, Jimin licked his lips. “Who are you?” He croaked, voice broken. He tried to sit himself up, feeling silly slumped against his pillow when this stranger was looking down at him from a chair.
The boy jumped up when he saw Jimin trying to move, “No! No, no,” he pressed his hand against Jimin’s shoulder, pushing him back against the mattress, much to Jimin’s dismay. “Don’t try to get up, okay? You’ve been out for a while— We tried to get you to eat something, but . . . Well, thinking about it now, it doesn’t really make sense that you’d be able to eat if you’re not lucid, but—.”
Jimin was staring at him with tired eyes, cheeks hollow, face pale. “How long was I asleep?”
The boy looked at him sadly. “A couple days; Hurt yourself pretty badly. You fell in the woods, I think.” He nodded toward Jimin’s arm.
Following the boy’s gaze, Jimin eyed his wrist, wrapped tightly in thick, white bandaging.
“You broke it,” the boy said after he watched Jimin stare just a little too long. “B-but, now that you’re awake we’ll be able to see if you’re actually okay.”
Jimin dragged his eyes back over to the boy’s face, “We?”
“Oh!” The boy squealed. “Taehyung!” He called, scampering out of his seat, rushing toward the door. “Tae! Taehyung!”
“Goddammit, Kookie,” Jimin heard footsteps quickly padding about. As Jimin watched, another boy appeared in the doorway, “What?”
“He’s awake!”
Jimin stared, eyes half-lidded, at the new stranger hurrying to stand over his bed. “Hey!” He said, excited smile spreading across his face. “How’re you feeling? Kookie and I were really worried about you— I mean, not that the others weren’t, of course, but Kookie and I found you, so we felt a little responsible and—.”
“Where am I?” Jimin interrupted, blinking heavily.
Kookie hurried over next to Taehyung, pressing his palms against the bedding beside Jimin’s legs, “Our castle!”
“Well, it’s not actually our castle,” Taehyung corrected. “The hyungs live here, too.”
Jimin’s head swam, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut to pretend he wasn’t feeling dizzy. “What . . . Castle?”
“Hey,” Kookie said. “What’s your name?”
Jimin looked up at him, licking his lips again, tongue dry, throat aching. “Jimin.”
“Jimin,” Taehyung hummed. “It suits you.”
Eyes fluttering shut, Jimin smiled. “Thanks.”
“I’m Jungkook,” he heard Kookie’s voice sing. “And this is Taehyung.”
“You’ll meet the others really soon.” Taehyung said slowly. “I’m sure that once they hear that you’re up they’ll want to come say hi.”
“Probably not all of the others,” Jungkook muttered, so close to inaudible that Jimin was sure he was talking more to Taehyung than to him.
Jimin blinked his eyes open again, glancing at Jungkook and Taehyung as he moved to drag his uninjured hand through his hair. “Is there any chance I’m allowed to get up?”
The two turned away to nervously look at each other.
Jimin waited a few heartbeats before saying, “I’m really hungry.”
Once he’d said it, Jimin watched the faces of the two boys before him brighten, bold grins stretching over their faces as they looked back at Jimin, then to each other, back to Jimin—
They were annoyingly careful when they were helping Jimin out of bed. They were also a little bit too secretive for his liking, never fully answering his questions, carefully dancing around the answers he knew they could supply, but didn’t really seem to want to.
Even when Jimin was hobbling out into the long hallway, feet sinking into the plush carpeting beneath his toes, asking where the unfamiliar pajamas he was wearing had come from, Jungkook opened his mouth to answer, letting out “Maste—“ before Taehyung clapped a hand over his lips, grinning over at Jimin and saying that they never got used anyway.
Jimin wanted to ask what that meant, but he was preoccupied with trying to get down the steep staircase without falling onto his face, legs weak, knees threatening to give out at any second.
“Here,” Jungkook said after a moment of watching Jimin struggle. He grabbed Jimin’s good arm and wrapped it around his shoulders, letting Jimin lean into him as they descended the steps. “If you get too tired to go any farther just say so, okay?”
Jimin nodded, already feeling weak again, his unused joints aching as he moved.
“This house is a bit of a trek,” Taehyung lamely joked, trailing just a few steps behind Jimin and Jungkook.
Jimin stared at the walls as they passed through, ducking around corners, following the lengthy carpets that snaked down the halls; wide, ceiling-high windows stretched the expanse of several walls, letting in dismal sunlight that failed to light rooms, simply becoming the playground for stray dust dancing through the air.
Taehyung hurried up to Jimin as their hike was nearing its end, leaning close as he said, “Just tell Seokjin you’re happy eating anything he makes.”
Jimin raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to stare over at Taehyung, “Why? Who’s Seokjin?”
He just shook his head, “Don’t worry about it, just trust me.”
The kitchen didn’t have a door, as Jimin had anticipated. Rather, its entrance was shielded by a long, thick curtain. Jungkook held it back for him as Taehyung helped him into the kitchen, one hand on his elbow, the other around his hand. Jimin was too focused on his feet as he walked, willing them to just take one more step; he was feeling so weak, legs trembling as he shuffled along. He didn’t notice the tall, broad chef that loomed over them.
Arms crossed, chef’s knife clutched in his palm, the man glared down at them, “What did I tell you about sneaking into my kitchen?” His voice boomed into Jimin’s ears, stern and commanding.
“Calm down, Jinnie,” Taehyung said, reaching out to grab the chef’s hand. “This is Jimin— the boy that we found in the woods.”
Jimin shivered as Jin’s eyes slid over to him, eyeing him up and down with a chilly glare. Clearing his throat, Jimin up at him, “Chef Seokjin,” he said faintly. “I would be honored if you wouldn’t mind cooking for me.”
And then suddenly, he was gone, the man that had stood before Jimin; in his place, a friendlier version stood. A broad smile swept over his face as he reached over to pat Jimin’s shoulder. “Well, now,” his voice was smooth and friendly. Seokjin looked between Taehyung and Jungkook, “Isn’t he just the sweetest little thing?”
“You’re gonna make some for us, too, right?” Jungkook grinned, blinking over at Seokjin with wide, pleading eyes.
Setting his knife down on the counter, Seokjin rolled his eyes. “Fine. But don’t tell Namjoon or Hoseok.”
If Jungkook had a tail, it would be wagging out of control. He held his hand out for Taehyung to smack, squealing in victory.
Seokjin had them lead Jimin over to the counter, making sure he didn’t fall as he hopped up onto the high-legged chair. “Normally, you’d probably sit at the table,” Taehyung had commented. “But I think Jinnie has taken a liking to you. He probably wants to keep his eyes on yah.” Jimin decided he didn’t mind being a little uncomfortable in the hard, wooden chair, and bruising his elbows on the marble counter if it meant that Seokjin would happily cook for him.
As he whirled a spoon through some (incredible smelling) broth, Seokjin looked over at Taehyung, “So, what does Master Yoongi think of him?”
Practically diving out of his chair, Taehyung scrambled to cover Jin’s mouth. “Shh!” He hissed. “He doesn’t know about him yet!”
Seokjin’s eyes grew wide, batting Tae’s hands away from his mouth. “Who doesn’t? Jimin doesn’t know about Yoongi, or Yoongi doesn’t know about Jimin?”
Jungkook dropped his head, staring down at his hands as he fiddled with his fingers. Taehyung scratched at the back of his head, “Um. Both. Ish.”
“Both-ish?” Jin cocked an eyebrow at him.
“Okay, so both, neither, whatever!” Taehyung sighed, exasperated, tossing his hands into the air. “What does it matter?”
Seokjin turned away from him, carefully spilling the broth into a smaller pot. Jimin listened hungrily as he heard it sizzle. Once he was done, Jin turned back to Taehyung, reaching a hand out and flicking him on the forehead.
“Ow!” Taehyung hissed, slapping a hand over the growing red mark. “What was that for?!”
“‘What does it matter’?” Seokjin mocked. “Are you kidding?” He shook his head. “He’s gonna kill you guys.”
Tae rolled his eyes. “He will not.”
Seokjin shrugged as he stirred. “He’ll kill you and have your heads mounted.” Taehyung opened his mouth to protest, but Jin cut him off, “And I’m not gonna do anything to stop him.”
“What!” Taehyung squeaked. “Yes, you would.”
Jin shook his head. “He’d probably let me use you guys to practice some new recipes.” He leaned closer to Taehyung, but his eyes flickered to Jungkook, “You know how much he loves . . .Rabbit.”
“Okay!” Jungkook cried. “Okay, okay, okay,” he leaned forward, palms flat on the counter. “I already told him, okay?”
Seokjin carefully slid a bowl in Jimin’s direction, handing him a spoon when he started to lift the bowl to his lips. “It’s really hot,” Jin smiled at him. “So be careful.”
Jimin just nodded, only half-paying attention, ears trained on Taehyung and Jungkook as they bickered.
“You told him?!” Taehyung growled, reaching out to slap at Jungkook’s head. Jungkook snatched his wrist, holding him still as he sighed.
“Would you just listen for a second?”
Taehyung struggled against his grip, “No, I’d rather kill you before he kills me.”
Seokjin turned away from Jimin to gently pull Taehyung from Jungkook’s hand. “What did he say when you told him, Kookie?”
Jungkook just gave him a shallow shrug, “Not much. He kind of just, like, looked down his nose at me and then told me to get out of his room.”
Taehyung and Seokjin looked at each other, then back to Jungkook. “Seriously?” They said together.
Jimin was silent, slowly sipping his soup as he watched them talk, chewing carefully on the delicious, spiced chunks of meat that sunk to the bottom of his bowl.
Jungkook’s eyes slid over to Jimin before he looked back at Jin, “We should tell him now . . . Shouldn’t we?”
Taehyung was quick to protest, screaming “No!” and lunging toward Jungkook. But Jin clapped a hand onto his head, holding him back as he pondered over Jungkook’s suggestion.
“I guess . . . Maybe a little bit couldn’t hurt,” Seokjin said after a moment, voice a little strained with the effort it took to keep the struggling Taehyung in place. Jin didn’t notice, but Jimin did, as Jungkook stuck his tongue out at Taehyung, flashing a teasing smile.
Taehyung growled, “I’ll kill you, you little punk.”
Far more relaxed than Jimin would have been, Seokjin curled his arm around Tae’s neck, holding him tight as he glanced over at Jimin. Taehyung grabbed at Jin’s arm, trying to pull himself free.
“We can’t tell you too much,” Jin said softly, eyes flickering from Jimin’s face to his empty bowl. “Oh, hey, do you want more?” Jimin smiled broadly as he nodded. Jin glanced over at Jungkook, “Would you mind?”
“Can I get some for myself, too?”
Taehyung was busy pretending to die in Jin’s hold as he nodded. Loud, sputtering noises spilled from Taehyung’s lips, “Dammit, Tae!” Jin huffed. “If you start behaving, you can have some, too.”
Although his “I promise I’ll behave” wasn’t very convincing, Seokjin let him go anyway, ignoring him as he lunged for Jungkook again.
“Okay,” Seokjin said, leaning on the counter across from Jimin. “Basically, this castle isn’t ours. It’s Master Yoongi’s.” Jungkook squawked behind him, arms flailing as Taehyung jumped on his back. “He doesn’t like new people,” Jin continued, ignoring the chaos behind him. “So you might not ever meet him. But— this is important: Don’t ever, ever, ever,” he paused, giving Jimin a serious look. “Go into the north side of the castle. That’s his area. There’re two levels, but even we can’t go.”
“I went once!” Tae called from the floor, happily slurping up soup as he sat on Jungkook’s back, who was sprawled stomach-first on the floor.
Seokjin rolled his eyes, looking back at Jimin. “He hasn’t, don’t listen to him.”
“I really have!” Taehyung whined. “But . . . It was when I first got here, so I didn’t realize. And it was really dark, so I didn’t see anything.”
Jungkook scoffed at him; Taehyung flicked his ear.
“Well,” Jimin said slowly. “You guys aren’t family, right? You don’t look anything alike—“ Jin shook his head. “Then why do you live here? Do you work for him?”
Jin tilted his head this way and that, debating quietly. “We aren’t employed by him,” he said after a minute. “But I work for him because I’m in debt to him.”
Jimin blinked at him, “What, he gave you money?”
“No, no,” Jin shook his head. “More of a permanent thing; I’m going to be in debt to him for the rest of my life, I think.” He nodded at the two on the floor, “They are, too. But when Master Yoongi invited me into his castle, I told him I would cook for him if I could stay.”
“Yeah!” Jungkook called from the floor. “Master Yoongi saved us!”
Jimin cocked his head, knitting his eyebrows together, “Saved you? How?”
Jin gave him a small smile, “Sorry, kid, that’s a little more than you’re ready for.”
Jimin didn’t push, he just nodded and let Seokjin grab him another bowl of soup like Jungkook was supposed to. He couldn’t help but picture “Master Yoongi” as a person even more fearsome than Seokjin, with broad shoulders and battle scars all across his skin. . . He couldn’t stop himself from thinking that the debts they were all in were . . . blood debts, maybe. He stared at Seokjin’s back as the mused; maybe Jin used to have a family— a mean one. Maybe Master Yoongi killed them so Jin could be free. Jimin rested his chin on his hands. There was no way he was right, but he couldn’t help but picture the noble warrior he’d created Master Yoongi to be slaying the miscreants and thieves across the land.
Seokjin pulled him out of his thoughts, “How are you feeling?”
Jimin shrugged, glancing down at the bowl Jin held in his hand, carefully placing it in front of Jimin. “I’m alright.” He took a sip of the broth, “I was feeling really weak on my way down here, but I think I was just hungry.”
“Yeah?” Jin smiled.
Jimin smiled back, “Yeah.”
———
Jimin had gone back up to his room after he’d eaten, with Jungkook’s help, of course. Taehyung had bounded after him, the two finally back on good terms, insisting that Jimin let him tuck him into bed.
“Kookie here and I have the room just down the hall,” Taehyung said, throwing his arm around Jungkook’s shoulders. “But don’t go wandering around during the night,” he pointed a finger at Jimin. “Okay?”
Jimin started to nod, but faltered, “Why?”
“It’s not safe,” Jungkook said with a shrug. A shrug.
Taehyung kicked the back of Jungkook’s calf. “It’s not that it’t not safe,” he said. “It’s just a little confusing.” He gently stroked Jungkook’s hair as he said, “Master Yoongi doesn’t like much light at night, so the corridors get kind of dark.”
“Really dark,” Jungkook whispered to Jimin.
“It’s just really easy to get lost, is all,” Taehyung finished.
“Okay,” Jimin said slowly, sinking down into his pillow. “I won’t wander.”
They smiled down at him. “Good,” Jungkook said, eyes flickering to the strip of exposed window between the drapes. He nudged Taehyung’s side, “Come on. We gotta go.”
They stood in the doorway for a second wishing Jimin a goodnight before they disappeared behind the closed door. Jimin sighed, suddenly feeling very alone. His eyes drifted over to the window Jungkook had looked through, staring at the inky sky, sun carefully dipping below the horizon.
Never a fan of nighttime, Jimin glanced over at the candle on his bedside table, debating if he should keep it alight like he wanted. Reluctantly, Jimin sat up just enough to kill the flame with an exhale.
Once his room was bathed in darkness, Jimin sunk down into his bedding, yanking his covers up to his chin, feeling more alone than ever.
—
Jimin woke with a start, jerking forward in his bed, blankets flung to the side. His heart raced as he looked around the room for the cause of his waking. But there was no one with him except the shadows. He had to hold his breath to calm down, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. With a sigh, Jimin lay back down, tugging his covers back over himself, strangely wishing that Taehyung was there to tuck him back in. Because, as weird as it was, Jimin had to admit that it was strangely comforting. Not just because it meant that someone else was there, but also because he went to sleep with a hug from his blankets.
He had just closed his eyes when they snapped back open, breath hitching as he listened to the loud, low howl that echoed in the distance. Jimin was sure that’s what had woken him up, the foreign sound scraping at his ears, every one of his hairs standing on edge.
Slowly, Jimin pulled back his covers, easing himself off the mattress, toes sinking into the carpet beneath his feet. He glanced over his shoulder, staring through the thin strip of window he could still see, eyeing the navy sky nervously. The moon wasn’t even out. He shivered, turning back toward the door.
Just as he set his hand on the doorknob, Jimin remembered what Taehyung and Jungkook had said to him. Jimin swallowed hard; it was dangerous to wander around at night, but Jimin was sure he’d spend the rest of it shaking in his bed, wide awake, if he didn’t do something. He debated quietly, staring at the door before him. He just wanted to go find Jungkook and Taehyung’s room, sneak inside for a few minutes, just have them tell him that there weren’t any wolves. Or, at least, none that he needed to worry about.
Or, maybe he could slip down to the kitchen, see if Seokjin was still awake. Maybe he’d even offer to make him a midnight snack. Jimin might be able to convince him to talk more about the castle, and maybe even Master Yoongi, if Seokjin was the type to get weird and existential in the very early morning. Jimin didn’t think he was the type to get weird. Was he? Well, he did once wake up in the middle of the night to go to the bookshop because he needed to know if cows could swim. (They can, he found out. Just not great distances, nor are they very proficient.)
Jimin took a deep breath, and deciding to throw caution to the wind; he tugged open the door and stepped out into the hallway. It was only immediately that Jimin regretted his decision. It was horribly dark. Darker than it was in his room, darker than it was outside. Maybe even darker than both put together. Every single one of his muscles was clenched as he stepped down the hallway, shoulder pressed tightly against the wall so he wouldn’t lose his way. He wished he’d brought a candle with him. Or that he’d just never left his room at all.
It felt like he’d been walking for hours in that arrantly dark corridor. He felt like he’d been walking for hours and he still hadn’t come across a single door. Then, he finally reached the end, feeling the wall end, a dim light far, far down the new hallway was just bright enough to see that he’d have to go hang onto the adjacent wall if he wanted to keep moving.
Just as Jimin was about to turn the corner, he heard a door creak open. Heart racing, Jimin pressed his back against the wall, clapping a hand over his mouth to quiet his ragged breathing.
“. . . went back, though.” Whoever it was spoke softly, too quiet for Jimin to catch more than shards of what they were saying.
“Yeah?”
There was someone else, too. Well, that should’ve been expected. Who talks to themselves in the middle of the night as they’re walking around the darkest fucking castle in the world?
“Yeah. Master Yoongi went, too.” Jimin strained his ears, inching closer to the corner to hear as much as he could.
One of them groaned. “Seriously? I hate that.” Their voices grew quieter— they must’ve been going the other way. Jimin was simultaneously relieved that they wouldn’t find him, and frustrated that he couldn’t keep listening.
“If he comes back covered in blood again, I swear, I’m not helping.”
A low laugh echoed through the darkness. “We’ll make Tae do it.”
“. . . . All the time, it’s really starting to get annoying. . . It gets everywhere and . . . I mean, really!”
Their voices faded into the distance until Jimin finally couldn’t hear anything they were saying at all.
Covered in blood?
Jimin ran all the way back to his room, and even a little bit farther than he needed to. It took him several tries to find his door. But once he did, Jimin shoved it open and flung himself into bed, diving beneath the covers and squeezing his eyes shut.
Taehyung was right, he shouldn’t have gone wandering.
————
Jimin barely slept the whole rest of the night.
Each time he finally drifted off, there would be some sharp noise that woke him up. He told himself it was just the house settling, that there was nothing to worry about. He couldn’t help but worry that at any second, a wolf was going to dive through the window and gobble him right up.
He was woken up for the last time that morning when Taehyung and Jungkook walked into his room. Their warm, glowing faces were quite the contrast to Jimin’s pale cheeks and dark circles. He sat up with mussed up hair, rubbing at his eyes with his fist. Taehyung had an arm slung around Jungkook’s shoulders, his hand clutching onto the seam of his shirt.
“Good morning, Jimminie,” Tae grinned at him.
Jimin smiled, “Good morning.”
He wasn’t feeling like it was such a good morning. Maybe an okay morning, or even an I-Accidentally-Overheard-Someone-Talking-About-Your-Master-Coming-Home-Covered-in-Blood-Again-When-I-Was-Wandering-The-Halls-Scared-Shitless-Because-A-Fucking-Wolf-Woke-Me-Up morning.
“So, um,” Jimin said slowly, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Is there. . .” He swallowed, unsure how to phrase his question. “Any reason that I can’t go home? I mean, not right now, obviously. But, like . . . Soon?”
Taehyung’s eyes shifted over to Jungkook before he turned back to Jimin, “‘Course not.”
“But,” Jungkook said softly, after Jimin had sat for a moment, quietly, with a smile. “You have to know where home is.” He paused for a second, “Do you?”
Jimin blinked at him. “Do I . . . Know where home is?” His shoulders slumped as he thought, “I don’t know. I’m not even sure where I am right now.”
The room grew silent, sticky, morose air clouding the room.
“Let’s not think about it right now,” Taehyung grinned, nudging Kookie’s shoulder.
“Yeah. Seokjin’s got breakfast ready downstairs,” Jungkook said, smiling and looping an arm around Taehyung’s waist. “Do you want to come get some?”
Jimin yawned as he nodded, climbing off his bed. Jimin watched the two boys as they limped toward the door, Taehyung leaning almost all of his weight on Jungkook. He padded behind them, frowning at the leg Tae seemed to not want any weight on.
They were halfway to the kitchen (after quite the difficult trip down the steps) when Jimin hurried up to Tae’s side. He was focusing on his walking, staring down at his feet with cold eyes, eyebrows drawn together.
“Taehyung,” Jimin said after a minute. “Are you okay?”
“Hm?” He glanced up at Jimin, face softening. “Oh. Yeah, I’m fine.”
Jimin nodded at his leg. “You don’t seem very fine.”
Taehyung laughed, “I guess. Last night after we left your room I got into a little bit of trouble, hurt my leg kinda bad.” He shrugged as they stopped in front of the kitchen’s curtain. “It’s not a big deal, I’m sure it’ll heal up in no time.”
Taehyung patted Jimin’s shoulder as he said, “You look a lot better today, though, Jiminnie.”
“Yeah,” Jungkook agreed, looking over at him. “I was going to say that, too.”
Jimin smiled at them, reaching out to hold the curtain back for them, “I feel a lot better.”
Although the kitchen hadn’t changed in the few hours that Jimin had been away, it felt entirely different from the last time he’d walked in. Instead of Jin being all by his lonesome, he was sitting with two other boys, neither of whom Jimin had met. One of them had short, silver hair that he’d brushed away from his forehead, while the other’s black strands lay haphazardly around his head. They all sat around the table, backs to the boys that’d just walked in. Jimin watched as Jin laughed with one of them, the untidy one, who looked liked he’d been sleeping on the table and had only just opened his eyes.
“We’re back!” Jungkook said, leading Taehyung over to an empty chair. The black-haired boy cheered for a minute, clapping his hands together before he noticed Jimin, still standing at the entrance.
“Hey!” He cried, jumping out of his seat, rushing over to stand in front of Jimin. “It’s you!” He roughly pressed a hand to Jimin’s shoulder, sending him stumbling back a step. “God, I was so worried when you didn’t wake up right away, but here you are! And look at you! You look like you’d never been lying in that bed at all!”
“Um,” Jimin said, blinking over at Taehyung, who was chatting with Jin rather than looking at him. “Thanks?”
“I’m Hoseok,” he said, broad smile painting his lips. “Jimin, right?” He nodded, and Hoseok slipped an arm around his shoulders, leading him over to the table, pulling out the empty seat next to his.
Jimin’s eyes flickered over to the silver-haired one sitting almost across from him. He swallowed hard, looking at the stern expression that overtook his face, thick eyebrows pulled close enough together that he looked like he was furious at the tablecloth— Jimin hadn’t seen his eyes looking anywhere else. He had sharp cheekbones, and a long, thin scar that dragged its way from just below the hollow of his cheek to the bridge of his nose. Jimin almost couldn’t tear his eyes away.
“Jimin! You look great!” He heard Jin say, smiling in his direction.
Finally tugging his gaze away, he smiled back, “So I’ve heard.”
Clapping his hands together, Jin stood up, “Okay! Who’s ready for breakfast?”
Loud cheers erupted from around the table; Taehyung pounded his fists on the table as Jungkook stood on his chair to wave his arms through the air. Hoseok had actually crawled onto the tabletop to rest on his stomach, holding his arms and legs in the air as he let out a long, cheering laugh. Jimin watched as the only man he didn’t know the name of leisurely clapped his hands together.
Seokjin called Jimin and Jungkook up to help bring plates to the table, along with cups of steaming tea and coffee, while Jin, himself, carried over the platters of food.
On the trip back to grab more supplies, Jimin nudged Jungkook with his shoulder. “Hey,” he glanced over his shoulder. “That guy— the one with gray hair . . .” Jungkook looked over at him as he balanced plates in the center of his palm. “He’s not . . . Master Yoongi, is he?”
“Huh?” Jungkook tugged his eyebrows together. “Oh, no, that’s Namjoon; Don’t worry about him, he’s really nice, just a little grumpy in the mornings.”
“Oh,” Jimin breathed, even though Jungkook had already wandered back to his seat.
Jimin watched as he elbowed Taehyung’s side, grabbing a grape from one of the bowls Seokjin had brought over, and tossing it at Namjoon. Loud cackling spilled from Taehyung’s mouth as it thwacked against Namjoon’s forehead. He quickly glanced around, arm whipping out to grab Hoseok by the front of his shirt when they made eye contact.
“Jimin!” Seokjin called, looking at him over the back of his chair. “Come on, let’s eat!”
They didn’t talk as they were shoving their mouths full of Seokjin’s cooking, shoveling in as much as they could in fear that someone else might get to it first. Jimin was practically bulging when he finally decided he couldn’t fit anything else in. Taehyung had eaten so much he had to resort to lying across Jungkook’s legs, complaining that he’d eaten so much he was sure that if he sat up he’d explode. He only stopped protesting when Tae made Jin promise that Jungkook would be in charge of scraping the Taehyung bits off the walls.
Jungkook had been right about Namjoon. After he’d eaten his fill and gotten some coffee into him, he was smiling just as wide as any of them, clapping a hand on Hoseok’s back when he made some stupid comment.
Namjoon glanced over in Jimin’s direction, nodding at him as he said, “How’d you sleep?”
Jimin shrugged loosely, “Okay, I guess.” He took a short breath before continuing, “This house makes a lot of noise.”
“Yeah, seriously!” Hoseok exclaimed. “The first week I was here I made Jin let me sleep in his bed because I was so scared.”
Namjoon rolled his eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”
Jimin could’ve sworn he heard Jin mumble something about Hoseok having the coldest feet in the world, “Never let him anywhere near you when you're warm.”
Namjoon looked back at Jimin, “It’s mostly at night, when it gets colder. Things expand during the day because it’s warmer, so when the sun finally goes down, everything starts to shift back into its initial position.”
“Oh,” Jimin breathed. “That makes a lot of sense.” He paused before saying, “So, it’s not ghosts then, right?”
He hadn’t intended for it to be anything more than a lame joke, but the rest of the table thought it was a riot, clapping their hands against the tables as they breathed out laughs.
“No,” Hoseok said between giggles. “It’s not ghosts, don’t worry.” He ruffled Jimin’s hair, and Jimin let him.
It was nice and warm inside the kitchen, but after a while, Jin insisted that he had to turn of the furnace. Once everyone started to stand up, Jimin leaned over to Hoseok and asked why they weren’t staying put.
“We’re technically not within the castle walls right now,” he said, pulling Jimin up by his elbow. “Only because it wouldn’t be awesome for the whole thing to burn down if something went wrong in here, right?” He chuckled, and Jimin followed suit, even though he wasn’t really sure what the joke was. “But, anyway, since there isn’t as much between us and the outdoors, it gets absolutely freezing in here once Seokjin smothers the fire.”
Jimin hadn’t really paid attention to where Hoseok was leading him, their arms still linked together. But once he finally looked around, Jimin’s breath hitched. Pulling away from his guide to step farther into the room, jaw dropping as he stared, taking in as much as he could.
Namjoon glanced over at him from the hearth of the fireplace, already kneeling on the ground to start to light it. “Are you okay, Jimin?”
His head was tilted all the way to the ceiling, staring at the walls— each wall, as well as the second story that wrapped its way around the walls. The ceiling was made of glass, so high that he felt he could see all the way up to the heavens.
“This-this is—“ he stuttered, swallowing hard.
“This is what?” Hoseok prompted. “The library?”
“The library,” Jimin breathed. “It’s the library.”
Taehyung peaked his head from over the back of the couch. “Yeah? So?”
“So,” Jimin breathed, euphoric grin overtaking his face. “This is the library! The biggest library I’ve ever seen!”
Hoseok glanced over at Namjoon, sharing knowing smiles as they watched Jimin run to the first bookshelf he could reach. Not that it was a far trip— every single inch of wall was covered in shelving, and every centimeter of shelving was occupied by a novel of some kind.
“I’ve died, haven’t I?” Jimin breathed, pulling a book off a shelf and pressing it to his chest. “I’ve died and I’ve gone to heaven.”
Seokjin smirked from his seat, “I think someone likes books.”
“They’re all Master Yoongi’s,” Hoseok said, tucking his hands into his pockets and striding over to Jimin’s side. “If you’re lucky, you might even find one of the ones he’s written somewhere in here.”
Jimin whipped around to face him. “He’s a writer?”
“He’s a poet!” Jungkook called from next to Taehyung.
“A poet,” Jimin breathed. He loved poetry. More than anything else he could read. More than novellas, or fiction; even the textbooks he’d gotten his hands on once. He’d always longed to meet a poet, listen to the way they talked, hear how they saw the simplest things with their artist eyes.
He turned to face the fireplace, now crackling with the flames Namjoon had set, staring at the boys crowded around it, “A-and things he’s written are in here?”
“Somewhere,” Taehyung said.
Namjoon dropped down into an empty seat, relaxing into its cushions as he said, “They’re not in any order like everything else is.” He pushed his hair back, “He’s kind of hidden them from us.”
“What? Why?” Jimin groaned, still clutching the book to his chest so tightly his knuckles had begun to burn white.
Hoseok shrugged, “Doesn’t want us reading them, I guess.” He stepped away from Jimin’s side to go stretch out near the fire. “Not that any of us have gone looking. This poor place has gone seriously unused.” He patted the hearth, “Except for old flamey here.”
Jimin tilted his head, “If he didn’t want them read, why would he put them in a library?”
Hoseok glanced back at him, “If I asked you to go get me a specific book, but it wasn’t alphabetized, or anything, do you think you’d be able to find it in here?”
He didn’t turn away until he saw Jimin shake his head.
Jimin wandered over to them, “So . . .” He dragged his fingers along the spine of his book. “I can be in here? I can read these?”
“Of course,” Jin said, letting his head rest against the back of his chair.
“Just remember,” Taehyung said, crawling out from underneath the sofa. “Don’t go wandering at night.”
Jimin pressed his lips together, nodding curtly before turning away.
—
Jimin didn’t leave the library for the rest of the day.
Even as the boys left, one by one; even when Taehyung had fallen asleep on Namjoon’s lap, the elder’s head dropped back against the back of the sofa, Jimin stayed put, reading page after page after page. He scanned the shelves, reading off authors and titles and dates and summaries. He’d found the stairs, hidden in the far corner, spiraling up to the second story, where Jimin had hidden when he was finally left all alone, the last two boys scurrying out with a yawn.
Dragging the pads of his fingers along the spines of the books, Jimin wandered down the length of the shelf. When a thick, crimson book caught Jimin’s eye, he hooked his finger over the lip of the cover, giving it a careful tug. He was quick to reach his other hand up, holding the other novels in place when he saw them shift. With another sharp yank, Jimin pulled the book free, catching on the corner of its neighbor, sending it , as well as several others, toppling down onto the floor.
Jimin cursed under his breath, kneeling down to gather up all of the books that had fallen, flipping them open and briefly checking the pages for damage. Jimin hated damaging books— even if it was just folding over the corners of pages. He’d be overwhelmed with guilt if he hurt one that wasn’t even his own.
Placing the books atop one another, Jimin slowly stacked all of the books that’d fallen, setting them down on the floor beside him. Looking around for the final one, Jimin gasped, quickly reaching to snatch it up when he saw it’d fallen open. He grabbed onto it, eyes glazing over the words that scrawled across the page:
“Suddenly, I’m the sky, with cloudy vision and ripples in the sea,
and you’ve drifted above the horizon, overtaking what I'd believed to be my own.
Buried hearts bloom to paper trees, burning brighter than together you and I ever could.
I know what you’ve decided,
but you and your warmth and what I thought was but a sad dream
clawed like flames at the sides of my face.
I can’t leave.
I’m here, the endless tune at the top of the repeat.
I’ve tried to rewrite it so it would play to a stop, but I’m just
going around and around and around and around;
I’d imagined that we had rung.
Now I know that invisible words can’t echo.”
Mouth slipping open, eyebrows tugging together, Jimin read over the page again and again, an unfamiliar aching just above his stomach. Gently folding the book shut, Jimin’s eyes scrolled over the front cover. Bound in worn, green fabric, the title was shakily scrawled across it in faded gold ink:
“Le Coeur de La Bête se Transforme en or Seulement Quand Arrosé Avec Amour”
He flipped it around, searching for some other sort of explanation; Jimin had read hundreds of books, but for some reason, this one felt odd, some strange ache settling in the pit of his stomach. But after no such luck, he tucked it under his arm, replaced the fallen books back on their shelf, and scurried down the steps.
The fire was still alight as he sunk down into the couch cushions, a warm glow dancing across his cheeks. He settled against the armrest, cracking open the green book and flipping through it, taking in as many words as he could. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that, snuggled in the warmth of the fire, cuddled up in the fluffy sofa, Jimin quickly fell asleep.
When he woke, the fire had died down, and the book was gone.